"Let's do this!"
"Yaaaaay!"
In the garden, Eibel, Fea, and I stood side by side. Against all odds, my two-year-old sister had declared she wanted to join our magic training. Mother and Eibel were thrilled.
"Fea's two and already training?! My genius baby! I'm so proud!" Mother gushed, misty-eyed.
To be fair, grasping training concepts at two was genius-level. My own early achievements had set high expectations. Everyone assumed Fea's immense mana meant equal intellect—a flawed logic, but Fea could hold full conversations. Eibel, however, remained wary.
"…She must learn control. Her mana could kill someone if she cries too hard."
Thank the stars Eibel kept suppressing Fea's outbursts.
"Nīta! Fea train with Nīta! Ski!" Fea chirped, clinging to my leg. Her motives were pure: she just wanted to be near me. Eibel's lessons—detailed lectures for me, basic restraint drills for Fea—were merely a backdrop.
"Praise her. It'll motivate her," Eibel whispered.
So I did.
"Fea's so smart! Look at her go!"
"Kyaaa! Fea try hard for Nīta! Ski!"
Praise worked wonders. Fea's progress shocked even Eibel. Once a raging river of unchecked mana, Fea now leaked only a trickle.
"…I thought full control would take a decade. Your sister's a prodigy."
"Heh! My angel's unstoppable!"
"…Pathetic brother."
I wore the title proudly.
By March, Fea could suppress her mana solo. Meanwhile, I prepped for April's 9th-grade exam.
"Pass, and I'll reward you," Eibel said, a rare smile curling her lips.
"Really? What?"
"…A surprise. You'll love it."
My mind raced—Beastfolk plushies? Elf-ear headbands?
Fea shadowed me relentlessly—reading, training, even bathroom breaks (until Mother intervened). During lessons, she practiced writing:
"Fea write 'Nīta'! 'Fea'! Next… 'brother'!"
"So smart! My pride!"
"Fea smart? Nīta ski!"
She'd tackle-hug me mid-lesson, ignoring Eibel's scolds.
"She'll ace the 10th-grade exam at four," Eibel mused.
But Fea's clinginess had downsides.
"Nīta! Only pet Fea! No touch others!"
This became a problem when I asked Eibel:
"Hey… what do beastfolk ears feel like?"
"…Touch without consent is a crime. Especially ears and tails."
"What?! But… fluff…"
My dreams of scritching wolf-ears crumbled.
Then I eyed Eibel's slender elf ears.
"…No." She yanked her hat down, blushing. "Elf ears are… sensitive."
"Alto! Staring's harassment!" Mother chided.
Fea, sensing competition, clung tighter. "Nīta pets Fea! Only Fea!"
Thus, my fate was sealed: no fluff, no elf ears—just Fea's silken silver hair and a lifetime of brotherly devotion.