Born into a Baron family, I was never truly accepted among the nobility. Those of higher rank constantly reminded me of my place, their status outweighing mine in every gathering, every conversation.
Growing up, my family could only afford to support my basic education.
Prestigious institutions like Selia Academy were far beyond our reach. Instead, I enrolled in a lesser noble academy, where discrimination still lingered-but I endured it.
I graduated early, devoted myself to the study of magic, and by the age of twenty-five, I became a private tutor.
When I first began teaching, I believed it would be simple.
I was wrong.
Most noble children were spoiled and arrogant-no different from the peers who once looked down on me.
Many dismissed my authority the moment they learned my title.
Some refused to think for themselves, hiding behind their family name instead of cultivating their minds.
Over time, I learned how to handle such children. Patience. Pressure. Proper discipline.
By the time I reached thirty, I had grown accustomed to their arrogance.
So when I was invited to tutor the heir of the Viscount House of Valemont, I expected nothing different.
Another prideful child.
Another tedious responsibility.
But I was mistaken.
The boy was quiet. Respectful. Attentive.
He was not exceptionally gifted-at least, not in raw talent.
Yet his discipline was impeccable.
He practiced diligently without being told.
He corrected his own mistakes before I could point them out.
At first, I attributed it to strict upbringing.
However...
There were moments-small ones-that unsettled me.
On occasion, he would anticipate the next concept before I introduced it.
Not guessing. Not lucky.
He would prepare the exact countermeasure to a spell variation I had not yet explained.
When discussing historical magical conflicts, his questions were oddly precise, as if he were searching for confirmation rather than understanding.
Once, during a sparring exercise, he reacted to a feint before I had fully committed to it.
His body moved with hesitation-then correction-like someone recalling a mistake rather than making one.
It may simply be coincidence.
Perhaps he studies ahead in private.
Perhaps I am overthinking.
Yet sometimes, when his expression falls blank in the middle of a lesson, there is a stillness in his eyes that does not belong to a child.
It vanishes quickly.
Replaced by politeness.
Discipline. Obedience.
And so I say nothing.
After all, I am merely his tutor.
Still...
For the first time in years, teaching does not feel routine.
It feels as though I am observing something quietly unfolding.
Whether it is talent-
-or something else entirely-
I cannot yet say.