Clang! Clang! Clang!

The dull ring of metal striking a battered training dummy echoed through the grounds of the Rubenhart Estate, piercing the quiet chill of the early morning.

As was his habit, Ulrich had risen alongside the estate’s very first servants, trading sleep for the demands of his physical conditioning. Back when it was revealed that his magical core was a broken one, he had poured all of his frustration and determination into mastering the martial arts, encouraged if not forced by his father. Even now, despite having miraculously obtained a new legendary core, he saw no reason to abandon his routine. Pushing his body to its absolute limits was simply ingrained in his bones at this point, a second nature he could never discard.

Esther watched him quietly from the shadows of her hiding spot, turning these thoughts over in her mind.

Usually, she preferred to sleep in a bit later, but on certain mornings she would stir before dawn. Her keen ears would catch the rhythmic thud and clash of Ulrich’s exercises, and she would hurry from her bed just to witness it.

She wasn’t driven by the same shallow motives as the estate maids, who constantly invented excuses to walk past the training grounds just to steal a glimpse of the handsome Count’s bare, sweating torso. No, Esther’s fascination ran much deeper. She found the intensity of Ulrich’s solitary practice truly inspiring.

Perhaps ’inspiring’ was too simple a word; it was a far more complicated, tangled mix of feelings that tightened in her chest. Her vivid blue eyes mirrored his silhouette with every sweeping arc of his blade.

To the rest of the world, Ulrich appeared always composed, an emotionless statue carved from stone. Yet, whenever he trained in the morning air, and she watched him from afar, Esther could spot the faint, elusive flickers of real feeling. They never showed in the hard lines of his expression. Instead, they lived entirely in his eyes, deep, blood-tinged crimson pools that she found, on a side note, the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.

It was difficult to decipher exactly what was running through his mind, but his strikes showed quite eagerness and diligence. He was serious, channeling some unspoken emotion into every swing. It was the only time she ever caught a glimpse of the real man beneath the cold exterior, making these stolen morning moments far too precious for her to miss.

Beyond that, there was a definite beauty to the scene. Bathed in the cool, pale light of dawn, his moving figure looked picturesque. It really was no wonder the maids would purposely linger, freezing in their tracks just to behold such a sight.

But for Esther, it was different. She wasn’t drooling over a handsome man; she was quietly, sincerely admiring him.

Watching him from the shadows was definitely suspicious though, certainly more so than the maids who paused to stare in broad daylight. Yet, Esther was far too nervous to be that brazen. Her shyness kept her anchored behind cover whenever Ulrich was around.

If the past two years had proven anything, it was that Ulrich had kept every promise he made to them. He provided a life of comfort that far exceeded their wildest imaginations. Every day, they dined on lavish meals typically reserved for the highest echelons of nobility, and they draped themselves in exquisite fabrics that Esther could never have dreamed of wearing in her previous life. Rare books and boundless resources were placed entirely at their disposal. Just as Ulrich had sworn, as long as they followed his rules and remained obedient, they were completely safe from the world outside the estate’s walls.

That wasn’t to say their new life had been entirely without friction. There were still moments when Airam slipped into one of her dark, murderous moods, or when Hermione snapped seemingly out of nowhere. However, these incidents rarely escalated into anything truly dangerous. On the few occasions a situation threatened to boil over, Ulrich intervened without even trying. Most of the time, though, Esther stepped in as the peacemaker, gently soothing her sisters and keeping the harmony intact.

Ultimately, those minor outbursts were just trivial footnotes in the opulent, secure life they now enjoyed. Esther’s only real sorrow was the aching wish that their mother could be there to share it with them. Yet a surprising kindness softened grief, because their mother had been laid to rest right there on the estate grounds, Esther always felt a warm, lingering trace of her presence, chasing away the bitter edge of loneliness.

This act of grace was what Esther felt most grateful for. She had never expected Ulrich to allow a witch to be buried on his lands. She wanted to give Ulrich a proper, heartfelt thank you for such a gesture since then, but she always found it difficult to express her feelings aloud.

Whenever she gathered the courage to call out his name and initiate a conversation, her voice would eventually falter. His gaze was simply too hard to hold for long, melting her resolve into a puddle of nerves. And if Airam or Hermione happened to walk by while she was stumbling through her sentences, a burning wave of embarrassment would force her to retreat entirely.

It wasn’t as if she were completely mute in his presence. She had managed to stammer out her thanks on multiple occasions, but the words always felt hollow, falling short of the real gratitude welling inside her. It certainly didn’t help that Ulrich maintained a rigid, almost impenetrable distance between himself and the sisters. He checked on their magical and academic progress with clockwork regularity, but his involvement ended there. Unless a matter was strictly necessary, he simply did not engage in idle chatter.

Ironically, it was Hermione who managed to draw the most words out of him. Rather than real conversation, their interactions consisted mostly of Hermione’s constant complaints and endless demands. Ulrich would respond in his signature, dry monotone, creating a bizarre back-and-forth that vaguely resembled a dialogue. Still, Esther couldn’t help but envy her sister’s ability to express herself so fearlessly. She often wondered when Hermione had become so vocal; as the first month, she had treated Ulrich with the same cold avoidance as Airam.

Now, Hermione was acting out the quintessential role of a rebellious teenager. At fourteen, it was the perfect age for that, though she was careful to keep her insolence strictly within bounds. Ulrich was still a Count, after all, and the memory of his punishments remained fresh. Over the past years, both Airam and Hermione had been subjected to his unique brand of discipline, locked inside his magical barriers and forced to write lines for hours whenever they showed blatant disrespect or did something exceptionally foolish.

Those early lessons had taught the older girls exactly where Ulrich’s boundaries lay. They were smart enough to pull back just before his patience snapped, settling into a safe but thoroughly irritating gray zone. They refused to completely submit or surrender their strong personalities.

Esther, on the other hand, didn’t view her own obedience as submission; it was simply who she was. Kind-hearted and eager to please, she channeled the immense gratitude she couldn’t verbalize into flawless, irreproachable behavior.

Unfortunately, her perfect conduct did little to thaw the frost in Ulrich’s overall demeanor. True, he was marginally more lenient with her. Esther could catch it in the subtle, barely perceptible softening of his eyes, a quiet confirmation that she held a slightly better standing with him than her unruly sisters. Yet, for Esther, it wasn’t nearly enough.

The current status quo left a lingering sadness in her chest. The atmosphere between them remained far too cold and distant, and she wished they could bridge that gap.

Fixing it, of course, would require speaking up, either confronting Ulrich directly or convincing her sisters to adopt a warmer approach. She knew neither option was viable. If she couldn’t even manage a proper ’thank you’ to the Count, breaking the ice with him was out of the question.

As for her sisters... she shuddered to think of their reactions. Whenever she even brought up Ulrich’s name, an annoyed Hermione would mercilessly tease her, accusing Esther of liking the Count more than her own sisters. If she actually proposed trying to warm up to him, she would never hear the end of it. The embarrassment might actually kill her.

Lost in these swirling thoughts, she continued to peek out from her hiding spot, her small hands pressed against the cool stone wall. Finally, a resonant ’clang!’ snapped her attention back to the present. Ulrich drove the tip of his practice sword deep into the dirt, bringing his routine to an end as he stood there, gasping lightly for breath.