I was a detached child.
Strange to admit, but I could do most things without being taught—and always above average.
Since it was already decided my eldest brother would inherit the family estate, I thought about training myself for a support role instead. Not a very endearing thought for a child.
On the surface, I acted like the perfect son.
Unlike my brothers, I didn't want to prove myself by excelling too much or by being mischievous. Both felt tiresome.
When I turned seven, Mother announced her pregnancy. I remember smiling like an angel and congratulating her, even while inwardly sighing at my parents for behaving so foolishly at their age.
Later, when we lost the baby, I pitied them in my own way. I thought, You still have three children.
If you want another, you can always make one. But what I said aloud was very different: "Don't cry, Mother. We're sad too, but seeing you cry makes us even sadder." I smiled as I comforted her, but in truth I was mocking myself. Even I knew what kind of person that made me.
The one who changed me was my little sister, Spica.
She appeared suddenly in our mansion, shining as if lit by sunlight. Pure, innocent, untouched by my petty thoughts.
At first I was terrified. I couldn't even bring myself to touch her.
Still, I couldn't look away.
I wanted to see her smile when I drew near, even though my fear kept me from reaching out. So I visited her room every day.
What stung most was watching my brothers. Cain held her without hesitation.
Fret poked her cheeks with glee. And I envied them.
One evening, about three days after she arrived, Spica began to fuss. Unfortunately, only a maid and I were in the room.
The maid tried everything—rocking her, offering a small bottle of milk—but nothing worked.
We panicked, unsure of what to do, until Spica's tiny hand reached out and grabbed me. With tearful eyes, she looked straight at me.
I reached out almost without thinking and lifted her into my arms.
She was light as a feather, warm, and in that moment I felt a happiness like glowing orbs floating up from my chest into the sky.
Though my hold was clumsy, Spica stopped crying. I was so relieved I began to sing her a lullaby Mother once sang to me.
And there, in my arms, Spica smiled. She laughed as if she'd never been crying at all, then drifted off to sleep.
From that day forward, I was no longer afraid to touch her. I wanted to see that angelic smile again, so I began studying music.
I soon realized Spica loved music—piano, harp, even the organ delighted her. So I practiced with all my heart.
I had always been competent at many things, but never great.
Music, though, became my craft. Before long, I reached a skill level far beyond what I had expected.
Until Spica turned four, I never gave up the role of singing her to sleep. Those precious moments, watching her face relax as she slipped into dreams, I believed belonged to me alone.
Then she told me something I never expected.
"Onii-sama, I don't need your lullabies anymore. Alissa said, 'You're four now, so falling asleep to lullabies is like a baby.'"
No one can imagine how that hurt me.
Alissa, the head maid's daughter, was one year younger than Spica and her playmate.
I almost lashed out at her for that needless remark. To this day, she probably doesn't even know why I dislike her.
Two months later, while playing with Spica in the sunroom, something strange happened.
She kept pressing a handkerchief against my eyes.
"What is it, Spica? Do I have something on my face?" I asked.
Instead, she peered closer, her expression puzzled.
"Onii-sama, your eyes look like they're crying. Did it hurt? Are you in pain?"
Maybe it was just the light. Still, my eyes had been blurring lately.
So I asked her, "It doesn't hurt. But why do you think that?"
Spica thought for a moment, then answered.
"Because, Onii-sama, sparkles are spilling from your eyes. Like little drops—poron, poron. Father, Mother, even Cain-ani-sama and Fret-ani-sama don't have it. Only you. Your eyes are strange."
When Spica worried about what she saw, I comforted her. "If you're that concerned, we'll ask the doctor to check." My angel lifted her tearful face and nodded.
Together, we went straight to the office of Doctor Carp, our family's attending physician.
"Carp-sensei, may we have a moment?" I asked after knocking softly and peeking inside.
"Of course. Please, come in," he replied, welcoming us. He probably assumed Fret had injured himself again or that Spica had tripped, since such incidents were common.
Instead, I told him, "Lately, my vision has been blurring. Spica is worried, so I'd like to be examined."
He nodded kindly.
"It may just be eye strain from too much reading or studying music scores. But tell me—when does the blurring happen?"
I hesitated, then answered, "Often when I'm reading magic textbooks or after training in physical enhancement." His keen awareness of my habits impressed me, though I didn't show it.
After a quick examination, Doctor Carp frowned.
"We should run further tests. There's a chance this could be an illness."
I had only wanted to ease my sister's fears, but now it seemed I had worried her even more. Perhaps my own anxiety showed, because Carp reassured us both.
"There's no need for alarm, young master, young lady. I'm glad you came to me even for something small. It's always best to consult early. You've both done very well. Let's arrange more detailed tests tomorrow."
I squeezed Spica's hand and told her everything would be fine as we returned to my room.
In the end, Doctor Carp's suspicions proved correct. I had developed Monaza Disease.
Yet even in misfortune, I was blessed. Carp's mentor was a leading authority on Monaza Disease, and Carp himself had assisted in his research, which allowed him to recognize the symptoms early.
Another stroke of fortune: a treatment had been discovered in recent years.
It was difficult—requiring either a Holy Genesis or a Stigmata transplant—but not impossible. As a member of an old, distinguished noble family, my chances were far higher than those of some poor baron's child.
Most important of all was the timing.
Because my illness was caught in its early stage, I could slow its progress. By drinking holy water regularly, I could delay the decline of both my vision and my holy power.
My family consoled me, calling it a blessing amid misfortune.
As for Spica, I told her it would remain our secret. After all, she was the one who had noticed first, and because of her, the disease was slowed.
She had no reason to blame herself. Illness comes when it will, known only to the gods.
But she still looked stricken.
"If someday Onii-sama can't see anymore, then Spica will be your eyes! I'll stay with you always, so you'll never stumble."
She said it with a mixture of guilt and innocence, and hearing that made me strangely proud. Knowing she promised such words only to me filled me with happiness.
So I told no one else about Spica's vision of my strange, sparkling tears. It was our secret alone.
Later, I changed my path.
Instead of entering the national academy at twelve, I focused on developing my musical talent. It freed me from the noble registry, but it also allowed me to stay with Spica longer than expected.
To my surprise, the more time I spent with her, the more music welled up inside me. Without realizing it, my angel had become my muse.
By the time she turned seven, my skills were recognized.
I was invited to perform at salons and even offered work as a tutor. Some patrons began to show interest in supporting me.
Still, the best moments were those spent with Spica. Whenever I could, I took her with me to operas, recitals, and salons, proudly showing her off.
The disease continued to eat away at me little by little.
Recently, I learned my right eye had already lost half its sight. Yet the change came so slowly I scarcely noticed until someone told me.
Notes:
• Cain - Eldest step-brother, eight years older. A magical genius, often traveling between home and the national academy. The heir.
• Fret - Third step-brother, five years older. Energetic, sword-loving, and determined to become a knight.
• Alissa - The head maid's daughter,
• Carp - Emmental family's attending physician.