(So that's how it is...)
Back in Wellrod Territory, Isaac walked the corridor toward Morgan's office, lost in thought yet oddly satisfied with his own conclusion.
He had once wondered if his great-grandfather Jude might also have been a reincarnator (T/N: someone reborn into another world with memories of a previous life). Perhaps every brilliant generation of House Wellrod carried memories from another world, and that was why they excelled.
But no—that was not the case.
Isaac had reached that certainty for one simple reason:
――Jude lacked ambition.
The man, feared by all as a god of schemes, never sowed civil unrest in the kingdom, never sought to seize power in the chaos. He lived and died as a loyal noble of Reed, without the faintest sign of betrayal.
Even those of lesser talent than Isaac often aimed for gekokujou (T/N: "the low overcoming the high," a Japanese expression for overthrowing one's betters). With Jude's brilliance, anyone would have grasped for the throne without hesitation.
――Yet Jude did not.
Which meant his great-grandfather had remained bound to the framework of the kingdom, a man of "ordinary" limits. He likely never even considered treachery.
A reincarnator would never suppress the urge to take power when opportunity presented itself. Jude must have simply been a genius born of this world, an heir who worked and studied furiously to rise.
(Well... that makes him even more terrifying.)
No boost from previous-life knowledge—yet he still left his name in the kingdom's modern history.
If Isaac had ever stood before him, he would probably have broken down in fear, wetting himself and screaming.
The fact that Jude was dead left him relieved. And yet, guilt tugged at him.
(Ancestor, you guarded the Reed Kingdom with your life. ...And I will take it for myself. Forgive me. There will be chaos anyway. Better I use it.)
Pamela would be slain by a foolish prince. Perhaps even House of Marquis Windsor would be abolished.
If so, Isaac would exploit the chaos, rescue Pamela, and seize the throne. Inwardly, he pressed his hands together in a silent prayer to his ancestors, asking their pardon for destroying the very royal family they had sworn to serve.
――
His musings ended as he reached the office door. No visitors waited outside. Other nobles were busy clearing documents left from Morgan's absence, knowing that showing up with pleasantries before work was done would only irritate him.
Isaac had also chosen this timing deliberately. He disliked cutting into anyone's place in line, but neither did he want to sit among them and draw unwanted attention.
He could have waited until later, after work was finished. But what he was about to propose would surely be opposed by Lucia and Margaret. He needed the consent of Morgan, the lord, and Randolph, the acting lord, before confronting them.
Isaac knocked. A voice called back, and the door opened.
"Oh? Isaac-sama, did you need something?"
The one opening it was Francis, the secretary.
"Francis, thank you for watching the house while Grandfather was away," Isaac said, handing over a bundle of flowers.
Gestures like this only mattered if done regularly. He didn't want anyone muttering, "Why did he give them something but not me?"
"You went out of your way for this? I appreciate it. Was that the reason you came?" Francis asked.
Isaac shook his head.
"That's part of it. But I also have something important to discuss with Grandfather and Father."
"...I see."
Francis glanced back into the room. Inside, Randolph was still receiving instruction as Acting Lord. Just as the last time Isaac had entered, two desks stood side by side—though now Randolph sat in the lord's chair, with Morgan guiding him from the side.
It was a subtle lesson: even as a stand-in, Randolph must feel the weight of the lord's seat.
At the moment, both had paused their work to look at Isaac.
"Never mind that. Come in," Morgan said, gesturing him forward.
If he had brushed Isaac aside with "We're busy," curiosity would have gnawed at him later. Better to hear him out immediately, and it might even prove a good test for Randolph as Lord.
Isaac stepped in and stood before Randolph.
"Forgive me for intruding during your work. I've come with a request. Would you hear me out?"
He met the eyes of both Randolph and Morgan, then turned his gaze briefly toward the side door—the one that led into the parlor.
That room had thick walls and a heavy door, built so that no sound could escape. Isaac's meaning was clear: he wished to speak there.
This was not for himself. It was for Randolph.
A five-year-old blurting out, "I need to build achievements to support Father," in front of the secretaries would shred Randolph's dignity. Humiliating him before others would wound his pride beyond repair.
Isaac knew this all too well.
He remembered from his previous life, back when he worked in an izakaya (T/N: Japanese tavern). His manager had been particularly cruel—bellowing at staff the moment they erred, no matter who was watching.
When workers got scolded in public, even student part-timers looked down on them.
Isaac did not want his father to feel that way, so he wanted to talk where no secretaries were around.
"If it's nothing guilty, then speak here."
But Randolph did not take Isaac's thought.
If it was something to hide, there was no need to come to the public office.
Since Isaac came during work time, Randolph thought it must be fine to talk in front of others.
"It's not guilty, but..."
Isaac was troubled.
Now he could not ask for a separate room.
If he did, the secretaries might think, "So there was something guilty."
That kind of impression would hurt later.
He decided he might have to hurt Father a little with words.
"Please let me handle 100kg of Tirihill iron ore every month, sell and buy freely at the site. I also want permission to go out for that."
"Huh?"
Randolph was shocked.
Everyone there was the same.
Morgan was speechless.
"Why would you even think that...? Tirihill iron ore is no good."
"Yes, I know."
Tirihill, the mine town in the east of Wellrod Territory.
A hilly area, four days by carriage from the capital.
Too big for a village, too small for a city.
Even with a mine, its size stayed in-between for a reason.
Over 90% of Reed Kingdom's ore came from Marquis Warwick's land.
Because deposits were rich and iron content was high.
Tirihill's ore had less iron.
Buying from Warwick was cheaper than mining it.
The mine stayed only as backup.
Insurance in case Warwick's ore could not be bought.
They hired miners only to keep skills alive.
The ore had no other value.
Why Isaac wanted to deal with it, no one knew.
"When the Black Merchant Guild matter happened, Father told me, 'Don't speak like you know money when you never earned it.' So I thought I should build results first."
Randolph frowned.
He did not expect a small child to want to earn money.
It felt like spite against him, and was unpleasant.
"Still... that's something you can do when you're older."
At least five more years later.
A child who could still cling to mother should not be saying this.
But Isaac had a reason not to wait.
"No, I can't wait. Dennis from the Black Merchant Guild tricked you! He already got 100 million Reed from you. He will keep tricking you."
Isaac clenched his fist as he spoke.
Randolph looked confused.
"But he tried to apologize and pay it back. He showed sincerity. That means it was a mistake. People make mistakes. It's not good to blame forever."
Randolph reasoned calmly.
Taken at that moment, it was not wrong.
"No. Dennis had clear bad intent. He guessed you would say 'no need to return,' and then offered to return the money."
In Isaac's mind came the memory of a swindler who tricked Al Capone.
He borrowed money saying it was for investment, pretended to fail, but brought the principal back.
Capone thought, "He lost but paid me back. Honest man," and rewarded him.
But in truth, there was no investment at all.
Dennis did the same.
Sold worthless gems and took 100 million Reed.
Then one month later, suggested repayment.
Just with that, Randolph trusted him.
But unlike Capone, Randolph might keep getting tricked.
Isaac could not allow that.
Some said being tricked was your own fault.
But Isaac thought the trickster was at fault.
A society full of distrust was worse than one where people like Father did not get deceived.
To take the first step, Isaac resolved to protect Father.
"I love you, Father. That's why I can't stand Dennis making a fool of you. Please give me a chance to build proof, so my words will be trusted and you'll stay cautious of him."
Isaac bowed deeply.
To show his seriousness.
And a little as apology.
In truth, he also wanted to get funds for himself at the same time.
That gave him slight guilt.
"Isaac..."
Randolph was too shocked to say more.
He never thought his young child worried this much.
Morgan cut in instead.
Isaac left the office with brisk steps, the sound of the heavy door closing behind him.
The air in the corridor felt lighter compared to the dense pressure inside. He paused for a moment, exhaling, then allowed a faint smile to touch his lips.
(With this, I've got permission. Now it's up to me to turn Tirihill's useless ore into proof that I can protect Father.)
His small hand clenched at his side, the determination far too heavy for a child's frame.
Meanwhile, inside the office, Morgan and Randolph remained silent for a long stretch. The secretaries pretended to be absorbed in their papers, but their ears strained toward the lords' words.
Morgan finally broke the silence, voice low but firm.
"...Randolph. Do not take this lightly. Isaac may be a child, but he has already set his eyes on things most adults would shy away from. That sharpness—if directed wrongly—will one day bring ruin as easily as salvation."
Randolph nodded slowly, still staring at the documents on the desk yet not reading a single word.
"I know. But he is still my son. If he stumbles, I will be the one to bear it. That is my duty as his father."
Morgan's gaze softened.
"That is the right answer. Never forget—sons will outgrow us. It is our task to prepare them, even if it means being surpassed."
Randolph's hands tightened upon the parchment, as if trying to squeeze resolve from its fibers.
(Then I must not falter. Not yet. Not while he still calls me Father with pride.)
He straightened his back and reached for the next document, his movements sharper now, more deliberate.
The room fell into the rhythm of quills scratching parchment once more, but beneath it lingered the silent weight of a truth all present had felt—
that the future of House Wellrod no longer rested solely on the shoulders of its lords, but also on the small, determined hands of a five-year-old boy.
Notes:
• Ran - She is a gentle orphan, appeared as Mobu's close friend, surviving the demon attack in their secret hideout.