A month had passed since the New Year.
Once the rush of gatherings and parties was over, peace finally returned.
But February, of course, had its own event.
――Valentine's Day!
Though there was no Saint Valentinus here, the fourteenth of February was still recognized as Valentine's Day.
So too with White Day. In this world, it was widely known as the day women confessed their feelings.
Long ago, a princess of some land fell in love with a knight.
It was a love across ranks—one doomed to fail.
She stitched a handkerchief with her own hands and, without letting others notice, gifted it to him.
At the very least, she wanted him to hold something she had made.
That was on the fourteenth of February.
The knight, upon receiving the gift, realized the princess's heart.
But theirs was still a love across ranks. It could never succeed.
So, he sought a way to make it possible: he slew a small dragon that had been troubling the royal capital.
His gamble succeeded. As a reward for defeating the beast, he won the right to marry the princess.
――That happened on the fourteenth of March, later called White Day.
(The bar was set far too high. For ordinary men, it's just trouble...)
So Isaac had thought when he first read that tale in a picture book.
In this world, unmarried women gave embroidered handkerchiefs to the one they admired.
If a man accepted, he would then arrange matters with his own family or hers to set an engagement.
Instead of a dragon's head, what he offered was marriage.
One handkerchief demanded more than a "threefold return."
Even in a different world, men were at a disadvantage in this event.
This was common knowledge in the Reed Kingdom as well.
For those without a fiancée by graduation, it was the final chance before leaving the Royal Academy.
They had no choice but to take it seriously, however bothersome it might be.
Of course, most people didn't treat Valentine's Day with such desperation.
Some already had arranged marriages, others had found fiancées while still students.
For them, it was simply "the day when women served homemade food, and men returned a small gift."
Sometimes even "friend chocolate" was shared among same-sex friends.
Whether or not one had a fiancée made all the difference in peace of mind.
(Well, none of this has anything to do with me...)
Isaac remembered his previous life.
Many of his friends had said, "I got one this year," but most of those came from their mothers.
In reply, Isaac would say, "I got two."
Of course, not from girls—only from his mother and younger sister.
That exchange happened every year, a bitter memory of licking each other's wounds.
Why was he remembering this now?
Because of the jet-black Object X in front of him.
And beyond that object, sat Lisa.
"Thank you for saying it looked good during the New Year's Gathering. Here, this is for you."
Lisa offered the strange thing to Isaac.
She probably hadn't brought it out of love, but more like "friend chocolate."
Still, judging from its color and smell, it looked like something had turned to charcoal.
It hardly seemed edible.
(A pancake? Bread? Or maybe okonomiyaki?)
It was round, so likely something fried in a pan.
But its front was so burnt that its identity was unclear.
The charred smell mixed with a faint wheat scent, insisting—barely—that it had once been food.
Isaac glanced around.
Only four people sat at the terrace in the courtyard: Isaac, Lisa, Adela, and Patrick.
"Adela?"
He sought help from the only one who might rescue him.
But she quietly averted her gaze.
"This is the first dish Lisa has ever made. If you would take even a single bite, it would make her happy."
Adela wanted to honor her daughter's feelings.
She knew it was improper to ask Isaac of all people.
Yet seeing her daughter cook for the first time, she had thought, "Just one bite should be fine."
(Hey! You're my nanny! Don't make me eat this!)
Of course, Isaac's silent protest went unheard.
His young body had little resistance to toxins.
Eating burnt scraps could upset his stomach—or worse.
(To think I'd be poisoned by Lisa before Melinda ever got the chance...)
――The real enemy was within the family!
Isaac now felt like Oda Nobunaga, betrayed by Akechi Mitsuhide.
(T/N: Nobunaga was a warlord killed by his retainer Mitsuhide in 1582.)
"This is the first thing Lisa-oneechan ever cooked, right?"
"That's right. But... I kind of messed up."
Lisa gave a shy, embarrassed laugh.
Isaac wanted to say "Good job" and pat her head.
But being forced to eat it was nothing but trouble.
He desperately searched for a way to escape.
"Lisa-oneechan, I'm sorry, but I can't eat this."
"Eh—"
Lisa's embarrassed smile froze at his words.
"I'm really glad you made this for me. I wish I could eat it. But I think... I shouldn't."
Isaac spoke with a serious face.
And then, he continued.
"Someday, when Lisa-oneechan cooks for the man she marries, imagine if he hears, 'The first meal I ever made, I gave to another man.' Don't you think that would make him sad?"
"B-but... Isaac, you're like a little brother to me."
Lisa's cheerful face wavered, turning close to tears.
"Even so. We're not bound by blood. That makes it different. It won't sit right with me. Save your 'first' for the person you'll share your life with."
The line risked sounding like a misunderstanding, but Isaac declared it without hesitation.
In moments like this, a firm statement often became accepted as truth.
Hesitation only bred confusion.
"But then... what do I do with this?"
Lisa's eyes turned sorrowfully toward the charred mystery.
Isaac, feeling guilty, offered her a way out.
"If giving it to a man as a gift won't work... then give it to family. If you tell your parents you made your first dish for them, people will think your future husband is lucky to have such a kind wife."
"...Maybe I'll do that."
Her face brightened instantly, and she began to ponder how to carry the strange creation home.
It was her very first dish. Even if it was "bad," she simply wanted someone to eat it.
Now that she'd found someone (a sacrifice) to take it, she was honestly delighted.
Adela, however, was stunned. She had never expected Isaac to refuse.
(Isaac-sama... you actually did it.)
(You betrayed me first, Adela. Now you'll pay the price.)
Their gazes crossed, words unspoken.
――Reward and punishment.
Adela had failed in her duty and betrayed Isaac.
Her punishment was clear: she would eat Lisa's cooking herself.
Anything less, and balance would not be restored.
(So even in this new life, Valentine's Day is a curse...)
Receiving a gift was pleasing. But there were limits.
(This lump of charcoal? Who could eat this? Even as a gesture, eating such a thing would just make me an idiot. No matter how cute the girl is, some things are impossible.)
Isaac valued his own life too much. His five-year-old body couldn't risk it. He wasn't strong, nor did he have medicine on hand. Best to pass this time.
(Sorry to her future husband, but if he's lucky enough to get such a cute wife, he can endure her bad cooking. By then, maybe her skills will have improved.)
With effort, the future could change.
Failure now didn't mean failure forever.
As Lisa puzzled over how to carry the "charcoal" home, Adela looked troubled.
Isaac simply watched the scene with amusement.
Then, a maid arrived.
"Isaac-sama. Catherine-sama will be leaving soon."
"Got it. Thanks."
He had arranged this beforehand—he had something to ask of Catherine.
"I'll go greet her. Wait here, I'll be right back."
He left Lisa and Adela, entering the mansion.
At five years old, he no longer needed Adela following him for short errands.
(Well then... I'll have to make my own efforts to change the future, too.)
A thin, mischievous smile crossed Isaac's lips.
Over the year-end and New Year, Lucia had been busy with formal visits—duties that came with being Randolph's wife.
Unlike in her school days, once she had married into the Marquis family, her friendships had faded.
People simply hadn't known how to approach her.
Of all, Catherine—though partly out of flattery—had been the only one to stay in contact. That alone made her better than most.
Knowing this, and because it was Valentine's Day, Catherine came to visit Lucia.
Now, Lucia had very few friends. She once had many, but among them were Royalists, who now avoided her for Melinda's sake.
So Catherine brought champagne and joined her.
With cheese and crackers set out, the two held a slightly tipsy girls' gathering.
"I should be heading home soon," Catherine said at last.
"Oh, how sad. I'll see you to the door," Lucia offered.
"No, that's fine. I need to go pick up Damian anyway," Catherine replied, looking apologetic.
Damian, same faction and same age, had caught the favor of Fred, heir of the Wilmente Marquis House.
Because of that, he was often taken along to visit Nathan.
In truth, Catherine would rather Damian spent time with Isaac, but her family circumstances didn't allow it. She felt guilty.
Not long ago, she would have squealed with joy at securing "the heir of a Marquis house as a friend!"
But now, she had reflected enough on her behavior to restrain herself.
Thus, at the very least, she came to Lucia—not Melinda—as a friend.
Some might sneer and call her a "bat woman," flitting between sides.
But for Catherine, this was her best show of sincerity.
"I only wish everyone could get along... See you again."
Lucia bade her farewell.
At that moment, one of the maids quietly slipped out of the room.
"Of course. Before spring comes, I'll visit once or twice more."
When spring arrived, she would have to return to her domain. After that, only letters would keep them in touch.
It felt lonely, but she was no longer a carefree student—she was a mother now. She couldn't put her own convenience first anymore.
After Catherine left the room, a maid escorted her toward Nathan's chambers.
Even guests weren't allowed to walk the estate alone—security demanded otherwise.
On the way, Isaac was waiting.
"Catherine-san, are you leaving already?"
His innocent child's smile carried no hidden intent. Yet it struck Catherine like a blow to the chest.
Damian should have been spending his time with Isaac, after all.
"Yes. I'm glad to see you looking well, Isaac-sama."
She could only give a safe, formal reply. Nothing better came to mind.
But Isaac didn't seem to care.
"Eliza, could you leave us for a moment? I'd like to talk with Catherine-san."
"As you wish."
The maid, Eliza, moved a little ahead.
Catherine was surprised—he remembered a servant's name.
Most noble houses addressed their staff with "hey," "you there," "that one," or at best "you."
It was rare, and it opened her eyes.
"Catherine-san, I have a favor to ask. Will you hear me out?"
Isaac shifted restlessly.
She thought he might ask to play with Damian. The idea squeezed her chest painfully.
"If it's something I can hear, gladly."
She had no choice but to answer. Isaac's bright smile only deepened her ache.
"The truth is... I want you to tell Madam Melinda something. That I'm not fit to be heir. That Lucia doesn't want it either. That Nathan should be the successor. And that Madam Melinda herself is most suitable as the first wife."
"...What—"
Catherine froze.
The words were nothing less than a renunciation of succession.
As a noblewoman, her instincts were jarred to the core.
"If you tell her that, it will help me and Mother. Please, Catherine-san?"
"...Why me?"
It was all she could manage, throat dry—not just from wine, but from the shock of a five-year-old shaking her so deeply.
"Because you're Mother's friend. And you're aligned with House Warwick, aren't you? That way, she'll believe it."
"...Are you sure about this? Did you discuss it with your mother?"
Isaac shook his head.
"Then I can't. Acting on my own is impossible."
She was right.
Interfering with another house's succession—especially a Marquis House—was unthinkable.
"Please! When you meet Madam Melinda, just slip it in as small talk. That's enough. It will matter for me and Mother's future!"
Isaac's expression turned from cheerful to desperate.
The weight of his plea was undeniable. Catherine's heart wavered.
"...Only as small talk. And only as if I'm currying favor with Madam Melinda. Is that acceptable?"
"Thank you! That's more than enough."
Isaac's smile returned, relief clear in his face.
(So young... and yet burdened by a succession struggle?)
Catherine pitied him.
Lucia and Melinda's rivalry had no precedent.
Without examples to follow, the conflict was even harsher.
Perhaps Isaac was exhausted, ready to surrender. That thought made her pity him even more.
"Please give my regards to Damian."
"Yes... I hope you two can play together again someday. I'm sorry."
Catherine apologized with a sad look before leaving to fetch Damian.
Isaac watched her go.
(Perfect. Mother's friend Catherine will move for us. Because she's a friend, her words will carry weight.)
Around Melinda, there was no shortage of sycophants parroting "Nathan is the true heir."
If Catherine added her voice, no one would doubt.
On the contrary, Melinda would take it as confirmation.
That was exactly what Isaac wanted.
For him, Catherine's role was just one preparation move.
(A preparation move has no value if made right before the main strike. You set it up beforehand, so when the moment comes, the enemy is already cornered.)
He knew he lacked talent, but he had knowledge.
So he chose the steady path—building layer upon layer.
No one, least of all Catherine, would guess that his words—"Isaac is unfit as heir"—were actually the seeds that would drag Melinda and Nathan into the abyss.
And if anyone realized it, by then, both Melinda and Nathan would already be in their graves.
(Step by step. Small gains, stacked carefully. With grit and stubborn effort, the world can be forced to bend.)
Notes:
• Ran - She is a gentle orphan, appeared as Mobu's close friend, surviving the demon attack in their secret hideout.