The Black Bulls' base was steeped in an awkwardly stiff atmosphere as Yami and Sebastian sat across from each other on a pair of mismatched, slightly worn sofa chairs.
Well, stiff for Sebastian at least. Yami looked completely unbothered, leaning back casually.
Sebastian hadn't exactly agreed to be there. His daughter had all but dragged him in after Yami showed up, insisting he stay the night. She'd barely paused to ask Yami for permission as she pushed Sebastian through the doorway.
"Sure," Yami had said with a shrug, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Just don't break anything, or I'll sue you."
Now, as Yami sat across from him, lazily flipping through a newspaper and puffing away, Sebastian sat stiffly upright, knees clamped together. He was a picture of discomfort, perched as if he might spring from the chair at any moment.
It wouldn't have been so bad if someone else were around. But no—it was just the two of them.
Vanessa had mumbled something about needing to drink herself into oblivion and stormed out, ignoring Yami's casual question about why. Secre had flown off to who-knows-where, probably her nest. Noelle was upstairs preparing a room for Sebastian, despite his insistence that he could manage himself. Asta, in his typical overeager fashion, had joined her, leaving Sebastian grinding his teeth in irritation.
The silence was suffocating.
Sebastian was no stranger to quiet moments—he was an introvert by nature. Oddly enough, that trait had served him well in his career as a bureaucrat. But this kind of silence wasn't comfortable.
Maybe it was a family curse. The Silvas—especially the patriarchs—were notoriously reserved, cold, and blunt. Acier's father, her grandfather, and even Nozel all fit the mold. They only bothered with flowery words when forced to, like during royal gatherings or court sessions.
Still, this wasn't the time to dwell on that.
"Ahem," Sebastian cleared his throat, shattering the oppressive quiet.
Yami lowered his newspaper just enough to fix him with a single raised brow. "What?" he asked, his gravelly voice tinged with mild curiosity as he exhaled a plume of smoke.
Sebastian froze. That's a good question. What should I say?
His eyes landed on a toilet paper roll inexplicably sitting on the coffee table beside Yami. Desperation took hold, and before he could think better of it, the words tumbled out:
"Don't you need to take a shit?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Yami blinked. Of all the things he'd expected from this noble, prim and proper man—one of the most uptight people he'd ever met—this wasn't it.
For a moment, he just stared, gauging Sebastian's sincerity. As the older man scratched his chin awkwardly, Yami's brow furrowed slightly. His Ki-reading instincts kicked in, and he realized, to his disbelief, that Sebastian wasn't joking.
A flicker of pity crossed Yami's face as he leaned back, taking a contemplative drag from his cigarette. Damn. I heard pushing yourself too hard when you're young makes you age quicker and lose your marbles. Poor guy probably screamed himself hoarse in court so much he's already losing it. Don't wanna see Julius end up like this... gotta make sure he keeps slacking off.
Yami's gaze drifted to Sebastian's hair. Silver-white, but now he noticed streaks of gray sneaking in. His eyes traced the faint wrinkles lining the man's face, and he nodded solemnly to himself, convinced his theory was spot on.
Exhaling a long stream of smoke, Yami finally broke the silence. "I don't feel it yet. When it's time to take a dump and push past my limits, my body will let me know."
Sebastian nodded stiffly, missing the undertone of talking-to-the-elderly sympathy in Yami's words. Seeing Yami settle back into his newspaper, Sebastian hesitated but decided to keep the conversation going.
"Thank you for looking after my daughter."
Yami's eyes lifted from his newspaper again, his attention piqued. This time, though, his expression was unguarded, pity written all over his face.
A royal, thanking him? A scruffy, chain-smoking foreigner? That sealed it for Yami—Sebastian wasn't just off; the man was slipping. If Yami had been suspicious before, now he was absolutely certain. The guy was senile.
"No thanks needed," Yami said, his voice casual but unusually soft. "She's part of my squad. Naturally, I'll look after her." He paused, exhaling a puff of smoke before adding, "Besides, I didn't do anything special for her. I treat her like all the others."
Sebastian's brow twitched. That look on Yami's face—he knew it too well. It was the same look he used to give nursing home residents back when he volunteered to pad his resume.
I don't have Alzheimer's, damn it! I know who I am, where I am, and what I'm saying! His thoughts raced, but he held his tongue, sighing instead.
"Even so, you were under no obligation to accept Noelle into your squad in the first place… so thank you." He bowed his head subtly.
Yami paused, scratching his chin as his dark eyes narrowed in thought. After a moment, he let out a low chuckle. "What do you mean, no reason? We're the Black Bulls—the worst of the worst, a squad of failures. Where else would she go if not here?"
Sebastian's hand clenched into a fist. The Silver Eagles! He swallowed his frustration. Noelle not joining them should have been her choice, not because her family refused to accept her.
He kept the thought bottled up, but Yami's sharp senses didn't miss the flicker of emotion. Though Yami didn't comment, his brow twitched as he continued to observe Sebastian.
Sighing again, Sebastian pushed forward. "Once again… just because you're supposedly a squad of failures, I don't think that means you'd accept every single person you came across. If that were true, the Black Bulls would be the largest squad in Clover's history."
He leaned forward slightly, meeting Yami's gaze. "You're the smallest. That's because you only accept people you see something in—or find interesting. Am I wrong?"
Yami raised an eyebrow but eventually shook his head. Sebastian wasn't wrong.
Sebastian inclined his head once more. "Despite knowing her for only a short time, you saw more in my daughter than her family has in fifteen years. For that, you have my gratitude."
Yami's mouth opened slightly, as though he was about to respond, but Sebastian pressed on. Keeping his head lowered, he added, "Also, thank you for letting me stay the night despite—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Yami cut him off, raising a hand as though warding off evil. Sebastian blinked in confusion as Yami crossed his fingers like a makeshift shield and leaned back dramatically.
"What's with all the thank-you's, King Ponytail? Getting them from an old guy like you gives me the creeps. Lay off." Yami gave a theatrical shiver, his face twisting in exaggerated disgust.
Sebastian opened his mouth to retort but found himself at a loss for words, staring at Yami wordlessly. Bro, I'm trying to be serious here, and this is how you act?
As he stared at the unbothered captain, Sebastian realized something. Yami's hilarious and charming as ink on paper, but dealing with someone like him in real life is a whole other level of exhausting.
He sighed, shaking his head. Thank God I didn't transmigrate into One Piece. Luffy's great and all, but if I had to deal with someone like him every day, I'd probably lose my mind. Assuming his antics didn't get me killed first.
After a moment of silence, Yami stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray with a soft crunch. "Look here, King of Ponyt—" He stopped mid-sentence, noting Sebastian's unamused expression, and sighed. "Look here, Old Silver—"
"It's Silva," Sebastian corrected, his voice clipped. As for the "Old" part, well, he couldn't exactly argue. Sure, his soul might be a few years younger than Yami, but his body was pushing fifty. And even in this magical world, where people often lived longer despite lacking modern science or decent healthcare, he was still undeniably an old man.
"Same thing." Yami waved him off dismissively, pausing to mull over his words. "If you're worried about me using our 'unpleasant' past as an excuse to be a dick to Noelle, don't be. I'm not that kind of guy."
"I know," Sebastian replied without hesitation, and Yami froze, his cigarette halfway to his lips.
"I know full well you're not that kind of person," Sebastian added, his expression complicated. And Nozel does too, he thought. Otherwise, how could he entrust Noelle to you?
For all the times Nozel insulted Yami, mocked him, or dismissed him as a foreigner, deep down, he must have acknowledged Yami's character. If Yami weren't around, Nozel would probably have locked Noelle away in the Silva estate, forcing her to abandon her dream of becoming a Magic Knight.
Yami's a cool guy—a really cool guy. He didn't judge people based on their connections or bloodlines, which, while it sounded simple, was rarer than most thought.
Yami could've easily refused Nozel's request out of spite—for Nozel, for House Silva, or even for Sebastian himself. Yet he didn't. He took Noelle in, not because she was a Silva, but because of who she was.
And Yami wasn't the type to dwell on the past. Even after all the trouble Sebastian caused him as a teenager—trying to have him kicked out of Clover, stripped of his citizenship, and sent to die crossing the Grand Magic Zone—Yami just shrugged it off like it was nothing. He had every right to resent House Silva, to resent Sebastian, yet he let it all go.
That was precisely why Sebastian couldn't.
"I'm sorry," Sebastian said softly, his voice almost drowned out by the quiet room.
Yami blinked, then dug a finger in his ear as though he'd misheard.
Before Yami could respond, Sebastian placed both hands firmly on his knees and bowed deeply from his seat. "Pretending like I've done nothing wouldn't sit right with me. Even if you'd rather let it go, let me properly apologize for how I wronged you in the past! Please!"
Yami gaped at him, his jaw tightening as his mind processed the moment. His Ki told him Sebastian was being genuine, but it still felt surreal—like something out of a drunken fever dream.
Scratching the back of his neck, Yami sighed. "Alright, Old Silva, alright! Raise your head. I don't feel good making old folks bend their backs."
Sebastian straightened and met Yami's gaze, his expression calm.
"If you're really serious," Yami continued, now half-absentmindedly, "just treat me to a drink sometime. Or something."
Sebastian leaned back slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'll do you one better."
Yami's brows shot up. "Oh?"
"Whenever you're out drinking in a castle town or the capital, feel free to put it on House Silva's tab. We'll cover it."
Yami blinked, staring at him. He scratched his cheek, unsure if he'd heard that right. "Whenever?"
Sebastian nodded.
"Wherever?" Yami pressed.
"As long as it's a tavern or bar in a castle town or the noble realm, yes."
"Forever?" Yami leaned forward, his expression serious.
Sebastian hesitated, then shook his head. "I can only guarantee as long as I'm alive."
Yami leaned back, scrutinizing Sebastian. "That might not be long. You'll need to push past your limits and keep on living, Old Man."
Sebastian maintained his composure, though Yami's grin was making it increasingly difficult.
"I might drink your coffers dry, you know," Yami added with a smirk.
Sebastian shook his head. "Even if there were a thousand of you, that'd be impossible."
Yami let out an impressed whistle, leaning back with a grin. "Alright, Old Man. I guess I'll take you up on that offer."
Sebastian was about to switch topics when a familiar voice called his name.
"Father!"
"Hm?" He raised a brow and turned to see Noelle standing by the staircase, waving at him.
"Your room is ready," she said with a small smile.
"Oh, thank you—" Sebastian stopped mid-sentence, his gaze shifting to Asta standing behind Noelle, also waving enthusiastically. Sebastian cracked a knuckle, the gesture deliberate and audible.
"Well," he said, pointing to the duo as he stood. "I suppose I'm going to tuck in for the night."
Yami, standing nearby, gave him a firm slap on the back, nearly making Sebastian stumble. "Have a good night, Old Man. I've got to go surpass my limits."
Sebastian rolled his eyes but resisted the urge to drench Yami with magic—it was a pointless effort. The man could react to light itself, and Sebastian's fastest attacks didn't come close to that speed.
With a sigh, he shook his head and approached Noelle and Asta. Together, they ascended the stairs, Noelle on his right and Asta on his left. At the top, the hallway split into three directions: the girls' rooms on the right (heavily booby-trapped, naturally), Yami's quarters straight ahead, and the boys' rooms on the left.
As Noelle turned toward the left, Sebastian gently placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.
"Father?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sebastian offered a soft smile and pointed toward her room. "Thank you for helping me, but I can take it from here. Asta will show me the way."
Noelle opened her mouth to protest. "But—"
"No buts," Sebastian interrupted, shaking his head. "You might have an early mission tomorrow." Probably a dungeon raid if the timeline hasn't changed, he thought. "It's late. You need to get some rest."
"Oh… okay." Noelle nodded reluctantly, trying to mask her disappointment. She'd hoped to talk to her father a bit more, but noticing the heavy bags under his eyes, she decided to let it go.
Just as she turned to head to her room, Sebastian pulled her into a warm embrace, wrapping his arms around her securely.
"Good night, Noelle," he murmured softly.
Her face turned pink as she nodded against his chest. "Mm-hmm. Good night."
After a moment, she pulled back and, with a glance at Asta, stammered, "G-good n-night, Bakasta."
Before Asta could respond, Noelle spun around and darted to her room, her footsteps quick and light. Watching her retreat, Asta blushed and mumbled softly, "Good night."
Sebastian turned his gaze to Asta, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. He coughed deliberately, drawing the boy's attention.
"Well? Are you going to show me to my room, or…?"
"Oh, right!" Asta slapped his cheeks, as if to wake himself up, and grinned. "Right this way, Mister Silva!"
Sebastian followed Asta down the hall, stopping at the fourth room on the right. Asta opened the wooden door, revealing a small cobblestone room. Despite its dingy appearance, it was spotless, recently cleaned with an evident attention to detail.
The bed was neatly fitted with a clean white mattress cover. A square wooden desk stood in the corner, paired with a matching chair and a lantern.
Clearing his throat nervously, Asta said, "We did the best we could, Mister Silva. I know this is probably a huge step down from the fancy things you're used to, but trust me—oof!"
Asta's sentence was cut short as Sebastian grabbed him by the collar and tossed him inside. The door closed behind them with a heavy thud.
Sebastian loomed over Asta, who was sprawled on the ground, looking up in bewilderment.
"Sit," Sebastian commanded coolly, pointing to the bed.
Asta gulped and scrambled to sit on the edge of the bed, his posture tense.
Nodding with indifference, Sebastian pulled the chair away from the desk, spun it around, and sat facing Asta. He paused, noting with surprise the unexpected comfort of the chair. It was the same with the sofa chairs downstairs.
Dammit, he thought, frustrated. Why do the Black Bulls have comfier furniture than royalty?
For a fleeting moment, Sebastian wanted to cry.
Sebastian shot Asta a dry look as he settled into the chair, crossing one leg over the other and propping his chin on his hands. "Do you know why I want to talk to you?"
Asta, sitting stiffly on the bed like a soldier at attention, nodded. "About Noelle?"
Sebastian nodded, relieved that Asta wasn't feigning ignorance or—worse—completely clueless.
"Let's not beat around the bush," Sebastian began, his expression hard. "Although you promised Noelle to cherish her and admitted to being selfish, at the end of the day, you're still using her. And even if she's okay with it, I'm not pleased. At all."
Asta nodded solemnly, not daring to argue. He knew he had no right to.
Sebastian continued, his tone sharp. "From her reaction, it's clear that Noelle hasn't given you a straight answer, but it's safe to say her answer would eventually be yes."
Asta's eyes widened, his heart pounding.
Sebastian leaned forward, pointing directly at him. "I need you to promise me this: Noelle will always come before your dream. If pursuing your dream causes her trouble or puts her in danger, no matter how much it means to you, you will give it up. Understood?"
For a moment, Asta froze, but then he nodded with conviction. To him, family and friends always came first. If it ever came down to a choice, and Noelle was his partner, he would choose her over his dream without hesitation.
"Good." Sebastian nodded in approval. "Now, another thing we need to make clear: Noelle isn't marrying you. You, a magicless, nameless peasant, are marrying her. Into House Silva—royalty. That means you'll follow the rules of our house. Got it?"
Asta nodded again, understanding the weight of what that meant. If he wanted to become the True King, marrying Noelle and becoming a Silva would grant him a crucial stepping stone. Naturally, being a Silva meant following Silva rules.
Sebastian stretched his neck before elaborating. "I'll have all the rules sent to you later to memorize, but for now, there's one big rule you need to remember."
"What is it?" Asta asked, leaning forward, his curiosity piqued.
Sebastian poked Asta's chest firmly. "No marriage until you're 21."
Asta blinked, his brows furrowed in confusion. To him, if two people loved each other, marriage was the natural next step. Why would they have to wait until 21?
"Why?" he asked, unable to hold back his question.
Sebastian leaned back in his chair, expecting it. "The Clover Kingdom's laws recognize adulthood at 14, so commoners can marry at that age. But it's different for nobles."
"How so?" Asta tilted his head in confusion.
Sebastian exhaled and responded with a question of his own. "Remember how I said noblewomen are often treated as inferior, with fewer responsibilities and freedoms?"
Asta nodded, his expression grim.
"Exactly. Because of that imbalance, many traditionalist noble families marry off their daughters as soon as they turn 14. House Silva, while traditional, is also exceptionally picky. As royalty, we don't marry for status; others marry us for it. That means we can afford to take our time."
Asta nodded slowly, still processing. "So that's why Noelle wasn't married off?"
"Exactly," Sebastian replied. "We screen suitors carefully to protect the house from ill intentions. That's why Noelle and her siblings remain single, despite being highly sought after."
"Oh," Asta murmured. "But what does that have to do with waiting until 21?"
Sebastian sighed. "In noble society, men aren't considered 'adults' until 21, which is when they inherit their titles and responsibilities. If you were to marry Noelle now, despite being adults by commoner standards, you'd be seen as a mere boy, and Noelle as a woman. How do you think the nobles would react to that?"
"Not good," Asta muttered, shaking his head.
"Exactly." Sebastian nodded. "And as a statusless orphan and peasant, your marriage to Noelle would damage her reputation, already strained by her struggles with magic. She'd be seen as someone taking advantage of someone who had nothing to offer her in return."
"That's just wrong!" Asta clenched his fists, his voice laced with frustration.
"It is," Sebastian agreed. "But it's reality. My wife, Acier, and I married at 17. She faced emotional abuse and slander because of it. I don't want Noelle to endure the same pain her mother did."
Asta's eyes widened in understanding, his breath hitching. "Alright, I understand. No marriage until I'm 21."
Sebastian nodded, satisfied. "Good. While marriage is off the table for now, if Noelle agrees, you can get engaged and be recognized as lovers. You'll have my full support on that."
Asta blushed deeply, his voice soft as he replied, "Thank you."
Sebastian felt a quiet sense of relief as Asta's demeanor reflected anything but disappointment. His brief moment of calm was interrupted when Asta hesitantly spoke.
"Uh… Mister Silva?"
Sebastian hummed, fixing Asta with a sharp gaze. The boy fidgeted, awkwardly scratching his cheek before clenching his fists.
"Is it okay if I… meet your wife one day?" Asta asked, his voice tinged with nervousness.
Sebastian's expression didn't change. "Not possible," he said curtly.
Asta froze, stiff as a board, as Sebastian continued in a matter-of-fact tone. "It's impossible to meet the dead."
Asta's eyes widened, his mouth falling open in shock. Sebastian let the moment hang before giving a soft, bittersweet smile.
"However, if you ever find yourself in the noble realm, you can visit Castle Silva to pay your respects at her grave. I think she'd appreciate that."
Asta nodded quickly, almost tripping over his words. "Of course! I'll bring flowers—"
"Lavenders," Sebastian interjected gently. "And hyacinths. They were her favorites."
"Okay…" Asta's voice trailed off as he nodded again.
Sebastian let the conversation settle for a moment before moving on. "There's something else you need to understand: never, under any circumstances, mention anything about becoming True King in public—especially in the noble realm—before you marry Noelle."
"Huh? Why not?" Asta's confusion was palpable. Shouting his dreams to the world was as natural to him as breathing.
Sebastian's tone turned dark. "Because engagement isn't enough. Until you marry Noelle, you are not royalty. Declaring your intent to claim the throne without royal blood or standing is treason of the highest order."
Asta stiffened as Sebastian leaned forward, his voice icy. "The kingdom would be within its rights to imprison or execute you on the spot. And they wouldn't hesitate. The nobility, especially House Kira, will see you as a threat to their power and make an example of you."
Asta swallowed hard, his fists trembling as Sebastian continued. "And if Noelle is engaged to you when this happens? She'll be implicated too. The entire House Silva could be accused of treason for plotting to put an outsider on the throne."
Asta's face hardened, and he nodded resolutely. "Got it. No saying anything about becoming King or True King!"
After a pause, Asta bit his lip, frustration creeping into his voice. "Does that mean I'm supposed to waste the next six years of my life doing nothing?"
He clenched his fists tightly, the thought of waiting six years to pursue his dream gnawing at him. Asta wanted to change the kingdom now—yesterday, if he could.
Sebastian shook his head calmly. "Of course not. Just because you can't publicly chase the throne doesn't mean you can't start preparing for it."
"Huh? How?" Asta blinked in confusion.
Sebastian met Asta's gaze steadily. "Do you think simply being royalty is enough to claim the throne?"
Asta hesitated, and Sebastian pressed on. "That's just the bare minimum. If that were all it took, there'd be thousands of royal candidates. But in any succession war, there are usually no more than five contenders. Do you know why?"
"Why?" Asta's curiosity was piqued.
Sebastian leaned back slightly, his tone firm. "Because not just anyone can be king. Just as not any Magic Knight can become the Wizard King. You need merits and achievements. You must build a faction, amass political power, and become an influential figure who is seen as legitimate. Only then will you even be allowed to compete in a succession war."
Seeing Asta's growing confusion, Sebastian simplified his explanation. "Even if you married Noelle today, do you really think anyone would take you seriously as a contender for the throne? A magicless, peasant nobody?"
Asta frowned but said nothing.
Sebastian continued, his tone pointed. "Even if, by some miracle, they did, and you won, no one in the kingdom knows who you are. Unless you're prepared to rule by force, the people will never recognize or accept you as their king."
Asta's gaze dropped, his mind racing as he absorbed Sebastian's words.
After a brief pause, Asta scratched his head, confusion flickering across his face. "So, what can I do right now?"
Sebastian smiled knowingly. "Two things. First, while you can't aim for that throne just yet, the other one is fair game."
Asta's eyes widened in realization as Sebastian elaborated. "Focus on what's within your reach. Work hard as a Magic Knight. Earn merits and achievements so that when you turn 21 and declare your ambition, no one in the kingdom will be able to dismiss or reject you. By then, you won't be a nobody—you'll be a Grand Magic Knight, a Captain, or even the Wizard King!"
Sebastian's words ignited a fire in Asta's chest as he continued, "If you become the Wizard King, the political influence and authority you'll hold might not be massive in the grand scheme, but it'll go a long way toward increasing your chances of winning the throne. You'll be more than qualified as a royal candidate."
Asta grinned broadly, his excitement renewed. He'd been so focused on becoming King that he'd momentarily forgotten the other half of his dream—becoming Wizard King. That goal was still achievable right now, and he could openly pursue it.
With a determined nod, Asta said, "Alright! And what's the second thing?"
Sebastian's smile faded, his tone turning serious. "Asta, I'm going to be blunt with you. Where do you think you'll face the most resistance when you try to become King?"
Asta paused, scratching his head as he mulled over the question. Finally, he replied, "My status? Because I'm a peasant?"
Sebastian nodded approvingly. "Exactly. And why do you think that is?"
Asta scratched his cheek, exhaling softly. "Because… peasants are poor, 'dirty,' nobodies, and—"
"Nope." Sebastian cut him off with a firm shake of his head. "Yes, you'll face discrimination for those reasons, but that's not the core issue. Peasants can become commoners, and commoners can rise to nobility. Wealth and fame can be earned. The real issue is something deeper."
"Then what is it?" Asta asked, his brow furrowed.
"It's dignity," Sebastian said sharply, his words making Asta flinch. "The so-called 'divine right' to rule. The kingdom has instilled in its people the belief that royals are superior because of their mana. Even without actively using their power, we carry ourselves with dignity, a regal presence that commands respect—something you currently lack. And do you know where that presence comes from?"
Asta shook his head, his confusion plain.
"It's education," Sebastian said, tapping his temple. "From the moment we can walk, nobility and royalty are trained in etiquette, decorum, and how to conduct themselves. To become a monarch is to become the face of our nation. Do you think the Clover Kingdom would ever accept a wild, uncultured 'country bumpkin' like you on the throne?"
Sebastian's words cut deep, but Asta nodded, listening intently.
"Even if you dressed in the finest clothes, people would see through your roots," Sebastian continued. "They'd see the raw, unpolished boy underneath, and it would make the Clover Kingdom a laughingstock. No one would tolerate you being the cause of such disgrace. Do you understand?"
Asta nodded solemnly. "So I need… an education?"
"Exactly!" Sebastian pointed at him, his voice firm. "If you're truly serious about becoming King, you need to learn. Are you ready for that commitment, Asta?"
Asta's fists clenched with determination, his voice ringing with conviction. "Yeah! I'm ready!"
Sebastian's gaze sharpened as he laid out his challenge. "Are you ready to put in grueling hours learning things as simple as walking, eating, talking, and disarming conversations? To catch up on your lacking education in writing, reading, arithmetic, politics, history, and much more?"
Asta stiffened as Sebastian continued, his voice unwavering. "Are you ready for sleepless nights learning how to make informed decisions that could sway this nation's economy? To ensure that when you cut taxes here or raise them there, you're not just toying with people's lives?"
"Are you ready to secure alliances, properly appeal to this kingdom's nobility, fight political battles without needless bloodshed, and learn when to be lenient and when to be heavy-handed?"
Sebastian leaned forward, his voice cutting like steel. "Are you prepared to master all of this so you don't run this kingdom into the ground—or worse, end up as nothing more than a puppet, like the one sitting on the throne now?"
The weight of Sebastian's words struck Asta like a hammer. His fists clenched as the enormity of his dreams sank in. Being King, being Wizard King, being the True King—it was all far more than he'd envisioned.
It wasn't just about fulfilling his dream of building a nation without prejudice. Getting there meant navigating countless critical decisions, any one of which could destroy the kingdom. Even if he succeeded, one bad choice could undo it all.
For the first time, Asta faced the harsh truth—he wasn't ready. He wasn't worthy of the thrones he aspired to. Not yet.
Among the peasants in Hage, Asta was at the bottom of his class. In their tiny schoolroom, his grades were abysmal. Sister Lily, a former noble, often reminded him that even the limited education they received in Hage was nothing compared to what nobles like her had growing up.
Even Yuno, who excelled in everything, struggled with the advanced challenges Sister Lily would occasionally present to him. And the hurdles Asta faced now made those struggles look trivial.
The realization stung, but Asta admitted the truth to himself: I'm an idiot.
Still, he bit his lip, forcing himself to meet Sebastian's gaze. With determination blazing in his eyes, he nodded. "I'm ready, Mister Silva! I'll do whatever it takes!"
Sebastian gave a nod of approval. "Good. Be prepared to receive a package soon. It'll contain a decade's worth of material you'll need to cram into just six years—less, considering your duties as a Magic Knight."
Asta swallowed hard, anxiety curling in his stomach. He hated studying, but if this was the price for his dream, he'd push past his limits. He wouldn't let himself act recklessly or put Noelle and others through unnecessary trouble.
Sebastian stretched his neck and added, "I'll send you another magic communication device, like Noelle's. If you ever need guidance, reach out. I'll give you the tips you need."
Asta blinked in surprise before bowing deeply. "Thank you, Mister Silva. For everything."
He'd always thought Captain Yami was the only person who believed in him enough to support his dreams. But in just a few days, he'd met someone else who saw his potential and chose to help him rise.
A warm feeling spread through Asta's chest as he suddenly felt a hand ruffle his hair. He looked up, wide-eyed, to see Sebastian's face softening, though he scratched his cheek awkwardly.
"When Noelle says yes," Sebastian said, his voice quieter, "you can call me Dad."
Asta froze, his pupils dilating. His cheeks turned crimson as he lowered his head, overwhelmed by a surge of emotion. With a shy but firm nod, he murmured, "Mm-hmm."
The warmth in his chest grew, filling him with a new sense of resolve. Asta wasn't just chasing his dream anymore—he was fighting for the trust and faith others had placed in him. And he'd make sure he never let them down.
Asta left the room a few minutes later, closing the door softly behind him and leaving Sebastian alone in the dimly lit space. With a weary sigh, Sebastian extinguished the fire in the lamp, letting the room fall into darkness. He lay down on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, and felt a wave of frustration crash over him.
He wanted to cry at the sheer unfairness of it all.
Here he was, forced to help the thief who was brazenly stealing his daughter's heart. He had to guide the boy in pursuing an audacious dream—not because he wanted to, but because it was the only way to ensure Noelle's safety and happiness.
Retirement? That was a distant memory. To support Asta, he'd have to dive back into the tangled web of the royal courts, subtly maneuvering to bolster House Silva's political power. Only then could Asta stand a real chance of realizing his dream.
And even if Asta failed, Sebastian had to make sure House Silva was strong enough to shield him from execution. Because failure wouldn't just be a loss of ambition; it would paint a target on Asta's back—and by extension, on Noelle and the rest of their family.
Sebastian clenched his fists at the thought. There were too many scenarios in the future he couldn't ignore. Turning a blind eye, pretending things would work out because they always seemed to in the end, wasn't an option. He'd have to be active behind the scenes, even if it meant giving up what little peace he'd earned.
And yet, all of that—every bit of it—was acceptable.
The real injustice, the one that grated at him most in this moment, was something far pettier.
I'm royalty, for god's sake. Why isn't my mattress half as comfortable as this?!
Sebastian sank further into the plush bedding, glaring up at the ceiling as though it had personally wronged him. This bed was heaven. The kind of comfort he'd never experienced in all his years of privilege and opulence.
He let out a frustrated groan, torn between indignation and temptation.
If no one's looking... maybe I can take this bed home with me.
The thought lingered in his mind as his eyelids grew heavy, the warmth of the mattress coaxing him into sleep. Tomorrow's battles could wait. Tonight, at least, he'd enjoy this stolen moment of comfort.