'Tsz, how embarrassing… I cried like a baby!'

  It was 13. Mirad Vi were heading to the dining hall, having just fiheir first day of lessons.

  After an hour of math, where they reviewed the first ten numbers and then studied up to thirty, they had a short ten-minute break. Then followed two long hours of tial nguage, another break, and finally, philosophy.

  Unfortunately, Mirac hadn't learned anything new beyond ting to thirty. He already had a perfeand of the tial nguage thanks to his innate knowledge, while for philosophy, Vi had only given a simple introdu to the subject, barely toug on the fual cepts.

  'I know I've already said it,' thought Mirac, recalling the schedule card he had struggled to memorize during the two breaks, 'but it's really a demanding program for someone who's supposed to be only 7 years old!'

  This erfectly justifiable, given that, after all, he was the Prince of the Kingdom of Ardorya!

  Preparing to i the throne, rule an immense kingdom, and the armed forces, marategic resources, aiate with other powers… Every aspect of this responsibility required meticulous and advanced preparation!

  Therefore, acc to King Arthur, Mirac had to begin preparing for all of this, even though he was only 7 years old!

  'Isn't he maybe going a bit too fast?'

  Fortunately, though, Mirac—or rather, Vector—was an old soul, used to far morous and demanding studies in his past youth.

  'In parison, it will be a piece of cake! Or at least I hope so...'

  Walking down the long hallway, Mirac felt the cool spring breeze brush against his face, zily drifting in through the half-open windows and carrying with it the distant fragrance of the gardens.

  O the end, they turned left and tinued along a shorter corridor that ran along the short side of the royal pace.

  At the end of this hallway, they desded a staircase of white marble, covered by a red carpet that cascaded majestically down the wide, low steps. Although the staircase iral, it pleted only ourn, bringing them back toward the main corridor.

  'Wait a minute! Now that I think about it… Why would this oddball be having lunch with us?' Miradered to himself, gng at Vi out of the er of his eye.

  However, he was too fasated by the grandeur of the castle to notice Mirac's puzzled gaze.

  'Well, never mind... Most likely, I'll find out ter at lunch,' the young Prince hypothesized, shifting his scrutinizing gaze away from Vi.

  After finishing the stairs and reag the first floor, they arrived at the long main corridor. In the middle of it, a rge staircase split into two separate flights that, with a U-turo the entrance hall.

  From there, reag the dining room was easy: they simply had to take the corridor to the right of the mairance.

  Onside, they found the entire royal family patiently waiting for their arrival. Each member was already in their usual pce, as always.

  King Arthur and Queen Ginevra were seated at opposite ends of the long, perfectly polished white wooden table, which extended parallel to the wall where the double tral door was set.

  Oher side of the table, seves per side: three occupied by Mirac's sisters, all close in age, seated impeccably with their backs straight, their long curly hair framing their carefully groomed faces. Every movement they made was measured, as if even their breathing followed a strict protocol.

  On the opposite side, equally posed but with dark and probing looks, sat King Arthur's three wives.

  o them, occupying the four seats, sat the daughters, each a unique refle of their mother.

  The first wife, a blonde woman with blue eyes, sat beside her eldest daughter, who shared her golden locks and the same icy gaze.

  The sed wife had long brown hair and eyes of the same color, a harmony of shades reflected in the daughter o her, although the tter had her father's light-colored eyes.

  The st of the wives, with a bob of bck hair and pierg blue eyes, sat he Queewo daughters, both with the same hairstyle, dispyed different irises: one blue, the reen, a sign of heterogeneous beauty.

  The stepsisters seemed to be around 10 or 12 years old, while the stepmothers cleverly cealed their age with a beauty that made them appear younger. Even so, Mirac was quite sure they were at least 30 years old.

  Moreover, in all of his new life, Mirac had never ied with any of them! He didn't even know their names, and frankly, he didn't care. More than anything, he was surprised that his father, after seven years, had still not made the decision to divorce them.

  But, among all the wonderful and incredible things he could discover in that new world, this detail ied him very little.

  As soon as they ehe room, the twelve people present turned in unison toward Mirad Vi, staring at them with sharp, scrutinizing gazes.

  The man with gray hair, struck by a sudden panider the weight of those judging eyes, visibly flinched. He hesitated for just a moment before awkwardly bowing, his torso bent in a forced gesture of deference.

  "G-Good afternoon… Your Majesty! A-And to you too, Queen Ginevra! A-And to everyone present in the room. I-I present myself: my n-name-"

  Arthur interrupted him with a gesture of his hand, raising his palm with a disarming elegahat left no room fument.

  "There's no need, Professor Shirkenn," Arthur said calmly, withdrawing his hand to rest it ba the table with a measured gesture. "Everyone has been informed of your presence here at the castle, including my family. As agreed, please take a seat with us."

  The King indicated with a slight wrist motion the empty seat at the er near him, across from his blonde daughter.

  Vi swallowed nervously, then walked toward the chair which, like all the others, was white with a tall backrest. As he sat dowried to pose himself with a dignity that seemed to elude him.

  Mirac observed the se with an expression mixed with embarrassment and disbelief.

  'Did I really cry in front of someone like him?' he thought, barely holding back a sarcastic smile.

  With an exasperated expression, Mirac also moved into the regur room, flooded with sunlight ing through the five rge arched windows on the side opposite the entrance.

  Finally, he took a seat in the er near his mother, while one of his sisters sat on the left, although he hadn't bothered to figure out which of the three it was.

  After a brief moment of waiting, seven maids, including Carmen, and seven butlers entered in an orderly line, serving the meal with elegand precision.

  Each dish was carefully arranged, from the finely decorated a to the mirror-polished silverware, and the aroma of delicious dishes filled the air, pleting the se with a touch of discreet opulence.

  Vi began to sweat coldly when Carmehe pte in front of him, thanking her with stammering and awkward words.

  'I still don't uand why the oddball is here with us...' thought Mirac, as he mashed the mashed potatoes with his silver fork.

  A that moment was asking themselves the same question.

  After all, why was that man sitting with them in the dining room reserved exclusively for members of the Royal family?

  It's well known that those who work at the pace eat in separate areas reserved for the staff.

  So, why make an exception for him?

  Notig the fused looks of his family directed at Vi, the King didn't hesitate for a moment to expin the reason for his prese the table.

  In short, King Arthur was so eager to stay stantly updated on his son's education that he had arranged with Vio attend the royal family's dinners right after lessons, from Monday to Friday.

  And ihere he was!

  During these lunches, Vi was supposed to expin iail how each lesson of the day had gone, highlighting strengths or weaknesses, in order to adjust the program acc to the needs.

  "So..." Arthur added to finish his expnation, cutting his steak in half. "How did it go today, Professor Shirkenn?"

  Meanwhile, Mirac froze. The spoon hung suspended in midair as he was about t a bite of mashed potatoes to his mouth.

  'Shit!'

  The thought that Vi could ret every detail, especially what had happehat m, terrified him!

  If he mentioned his tears, Mirac feared he would bee the ughingstock of everyone.

  He tried to warn Vi with a gnce, hoping he would catch the message.

  Vi, however, was already speaking:

  "Your Majesty, I will be ho: the young Prince..."

  'Son of…' thought Mirac, holding his breath.

  "...is a true genius!" excimed Vi, his eyes full of pride, addressing Mirac across the table.

  '...a good woman!' Miracluded mentally, switg from an insult to a sweeter thought in order to show respect for the mother.

  Fortunately, Vi made no refereo Mirac's g. Instead, he focused on how attentive, quick to learn, and brilliant the young Prince was at uanding new subjects.

  Mirac didn't know whether he was doing this out of pure pity, or if he had decided to reserve the events of that m for the two people who had lived through it.

  But at that moment, he couldn't care less about going into details. What mattered to Mirac was that his reputation was intact!

  As the praise tihe reas at the table were varied: the three wives and their daughters remained impassive, tinuing to eat without interrupting their etiquette.

  The twins maintaihe same formal attitude, but the otio Mirac barely whispered:

  "Great job, little brother..."

  Her tone was cold, but Miraew that the sisters followed protocol with extreme discipline, not allowing aions to show.

  "Thank you, Michelle..." Mirac whispered, always guided by the instinct that allowed him tnize which sister he eaking to.

  After Vi finished speaking, Arthur's face lit up with immense pride.

  "Oh Mirac, I am so proud of you!" excimed his mother, pg a hand on his shoulder and then affeately stroking his face.

  Suddenly, a deep and genuine ugh echoed through the room.

  "I expected nothing less from my son!" added the King, ughing.

  Mirac gave Vi o gnce, almost with gratitude, and sighed with relief.

  'Well... it ended well! From now on, though, keep that secret until the grave, you weirdo!'

  Rexed, Mirac brought another forkful of mashed potatoes to his mouth, sav each bite with renewed pleasure.

  * * *

  After lunch, Mirac returo his room, a tidy and well-furnished space with a dark, finely carved wooden desk dominating the short side opposite the bed. On it were notebooks, books, an inkpot filled with ink, and a white quill, study tools that Mirac had e to know well.

  He sat at the desk and began doing his homework: rewriting all the numbers from zero to thirty five times, and doing the same for the alphabet of the ti's nguage. The quill, in his hands, seemed almost alive as it traced letters and numbers oebook.

  "Tsz, stupid homework!" Mirac muttered, as his white quill wrote once again, as if it had learned what to write on its own.

  Finally, for philosophy, Mirac had to refle a short passage by a certain "Gee Rassing," read by Vi in css.

  The author of the passage was a porary philosopher and general of King Arthur's third army, dealing with ethical issues otlefield during flicts and wars.

  But Mirac couldn't care less about any of this...

  'Swords? War? What do I hat for exactly?! I... want to learn magic-'

  Mirac was interrupted in the middle of his thoughts by a gentle kno the door.

  "e in!" Mirac excimed, without looking up from the page, tinuing to write with evident frustration.

  The door opened, and Carmen, the maid with reddish hair, entered with a professional expression.

  "Young Prince, your feng lesson will begin shortly," she expined, slightly tilting her head in a gesture of respect.

  Mirac huffed, a look of frustration crossing his face. In fact, he had almost fotten that at 16, as his father had told him during lunch, he would have his first feng lesson.

  'How many things do they pn to reveal to me at the st moment?' he thought as he stood up from the chair with a sigh, following Carmen to the desigraining area.

  Thinking back to lunch as he desded the stairs, Mirac clearly remembered that King Arthur had already mentioned his instructor.

  Among the numerous praises and reendations the King had made to impress his son, who seemed ued, one particur statement had deeply struck Mirac:

  "Among all the seven kingdoms of the ti Harmony, there is no doubt that the Great Knight Leonard is the seost skilled and powerful with the sword!"