When Shel returned to the guest room with a tray, he found Nameless already out of bed.
She stood wide-eyed at the windowsill, peering outside.
“I told you not to move! Get back in bed now!”
“…Mr. Shel, I saw her.” Nameless turned, trembling finger pointing at the parade float passing below. “That woman on the giant painting—the one who attacked us! She…”
She’d spotted Lofna’s massive portrait on the float.
“Easy now. Sit down.” Shel set the dishes on the table, gently guiding Nameless away from the window and pressing her onto the bed. “I know it was her. Eat first. I’ll explain everything later.”
Nameless froze.
She knew nothing of Shel’s past.
Normally, he wouldn’t volunteer details—and she’d never pry.
But today’s events felt like a key to understanding him.
She mechanically shoveled food into her mouth, tasting nothing. Pushing the empty plate aside, she lifted her gaze to Shel, waiting.
“The one who attacked us was Lofna herself. Not an imposter—the founding empress.” Shel hesitated, struggling for words. “She… like Hilna, the posthumously honored founding empress of the Western Ipoli Empire… both were once my students.”
Nameless gasped. Her mind reeled.
“But… but…” she stammered after a long pause. “I thought they both died before the Empire of Ypoli split… Their descendants inherited the thrones and divided the empire…”
“That was a lie. They’ve lived all this time. And those ‘descendants’? No blood relation. The royal lines of both nations… trace back to my own bloodline.” Shel covered his face. “They’ve hidden in their tombs all these centuries, pulling strings from the shadows, manipulating the continent’s fate…”
“This is…”
Unbelievable. But if Mr. Shel said it—it had to be true.
“Turning them into this… was my failure.” Shel’s voice tightened with guilt. “I thought I could rewrite their destinies. Instead, I forced this wretched future onto both sisters.
“I prevented the Empire of Ypoli’s collapse… only to fracture it into two warring states for centuries.
“But… at least… this was the best I could manage.”
----------------------*****------------------------
Back when Hilna and Lofna were harmless girls, Shel had agonized over how to teach them properly.
Relying on their parents was hopeless.
Their father, Prince Noren, could barely spell a hundred words. His days were spent leading patrols to catch thieves or brawling with neighbors over land and water. Hilna didn’t dislike him—but expecting him to raise wise daughters? Absurd.
Hilna’s mother was worse: a rigid control freak who still demanded Hilna return home to obey her strict rules. The girl trembled at the sight of her.
Lofna’s mother, struggling to make ends meet, had good intentions but little education or parenting skill.
Their struggles differed too.
Hilna had been terrorized by canes and crammed with knowledge until she feared learning itself.
Lofna, cheerful but painfully slow, couldn’t grasp basic arithmetic. Present a test or question, and her mind would freeze.
Shel couldn’t risk teaching Hilna magic yet—he had to heal her spirit first. So he chose learning through play.
He built seesaws, swings, and spinning chairs outside his cottage.
He spent a fortune on stiff cardstock from traveling merchants, crafting pop-up books and illustrated cards. He carved oak figurines, painting each soldier and knight by hand until his workshop overflowed with colorful toys.
The cost and labor far exceeded his expectations.
Then, stitching together memories of video games and adventure novels, he designed tabletop RPGs. Each quest required grammar puzzles or math calculations to pass. He simplified rules and lowered difficulty—calling it his “foolproof adventure kit.”
Every morning after breakfast, the girls would sit in the courtyard as Shel unfolded the game board.
Flipping open the pop-up rulebook, they’d lean in eagerly as he set the day’s quest:
*“Two heroes, chosen by the Eternal Church, must brave a monster-filled labyrinth to slay the dragon guarding its treasure.”*
Shel would spread his anime-style cards. Hilna always picked the slender armored mage—*“He looks like Teacher Shel.”* Lofna chose the fierce lady mage in robes—*“I want to be her.”*
Rolling twenty-sided dice, their adventure began.
First stop: the tavern.
*“How will you spend your starting coins? Hire the expensive but mighty Holy Knight? Or cheap, sturdy mercenaries? Buy one strong weapon… or many weak shields?”*
Hilna meticulously calculated options, sketching budgets in the dirt.
Lofna shrugged, picking whatever felt fun.
Inside the labyrinth’s paper folds, challenges lurked:
*“The monster has 80 armor! Weaken it by spelling the counter-spell correctly!”*
*“A mysterious merchant appears! He’ll help—if you calculate his goods’ prices.”*
*“Your ally’s gravely wounded! Lofna, as the mage, you must calculate these dice rolls to heal him. Fail… and he dies.”*
Lofna avoided thinking—especially with clever Hilna nearby. Shel forced her to struggle alone, counting on fingers until she solved it herself.
When truly stuck, he’d “channel the Archangel of the Eternal Church” to hint at solutions.
It was slower than classroom drills—but these girls wouldn’t take imperial exams. Shel cared more about sparking their curiosity.
Through NPCs and items, he wove tales: a knight earning blessings through trials; a boy climbing a pea stalk to defeat a giant; a genie freed from a buried lamp…
Every story borrowed from countless games and films—never repeating.
The girls sat rapt, listening to Shel’s every word.
He always let them win in the end. Victorious heroes received candy, handmade toys, or dazzling magic tricks as rewards.
At first, it worked beautifully.
The girls grew bright and cheerful—more poised than noble-born peers. Their grace came not from fear of canes, but from trusting what they’d learned.
Lofna mastered basic math and writing—surpassing many local nobles.
Hilna soared. Freed from her mother’s pressure, her natural brilliance flourished. By ten, she could mentally calculate four-digit multiplication.
They credited Shel.
But time wore him down.
To keep lessons fresh, he constantly redesigned cards, carved new figurines, and wrote fresh storybooks. His tales ran dry. Worse—in backward Ipoli, cardstock, paints, and tools were scarce luxuries.
Royal stipends and Prince Noren’s support couldn’t last forever. They’d already given generously. They’d never understand why so much gold vanished into “childish games.”
So Shel took extra work: drafting letters for nobles, conducting weddings and funerals, assisting priests at Mass, bargaining with merchants. Only this brought coin for supplies.
Only Hilna could truly help. Her elegant calligraphy penned his invitations. Her magic cleaned his cottage and coaxed sweet fruit from courtyard trees—sold for extra income. Shel naturally praised her more, letting her handle his correspondence.
Lofna watched, envious of Hilna’s magic. She’d pored over Shel’s spellbooks—even with Hilna’s help, she grasped nothing.
Slowly, she accepted the truth: she had no gift for magic.
All she could offer was cheese made with her mother… and messy handwriting barely good enough for sums.
When Shel and Hilna frowned over the accounts, Lofna could only wait beside them, unable to help.
After Teacher Charles returned home, utterly exhausted from a mountain of work, she couldn’t, like Hilna, serve sweet fruits or conjure up chilled drinks with a wave of her hand to quench his thirst.
When Teacher Charles brought out the tabletop game rulebook and started the day’s adventure, she struggled with the increasingly tough levels.
Even when Teacher Charles carefully taught her problem-solving methods, she could only give vague answers, sweating heavily—until all she saw was Shel’s slightly disappointed gaze.
Meanwhile, Hilna always breezed through every level Teacher Charles set, cutting through obstacles effortlessly.
...
Lofna began to feel anxious and uneasy.
As she grew older, she became more sensible. Her carefree smiles started fading away.
The older she got, the more she felt her own powerlessness and mediocrity.
The habit of happily trailing after Teacher Charles to ask for rewards dwindled, until it vanished completely.
Hilna, however, grew happier and more fulfilled.
She truly used her knowledge to help those she cared about.
So the three of them spent many years in a life that was somewhat difficult but mostly calm and uneventful.
The girls slowly grew up.
...
Much later, recalling those times, Shel would regret his unconscious favoritism.
He should’ve noticed Lofna’s inner changes sooner.
He should’ve designed courses matching her abilities, given her chances to help him too—so she could feel the same achievement and satisfaction as Hilna.
But it was too late.
Had he planted seeds of inferiority and doubt in Lofna’s heart back then? She should’ve been carefree and endlessly optimistic.
Did jealousy’s fruit begin growing in their sisterly bond from that point on?
Perhaps.
