After a little while wallowing in my own misery—
I asked another question that had been scratching at the back of my Skull like a badly placed splinter.
"Hey, Nova," I said quietly, staring at the ceiling. "Do you know why Lenna is so different? Or… extraordinary might be the better word."
There was no immediate sarcasm. No mockery.
Just a clean, prompt answer.
[That is simple,] Nova replied.
[She possesses a dragon-type bloodline.]
I blinked.
"…That's it?"
[Yes.]
I frowned. "That doesn't explain anything. The Ironcreed family already has the Iron Stallion bloodline. That's not exactly common trash."
[Correct,] Nova said. [And she has that as well.]
I sat up.
"…She has both?"
[Yes.]
Silence followed.
Then—
"That's allowed?" I asked.
[Rare, but possible,] Nova replied calmly. [On rare occasions, an individual inherits compatible bloodlines from both parents. Most fail. Some stabilize only one. A very few… retain both.]
I exhaled slowly.
"So Lenna won the genetic lottery."
[She won a statistically Mega lottery,] Nova corrected.
I leaned back again, rubbing my face. "Alright. Fine. I can accept that. Iron Stallion plus dragon. Ridiculous, but fine."
There was a pause.
But that wasn't really an answer to my question.
"…Is a dragon bloodline really that special?"
Nova didn't answer immediately.
Which, coming from Nova, was suspicious.
When it did speak again, the tone had changed.
Pride.
Unfiltered, unapologetic pride.
[Of course it is.]
The air around my temples felt… warmer. Sharper.
[Dragons are apex predators of this world,] Nova continued. [Not by conquest. Not by numbers. By design.]
I swallowed.
[They are born with perfect control over mana and aura,] Nova said. [Not potential. Not affinity. Control.]
My fingers curled slightly.
[Even a diluted dragon bloodline grants instinctive regulation of flow, density, and circulation far beyond what most so-called geniuses achieve through strict training.]
I stared at the ceiling.
"…You're saying she didn't have to learn aura control."
[Correct.]
"…Didn't have to struggle?"
[Correct.]
"…Didn't nearly kill herself compressing aura the wrong way?"
[Correct.]
I laughed.
Not amused.
Just tired.
"Fantastic," I muttered. "So I had to trigger a forbidden skill and almost shred my soul just to barely reach the first step of aura control—Flow."
I clenched my jaw.
"And she gets it for free. By being born."
That stung more than I wanted to admit.
"…That's unfair."
Nova didn't immediately respond.
Which surprised me.
Then—
I felt something being cut.
Not faded.
Not softened.
Severed.
I stiffened.
"…Nova?"
Nothing.
No presence.
No pressure.
No faint sense of observation.
Just silence.
That felt unusual.
I tried pushing my Spirit Intuition to sense something, heart ticking faster.
"What the hell—"
Knock. Knock.
I froze.
A familiar, calm voice followed immediately.
"Young Master. May I enter?"
Victoria.
My heart dropped back into my chest.
"…You can," I replied instantly, forcing my tone to stay normal.
The door opened smoothly.
Victoria stepped in, closed it behind her, and took exactly one look at me.
Me, face-down on the bed again, boots still on, half-crumpled like a defeated laundry pile.
She sighed.
Deeply.
"Honestly," she said dryly, "if someone walked in right now, they'd assume you lost a duel to gravity."
"I'm grieving," I muttered into the mattress.
"Over what?" she asked, moving closer. "Your uselessness?"
"…Can't you be a little kinder?"
She clicked her tongue. "You nobles are all the same. Nearly die once, and suddenly the universe is unfair."
I ignored her.
She didn't stop.
"You tracked mud into the room," she added. "Again. Your boots are still on. Again. And judging by your posture, you're not really injured, just sulking."
"I am injured internally and mentally," I said.
She huffed. "Charming."
A few seconds passed while she busied herself—straightening a chair, opening a window, doing maid things that absolutely did not match what Nova had just told me she was.
Finally, when her scolding cadence ran out of steam, I spoke.
"…Victoria."
"Yes, Young Master?"
I turned my head slightly, enough to look at her.
"Why do you serve me?"
She didn't pause.
Didn't tense.
Didn't blink.
"Because I lost a bet to your mother," she said matter-of-factly. "As a penalty, I am required to serve you for a fifty-year period."
My brain stopped.
"…A what."
"A bet," she repeated. "Lost. Decisively."
I sat up so fast my head spun.
"Fifty years?!"
"Yes."
"…You?" I stared at her. "Lost a bet?"
"Yes."
"To my mother?"
"Yes."
My mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"She's a healer," I said weakly. "A very good one, but still—"
"The Scarlet Doctor," Victoria corrected. "One of the finest medical authorities in the kingdom."
"That doesn't explain why she attached someone like you to her own son!"
Victoria tilted her head. "From a security perspective, it was an excellent decision."
"That's not the point!"
She shrugged lightly. "It was also for her own amusement."
I dragged a hand down my face.
So my mother—unreasonable, distant, but loving in her own twisted way, terrifyingly competent—had gambled with a phantom reaper.
And won.
Before I could fully process that, Victoria added casually:
"Well, I did consider reneging on the bet."
My heart skipped.
"But," she continued, glancing at me, "after observing Young Master's… amusing personality, I decided to follow through."
She smiled.
Soft.
Cruel.
Effortless.
Something in my chest cracked.
"…You could have stopped at the first sentence," I said quietly.
She raised a brow. "Really? I thought honesty was refreshing."
I fell back onto the bed.
Face-first.
Boots still on.
"…Those words hurt more than my internal injuries," I muttered.
Victoria chuckled.
"Rest well, Young Master," she said, turning toward the door. "I'll prepare a bath for you."