"Master, young masters, welcome back," the butler said with a bow, his demeanor neither servile nor arrogant. This showed respect while keeping his elegance, perfectly matching his image.

"No need for formalities," Mana habitually dismissed, though rituals meant little to him. The butler was his old friend, following him since his youthful travels. Over fifty years had passed—time truly spared no one.

"Sigh..." Mana unconsciously sighed as the father and two sons followed the butler into the courtyard, walking briskly toward the mansion. He hadn't noticed his own sigh, but others saw it and cared deeply.

"Master, why this long sigh?" the butler asked. After decades of service, he knew the Iron-Blood Grand Duke never hesitated. In politics, Mana stood alone, debating rivals fiercely to reform the empire. His changes brought prosperity and saved the nation from famine, earning him the title "Iron-Blood" and a fiefdom from Emperor Louis: Bordeaux, one of Ostdan Continent's eight vassal states. As Grand Duke, he promoted agriculture and magitech, making Bordeaux the continent's leader within ten years. Yet he stayed balanced—neither boastful nor dim—to deter scheming duchies. Even this wise ruler sighing puzzled the butler.

"Your Grace hasn't sighed since that incident. What troubles you now?" he pressed. That incident was Gloria's death in childbirth, Mana's deepest regret. In fifty years, the butler had seen him sigh only once before.

"Old Nikolai, I had a close kin," Mana continued, sighing again. "For over a decade, I let others bully him, never helping. He always acted fine, like a snail—resilient yet fragile, denied any light. I wanted to save him but didn't. To free him, I sent him away. I hoped he'd learn self-protection and leave forever, yet wished he'd visit me."

"I don't understand my own heart. A normal person would've vanished, never returning to that 'home.' But he came back. He used skills learned away to save his two worst bullies. I never thanked him before he died... not even a body left. It's laughable," Mana said bitterly to Nikolai.

"Your Grace speaks of the third young master," Nikolai replied calmly. "The dead cannot return. He went to war repaying your kindness, so bear no guilt. You wish you'd protected him then, but it's too late. Your grief comes from blood ties—unavoidable. Allen chose to be a scapegoat. Cherish the present: mend ties with Charlotte and Alex. That's urgent now." Charlotte and Alex had already retreated to their rooms, checking tidied spaces—allowing this talk about Allen, the two bullies Mana mentioned.

"Since his death, I felt pardoned, relieved of a burden. Yet something felt off, missing. I realized he was my child too, like Charlotte and Alex. He deserved happiness, but my inaction abandoned him. He never asked for anything; he didn't even know how to ask. Only after his death did I see my folly. All my fault—I caused their feud. I regret it now, but he's gone..." Mana spoke steadily.

"I'm a nation's chancellor, the Iron-Blood Grand Duke. I judge swiftly, act decisively. I've done right and wrong, never regretted—until now. I truly wronged him."

"... " Mana fell silent.

Summer sunlight pierced the undraped window, falling on Mana's face. Nikolai watched the fifty-year-old: thick hair showed no aging signs, yet it was entirely white. His inherited Leonhardt golden locks were now snow-white—a recent change.

"Accept your grief," Nikolai said, patting Mana's shoulder before leaving the living room. He needed his wife to prepare the welcoming ceremony lunch.

Mana covered his forehead, lost in thought.

"Allen, help! This outfit's impossible!" Allen called to Cariana outside his door.

The formal dress was troublesome: blue-and-black layers, a soft silk inner lining, and a textured outer fabric like scholar's wear. Neat ruffled pleats formed elegant patterns, the hem hitting mid-calf. Black ankle socks and brown flats completed the look—ordinary yet uniquely beautiful. Allen felt oddly uneasy.

"See? You look stunning! Stop dressing like an old man~" Cariana said, wearing the same dress.

"Father said we must welcome the Grand Duke formally. Why hate dresses so much?"

"I'm used to traveling," Allen lied.

"Why do you always meddle with me?" he countered.

"I like you~" she grinned.

"Huh? Like me?! A confession?~"

"Pfft! I mean your attitude—not that kind of like!" Cariana blushed. "Besides, I like someone else."

"Ah! Got it! You keep praising Alex—you like the eldest young master!" Allen feigned shock. Truthfully, he sensed it: she often spoke of Alex fondly. Though Allen disliked his brothers and slighted them, she'd argue fiercely whenever he criticized Alex. Even he, dense as he was, understood—and her crimson face confirmed it.

Allen dreaded seeing his brothers but resigned himself to fate. His current physique triggered childhood memories: the dark wine cellar, ears ringing, cold sweat breaking out. That night's beatings and the closet were permanent scars.

"You look pale. What's wrong?" Cariana gently touched his forehead.

"Nothing... haha," Allen forced a laugh. He'd hide at the dining table's end, avoiding his father and brothers' eyes. He feared crumbling, escaping again. If discovered, they might confine him—he'd failed for years to please them. Having finally felt sunlight, he refused to return to darkness.

"Psst—my dad's the butler~ Need anything? If sick, I'll take you to Church after class."

"No thanks."

"I said no 'thanks'! Sounds distant!"

"Let's go. Stop fooling around..." Allen stepped out to face them.

"Wait for me!"