Though I won’t deny getting called "Brother" by a cute girl thrilled me...

The moment I heard her name was Doria, I realized she was *that* famed "Repository of Knowledge, Doria."

Sure, me knowing her made sense—but how did *she* know a nobody noble like me with zero social circle?

Fine, I’d accept her remembering every single noble thanks to that monstrous memory of hers.

But "Brother Sas"? What was *that* about?!

Could it be... she was my old man’s illegitimate daughter?

My brain instantly conjured up scenes straight out of a cheesy prime-time drama.

"So... you really forgot me?"

Doria’s voice trembled with disappointment. She’d never forgotten that boy.

Even as a child, Doria’s brilliance shone brightly.

Everyone orbited around her like moons.

Blessed with both beauty and intellect, she seemed heaven’s favorite.

Young Doria believed it too.

At her first noble ball at age seven, suitors swarmed her—clumsy boys reciting rehearsed lines, desperate for her favor.

After all, marrying into the family of such a prodigy meant skyrocketing fortunes.

At the very least, bearing her gifted child would secure their legacy.

Doria grew utterly weary of these persistent admirers.

To her, their minds were utterly barren.

(Though truthfully, even the fattest dukes could churn out passable poetry when pressed.)

Then she spotted a boy sitting alone in the corner, watching the spectacle like it was theater.

His eyes held a maturity far beyond his years.

Curiosity flickered in Doria—but so did irritation.

*How dare this nobody look at heaven’s favorite with such amusement?*

Spoiled by adoration, she believed the world should revolve around her.

Ignoring the fawning nobles, she lifted her chin with aristocratic pride and glided toward him.

With a graceful curtsey, she murmured:

"This humble one is Doria Swithfount. May I know your name, sir?"

"Uh... Sas. Oh—I mean, Sass Vies, miss."

"Being alone isn’t good, Sas. Come chat with us over there?" She gestured to a lively group of teens.

Her clear, melodic voice usually melted stubborn hearts—but the boy barely flinched.

"...Over there? Probably just gossip. I’ll pass. Thanks anyway. It’s... boring."

His last whisper was nearly inaudible, yet Doria caught it.

Her eyes sparked. "Then what *isn’t* boring?"

"Hah... I’m boring myself. Go talk to them. More fun. Probably."

He trailed off, clearly holding back.

Doria refused to let him escape. She wanted to know what amusement this boy could offer.

She pestered him relentlessly—a side of her no one had ever seen.

"...Fine. Let’s play a game. If I win, you stop this."

The boy sighed, rubbing his temples.

From his small satchel (odd for a ball), he pulled out random trinkets.

Catching Doria’s skeptical glance, he gave an awkward chuckle.

He sketched a grid on paper, handed her white stones, kept black ones for himself, and taught her "Go."

She lost spectacularly.

The rules were simple—but she couldn’t beat him no matter what.

"You promised to leave if I won."

"No. Don’t wanna."

Her eyes welled up. He reluctantly played a tenth match, spending nearly the entire ball teaching her.

As they played, he spoke more.

Untold stories. Forbidden knowledge. Wisdom no book contained flowed from his lips.

Doria had never felt such exhilaration—her cheeks flushed crimson with excitement.

"Tell me more! More!"

"... "

He suddenly fell silent.

"What’s wrong?"

"Hah. I was wondering... if you’ve been spoiled rotten."

Her face darkened instantly.

"How *dare* you?!" She puffed her cheeks, lips jutting out.

"One day you’ll understand."

His words carried hidden weight.

She didn’t grasp it then.

As the ball ended, Doria watched him leave with a conflicted heart.

But children forgive quickly. Days later, she marched to the Vies estate, claiming him as her only true friend.

He greeted her with weary resignation, though elders behind him clearly approved of the connection.

"...Fine. I’ll play with you."

"Yes!"

Three years passed. The more she knew him, the more she revered him—endless wonders spilled from his mind.

Growing up, she finally understood his words about being "spoiled."

And "Brother Sas~" became her favorite phrase.

Then one day, she learned he’d left his home.

After his father’s death, he’d clashed fiercely with the clan elders—and vanished.

The Vies family refused to disclose his whereabouts.

Doria searched for him.

Finding one person in Tren wasn’t easy—but not impossible.

Every time she spotted him, her nerves failed her.

Until three years ago... when Brother Sas disappeared completely.

Doria snapped out of her memories, staring blankly at the boy before her.

I had no idea what she was thinking—but being stared at like this was awkward.

"Hah. Doria? *Doria!*"

"Eh? Yes!"

I’d almost thought she’d gone delirious from her injuries.

Her knowing me wasn’t worth overthinking—probably just an old acquaintance I’d forgotten. Though with someone as famous as Doria... I shouldn’t have forgotten. Right?

"You’re covered in grime. There’s a river nearby. We’ll rest here—you should wash up. Those clothes are ruined..." I sighed. "Here, take my spare set."

*Ah! Ah! Brother Sas’s clothes!*

Doria felt her pulse race. *What’s wrong with me? Why am I getting flustered just thinking about this?*

*But... his scent~*

Her thoughts dissolved into static.

"Doria? *Doria!*"

I frowned at the girl whose eyes had gone distant again. *Did she hit her head during the escape?*