Spica is indulged.

"Hey, Spica! Let's go on a long ride now! I heard the hill beyond the western district has turned into a flower field!"

Fret, the brother immediately above her, barged into Spica's room without knocking.

"Fret, at least knock. What if Spica imitates you? Besides, today Spica is going to the opera with me."

Alex, the second eldest brother, said this.

"I would never do such a thing."

The girl puffed her cheeks prettily and placed her hands on her hips, glancing at the two of them with a small, playful scowl.

Turning slightly toward Fret, she made a face of mild embarrassment as she continued.

"Fret Elder, today I have an appointment with Alex Elder. Can it not wait until tomorrow? Alex Elder says he is feeling well today!"

Fret's eyes, already downturned, drooped further at the sight of his younger sister clasping her hands together before her chest, gazing up at him with pleading eyes.

Above all, if the reason her younger brother’s worsening condition is the plea of her sister, then there is nothing to be done.

Monaza’s disease gradually steals away one’s sight and sacred power—the mystical force known elsewhere as magic or qi. There is no cure save for a transplant of the Sacred Origin, the organ believed to be the source of sacred power, or a Sacred Mark, a rare fusion of sacred core and bodily cells appearing in only one in ten thousand individuals, manifesting as such things as a magical eye or claw. Yet the Sacred Origin is a vital organ, directly tied to life, and the Sacred Mark occurs so infrequently that the number of potential donors is vanishingly small.

Above all, while the disease does not take life itself, it robs one of sacred power, rendering the afflicted ineligible for noble status. It is this very exclusion that makes donors so scarce.

Fret, thinking that such a dreadful illness would soon rob him of even the chance to see Spica’s grown form, felt inclined to grant her this one day’s indulgence.

“Alright, I understand. But tomorrow, I’m taking you out—no excuses!”

With that, he ruffled Spica’s hair, his hand moving over her head, which was nearly half a head shorter than his.

“Elder Brother, it hurts! I am a lady, you know! Treat me with a little more ladylike respect, please.” Spica sighed, her tone one of long-suffering amusement. Yet no matter how many times she said it, he continued to tousle her hair.

Tap tap.

The small room echoed with three quiet laughs when a knock came at the door. After a pause, a maid announced, “Lord Cain has arrived.” Spica, the room’s mistress, gave word to admit him. In stepped her eldest brother, dressed in the school uniform.

“Ah, I heard everyone was here with Spica, so I hurried over. Spica, this is a gift for you. You should eat it later. It’s said to be the latest sensation in the capital. If you like it, I’ll buy the whole shop for you.”

Spica flinched slightly at her elder brother’s casual delivery of something so unnerving. “Cain Elder, thank you. But I must decline the shop. You’ve already given me two confectionery shops, haven’t you?” she replied, pressing her objection.

“I don’t see you as I do the others. This is also my way of making amends for not visiting often. Please accept it. After all, the more personal wealth one has, the better.”

He said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Cain Elder, that’s unfair! I was going to give her that confectionery myself!” Fret stamped his foot, pointing at his elder brother.

“What’s unfair about it? It’s the latest trend—first come, first served.” Cain spoke with a voice thick with superiority, scoffing almost imperceptibly through his nose.

“No, Elder Brother, you’re the one being unfair. I’m no good at guessing games, unlike the two of you—yet now you’ve gone and brought something sweet that doesn’t even require guessing!” Alex spoke with a faint pout, yet beneath the tone lingered a quiet strength, as if using his own weakness to plant guilt.

“Ugh, Elder Brothers! Please stop already.”

Such a sweet reprimand was always the same.

The daily life of the Count of Emmental was always like this.

Though they bickered endlessly, these brothers only wished to spoil their sister. Their playful squabbles over gifts were not real fights, but contests to be her favorite—commonplace, everyday affairs. And they often went out together, not for any grand purpose, but to show off their closeness, their pride in their beloved younger sister.

The three of them had long believed it was wrong that their younger sister was so endearing.

Among the male siblings, a single flower had bloomed slightly ahead of its time. It would have been odd if it had not drawn the attention of butterflies and bees.

And yet, the girl herself—whether by nature or by quiet grace—had grown into a gentle, kind, and naturally honest young woman.

Though those around her feared that such excessive indulgence might raise her into a selfish child, the girl’s heart remained pure, as if their concerns had been entirely unfounded.

She accepted small gifts with straightforward grace, but when they seemed excessive, she hesitated, pondering how best to refuse. Even this careful consideration only deepened the brothers’ affection, their protective devotion a quiet, tender obsession.

She had once, with her brothers, thrashed three noble youths who had mocked her, saying, “Even if she is your sister, she is but an adopted child—how can you cherish someone so utterly unknown?” Her eldest brother, Cain, had cast a curse through the application of magic; her second brother, Alex, had spread ill reports about the youths among the ladyfolk of the salon; and her youngest brother, Fret, had beaten them senseless with his bare hands.

The youths, flustered and humiliated, had their words exposed to their parents; their reputations tarnished in the salon; their marriage proposals withdrawn. They had stood on the brink of being disowned when they learned, from their brothers’ tale told as a heroic deed, of Spica’s role in their punishment—and only then did they realize their own downfall. The shame on their faces had been plain to see. After that, Spica was never allowed to meet them again.

Yet she loved her brothers deeply—those who indulged her with kindness, even when their affection felt heavy, yet was undeniably love.