Reborn As Papa Silva

Chapter 56: Their Story (6)

August 20, 1600:

Goodbye? Why is she saying goodbye like it's forever? Sebastian blinked at Acier, who sat beside him with an impassive face. Beneath her calm exterior, something felt... off. A quiet panic began clawing its way through his chest.

It was 2:00, the usual time for Acier to return to her castle for lunch, as she had done every day for the past five days. Her farewell shouldn't have surprised him. But this time, it did. Her tone wasn't casual—it was heavy. Somber. And the oppressiveness of it coiled in the air around her like a storm cloud.

Sebastian studied her. She was stiff, fidgeting awkwardly. He tried to keep his composure, but inside, his thoughts were spiraling.

Did I offend her? Hurt her somehow? Is she tired of me? Done with me? Am I a bad friend? Well... I've never really done much for her, so maybe I am... but still...

From his perspective, everything had been going well. They'd hit it off over the past few days. Sure, their first morning together after that awkward parting at his shack had been tense, but since then, their time together had been nothing short of pleasant.

No heavy talks. No unnecessary drama. Just light banter, the occasional joke, and easy conversation as Sebastian went about his work tending to patients.

He'd even tried to break out of his shell, to be more considerate, more caring. And her constant smile—her look of contentment—had made him believe he was doing a decent job. She'd shown no signs of dissatisfaction, no hint of a gap between them.

Even today, she had seemed as happy as ever.

So why now? Why all of a sudden? Why is she looking at me like that?

Sebastian bit his lip, fighting back his agitation as he opened his mouth. Her words echoed in his mind, and he couldn't stop himself from repeating them aloud.

"Goodbye...?"

His tone was colder than he intended, but her slight nod reassured him she hadn't taken it as harshly as he feared.

Acier offered a weak smile and twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers. "My birthday... My coming-of-age ceremony is at the end of the month. You know that."

Sebastian nodded. Of course, he knew. Even as a self-proclaimed outcast, living in Silva territory meant he couldn't escape the buzz of preparations. Retainers and servants had been working day and night, running around the estate, to make sure everything was perfect.

"But what does that have to do with anything?" he asked, his voice steady, though his heart was anything but.

Acier turned her head slightly, avoiding his gaze as she replied hoarsely. "There's... a lot to prepare. Especially for me. Things I have to learn and master personally. I have to stay at Castle Silva until the ceremony... and likely a few days after." She hesitated, then added softly, "And so..."

"Our time together is over."

Her breath hitched at his blunt interruption, the icy tone making her flinch. She nodded weakly, lowering her head.

But a moment later, she straightened and plastered on a bright smile.

Any other time, Sebastian might have been enchanted by that smile. But not now. He could see it for what it was: fake.

Acier patted his shoulder lightly. "Come on, Sebastian, lighten up. After this little thing is over, I'll be back."

He didn't respond. He knew a lie when he heard one.

After a tense pause, Acier bit her lip and hesitated before reaching into her side bag. She pulled out a glass card, handing it to him with a tentative look.

Sebastian accepted it carefully, his eyes drawn to its intricate beauty. Silver floral embroidery framed the edges, and a silver eagle gleamed proudly at its center. The words etched in gold caught his eye.

You are cordially invited to the 14th Birthday and Coming-of-Age Ceremony of Princess Acier, of House Silva.

We look forward to seeing you there.

The card was exquisite—likely worth more than everything Sebastian owned. On any other day, the weight of it might have made his hands tremble. But now, that thought was far from his mind.

His focus remained on Acier. She stared back at him, her expression stiff, awkward. And for the first time, Sebastian found himself wondering if he'd ever really known her at all.

He couldn't shake the stirs of regret. These past two weeks with her—he'd taken them for granted, hadn't he? And now, there might not be any more. He felt like he'd wasted their time together, always on the receiving end and never giving anything back.

The words barely registered when he heard her voice.

"I know... these kinds of large gatherings aren't your thing..." Acier started, her voice soft and uncertain. She glanced at him with an apologetic smile. "But I still hope... you can be there... for me... even though..."

Even though we won't have anything to do with each other during the ceremony.

Sebastian and Acier couldn't risk walking together in the noble realm, even in disguise. Cloaks, masks—none of it would be enough.

There was no way in hell Sebastian could act familiar with Acier at her party. Not under the watchful eyes of the nobility and her grandfather. Doing so would be nothing short of suicidal.

If he went, it would be as a shadow, standing alone in a corner, awkwardly lingering by the snack bar while she entertained the crowd. Watching her from afar.

And she wouldn't dare to look at him. Not even once. Every glance she made would be scrutinized, every gesture analyzed. If anyone saw her looking Sebastian's way, she wouldn't be able to brush it off as coincidence. No excuses would save her. The mere act of acknowledging his presence could bring death upon him.

Acier knew how selfish this request was. She would be asking him to endure that isolation, that humiliation. He didn't know anyone, and no noble or royal would lower themselves to speak to him.

Some wouldn't stop at ignoring him—they might harass or torment him for their own amusement, just to remind him of his place.

She knew all this. And yet, she couldn't help herself.

She wanted him there. Even if she couldn't look at him, even if he was nothing more than an invisible presence in the crowd, she wanted to feel that he was close. One last time.

Because after the ceremony, she would never see him again—at least not like this.

Not as a friend.

A noblewoman didn't have male friends. The closest she could come would be acquaintances among her husband's companions. If Acier met with Sebastian after her acknowledgment as a woman, it would be seen as a romantic courtship.

And Sebastian? A man with no name, no influence, no power? He wouldn't just be ostracized. He'd be executed.

They both knew it.

Nothing would be the same after this.

She dusted off her dress as she rose from the stool, flashing him a cheeky grin. "Don't feel pressured to come. It's no biggie if you don't."

Before Sebastian could respond, she reached into her satchel again and dropped something else into his lap.

He looked down. It was a magic communication tool, a rod-like device topped with a large, expensive gem.

Sebastian stared at it wordlessly, not demanding that she take it back. His silence made her smile more warmly.

She patted his shoulder again. "If you do decide to come, use that to contact me in advance. There's a dress code, and we'll need to get you a proper suit. I don't want you making a fool of yourself. Naturally, I'll cover the cost, so don't even worry about it."

Sebastian nodded stiffly, almost mechanically.

Her eyes lit up briefly before she raised a finger, frowning. "But only if you want to come. Don't force yourself. Take a day or two to think about it carefully."

Another nod.

She paused, her expression softening. Then, with a light curtsy, she murmured, "Goodbye, Sebastian."

And hopefully, this isn't the last time I say these words.

Her eyes shimmered as she fought back tears. She trembled, turned, and darted up the hill, sprinting back toward the royal capital for lunch.

Sebastian watched her go, a growing void gnawing at his chest. The farther she ran, the deeper it grew, twisting into a black hole that consumed him as she disappeared into the distance.

He clutched the invitation card in one hand and the transponder in the other, gripping them tightly.

A feeling crept into his heart.

If he didn't go to her birthday ceremony, he'd never see her again.

Sebastian didn't like that feeling.

August 21, 1600:

"I see you're back. What can I make for you this time?"

The adulterous Boismortier painter looked up at Sebastian with glee. Seated on his roadside mat amidst a disorganized sprawl of canvases, paintbrushes, and buckets, he seemed far too at ease with the chaos.

Though Acier had left him with a decent amount of money during her last visit back at the beginning of the month, the painter had no intention of turning down extra coin. He was used to a life of indulgence, even as a branch member of his former noble House. He had already spent half the money, and could always use more.

So, when Sebastian approached, the painter was relieved.

Sebastian reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver yule. The painter's eyes lit up, his anticipation palpable—until the coin was unceremoniously dropped into his lap.

"I have some questions that need answering," Sebastian said flatly.

The painter froze, momentarily caught off guard. I'm a painter, not an information broker, you know... he thought inwardly, suppressing the urge to voice his complaint.

Still, the thought lingered: perhaps he should change professions. He'd made more money from Acier and Sebastian's odd inquiries than he had from painting in months. With a broad smile and a shrug, he nodded.

"Go ahead."

Sebastian didn't waste time. His question came through the Mind Ring, direct and to the point. "What do you know of Princess Acier's upcoming birthday celebration?"

The painter stiffened, clicking his tongue in mild exasperation. Last time, she asked me about you. Now you're asking me about her. Don't tell me there's nothing going on between the two of you.

He wisely kept the thought to himself. His more reckless days—like the time he narrowly escaped castration for bedding a client's mother—were far behind him. He valued his life too much to be bold now.

Through the mental bond, his response came as smoothly as a rehearsed monologue: "This birthday will be special. Princess Acier is turning 14 and officially reaching adulthood. As such, it will also include her coming-of-age ceremony, where she'll be formally recognized as a noblewoman and granted entry into the aristocracy's inner circle."

Sebastian didn't miss a beat. His next question came just as briskly: "Does that entail any special customs during or after the celebration?"

The painter nodded, his mental voice tinged with a faint air of performance. "Of course! To prove her worth and qualification as a noble lady, she'll be expected to demonstrate her elegance. This typically involves a flawless waltz with a chosen partner."

He hesitated briefly, his tone growing somber. "Should she succeed, she'll be approved as a noblewoman and take on the duties of House Silva's official heiress. That includes extending the bloodline. Being one of the most sought-after prospects in the kingdom, she'll attract countless admirers and suitors—men of all ages and esteemed backgrounds—each vying for her body and heart to secure the future of House Silva—"

The painter's words cut off as he noticed Sebastian's face darkening with every passing moment.

A tense silence settled between them. Finally, the painter broke it, abandoning the mental link to speak aloud.

"...Is everything alright?" he asked meekly.

Sebastian didn't answer. He wasn't fine at all.

His mind conjured an image of her, dancing with a lecherous, bald noble—a sweating pig of a man whose greedy eyes roamed her body with revolting entitlement. The thought made his stomach turn.

He envisioned her next with a handsome young aristocrat, his smile crooked, his gaze sly and conniving. No better.

Then, he saw her dancing with him—softly, gently, her smile free of pretense. No strings. No ulterior motives.

That vision, he decided, was acceptable.

Without a word, Sebastian turned on his heel and walked away.

August 22, 1600:

A distinguished man sat upright, exuding an air of precision. His blonde hair was neatly combed, his emerald eyes sharp behind a monocle perched on his left eye. A well-groomed goatee framed his face, complementing the opulent striped purple suit he wore. Black gloves covered his hands, one of which rested on the head of a polished cane pressed firmly against the floor.

He blinked, incredulous.

"Care to repeat that?" Count Vardy, the premier dance instructor of the Clover Kingdom, asked with a hint of disbelief.

The audacious boy before him—silver-haired, blue-eyed, and all but radiating defiance—stood unfazed.

"Please, sir." Sebastian bowed his head respectfully. "I need you to help me master the waltz by the end of the month."

For a moment, Count Vardy stared, almost tempted to crack Sebastian over the head with his cane for such insolence. He instead slammed it against the hardwood floor, the sound echoing sharply in the elegant room.

"Do you have no respect for me—or the art, boy?!" he sneered, punctuating his words by jabbing the cane into Sebastian's chest. "The waltz is a piece of history, a cornerstone of elegance! And you, a lowly boy who has clearly never danced in his life, have the audacity to demand mastery in a mere nine days?"

Sebastian remained unflinching. "Eight days," he corrected matter-of-factly. "I need it mastered for the 31st—not by the 31st."

Count Vardy's patience was legendary, but even legends falter. His veins bulged as he fought the urge to toss this boy out on his ear. Even I—Count Vardy, master of dance magic—required a full month to perfect the waltz after obtaining my grimoire!

It wasn't just an accomplishment; it was a badge of honor, a tale retold among nobles and the reason they sought his instruction for their children. But this boy?

He cast a disdainful glance at Sebastian, noting the boy's attire. The shirt and pants were passable, but the shoes—worn, torn, and screaming poverty—gave him away.

Vardy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose theatrically. This is what I get for indulging private audiences with common riffraff.

"Begone from my sight, boy," Vardy said, waving his hand dismissively. "I don't cater to your kind."

He made no effort to mask his disdain. Though Sebastian's striking silver hair might intimidate lesser men, Vardy taught royalty—including Princess Acier herself. A mere Silva bastard was hardly cause for concern.

But Sebastian didn't leave.

Instead, he dropped to his knees. Then he pressed his forehead to the floor, bowing in a gesture of complete supplication.

"Please, sir. You're the only one who can help me," Sebastian said, his voice steady despite the humiliation.

Vardy froze.

Then Sebastian produced a fine leather pouch tied to his waist and slid it across the polished floor.

"Please, sir," he repeated. "I won't let your time go unrewarded."

Curiosity and hesitation warred within Vardy as he picked up the pouch and opened it. Inside, nestled in its folds, were ten gleaming gold coins.

His breath hitched. The amount was trivial for a man of his wealth, but the state of Sebastian's shoes told another story.

This boy could use this money for proper clothes, Vardy thought, a pang of reluctant admiration creeping into his chest. He could replace those pitiful boots... yet he chooses to spend it on learning the waltz?

Vardy bit his lip, set the pouch aside, and nodded.

"Very well, boy," he said, his voice softening just slightly. "I will make you perfect."

Sebastian rose, his expression filled with gratitude, and bowed once more.

August 23, 1600:

Acier stood nearly nude before a grand mirror, her only modesty afforded by a delicate silk chemise that clung to her frame. Around her, noble ladies bustled with purpose, measuring tapes in hand as they fussed over every inch of her body. They worked in silent precision, wrapping the tapes around her arms, waist, and legs, noting her proportions to tailor a gown that would cling to her figure with perfection.

She paid them no mind. This routine was her reality, a life spent as a doll for her mother and grandfather to dress and display as they pleased.

Her reflection told a different story today. Her usually vacant eyes—lifeless, hollow—were shadowed by unease. There was hurt there, too, flickering like a candle's dying flame.

In the mirror's reflection, her gaze shifted to the side table, drawn to the small transponder peeking out of her satchel.

She bit her lip.

Still no call.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she released a soft sigh, laced with the realization that her dear expectations seemed fated to become unanswered hopes. Again.

Her eyes stung lightly before she shook her head, it's no big deal, it's better this way, at least he'll be safe.

August 24, 1600:

"Sir, we don't cater to your class. I must ask you to leave."

The shopkeeper of Honneur d'Or (Golden Honor), a prestigious men's clothing store in the royal capital, pointed towards the door with barely concealed disdain. His eyes lingered on Sebastian's battered shoes, the worn soles betraying his apparent poverty.

Sebastian, unfazed, reached into his pocket and presented a glass card.

The shopkeeper hesitated, taking the card with mild confusion. His expression shifted instantly as he registered its significance.

This... this is a VIP invitation for Princess Acier's Ceremony!

There was no doubt in his mind about its authenticity. As a purveyor of fine goods to the highest nobility and royalty, he could easily distinguish genuine from counterfeit. Even if a forgery existed convincing enough to fool his expert eye, no one would dare present it so brazenly. The consequences could be swift and fatal.

The shopkeeper's demeanor changed in an instant. Bowing deeply, he stammered, "Forgive my insolence, Young Master. How may I serve you?"

Sebastian waved his hand dismissively, his tone cool and commanding. "You're aware of the dress code. Fit me with a suit that befits this ceremony."

"Of course, Young Master." The shopkeeper gestured towards a dressing room at the back, regaining his professional composure. "Right this way."

Sebastian followed, his expression calm, but the shopkeeper stole a furtive glance at him, guilt evident in his eyes.

"As an apology for my earlier rudeness, this suit will be free of charge—"

"No."

The single word cut through the air like a blade, sharp and decisive. The shopkeeper froze as Sebastian retrieved an ornate leather pouch and handed it to him firmly.

The shopkeeper opened it hesitantly, his breath catching at the sight of 15 gold coins—an amount that could buy a fine carriage or a small estate.

"I will pay for it," Sebastian said, his tone brooking no argument.

The shopkeeper nodded stiffly, bowing once more.

Sebastian exhaled internally, though his face betrayed nothing. He wouldn't allow himself to owe any more favors, nor rely on anyone else's generosity. Invoking Acier's name had been an unspoken warning, one he didn't relish using but found necessary to assert his position.

I'll pay for it. With her money...

The thought twisted in his chest, heavy with disgust and self-loathing.

August 25, 1600:

Sebastian stepped into Jardin de Fleurs (Garden of Flowers), one of the most prestigious flower shops in the royal capital. This time, he wasn't turned away at the door. He'd learned his lesson and had spent part of his funds the previous day to buy a proper pair of shoes at Honneur d'Or.

The brown leather shoes, with neatly laced tops and polished black soles, made all the difference in his appearance, though they felt foreign on his feet.

The shopkeeper, a beautiful young woman with warm yellow eyes and a cascade of frizzy green hair, beamed at him as he entered.

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked brightly.

Sebastian hesitated as a memory stirred—Acier's voice, clear and melodic, from their days together.

Hey, Sebastian, do you have a favorite flower?

"No," he had answered then, curt as always. But then he'd faltered, a rare moment of cooperation compelling him to ask in return, What about you?

The look on her face that day—surprise, followed by radiant joy—had stayed with him. The mere act of reciprocating a simple question had filled her with such delight that it, in turn, had stirred something in him.

Favorite flower? Hmmm... let's see. I'd have to say...

"Hyacinths," Sebastian murmured aloud, startling the shopkeeper. Realizing his mistake, he flushed slightly and clarified, "Do you have any hyacinths that symbolize... friendship?"

The shopkeeper tilted her head in curiosity before smiling softly. She crouched behind her stall and emerged with a vibrant cluster of blue blossoms shaped like tiny stars, their delicate stems rising from lush green leaves.

"Of course, sir," she said, holding them out. "The blue hyacinth symbolizes friendship, sincerity, and eternal loyalty."

Sebastian's ocean-blue eyes brightened as he smiled faintly—a rare and fleeting expression. He placed a gold coin on the counter, the metallic clink resonating in the quiet shop.

"Can you prepare several of these into a bouquet for Sunday?" he asked.

The shopkeeper's grin widened. "Of course, sir! I'll ensure they're fresh and ready for pickup at any time that day."

Sebastian nodded politely before turning to leave.

As she watched him go, the shopkeeper hesitated for a moment, biting her lip. She had omitted one detail about the flowers.

Blue hyacinths also symbolize love. Deep, abiding love.

August 26, 1600:

Count Vardy blinked at the gold coin Sebastian held out to him.

"What's this?" he asked, puzzled. Sebastian had already paid him handsomely for dance lessons.

Sebastian bowed deeply. "Please, sir, teach me noble etiquette and elegance."

Vardy's brows furrowed as suspicion flickered in his emerald eyes. "Why?"

Sebastian didn't respond immediately, but his posture betrayed his resolve.

The count's gaze sharpened, and he tapped his cane rhythmically against the hardwood floor. "You're attending Princess Acier's ceremony, aren't you?"

Sebastian stiffened but nodded.

Vardy's lips twisted into a knowing smirk. "And you plan to ask for the princess's hand in a dance."

Sebastian met his teacher's piercing eyes, his expression unwavering as he nodded again.

Vardy let out a resigned sigh, rubbing his temples. "Fine," he said, taking the coin and slipping it into his pocket. "I'll teach you. After all, I'll be attending the ceremony myself, and I'll be damned if one of my students makes a fool of me."

Sebastian bowed deeply, gratitude evident in his tone. "Thank you, sir!"

Thwack!

Vardy's cane struck the back of Sebastian's head, making him wince. The older man scoffed. "Let's start by fixing that atrocious bow of yours. A noble bow is at least 45 degrees, but for someone like you, meeting people far above your station, anything less than 50 degrees is unacceptable."

Sebastian suppressed the urge to argue. Instead, he lowered his gaze and forced himself to bow deeper, his muscles protesting as his back cracked audibly.

"Yes, sir!"

Vardy nodded in satisfaction, tapping his cane against the floor once more. "Good. Now we'll see if you survive the rest of my lessons."

August 27, 1600:

Sebastian entered Éclat de Gemmes (Brilliance of Gems), an opulent jewelry store nestled in the noble district of the royal capital. Without hesitation, he approached the front counter, where a neatly dressed clerk greeted him with a courteous bow.

"How may I assist you, sir?"

Sebastian nodded, his tone businesslike. "Do you sell rings? Friendship rings," he clarified after a moment.

The clerk smiled, clearly accustomed to noble clients seeking custom pieces. "Of course, sir. This way, please."

He gestured for Sebastian to follow, leading him down the length of the glass display case. At the far end, he paused and waved toward an extravagant array of rings adorned with grandiose designs.

Sebastian's eyes twitched—not at the price tags, but at the overly ornate engravings: I love you, My dear, Forever yours. The saccharine declarations made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

He forced a polite smile and shook his head. "Do you carry plain rings?"

The clerk, unfazed, offered a gracious nod and led him back to the simpler section of the display. Here, he gestured to an assortment of plain rings, neatly arranged by material—diamond, gold, platinum, iron, copper, and brass.

Sebastian's gaze lingered on a modest brass band. Without hesitation, he pointed at it.

"This one," he said curtly, then added, "Two of them."

The clerk retrieved the rings with care, placing them delicately on the counter.

Sebastian glanced at the clerk. "Do you do engravings?"

The clerk beamed. "Naturally, sir."

Sebastian nodded again. "I need one of them wrapped and encased for Sunday. As for the engraving..." He hesitated before asking, "Do you have any suggestions?"

The clerk's smile widened. "In fact, I do, sir. Leave it to me."

Satisfied, Sebastian placed two gold coins on the counter, securing the transaction before exiting the store.

August 28, 1600:

Sebastian worked absently, his hands resting on a patient's head as he treated a bump sustained from a fall down the stairs. His mind, however, was elsewhere, his gaze fixed on an empty seat in the corner of the clinic.

That seat had been vacant for days.

He narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Soon. Very soon."

August 29, 1600:

Sebastian entered Carrosses Élégants (Elegant Carriages), a prominent carriage rental service in the capital. He approached the counter with purpose, where a refined-looking madame greeted him warmly.

"I'd like to rent a carriage for Sunday," he stated plainly.

"Certainly, sir. For what time?"

"6:00," he replied.

The madame began a series of inquiries, jotting down details as they spoke.

"Any color preference?"

"Plain and simple."

"And for the steed?"

"Unassuming, yet elegant."

"How many passengers?"

"Just one—myself."

The madame smiled as she completed the form. "Excellent, sir. The rental fee is one gold."

Sebastian handed over the last of the 30 gold coins Acier had entrusted to him, sealing the arrangement.

August 30, 1600:

Throughout the day, Sebastian bid farewell to his regulars and patients, informing them that his clinic would be closed the following day.

August 31, 1600:

At precisely 6:30, a plain black carriage, modest yet refined, rolled through the cobblestone streets of the royal capital. The single-enclosed vehicle was drawn by an Andalusian horse, its coat gleaming under the moonlight. A coachman in a simple black hat held the reins, guiding the carriage toward the grand gates of Castle Silva.

The procession of carriages varied wildly—some were extravagant, adorned with gilded embellishments, while others were understated, marked only by subtle symbols of their owners' rank. Each spoke volumes about its occupant.

Sebastian's unassuming carriage blended seamlessly into the mix, neither drawing undue attention nor fading entirely into the background.

Princess Acier Silva's birthday celebration was set to begin in half an hour.

Author's Notes:

[1] Next Chapter will be a longer, more detailed one.

[2] As always feel free to join the discord at: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar