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Spring came late to the Boreas estate. The snow on the mountain ridges hadn't fully melted yet, and the peaks still wore their white caps.
The cold, damp night winds swept down the slopes, seeping into the manor and turning into mist—
Only to be scattered by the morning sun.
The courtyard's stone tiles were slick with moisture, tiny puddles gathering in the crevices between them.
Dew clung to the branches, stretching, falling—
Plip.
A drop struck the ground.
"Still no letters for you today, Lord Allen."
Aliff stood beside Allen. The thick winter maid uniform she had worn a month ago was gone. Despite it being early spring, thanks to her beastkin resilience to cold, she had already switched to a black-and-white dress that exposed her long legs.
Backless, with a large ribbon tied at her waist—childishly cute.
Notably, she was the only maid in the entire Boreas household dressed like this. Who knew what Lilia, the head maid, was thinking?
Aliff watched Allen nervously, lips pressed tight.
From her perspective, Allen merely gave a faint nod. But she knew—he had been growing increasingly anxious about those mysterious letters.
At first, he had asked once a day.
Five days ago, it became twice.
Yesterday, he had asked three times.
Even if his face showed nothing, Aliff could sense his impatience.
She opened her mouth to offer some comforting words, but Allen spoke first.
"Eris's birthday banquet starts tomorrow at dusk, right?"
Aliff blinked, then nodded.
Both of them turned to look at the banquet hall in the distance.
It had been thoroughly cleaned a week ago. Every loose tile had been pried up and replaced—some even artificially aged to maintain the floor's aesthetic consistency.
They had even hired specialists to scrub away invisible mold from the walls.
Meticulous.
Now, it looked brand new.
A crimson carpet stretched from the entrance, all the way to the manor's main gate.
Aliff stole a glance at Allen.
"Lord Sauros is paying much more attention to the young lady's birthday this year. Compared to five years ago when I first arrived, the scale has increased dramatically. And I hear the guest list has expanded too. Tomorrow will be quite lively."
As she spoke, the creak of an iron gate sounded behind them.
Sauros stepped out of the tower, looking refreshed, his strides vigorous.
Behind him, Lilia followed, clothes and hair slightly disheveled—yet her face was all smiles.
In just a few steps, he reached Allen's side, radiating an unmistakable air of satisfaction.
"Tomorrow's banquet will draw a lot of attention to you, as Boreas's high-ranking freeloader."
Allen glanced sideways at Sauros.
The older man studied Allen's tense expression, then smirked.
Two words:
"Use protection."
"Don't pull a Paul and make a mess of things."
Over the past month, Sauros's language had grown increasingly blunt, shedding the refined demeanor of a noble lord. Yet strangely, what sounded like crude disdain only made Lilia stifle a laugh.
After speaking, Sauros gave Aliff a thoughtful look—making her stiffen—before striding past Allen with Lilia in tow.
Allen watched his retreating back, rubbing his temples with a headache.
Is that really what I'm worried about?
Tch.
"Freeze!"
A bright, trailing note.
The unfurling red skirt billowed like a blooming flower, so vivid it seemed to ignite the very air—
Then settled gracefully at Eris's feet.
Fringe scattered.
The flames of her movement extinguished.
Eris stood before Allen in perfect posture.
Elegant.
Only the slight tilt of her chin betrayed her pride.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Hilda's bedroom echoed with approving applause.
Eris grinned, then threw herself onto the couch where Hilda reclined.
"See?! I haven't missed a step all month! Tomorrow will be perfect!"
The little crimson lioness beamed, her eyes alight. In this timeline, she was nothing like the dance-floor menace of her past life.
Hilda stroked her hair fondly.
"You've done wonderfully, Eris."
Then she turned to Allen, who had volunteered as Eris's dance partner every day this month.
Her smile widened—but couldn't mask the deep exhaustion in her eyes.
After winter, whether due to Allen's daily visits or simply the season's harshness, her health had improved slightly.
But fatigue still weighed on her.
Especially these past few days.
Because—
"Finally finished it the day before Eris's tenth birthday."
Allen's gaze faltered as he took in Hilda's smile. He looked away, focusing instead on the garment rack nearby.
Just as Sauros's actions had diverged from the original timeline, Hilda, too, had poured extraordinary effort into Eris's birthday banquet.
From the pearls sewn along the hem of Eris's crimson fringe dress, to the repeated adjustments made to Sylphiette and Rudeus's outfits—
Or, in Allen's case—
His black double-breasted formal coat.
The cuffs had been lengthened.
Gunmetal-gray fabric, textured seams.
Hand-embroidered.
What had once been a somber, monochrome suit now carried accents of brightness—strikingly modern in aesthetic.
Naturally, it had taken the longest.
The other alterations were just a pretense.
This was where her heart had gone.
She wanted Allen to stand in that banquet hall, clad in this exquisite craftsmanship.
To let everyone see him.
Even if only as a guest.
She wanted him to shine.
Allen stared at the coat for a long moment before turning back to Hilda.
"Thank you… my lady."
Hilda held his gaze, pausing briefly.
Then, through her weariness, her smile deepened.
"No need for thanks. If anything, I should thank you—for teaching Eris swordsmanship, for helping her reach advanced rank so quickly…"
"Allen, you're amazing too."
Beside them, Sylphiette watched silently, her eyes glimmering.
Not long after, before the others could leave, Hilda fell asleep.
Her face tilted toward where Allen had been.
When Sylphiette noticed, she pressed a finger to her lips. One by one, they tiptoed out.
Eris led the way. Allen took up the rear.
Sylphiette stayed behind to watch over Hilda.
The door closed slowly.
He outside, she inside—their eyes met as the gap between them narrowed.
At the last sliver, Allen's expression flickered with surprise.
The white-haired girl's gaze seemed to hold unspoken words. But after a quick glance behind her, she simply looked at Allen—really looked—before turning away.
Click.
The door shut.
Allen stood there a moment, then left.
Afternoon. Teacher's quarters.
Allen sat at his desk, staring at the mission reminder note before him.
A month ago, Sauros's words—"You can visit Hilda privately"—had carried an unmistakable implication.
Allen's threat had worked.
Sauros was willing to turn a blind eye, to let Allen acknowledge Hilda in secret.
By now, Allen could have completed this mission.
But he hadn't.
Because he was waiting—
For the right moment.
The system's compound mission was unusual. No time limit, but it did impose a 24-hour cooldown between completing each of the three tasks.
A clear, deliberate pressure.
Allen was used to this. The system's missions had always been challenging, pushing him relentlessly.
How to fulfill the three expectations was already clear:
Hilda's expectation—simple. For her son, Allen Boreas Greyrat, to acknowledge her.
Sylphiette's expectation—simple. To reciprocate her feelings, her affection.
Ghyslaine's expectation—simple. To unleash the Light Reversal.
Family. Love. Strength.
Strip away the odd surface requirements, and the system's goal was the same as always:
To make him engage with this world.
To live his own Mushoku Tensei.
And this was the path Allen wanted to walk—was already walking.
But the *24-hour interval* was the problem.
That was why he had postponed Hilda's mission.
Because Sylphiette's expectation still needed a response—one that might even require a trip to Shirone. That would take time.
Fortunately, Hilda's health had improved over the past month. Allen wasn't too worried about this kind, well-meaning "mother" of his.
There was still time. He could wait.
Wait until after Eris's birthday banquet.
Wait until he went to Shirone, settled matters, and brought Roxy back.
Then he could clear all three missions at once—
Within 24 hours.
But lately, a strange feeling had taken root in his chest.
Every time he saw Hilda, it flickered—
Elusive.
He could almost grasp it, but it slipped away.
Especially when Hilda smiled at him. Something felt off, but he couldn't pinpoint what.
Weird.
And—
Allen's gaze shifted to the sword leaning against the desk.
Unsheathed for so long.
The Light Reversal—he could execute it now.
The sword's will pulsed in his grip, urging him to draw, to strike, to unleash what he had honed.
But Allen felt…
Something was still missing.
Just like with Hilda's expectation.
Missing something.
His brows furrowed as he stared at the paper.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A sound at the door.
Allen turned, eyes brightening.
He locked the note in the drawer, stood, and crossed the room in quick strides.
Pulled the door open—
Not Aliff, as he'd expected, come to deliver a letter.
Instead, the white-haired girl stood there, looking at him.
Allen blinked, about to speak—
When Sylphiette seized his wrist.
He froze, glancing down at her hand.
Her touch was soft, gentle—like her spring-breeze temperament. It reminded him of that day in the fitting room, a month ago.
Allen looked up, meeting her eyes.
Amber-brown, steady.
Tender, yet resolute.
"Allen… today's breeze is gentle. The timing is perfect."
"I've thought about this for so long. You and Lady Hilda shouldn't be like this. I…"
"I want to try one more time."
Before he could respond, she tugged him forward.
Her grip was light—
But firm.
They crossed the hallway, descended the stairs, traversed the gallery, and arrived at Hilda's door.
Sylphiette turned, pressing a finger to her lips.
Then pushed the door open.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The hearth bubbled softly. The room was warm, sealed against the outside.
Hilda wasn't on the sofa. Sylphiette had helped her to bed earlier—she was fast asleep.
Still holding Allen's hand, Sylphiette led him past the sitting area to the vanity.
She glanced at Hilda's bedroom door, then reached out—
And pushed the window open.
The seasonal wind, no longer biting, swept inside.
Brushed Allen's face.
Rustled pages.
His eyes snapped toward the sound.
On the vanity, the breeze flipped through Hilda's diary—
The same one Sylphiette had peeked into that night, during Hilda and Philip's argument.
The diary was worn, stained with wine in places, its pages crumpled.
Which meant—
The wind could turn them easily.
The entries were brief, just a few lines per page.
Most people wouldn't be able to read them so quickly.
But Allen wasn't most people.
His Water God-style reflexes caught every word.
Every handwritten noble script burned into his vision—
So vivid it left him dazed.
Finally, he turned, stunned, to Sylphiette.
She was watching him.
Had been watching him.
But this time, her eyes held only determination.
She, too, had been waiting—
For this third chance.
Her third attempt.
First try: Last October. Sylphiette had arranged for Hilda to tutor Allen, hoping to bring them closer. It ended with sobs in the bedroom.
Second try: A month ago, in the fitting room. She'd pushed Allen to face Hilda's yearning. It ended with Hilda's distant "Mr. Allen."
She didn't know Allen had already made his decision.
She only knew stubbornness.
Falling, crying, standing up again—
Persisting.
Trying to show Allen what she thought he needed—but refused to reach for.
This was her warmth.
Her resolve.
Her care for Allen.
And her love.
Now, the third attempt.
The third time mustering courage after failure.
Would it work?
Yes.
Because—though she didn't know it—
All three attempts had already succeeded.
Allen's pupils shrank to pinpricks. Dazed, he looked back at the diary.
The breeze still flipped its pages.
The words still clear.
And at last, Allen understood that strange feeling from the past month.
The truth was:
Allen had only ever seen Hilda as the original Allen's mother.
But Hilda—
Had seen him as her child.
Body.
And soul.
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