Anastasia slowly woke up to the feeling of being carried. Lilia held her gently, cradling her like a baby.

  It was still unnerving to be coddled like this. After years of maintaining the dignity of a solemn grand sage, being treated like a fragile child was nothing short of humiliating. But... it wasn’t too bad. Lilia seemed content, and Anastasia supposed she could tolerate it.

  But I’ll remember this, Lilia… She mentally noted it down on her ever-growing revenge list. One day, she would turn the tables—she would carry Lilia like a child and sing children’s songs to her. Sweet, embarrassing revenge.

  That was for ter. For now…

  She shifted slightly in Lilia’s arms, blinking her eyes open dramatically. "Ahh, fair maiden, it is my utmost pleasure to awaken and have your lovely face be the first sight that graces my vision," she said smoothly, fshing a soft smile.

  Lilia sighed. "Lady Anastasia, you shouldn’t imitate the people from storybooks when you speak," she chided gently.

  Anastasia huffed, tilting her chin up. "Nay, I adopt this speech because it is only befitting of my noble stature. Worry not, dear Lilia, for I still comprehend your common speech just fine," she said, smirking.

  Lilia could only sigh again. Despite not being raised among nobles, Anastasia's beauty and attitude seemed to instinctively mimic that of a refined aristocrat.

  It had only been three months since Zenith and Lilia began teaching Anastasia how to read, and she had quickly become enamored with storybooks. But to think that this was the result? Lilia wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a disaster in disguise.

  Anastasia sighed dramatically, looking around the room. "Where are my father and mother? I can’t stand this any longer, my dear Lilia," she decred, pcing a hand over her chest as if burdened by great sorrow. "I have come to the conclusion that I must succeed in swordsmanship, for I shall smite my father for being too showy during training! In my esteemed opinion, swordsmanship is not about fshiness but might!"

  She huffed, then extended her arms grandly toward Lilia, signaling to be put down. Lilia, suppressing the urge to sigh again, complied and guided her toward the kitchen, where Paul and Zenith were seated.

  Upon entering, Anastasia immediately raised her voice. "Greetings, Father and Mother! I have come to bargain—if you allow me to practice swordsmanship, I shall ensure that I best Father sooner rather than ter!" She crossed her arms, standing as tall as her small frame allowed, looking immensely proud of herself.

  Paul felt a surge of pride. Anastasia reminded him of himself when he was younger—passionate and determined to defeat his father.

  "Yosh! Let's start your training now, Anastasia!" he decred, already fired up.

  But before he could even stand, CLAMP.

  Zenith’s hand tched onto his shoulder with the force of an iron cw, effectively pinning him to his seat. Paul paled slightly, unable to move.

  Zenith turned her attention to Anastasia, her voice soft but firm. “Dear, you’re quite young to start swordsmanship. Training can be painful, and I don’t want you to get hurt,” she said gently, hoping to make Anastasia reconsider.

  Anastasia, however, only looked more determined. “Mother, can’t you see? I am much stronger than I appear! Pain does not scare me!” she decred with unwavering resolve.

  She paused.

  A mischievous thought crossed her mind.

  She smirked.

  "Mother," she began dramatically, "*I know you love Father so much that even on nights when you muffled your pain from his abuse, you still wake up looking fine, wearing a smile. But worry not, for I swear on my honor—I will free you from his grasp!"

  Silence.

  Zenith and Paul both choked on air at the same time. Paul filed slightly in his seat, sputtering incoherently. Zenith’s face twitched between shock, embarrassment, and sheer disbelief.

  Lilia, meanwhile, was giving them both a long, displeased stare.

  To think that Anastasia had woken up because of their nightly… activities.

  She would definitely be having a talk with these so-called parents. Their recklessness was actively stunting Anastasia’s growth.

  Paul frantically tried to expin the sugar-coated truth to Anastasia, but she simply held out her hand, her expression fearless and unwavering.

  "Silence!" she decred, her voice commanding. "I will not hear the words of the perpetrator! You have but one job—to train me in swordsmanship! And I shall prove to you that you do not know how to use your own sword!"

  Paul's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, unable to counter her final verdict.

  Zenith sighed, rubbing her temples. "I just have to agree, don’t I?" she muttered. Looking at her determined daughter, she relented. "Fine, dearie. You seem committed enough."

  Hearing this, Paul instantly perked up, freed from Zenith’s iron grip. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he dramatically threw his arms open.

  "Yes! Let’s go, my little princess!" he decred. "I, the Demon Lord, shall teach you swordsmanship and prove why you have no chance of defeating me! Mwahahaha!"

  Paul, fully embracing Anastasia’s role-py, took on the part of the vilin with exaggerated glee.

  Anastasia huffed, crossing her arms. "This shall be the beginning of your downfall, vile demon!"

  With that, she hugged Zenith tightly before chasing after Paul, who had already marched outside, ready to begin their battle.

  From the second floor, Rudeus peeked down, watching the scene unfold.

  Anastasia, despite being an undeniable chuuni, was still being showered with love by Paul and Zenith.

  He clenched his fists.

  Why?

  She could act like a dramatic protagonist straight out of a storybook, and yet Paul treated her like a prodigy. Zenith indulged her whims. Even Lilia—Lilia, the ever-distant maid—let Anastasia cling to her chest without a care.

  Wait—wrong focus!

  Shaking his head furiously, Rudeus snapped himself out of that particur train of thought.

  If he wanted the same level of affection, the answer was clear—he had to prove himself.

  If I show them that I’m a master of magic, then…

  Paul and Zenith would finally praise him. Lilia would be impressed. And most importantly… Anastasia would have no choice but to beg me to teach her magic!

  Imagining such a scene—Anastasia humbly kneeling before him, pleading for lessons—Rudeus felt a fire ignite in his chest.

  With renewed determination, he turned away from the window and continued honing his magic in secret.