Alex’s perspective A New Sister

It began with an abrupt message.

Upon learning that their kidnapped daughter had been found, their parents had traveled abroad to bring her home.

To be honest, after having reached adulthood years ago, I felt only confusion.

I had long believed the true sister had died long ago, and I was uncertain whether I, with my vision fading day by day, could truly recognize her as such.

All my brothers seemed to rejoice uniformly.

Even Spica, beside her mother who had found her real daughter, wept with joy.

Afraid that others would see I could not rejoice openly, I retreated into work for a time.

Yet it turned out to be unnecessary.

At our first meeting, I felt an instinctive sense of resemblance.

Wanting to see her face more clearly, I asked, and she drew so near that our noses nearly touched.

I was honestly startled, yet strangely, I felt no aversion.

I let out a laugh, startled by how absurd it all was. Her faint violet eyes reminded me, in some indefinable way, of my mother.

I felt, vaguely, that this child must be my younger sister.

I felt a faint discomfort at how my parents treated Spica afterward, but I quieted it—travel had been long, and burdens had weighed heavily upon them.

More pressing was Stella’s illness. I waited until the examination concluded, then went to visit her.

The room had once belonged to Spica. Though its master had changed, it welcomed me without hesitation.

“Why, it’s Alex Elder! What brings you here?”

Stella said, light and carefree.

“What brings me here? I came to see you, since I heard you were unwell.”

I said, handing her a bouquet of flowers.

She smiled, murmuring, “Thank you!”—as if ready to embrace me.

I was invited inside. I took my usual seat at the circular table by the window.

“Alex Elder is said to have weak eyesight, yet you manage your life as if nothing were amiss!” she remarked, surprised.

“Ah, my sight hasn’t fully vanished yet, so just think of me as someone with very poor vision. Besides, I’ve lived here for so long that I can move about nearly without trouble.”

“Is that so? Oh— I’m sorry if I offended you! I’ve just been scolded by Mother for speaking without thinking… Apparently, it’s not befitting a noble, so I must study up on proper conduct from now on.”

Stella had somehow taken a seat across from me, and she exhaled with a faint, resigned air.

I gave a wry smile and let it pass. There was no changing the fact that I was raised among commoners…

"Still, nobles are such a bother… And illness, too! The doctor said I’d be fully healed after just a few applications of healing magic, unlike my brother. But somehow, they treat me with pity… When I was a commoner, healing magic was impossibly expensive—I had to give up on it entirely. Now that I’m noble, I can receive it right away, and it feels like luck. But I don’t want pity or sympathy! My brother would understand, wouldn’t he? He’d understand how I feel!"

I could not answer immediately. I kept turning over Stella’s blunt honesty in my mind.

Indeed. I, too, did not want pity or sympathy. I had long since resigned myself to being ill. That was when I realized what I truly sought: not sympathy, but understanding.

…That’s right… Yes, that’s it… What we truly seek is not pity. Ah, thank you for showing me this feeling, Stella.

With that, Stella offered a faint smile—this time, a wry one, as if to say, *How difficult it must be to be a noble, to never be able to be truly honest.*

That evening, Spica arrived late for dinner.

Since she had never missed the usual time before, Stella spoke with a quiet frown. “I went to her room before coming here, but she didn’t answer… I used her room… Did she grow to dislike me?”

Then, after a pause, she added with a light laugh, “I’m not bothered by it, really! So don’t scold Spica, alright… Though I suppose she’d be fine even if I didn’t say anything.”

Spica had never been late for dinner before.

She had never been so openly defiant before—Spica, who had always been so composed. Yet even now, she seemed to have grown into something more mature, while still bearing the traces of childishness. A new realization, quiet and certain.

After a moment, a hesitant knock echoed from the other side of the door.

The laughter had been loud enough that the other family members might have missed it. I considered calling out to open the door when, once more, a knock came—slightly louder than before.

It was Fret who went to answer. His tone was sharper than usual, almost accusatory.

Still, as a knight, he could not ignore Stella’s sorrow. Even if he spoke with sharpness, his duty remained clear.

Though he spoke as he did, Fret was still a knight. He had left his usual seat and taken position beside Stella, guarding her as always.

And Spica—she was seated beside me. A small, quiet joy. She had always sat across from me before. But from now on, this would be her place.

The meal resumed.

At the precise moment the fish course was served, Spica slid a knife for fish across the table. A gesture of consideration, perhaps, to make it easier to reach—but it grated on him all the same. Her quiet attentiveness, the way she had always offered such subtle support during past dinners, now felt like pity, like condescension.

“Don’t treat me like a sickly child,” he said, snatching the utensil from her.

Spica looked genuinely flustered, but quickly composed herself and resumed eating.

A sharp pang struck his chest. Still, he reminded himself that this was necessary—no more of that suffocating kindness, no more of that unspoken sorrow he did not wish to bear.

Afterward, Spica seemed sullen, and her rapport with Stella remained distant.

And then, about a month after Stella had arrived, she left home to begin living in the dormitory.

It is regrettable that her visits home have dwindled to scarcely three times a month, yet I find it endearing that her life at the academy thrives. Perhaps I feel this more keenly because I never attended the academy myself.

Since Stella arrived at the manor, the entire family has devoted themselves to teaching her the manners and refinement befitting a noble. To judge by her recent demeanor, her movements have grown far more graceful since her arrival here.

My responsibility lies in music and the cultivation of noble connections, within the realm of the arts.

As part of this, I have found myself accompanying Stella to theaters and salons with increasing frequency.

In the social circles of the capital, Stella has become known as the miraculous young lady. She has been approached by others, and her face has begun to be recognized.

Though her studies progress, she still bears the sensibilities of a commoner—unyielding, persistent, always in need of guidance.

She remains someone I must support.

When Stella had become familiar enough at the salons to be recognized by name, a significant task was entrusted to me.

I was entrusted with overseeing the production and composing the music for an opera titled *The Miracle Heiress*, to be staged at the Imperial Theatre.

I accepted without hesitation. I had no doubt that no one was more suited than myself.

My time spent with Stella grew even greater than before. I crafted the script by listening to her origins from her own lips, learning her thoughts, coming to know her more deeply.

At times, Spica invited me to attend performances or viewing gatherings, but I had to decline due to prior commitments with Stella or my duties. When I invited her to make up for it, she would often say she wished to go to Stella instead, and Spica would yield without complaint.

I felt her growth in the way she reached out to me, offering me to go with her several times, saying I had already gone with her before—how different she was from only a short while ago, when she had sulked and left home, causing her family distress.

Half a year had passed since Stella arrived, and it was decided to enroll her in the academy. A gift of her own perseverance and her family’s cooperation. And, I believe, also due to the support of the opera I orchestrated—“The Miracle Heiress.”

The opera was met with great acclaim, with performances already scheduled not only at the Imperial Theatre but also in provincial theatres.

That it has received high praise from both nobility and commoners alike speaks to its widespread acceptance.

Let us return to the matter of Stella’s enrollment.

Even after Stella’s enrollment was confirmed, the fact that her noble education remained incomplete was taken into account, and thus a special arrangement was made. She would enter as a fourth-year student, yet attend lectures equivalent to those of a first-year, with instruction provided one-on-one by a tutor. Her father said this was the Emperor’s directive. Originally, she had been meant to enroll next year, but political currents appear to have shifted. I am unfamiliar with the intricacies of noble politics, so I learned the details only afterward, but I suppose the decision makes sense when considering the support she draws from the common people.