prologue

1964, and thirteen-year old Manfred von Karma stared hard at the leather-bound book before him, thinking that if he stared long and hard enough, that wretched thing would disappear.

Winters in Germany were merciless, and it only fueled the apparent anger and irritation of the young schoolboy who was forced to work on his shorthand. The book title that was written in his mother's cursive handwriting made Manfred stare at it even more. This pointless thing that was concluded in Vienna two years ago was now going to be a part of the curriculum- in five years time. His mother, through ways that he didn't even want to know, obtained the book early and decided that it was high time that her son learned his shorthand on the spot.

Manfred took several deep breaths, and thought that it was stupid. His handwriting wasn't that bad, and these jumble of nonsensical symbols looked like worms.

In contrary to what his family and others thought of him, Manfred didn't see himself as some sort of bright boy, or a wunderkind of any sort. He disliked the notion of being a prodigy; he merely thought a little better than most, and that was all. He was the only son, surrounded by a bunch of his elder sisters who were at least four or five years older than him, and that was all. His father was influential, and so was his mother, and that was all.

That was all.

Begrudgingly, Manfred picked up a pencil and wrapped his scarf so tightly around his neck in irritation against the icy weather, not even fearing the possibilities of choking himself. The seat that he was on, despite being cushioned, was already as cold as sitting on wood, and being holed up in his father's study with numerous books with long, intimidating names didn't really help cheer him up. It was cold, he was hungry, and he hadn't even started his homework because his mother had thrust this horrid book on the desk right in front of his face.

The paintings on the walls of his father's study were all of people; not even animals, not even still life, but of people with false faces and hardened smiles. Their beady eyes looked at the youth and their lips ceased to move from their perpetual smiles, and Manfred wondered whether his father liked the attention, for he himself certainly didn't. He'd do anything to just run outside and bury himself in the snow, so that his father or his mother or his sisters would find him buried there, frozen to death, and it would serve them right. The only son of this generation of the von Karma family, dead.

Manfred closed his eyes. There was only one thing that mattered to him now: the Abitur.

Right after the Abitur, he would leave the house immediately to do whatever he wanted. He would excel in the Abitur, get a job and live his entire life as a dreary clerk in a random office. Anywhere seemed better than the house that he was in, where his parents expected too much of him since he was the only boy, and where his sisters would constantly tease him about how serious he seemed. So serious that he couldn't take a joke, they joked. He can take a joke. He can even make them. He wasn't that bad.

He wasn't that bad.

He wasn't that good either.

He hoped that they would see that eventually.

Well, he thought to himself, the work would have to wait. Manfred got off the freezing chair, shivered a bit and headed for the door ignorantly like a typical disobedient boy, with the sole aim to frolic around outside in the snow like a hooligan instead of an esteemed son. His boots were already on; they made heavy noises against the carpeted floor as he placed a bare hand on the doorknob, prompting him to hiss a bit due to the sudden chill. The house seemed no better than the great outdoors, but at least he would get a change of scenery instead of being cooped up in four walls.

'Walls have eyes, Manfred,' his father told him.

Why of course. The paintings.

Running his fingers through his platinum-colored hair, Manfred was solely determined to play hooky. For a day. Surely they would allow him a day; not like he even wished to ask for permission, but surely they wouldn't be so inhumane as to confine their poor son inside. As he walked through the halls and right to the front step, a maid spotted him, and before she could even say: 'The mistress of the house has strictly forbidden you to leave, young master Manfred,' Manfred plucked the gloves that were intended for his mother from the poor maid's hands, put them on, got his coat and walked outside.

A snowball was promptly thrown right into his face.

"...That's not very funny," Manfred calmly said, before looking over to see a classmate of his who was frowning as he ran over to the annoyed boy; his boots making 'pomf, pomf' noises in the snow as they swallowed his foot each time he dug his feet into it. The classmate in question handed over a slip of paper, hastily written as he quickly said:

"Read it, Fred."

Manfred didn't question Karl Benecke. He read the crumpled piece of paper, all written in a hand that could pass off for a doctor's.

'Heinz was accused of stealing Antonia's winter coat. Trial in the schoolroom in four hours. Get as many people as you can to help- Antonia must've framed him.'

"And what do you expect me to do with this?" Manfred asked pointedly, waving the note in Karl's face. "I don't like these trials; you boys deal with the girls yourselves." Despite himself, the son of the noble scrutinized his friend's face, which was filled with worry and a dash of righteous anger.

"Fred, you know Heinz," Karl pressed on, his cheeks fully reddened due to the intensity of the cold.

"Of course I do," Manfred sighed. "He sits beside me."

"It's not that; you know what I'm talking about. You're the only one who has a say in the trial. You're the son of Herr von Karma," the blonde-haired boy insisted. "Antonia is of noble lineage too, and you know that the boys will get shunned because of them being middle class, and most of the girls support her."

Manfred could almost laugh at Karl's insistence.

"Still passionate about justice, are you?"

"You yourself are the symbol of equality in our classroom," Karl managed a cheeky grin. "You played with us."

"I did nothing of the sort," Manfred huffed in denial, keeping his gloved hands in his coat pockets, not wanting to reveal that they were his mother's leather gloves, which made his fingers look more slender than they normally were. "In four hours, they say?"

"Now is 7 in the morning," Karl said, then paled.

The platinum-haired boy paled as well.

"...Scheiße," Manfred cursed. "Who decided the time of the class trial?"

"Antonia," Karl hissed.

"The class trial can't continue after 12. We'll all be called home for lunch, and our mothers..." Manfred's fists clenched in his pockets. "We obviously can't wait and hang around until the trial starts at 11."

Karl looked at his friend's face, which looked deep in thought. "...Fred, what are you thinking?"

The rich boy paused, closing his eyes as he thought and thought, not intending to ramble on and on about his thoughts like how he did when he was much younger. Back then, Karl told him that he was easy to read due to his tendencies to tell everyone what he was thinking, but now, he was guarded. His thoughts were now to himself, and after approximately seven seconds, he opened his eyes and bit his reddened lower lip.

"We get the winter coat from Heinz, then we'll finish the trial before lunch."

A/N: there are a lot of OCs here, i see orz

hopefully i can finish this fic and do it justice! i tried to keep it chronological, and young!Manfred was something that i had in my mind for quite a while now! please stay tuned for more chapters! thank you!

-Densetsu-no-Maguro