I've always been blessed.
I was born and raised among the Imperial Nobility. My parents are kind and loving. My three elder brothers spoil me so much that "overprotective" feels too mild a word. I have a healthy body, more holy power than most nobles, and people often praise my looks. I even have private tutors for every subject—manners, language, music, and more.
None of this is ordinary. I don't remember when I realized it, but every one of these things is a gift.
"Listen, Spica," Father once told me as I sat on his knee. "People are mirrors. Kindness brings kindness, malice brings malice. So never do to others what you wouldn't want done to you. Instead, give others the same warmth that makes you happy."
So that's how it works. Don't do to others what I wouldn't like. But… have I ever felt that way? I've been confused, maybe. Upset sometimes.
I remembered times when my brothers fought over which of their gifts I should open first or whose dress I should wear to the next gathering. They'd bicker endlessly, and I'd never know how to make them stop.
Then I tried to recall a time I truly disliked something. I remembered when Fret's friend brought his little sister to visit. That girl treated me coldly from the start.
"Don't speak to me so casually, especially when you're just a former commoner's adopted daughter."
She said that right in my own room. It hurt. I felt like she'd called me fake—like I didn't belong to my family at all. I wasn't a former commoner, and I didn't understand why she'd say something untrue. I'd asked my foster parents before about my birth parents and how I came here. So hearing that lie shocked me. I cried, unable to stop.
Rejection and lies—those must be the "bad things" Father meant. I decided I'd never do them to anyone. I didn't want my family or anyone else to feel that kind of pain.
Then I thought about things that made me happy. That list was long.
I loved when Father secretly let me sit on his lap while he worked.
I loved when Mother dressed me in the fitting room and said, "My little fairy looks absolutely adorable today."
I loved when Cain read to me or showed me magic, when Alex played songs on the piano, and when Fret gave me the last cookie at tea.
Everything my family gave me was joy.
"Yes, Father! I won't do bad things—and I'll do lots of happy things instead!"
That was my first promise.
To begin, I threw my arms around him. "Father, I love you!"
He laughed and hugged me back. "That's fine for me, but never do that to other men, alright?"
His face turned red. I giggled.
* * *
"Your birth mother was a wonderful woman," Mother told me one day. "So never look down on yourself. When you belittle yourself, you insult everyone who loves you. Hold your head high. Live honestly and with pride. True grace comes from strength."
Her words were difficult, but I asked, "So it means if I'm sad, everyone else will be sad too?"
Mother smiled, thoughtful. "Partly. But imagine this—if a stranger told me, 'You're a terrible mother,' and I actually believed it, how would you feel?"
"That's awful! It's not true! You're the best mother in the world!"
She laughed softly. "Thank you. That's exactly it. I want to be the best mother for you, and I believe you're wonderful children. So don't hurt yourself with words like 'I'm useless' or 'I don't matter.'"
She stroked my hair gently.
"A noble without pride isn't truly noble. One day, someone might try to wound you for your birth, but remember—you're our precious treasure."
I didn't understand everything then, but I nodded firmly all the same.
I was born blessed.
Born and raised among the Imperial Nobility.
Loving parents.
Three doting older brothers who spoiled me beyond reason.
A healthy body.
More holy power than most nobles.
A face people often praised as beautiful.
Tutors to guide me in manners, literature, and art.
None of it was ordinary.
I don't remember when I first realized that everything I had was something special.
"Listen, Spica," Father once told me as I sat on his knee. "People are mirrors. Kindness brings kindness. Malice brings malice. So never do to others what you would hate done to you. Instead, do for others the things that make you happy."
So that's how it works.
If I don't like something, I shouldn't do it to others... But have I ever hated anything? Hmm... I've been confused before, but...
I remembered times when I didn't know whose gift to open first on my birthday—or how my brothers would argue about which dress I should wear.
But the only time I truly hated something was when Fret's friend, a young lady, came to visit.
"Don't speak to me so casually," she said. "You're just a former commoner adopted into a noble house."
We'd been told to play together in my room. I didn't understand why she said that. I wasn't a commoner, and I wasn't pretending. Yet her words stung. It felt like she was denying that I was really part of my family. I cried that day. I didn't know how to respond to such rejection.
Rejection and lies... those must be the things I hate.
So I made a vow. I would never make anyone feel that way. Not my family, not anyone.
Then I thought about the things that made me happy.
There were so many.
When Father lifted me onto his lap during work.
When Mother dressed me in the wardrobe and said, "My little fairy is so beautiful."
When Cain read to me or showed me magic.
When Alex played piano and sang.
When Fret gave me the last cookie at tea.
Everything I received from my family made me happy.
"Yes, Father! I'll never do things that hurt others. I'll share happiness instead!"
That day, I threw my arms around him and said, "I love you, Father!"
"Never do that to another man," he said, half laughing, half crying, as he hugged me back.
* * *
"Spica," Mother once said, "the woman who gave birth to you and the one raising you are both wonderful. Never belittle yourself. When you do, you also insult those who love you. Hold your head high. Live honestly and proudly. That's what makes a lady graceful."
So... if I'm sad, everyone else will be sad too? I asked.
Mother smiled gently. "Not quite. If someone called me a terrible mother, and I believed them, how would you feel?"
"I'd hate that! It's not true! You're the best Mother in the world!"
"Thank you," she said. "That's exactly it. I want to be the best Mother I can be, and you're my precious child. So never say things like 'I'm worthless' or 'I don't matter.' Those words hurt everyone who loves you."
She stroked my hair softly.
"A noble without pride is no noble at all. Remember that. Some people might judge you for your birth. Ignore them. You're our treasure, and nothing can change that."
I didn't understand everything, but I nodded hard.
"Yes, Mother. Both my Mothers are wonderful. No matter what anyone says, I'll answer with pride. My treasures—Father, Mother, my brothers, and everyone in Emmental—will live proudly too!"
Mother laughed softly. "My, how you've grown," she said, patting my head again.
* * *
"Spica," Cain told me once, "make sure to say 'thank you.' Gratitude doesn't always show on its own."
He was right. 'Thank you' is important.
"Yes, Brother! I'll always tell everyone when I'm thankful. Thank you for teaching me!"
He smiled, lifted me onto his lap, and said, "Then thank you for becoming my sister," before kissing my forehead.
"I'm happy you're my brother too. Thank you for being my Elder Brother."
The servants and maids watched us fondly.
After that, I thanked everyone for every little thing. The servants got flustered, and my parents told me to save my "thank-yous" for private moments. But I still thank people every day.
* * *
"Spica," Alex asked, "don't you think it's wonderful to say 'I'm sorry' honestly?"
"Wonderful? Why?"
"It's not just about apologizing," he said. "It takes virtue to admit when you're wrong. A false apology means nothing. Sincerity makes both gratitude and apology real."
It was hard to understand, but I knew he was right. A sorry that isn't honest isn't a real sorry. So I decided to always apologize when I was at fault.
"Alex, I'll become a lady who can say sorry honestly!"
He smiled. "I'll look forward to that," he said, lifting me high into the air.
Of course, I later apologized to the servants for even the smallest mistakes, until my parents made me promise not to do it in front of guests. I still keep that promise.
* * *
"Listen, Spica!" Fret said proudly. "A noble must never bully the weak!"
"What's bullying?"
He hesitated, scratching his head. "Uh... hurting others on purpose—saying mean things, hitting them, stuff like that. We nobles have a duty to protect the weak, not harm them. So don't ever forget that."
He probably heard it from someone else, but it stuck with me.
"Yes, Fret! I'll always be kind to the weak. I'll never bully anyone!"
He grinned. "Good! And don't worry—I'll protect you, Spica."
That day, I learned that strength exists to protect others.
* * *
My family taught me, little by little, what it means to be noble.
Later, my tutor explained the words that defined it:
"Noblesse Oblige."
The duty of the noble.
A noble with land must govern and collect taxes not for wealth, but to protect the people, their crest, and their country in times of need.
Even those without territory must serve the Emperor and defend the citizens, giving their wealth and effort when crisis strikes.
We nobles do not grow wheat or milk cows ourselves. We live on what the commoners provide in exchange for our protection.
To flee when danger comes is to abandon our duty. A noble who takes the privilege but rejects the burden ceases to be noble.
I believed in that deeply.
So I made a vow.
To live pure and honest.
To never speak falsehood.
Notes:
• Fret - Third step-brother, five years older. Energetic, sword-loving, and determined to become a knight.
• Alex - Second step-brother, seven years older. Suffers from the rare Monaza Disease, which robs both sight and holy power, but shines as a gifted musician and artist.
• Cain - Eldest step-brother, eight years older. A magical genius, often traveling between home and the national academy. The heir.