Until that day, Evren Veylor had never been popular.
Sure, he was well-loved by his parents, uncles, and aunts. His glowing smile and good nature won the hearts of all the adults ever since he was a baby. As a child, he was praised by his magic tutors for his steady hand and quick grasp of casting concepts. But among his peers; he had never felt like a member of the group. They teased and alienated him, saying things like:
“You’re not going to tell on us, are you Evren?”
“Who invited Old Man Evren along. He’s just going to get in the way.”
His slow, deliberate way of speaking earned him the not so flattering nickname, ‘Old Man’. And though he never ‘told on’ the other boys when they raided the apple orchard in the night, or when they spied on the girls in the public bath, his quiet refusal to go along with their schemes was enough to earn him a reputation as a goody-goody.
From his first year of tutorage, he discovered that he was bigger than the other kids his age, and that difference only became more apparent as he matured, growing both taller and heavier. But rather than using his size and strength to his advantage, Evren learned to hold back. To watch and listen before reacting physically. The other boys saw this as a sign of weakness, and treated him like a big teddy bear. He was slow to anger, slow to act, and easy to take advantage of. Afterall, everything he did took longer than it should.
During sporting festivals and running days, Evren, without fail, would take last place. Puffing to the finish, his brow drenched and his clothes soaked through with sweat, giving the boys more ammunition to use against him. The tug-of-war and feats of strength were the only events that anyone took him seriously in, because it was impossible to ignore how much stronger he was than everyone else.
Yes, the boys found every opportunity to make fun of him, but the real bane of Evren’s existence was his sisters.
His sisters arguably had better reasons for their cruelty towards him. As the only boy in a family with eight kids, he received preferential treatment in many small but noticeable ways. At the dinner table, he sat at the right hand of his father and was given frequent chances to contribute in important family discussions, while his sisters, ranging in age from seven years older to four years younger than him, sat at the far end of the table, talking amongst themselves and listening from afar.
His mother would serve him special desserts and give him extra helpings of meat while telling his sisters things like, “As a young woman, you’ve got to watch your weight.” or “Eat your vegetables and stop complaining.” Once she even told his oldest sister, Winifred, “You’ve put on a few pounds. No sweets for you today, darling.”
He’d never asked for this special treatment, but his sisters didn’t see things that way. Together they decided to even the score. Through their social connections and the fact that they knew all the girls in town, they got their revenge in small ways; ignoring him, scolding him, or worse, talking badly about him to their friends.
“There’s your brother, he’s gotten so tall!” An older girl once commented.
“That’s because all he does is sit around the house and eat,” Dia, his sister who was just one year older than him, replied.
Another time, a cute younger girl spoke of him within earshot, saying, “I saw your brother win a casting duel today. He’s so strong!”
“He’s not strong,” Mabel, his younger sister by a year, had replied, “He gets all sweaty and tired just from walking to the tutor’s. Pee-yoooo!” She held her nose as if enduring a terrible smell.
They mocked the way he paused before speaking, the way he gathered himself before starting anything, and the clothes he wore, which were hand-me-downs from his father’s childhood. Nothing else would fit him.
Even the thing he was best at: Casting spells, earned him the ire of his sisters.
“You’re only good at casting when you’re in a quiet classroom.”
“You’ll never find a support partner that wants you.”
The other boys, though their mana pools were shallow and their spells were crudely formed, were able to beat him more times than he won. And though he grew up with the same thick black hair and broad shoulders, as his father had been when he was young, his sisters had been right.
It didn’t matter that he was strong and handsome. He had not become the kind of boy that girls fought over.
So naturally, the first day that it happened, he assumed that something was terribly wrong.