“So, my daughter…” Paul began with a wide grin, arms crossed like a proud dad fishing for more drama. “Any other summons you’ve been hiding? Preferably another cute girl?”

  Anastasia puffed out her chest with pride. “Indeed, I have one more. But I must admit… I’m not yet strong enough to discipline this one properly.”

  Ange tensed. “W-wait! I never said that!” she jumped in quickly, waving her arms. “Big Sister Velvyr is not some wild beast! She’s a proud and fierce knight—one who protects her friends and loved ones with her life!”

  Her voice was firm, her pride unmistakable.

  Anastasia stayed quiet, her gaze distant. Protect, huh…The thought lingered like a shadow on her heart.

  In the end, she never managed to protect anyone… not even herself.

  Her lips twitched into something unreadable. Being weak is a sin. I still believe that. Which is why… I must reach even greater heights. Not for glory—but to protect those I still have.

  She gnced at her parents.

  Should I read their fates?The thought crossed her mind, cold and tempting.No… I don’t want to know. Not yet. Let me believe—for once—that this life might be normal.

  Anastasia’s eyes lowered… then narrowed.

  “Besides,” she added bluntly, “you’re all in the book, aren’t you? That just means she failed, didn’t she?”

  Ange flinched. Her breath caught in her throat. Her knuckles turned white around her teacup.Wistoria looked down at the floor, silently biting the inside of her lip to stay composed.

  Paul cleared his throat awkwardly. “Ahem… I apologize for my daughter, Ange, Wistoria. She’s… like that sometimes.”

  Zenith, however, said nothing. Her eyes were already locked on Anastasia like a wolf eyeing an unruly cub.

  “Ah—but I’m not wrong—”

  “Enough,” Zenith said coldly, standing up.

  Anastasia froze. Too te.

  Without another word, Zenith grabbed her by the wrist and led her away. Paul and the others sat in tense silence.

  “She’s going to get a personality adjustment,” Paul whispered to Ange.

  Ange nodded solemnly. “She needs it…”

  “So… where will you girls stay?” Paul asked, scratching his cheek with a sheepish grin.

  Ange opened her mouth to answer, but Wistoria beat her to it—her voice calm and elegant. “When we’re desummoned, we return to Anastasia’s mind space. Knowing her…” she gnced sideways with a small smile, “...it’s bound to be anything but dull.”

  Ange nodded slowly. “It’s like living in a constantly shifting magical archive with a fir for drama.”

  “She says that like it’s a bad thing,” Wistoria added with a knowing sigh.

  Paul chuckled, though his smile was tinged with disappointment. “I see… so we won’t get to know you all that well.”

  Before the mood could settle, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

  Anastasia returned—eyes faintly red, but her expression already shifting back into imperious pride. She sniffed once, wiped her cheek… and raised her chin.

  “Ahem. I apologize for my behavior,” she decred with haughty crity. “It was not befitting of someone like me to insult those beneath me.”

  Ange twitched. Is this... an apology or another taunt? Her hand itched to sp the smug off this miniature monarch. Forget priesthood—let me brawl in the name of inner peace.

  Zenith stepped forward with a calm, warning tone. “Anastasia, I hope you understand that a noble must carry dignity. Arrogance toward commoners is not nobility—it’s shameful.”

  Paul gave her a long, knowing side-eye that screamed: That’s rich coming from you.

  “Yes, Mother,” Anastasia replied ftly. Then turned to the two summons. “Be grateful, you two.”

  Then she pointed squarely at Ange. “Especially you. Since you’re a healer, I demand you assist Mother in the clinic.”

  Zenith blinked. “W-wait, Anastasia—she’s a King-rank healer! If word gets out, the entire region will—!”

  “Rex, Mother.” Anastasia waved her hand airily. “She’ll only pretend to be an Advanced Rank healer. Besides, it’s better than her wasting time doing nothing.”

  Ange blinked. You mean better than being trapped with you.

  But… it was true. She’d rather heal strangers than be Anastasia’s emotional stress ball. She nodded obediently. “Understood, Lady Anastasia.”

  Zenith sighed, shoulders slumping. “...Alright. But only small cases, and under my supervision.”

  “Don’t worry, Madam Zenith!” Ange said with forced cheer. “I’ll be a great help to your clinic!”

  Anastasia smirked as if she'd orchestrated a masterstroke. Ange smiled back.

  Both of them were lying through their teeth.

  Anastasia turned her gaze toward Wistoria, who was visibly trying to will herself into the background, praying she'd be tasked far away from her tiny tyrant of a master.

  But Anastasia was already five steps ahead.

  “You’ll be training with me,” she decred, her voice resolute. “I need to practice deflecting spells and coordinating your summoned weapons. I don’t want to hear a no, or any... alternative suggestions.”

  Wistoria froze.

  To her, Anastasia’s presence suddenly seemed… darker. Like a demon loomed behind her, radiating pure authority. The kind that said: “I will ruin your schedule and your spine.”

  Ange took a breath, about to protest—

  But stopped herself.

  If I compin, she’ll swap us, won’t she? Then I’d be stuck with the Overlord.Ange stiffened and decided to provide silent moral support. She gave Wistoria a thumbs-up under the table, mouthing: “Stay strong.”

  Zenith cpped her hands, drawing the attention back. “Lilia, help me with preparing lunch—we’ll need extra portions.”

  Lilia, who had managed to successfully camoufge herself into the wallpaper until now, quietly bowed. “Of course, Madam Zenith.”

  “I’ll help too!” Ange said, shooting up with a speed that made it very obvious she was trying to not be avaible for sword-magic parry training.

  Wistoria tried to rise as well. “Ah, maybe I can—”

  But Anastasia grabbed her wrist like a velvet-coated guillotine.

  “Fret not,” she said sweetly. “We shall proceed to the training grounds posthaste.” Her tone was velvet… ced with doom.

  Wistoria whimpered.

  She turned, her eyes pleading for salvation—to someone, anyone.

  Paul, sitting comfortably in his seat, held the newspaper upside-down and pretended not to notice her stare. The single bead of sweat sliding down his temple betrayed him.

  He was already too deep in survival mode.

  On the far side of the house, Anastasia stood in the training yard, a bck cloth tied tightly over her eyes. Her hands gripped a slim wooden sword, and her expression was deathly serious.

  “I’ve removed my magic sense,” she said firmly, voice calm but fierce. “Now hit me with some low-tier ice magic. I’ll destroy it mid-air.”

  She pointed her sword toward the wind like a knight challenging the heavens.

  “You might think this is a stupid idea,” she continued, “and you'd be absolutely right. But I’m doing it anyway.”

  Wistoria looked horrified. “L-Lady Anastasia, I don’t think this is—”

  “There’s a healer here. Near-death beatings are within the safety margin.”

  Ange, sipping tea just inside the house, heard her name used in that context and nearly spat it out.

  Wistoria hesitated… then reluctantly nodded. “Understood.”

  She raised her hand and summoned a small ice missile—not lethal, but solid enough to sting. The shard hovered beside her for a moment, then shot forward.

  Anastasia swung.

  She missed. By a wide margin.

  The shard smacked into her chest with a dull thud. Like being hit with a flying rock. She winced but didn’t flinch.

  “Again!” she barked.

  Another missile. Another swing. Another miss. A solid hit to her side this time.

  “One more!”

  It wasn’t one more.

  Wistoria lost count after ten.

  Each time, Anastasia stood still, waiting, then struck—too early, too te, or wildly off. Her limbs moved with purpose, but not precision. Her torso was now peppered with red marks, and her footwork grew sloppier with every round.

  Wistoria couldn’t take it anymore.

  She called out to Ange silently through their link: “Come out here. Now.”

  Ange burst outside in a panic and immediately ran to the pale, drenched Anastasia who had colpsed onto her knees, breathing heavily. Ange knelt beside her and began casting healing magic.

  Before Ange could scold her, Anastasia raised a hand and stopped her with a weary, trembling gesture.

  “Silence,” she rasped. “This is the price of weakness. I accept it.”

  She staggered to her feet, sweat dripping down her brow. “Go back inside, Ange. Wistoria. One more round.”

  Ange gawked, open-mouthed. “You’re— You’re insane—!”

  But Wistoria… she stared.

  She didn’t see a spoiled noble or an arrogant child anymore.

  She saw someone who refused to be weak.

  A fool, yes—but a resolute one.

  And if she ever succeeded at this…

  Her potential would be terrifying.

  Wistoria nodded silently. “As you wish.”

  Ange recounted the events with worry in her voice, detailing every reckless swing and stubborn shout. Zenith’s face darkened with concern as she stood from her seat.

  “She could get seriously hurt!” she said, already reaching for the door.

  But Lilia gently stepped forward, pcing a hand on her arm. “Madam Zenith, please… Anastasia’s resolve isn’t an act. If you stop her now, you won’t just bruise her body—her pride will shatter.”

  Zenith hesitated, trembling slightly.

  “How am I supposed to be okay with this?” she whispered. “She’s just a child... my child. Watching her get hurt over and over—how could any mother feel fine about that?”

  Lilia walked silently to the window and pushed it open.

  The sharp air of determination flowed in like heat from a forge.

  Outside, Anastasia stood in the center of the field, blindfolded, bruised, and breathless—her slim wooden sword raised like it weighed nothing.

  Her feet dug into the earth, her posture stiff, yet unbroken.

  And then—

  Crack!

  With perfect timing, she sshed—and shattered the ice missile mid-air. A clean strike. A direct hit.

  Her chest rose and fell, sweat dripping from her chin… but her mouth curled into a smirk of satisfaction.

  Zenith’s breath caught in her throat. A swell of pride bubbled up, warring with her motherly fear.

  Lilia’s voice was soft. “She’s not doing this out of arrogance. She’s proving something… to herself.”

  Zenith closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, there was no more doubt.

  “You’re right,” she said, voice steadier than before. “If this is the path Anastasia’s chosen, I’ll support her—even if I have to watch with my heart in my throat.”

  Ange remained silent at the edge of the room, watching Anastasia from afar.

  That fire in her eyes…

  That painful determination…

  She’d seen it once before.

  Lilium.

  The sixth. The girl who stood tallest while being the weakest. The one who screamed at the heavens and never bowed.

  Ange’s chest tightened.

  It’s the same…

  The chapter closed with Anastasia standing tall in the field, sword lowered at her side, a storm of stubbornness and spirit still smoldering in her soul.