BSGE 75
by CherryThe slightest movement might cause the child to fall.
The child, oblivious to the turmoil brewing within the duke, playfully moved about his hand without a care in the world.
Climbing up with a cheerful “heave-ho,” the child grasped the feathers with tiny fingers, examining them from every angle, seemingly satisfying an endless curiosity.
“…….”
“Jyuu?”
The child looked down at the other side of the hand.
Wanting to descend, the duke carefully tilted his hand. As if understanding perfectly, the child softly moved.
He’d flattened his hand completely to help the child down easily, but inexplicably, instead of climbing down, the child began to spin in circles.
“!”
Soon, the child settled into the curved center of his palm, curling up into a tiny ball. The small, warm presence of life transferred its gentle heat.
That tiny, warm life squeezed his heart like a fist, gripping it unexpectedly.
“Whew.”
Unconsciously exhaling, the duke gazed down at his palm with a tense expression.
Soft, childlike skin radiated a slight warmth.
The child showed no fear of his massive form, innocently believing he meant no harm, nestling in his palm just like in a cradle. The child was unbearably precious.
He wanted to stroke the child.
A surge of emotion rose within him—a desperate desire to convey how cherished, how loved this child was.
“…….”
The hand holding the child remained motionless, too afraid to even curl a finger lest he crush the delicate being. Uncharacteristically hesitant, the duke raised his other hand.
Carefully extending his index finger, he traced the child’s stripes gently. The child lifted its head, following his touch, and their eyes met.
Like a smooth, black pebble, the child’s eyes gazed up at him intently.
“Chit!”
“!”
As if recognizing a father, the child’s eyes crinkled in a bright smile.
Then, spreading its tiny arms wide, the child hugged his index finger tightly.
Thump.
A shock swept over him, as if his heart had been grabbed.
Something inside him tightened, and the energy he couldn’t direct towards the child exploded in the opposite direction.
Boom!
While the hand holding the child remained perfectly still, an innocent desk beneath his other hand suddenly caved in, a sharp crack splitting its surface.
*
Looking at the shattered desk, just like back then, he recalled that small, warm body.
The duke carefully withdrew his hand, gazing at his palm as if retracing that moment.
‘Still so small.’
That child was a painful reminder to him.
Born so fragile, the child’s arrival had thrown the entire family into panic.
Was it something he’d done wrong? Or had too much blood been shed?
He’d traced back his entire life, searching for causes, but nothing could heal the ailing child.
He’d only wished for the child to grow healthy.
But when he realized he couldn’t even protect the child’s daily life while away at war…
The rage he’d felt upon first learning of the abuse resurfaced, twisting the duke’s face into a fearsome expression.
“Hero of the Nation.”
Such a title meant nothing to him. But if it could help his child, he was prepared to use it ruthlessly.
“Lukre, Rasin, and everything else demanded by the royal palace.”
His golden eyes gleamed like a predator’s in the darkness, radiating a deadly intention.
A low, lion-like growl settled ominously in the office.
“Cut everything off.”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
Trembling beneath his oppressive presence, the subordinates bowed in perfect unison.
Those who might accidentally speak and directly face the duke’s intimidation huddled behind others, hands still shaking.
The tense atmosphere in the office gradually softened as someone began speaking about the young lady.
“By the way, the Tuberoseup dish the young lady developed is being distributed among the territory’s people, and the response is excellent.”
“Ah! That savory, rich soup? Perfectly warming on a slightly chilly morning.”
The duke’s murderous aura softened at the positive remarks about Beatty’s achievements.
“…….”
Though he added no words, it was clear he was listening intently. Encouraged by their lord’s response, the subordinates enthusiastically praised more of her accomplishments.
“Just look at her winter preparations. With grain prices constantly rising, what would we have done without the prepared soup kitchens?”
“Indeed. Even before winter’s arrival, some areas have already been hit by frost. The weather is definitely unusual.”
As they murmured about how precisely Beatty’s predictions had come true, someone suddenly remembered something else.
“Oh! Are you aware of the recent trend of Wormuth tea? Those who tasted it at our banquet have been desperately sending letters, asking if they can get more of that potion tea.”
“And the macramé decorations from that event? Apparently, they’re now considered a northern style in the capital, with people twisting knots everywhere!”
Pride resonated through the office as they discussed how the young lady’s northern cultural influences were spreading.
What began as an attempt to soothe their lord’s mood had transformed into an enthusiastic sharing session.
“Indeed.”
Listening satisfied to the praise of “our genius young lady who’s turning the kingdom upside down,” the duke spoke.
“The child’s achievements are not insignificant.”
“Absolutely!”
Nodding to his northern-pride-intoxicated subordinates, the duke concluded.
“We should give her an award.”
“An award?”
“Yes. What gift would an 8-year-old enjoy?”
(Internally, they thought: ‘He probably just wants to give the young lady a gift.’)
While the subordinates brainstormed children’s gifts, a messenger arrived.
“My lord. The young lady has come to visit.”
Unusual for her to visit first, the duke immediately stood up.
*
‘I almost forgot about this.’
In the reception room adjacent to the duke’s office, Beatty sat waiting, having been told her father was in a meeting. She placed her bag on her lap.
Pulling out a brilliant emerald-green potion bottle from her bag, she thought to herself, ‘So much has happened, and I completely forgot about this…’
She had originally intended to give this to her father on the night of the banquet, but various events—child-rearing issues and other matters—had made her forget.
Fortunately, Johanna had asked about the bottle sitting alone on the desk during room cleaning, which brought it back to her memory.
“Thankfully, the effectiveness doesn’t diminish after just a few days,” she muttered.
She had already consulted the pharmacist to confirm this.
While carefully returning the bottle to her bag, her father, whom she thought would take longer, entered the room.
“Oh, Father?”
Beatty greeted the duke with a slightly startled expression.
“Weren’t you in a meeting?”
“It’s finished.”
More accurately, he had ended it.
For the duke, comparing work meetings to his child was no contest—the child won overwhelmingly.
Unaware that he had deliberately concluded the meeting, Beatty simply nodded and was pleased that their timing worked out perfectly.
Her short legs moved lightly, as if responding to her master’s heart.
“…….”
The duke, who had been staring at her short limbs—adorable whether in beast or human form—suddenly spoke about something he’d been thinking.
“My child.”
“Yes, Father.”
“You don’t have to stay in human form all the time.”
“What?”
He had noticed that lately, she seemed to have been exclusively in human form.
Certainly, for a child her age, being in squirrel form would be more comfortable.
He was not the type to let his child feel uncomfortable trying to appear proper.
‘Is she trying to seem more mature?’
She was still at an age where such things might be admired.
When Carl burst through the door without warning, the duke considered another possibility.
‘Or does she want to fit in with her brother?’
He’d heard that children with older siblings sometimes try to act more grown-up, wanting to interact with their older brothers.
“…….”
“What is it, Father?”
Staring at the potential source of the issue, the duke turned back to Beatty.
“My child.”
He used Carl as an example to ease her burden.
“Carl mostly moved around in lion form before he was five.”
“……?”
“Why are you bringing up that story now?”
Ignoring his son’s dismay, the duke continued to reassure Beatty that being in beast form was perfectly fine.
“At your age, that’s completely normal. So, it’s not strange if you walk around in beast form.”
“But I’m 8 years old.”
Thinking her father must have mixed up her age, Beatty corrected him.
“Hmm. The age.”
“What about my age?”
“…….”
Unable to mention that her body was even smaller than Carl’s was at five, the duke hesitated.