Chapter 11: Training a Shadow
The first rays of dawn crept into Claire's room, beginning to bathe it in a soft golden glow. The chirping of birds outside signaled the beginning of another day, but for Claire, it was no ordinary morning. Today marked the start of a mission she had taken upon herself—a task her father had reluctantly approved after much convincing.
She would train Kageno, the infuriating, sarcastic boy who had somehow wormed his way into her father's good graces.
(A slumbering Kageno shivered in his dreams, something told him that someone got something completely wrong.)
Claire swung her legs over the side of the bed, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders. She stretched, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, and moved with purpose. Her decision to train Kageno wasn't born out of charity or kindness; it was a matter of pride.
He had disrespected her. Disrespected her family. And for what? Some misplaced attempt at humor? His sharp tongue and dismissive attitude grated on her nerves like nothing else. But Claire was nothing if not determined.
"I'll wipe that smirk off his face," she muttered to herself as she began to dress.
Claire donned her practice clothes, sturdy yet comfortable garments designed for long hours of sparring. She tied her hair into a loose braid to keep it out of her face and adjusted the leather bracers on her forearms. This wasn't just about teaching Kageno how to fight; it was about showing him discipline, respect, and—if she had her way—a healthy dose of humility.
She crossed the room to her weapon rack, her fingers brushing against the finely crafted hilts of her own swords. But those would be too much for a beginner like Kageno, so instead, she reached for a pair of wooden practice blades. One for her, and one for him.
Leaning the practice swords against her shoulder, she made her way to the storage chest near the door. Inside, she found a set of squire's clothes—a simple tunic, trousers, and boots. They were meant for a boy a little older than Kageno, but she figured they'd fit well enough with some adjustments.
"It's not like he'll care," she thought, holding up the clothes critically. "Knowing him, he'll probably complain no matter what."
The thought brought a smirk to her face. The challenge of taming his sharp tongue was oddly satisfying. Claire relished the idea of wiping away that ever-present sarcasm with hard work and discipline.
Claire carried the practice swords and squire's clothes downstairs, her steps light but purposeful. She had already planned out Kageno's first lesson in detail.
The Basics. He would start with stance and footwork, the foundation of any swordsman's training. She knew he would struggle—it was practically inevitable with someone as untrained as him—but she wasn't going to let him slack off.
Conditioning. Once he could hold a stance without looking like a newborn foal, she'd put him through drills to build his strength and endurance. If nothing else, it would keep his mouth too busy complaining to insult her.
Swordplay. Claire's lips curved into a faint smile. She wasn't expecting miracles, but it would be satisfying to see him fumble with a sword under her watchful eye. Every mistake, every stumble would chip away at that undeserved confidence he carried.
But her ultimate goal wasn't just to teach him how to fight. She wanted to show him the value of discipline and respect—the kind of qualities her father had instilled in her from a young age. And, if she was being honest, there was a part of her that wanted to prove herself too. If she could turn Kageno, a self-proclaimed terrible swordsman, into someone halfway respectable, it would be a testament to her skill as a teacher and her strength as a leader.
"By the time I'm done with him," she thought, tightening her grip on the practice swords, "he won't just respect me—he'll respect himself."
As Claire made her way toward the practice yard, the morning air was crisp and cool, the scent of dew clinging to the grass. The sky was painted in shades of pink and orange, and the faint sound of workers beginning their day echoed in the distance.
For a moment, she allowed herself to feel a flicker of satisfaction. This was her domain, her purpose. She had earned her place as her father's heir through hard work and dedication, and now, she would pass that same drive on to Kageno—whether he liked it or not.
With her arms full of training gear and her mind buzzing with plans, she stepped into the yard, the sun climbing higher in the sky. She glanced toward the inn, knowing he was probably still asleep. Not for long.
"Enjoy your rest while you can, Kageno," she muttered, her smirk widening, a touch sadistic. "You'll need it."
~!~
Gray shadows stretched long across the training yard when Claire burst into Kageno's modest quarters before dawn had fully arrived. She carried a couple of wooden practice swords in one hand and a bundle of gear in the other. Without preamble, she marched to his bedside and tapped him—not gently—on the shoulder with the hilt.
"Up," she commanded, voice firm and uncompromising. "You and I have much to do."
Kageno blinked, the world still hazy with sleep. He squinted at the faint silhouette of Claire backlit by a lone lantern. "It's still dark," he muttered, pulling the blanket over his head.
"What sort of madness—?"
Claire yanked the blanket back with surprising strength for a thirteen-year-old. "No excuses," she snapped. "In this barony, when it's time to train, we train. I warned you I wouldn't tolerate that insolent tongue of yours again."
Grumbling under his breath, Kageno stumbled out of bed. He was only eleven, smaller than Claire, and still half-asleep. "I'm not from your barony," he tried, rubbing his eyes. "You can't just force me to—"
Claire shoved a spare tunic into his hands. "If you're staying in these walls—temporary or not—you follow our rules. That means learning the sword. Unless you're content to remain some… ruffian with a crowbar forever?" She narrowed her eyes, daring him to contradict her.
Kageno frowned.
"I'm fine as I am, thank you very much. I don't need a sword. I've done just fine with my own methods." He had bested bandits, saved lives, all without a fancy blade. Why did everyone here insist on a sword as if it were the only valid weapon?
Claire's eyebrows shot up. She planted the wooden sword's point into the floor with a decisive thunk. "You're a young man, at least by our standards. Here, boys your age are well on their way to becoming squires or militia trainees. It's the pride of our land—learning the sword ensures discipline, honor, and the ability to protect others!"
Kageno rolled his eyes, earning himself a swift prod to his shoulder from Claire's wooden blade. "I'm not—" he started again, but Claire cut him off with all the subtlety of a charging boar.
"You're here," she declared, "and as long as you're here, you'll train. End of discussion." Her voice was resolute, and there was a strange glint in her eyes, half determination, half something else. Perhaps a hint of personal pride at taming a so-called troublemaker.
Kageno threw up his hands. "Even if I can't wield a sword to save my life? We've been through this. I'm terrible at it, remember?" He tried to sound reasonable, but the dryness of his tone betrayed his annoyance.
Claire gave a haughty sniff, turning on her heel as if to lead him outside. "That's why we start early," she said. "You'll improve. Or at least, you'll learn to keep that tongue sheathed as well as any blade. Now, move."
She all but hauled him outside into the chilly predawn air. The training yard was mostly empty—just them and a few guards who pretended not to watch. Claire paced in front of him, wooden sword balanced easily in her hands. She gestured to the rack of practice weapons. "Pick one."
Kageno stared at the rack, unimpressed. Each wooden blade looked heavier and more unwieldy than the last. He crossed his arms. "I'm not from your barony," he repeated, voice dripping with exasperation. "I owe you nothing. I didn't ask to be here."
Claire's lips curved into a humorless smile, and she flicked the tip of her wooden sword against his forearm—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to get his attention.
"You think I'm giving you a choice?" she asked sweetly.
Her voice deepened, a faint hint of mana carrying her words.
"How adorable."
~!~
An aggravated sigh escaped Kageno's lips. She was relentless, a force of nature in a neat braid. He stepped forward, plucked the smallest, lightest practice sword he could find, and held it awkwardly. It felt odd, as always—off balance and unnatural.
"Better," Claire said. "Now, stand like this." She demonstrated, feet apart, sword held at chest level.
He tried to mimic her stance but struggled with the angle of his wrists. Claire circled him like a predatory hawk, adjusting his elbow here, poking at his spine there, all while muttering critiques. "You're too stiff," she complained. "Relax, but stay alert."
Kageno gritted his teeth. "You're sending mixed signals," he muttered under his breath.
Claire paused, glared at him, and the corners of her mouth twitched. "You've got a lot to say this morning, for someone who can't even hold the sword properly."
Kageno wanted to retort, to remind her he'd never asked for this, never pretended to be a swordsman. But one look at her determined face told him it would be pointless. She was having none of it. A part of him found it almost impressive—no matter what reason he threw at her, she blocked it as surely as any parry. Another part of him found it completely exasperating.
"Now," said Claire, taking up her own practice blade, "we'll start with basic strikes."
As the dawn crept closer and the sky blushed a pale pink, Claire led him through clumsy footwork, simple cuts, and hesitant parries. Each time he faltered, she corrected him. Each time he tried to argue, she shut him down with a glare or a sharp word. It was like talking to a stone wall with a talent for swordsmanship.
"You think you can just waltz in here and insult my family's honor?" Claire demanded after he stumbled yet again. "By all rights, I should have challenged you the moment you dared raise your voice to my father!"
Kageno bit his tongue, choosing silence this time. Maybe, just maybe, if he complied, she'd relent. He tried again, focusing harder, adjusting his grip the way she insisted. The sword still felt wrong, but at least he wasn't dropping it. He heard a grudging hum of approval from Claire.
"That's better," she said. "See? If you had just listened instead of running that mouth, we might have made progress sooner."
Kageno closed his eyes briefly and sighed. This girl was impossible. The very definition of stubborn. Yet, here he was, learning something new in spite of himself. Perhaps this training would prove useful someday. Or perhaps it would just be another strange memory in his bizarre time under house arrest in a barony turned military camp.
For now, he had no choice but to endure. Claire's patience for his excuses was about as long as the blade he held—and he did not wish to discover what would happen if he tested it further.
A dull ache settled into Kageno's limbs after the first few days of training. Each time dawn arrived, Claire appeared—sometimes politely tapping at the door, sometimes bursting in without warning—to drag him out into the courtyard. Rain or shine, chilly or humid, she set him through the same grueling routine of footwork drills and basic strikes. The training yard's dirt floor bore the marks of his stumbling feet and the splinters from wooden swords he'd dropped or misused.
At first, Kageno's sarcasm flowed freely, a defense against her relentless demands.
"Ah, yes, Claire," he'd say with a theatrical sigh as she corrected his stance for the hundredth time, "I can see how holding the sword just a fraction lower will magically fix all my problems. Truly, a miracle."
Claire's eyes narrowed dangerously at such remarks, knuckles whitening on her own practice sword's hilt. Sometimes, she retorted with a crisp, "Less talk, more action, brat." Other times, she just clenched her jaw and moved on to the next correction. If Kageno expected that his sharp tongue would drive her away, he was sorely mistaken. The more he jabbed at her with words, the more determined she seemed to break through his stubborn façade.
As days passed into a week, the routine wore at both of them. Yet beneath the bickering, a strange sort of progress took shape. Kageno stopped dropping the sword so frequently. He learned to shift his weight more evenly, to step forward without tangling his feet. His parries, once wild and clumsy, began to find their mark more consistently, knocking aside Claire's half-hearted test strikes. He was still leagues away from proficiency, but there was no denying he was improving—inch by painstaking inch.
Claire watched these changes with grudging acknowledgment. She'd never admit it to him, but she was a bit impressed that he'd managed any progress at all. His sarcasm hadn't diminished—if anything, it grew more inventive.
"Oh, what a revelation," he might quip when she showed him a new guard position, "Truly I've never been happier to stand with my knees slightly bent." But now, each retort came after a moment of actual concentration, as if he had to earn his right to make fun by first achieving something.
She wondered if training him was like trying to wring blood from a stone. Every improvement was a drop of crimson eked out by force of will and stubborn perseverance. Did he resist because he truly hated the sword, or because it gave him leverage to annoy her? Claire couldn't tell. His attitude annoyed her to no end, yet she caught herself waiting each morning to see what clever insult he'd sling at her next, what new excuse he'd try to wiggle out of a particularly dull drill.
For Kageno, the training was a battle of pride as much as skill. He despised the sword's unfamiliar heft and the way it didn't come naturally. He loathed the early mornings and Claire's hawkish gaze. Yet there was a perverse satisfaction in slowly, steadily improving under her critical eye. If he had to endure her company—and her incessant belief that swords were the pinnacle of a young man's honor—he would at least prove that he could meet her challenge and prove one day that swords sucked.
Their clash of wills painted the training yard with tension and dry humor. Soldiers passing by would sometimes pause to watch. Some chuckled at the absurd back-and-forth, while others shook their heads, bemused at the strange bond forming between the Baron's daughter and the enigmatic ward. The guards assigned to keep tabs on Kageno learned to hide their grins behind raised gauntlets when a particularly witty exchange passed between student and teacher.
By the end of another long session, Claire stood with arms crossed, her sword resting on her sheath by her waist. She surveyed Kageno from top to toe, noting that he stood a fraction taller, his grip on the hilt more confident, less trembling. "Better," she admitted curtly, as if each syllable were a precious coin. "Not good, mind you, but better."
Kageno, breathing harder than he wanted to show, shrugged. "Oh, praise from on high," he said, rolling his eyes. "Shall I dance with joy or is that too off-balance for your liking?"
Claire closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, counting backward in her mind. One day, she would break through that sarcasm—or at least shape it into something less infuriating. "Tomorrow," she said, voice strained yet calm, "we'll try something new. Don't be late."
Kageno smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, oh great swordmistress."
Claire narrowed her eyes, fighting a smile she refused to let show. Without another word, she turned and left him standing there, sore-limbed and smirking, in the fading afternoon light.
He watched her go, and for once, said nothing. Perhaps that was progress too.
Over the next few weeks, the training yard echoed with the steady clack of wooden swords. Gone were the early days of dropped blades and missed footwork. Kageno still had a long way to go, but his arms no longer shook when holding guard, and his feet found their place on the trampled earth with practiced assurance. Claire's patience, once tested to its limits, remained tight but no longer frayed. She had come to accept that his stubbornness was part of who he was, and that beneath the sarcasm lay a determination as resilient as hers.
Kageno's skill improved in subtle increments. He deflected strikes that once sent his sword spinning from his hand. He stepped into attacks instead of backing away with panicked flailing. His parries came smoother, more instinctive. He didn't move like a born swordsman—no one watching would have mistaken him for a prodigy—but he moved like someone who had learned through sweat, bruises, and grit.
Claire took note of it all. She'd driven him relentlessly, but there was no denying that he had come farther than she once expected. On a brisk morning, dew still clinging to the training dummies at the yard's edge, she decided to test his progress. He approached as usual, wooden sword in hand, a wry half-smile playing on his face.
"You're chipper today," she remarked, hands resting on her hips. "Don't tell me you're actually enjoying this now?"
Kageno tilted his head, mock-serious. "Shocking, I know. But there's something oddly satisfying about learning to do something I once completely botched. Don't let it go to your head."
Claire chuckled despite herself. "I'll try to contain my joy."
("See? She's learning!" Kageno mentally quipped)
She paced a short distance, tapping her wooden blade against her palm. "We've been going easy on patterns and forms. Today, let's see what happens if I actually press you."
He arched an eyebrow. "Press me? You mean like a real match?" A quiver of excitement threaded through his voice, surprising even him. The idea of facing her seriously stirred something in his chest—an eagerness he hadn't known he could feel about swordsmanship.
Was he liking swords now? Or was it the challenge and the opportunity to beat Claire?
Claire nodded, stepping into the familiar guard position. "Yes. I won't hold back—too much. I'll move faster, strike harder. I want to see if you can handle it."
Kageno grinned. "Finally, you trust me enough not to embarrass myself completely."
She rolled her eyes. "Try not to disappoint me, brat."
They settled into position, circling each other. Claire struck first—swift and sharp. Kageno nearly forgot to breathe as he raised his sword and parried. The shock of the impact vibrated through his arm, but he held firm.
"Nice try," he said lightly, before returning a tentative slash of his own. Claire deftly dodged, countering with a thrust that he barely batted aside. She was serious now, her attacks more fluid and less predictable. He caught himself smiling, heart pounding. This was what he had been training for: to not just survive her corrections, but to meet her strikes head-on.
Claire was impressed. He was still rough around the edges, but he stayed in the fight, adapting instead of panicking. She pushed harder, feinting high and cutting low. He stumbled back a step, but recovered in time to deflect her blade. His footwork lacked grace, yet he managed not to trip over himself.
"You've improved," she admitted, voice steady despite their clashing blades.
"I'm going to take that as high praise," he teased, ducking under a swing and countering with a quick, if clumsy, strike toward her shoulder. She blocked it easily, but he'd forced her onto the defensive for a moment. He laughed—an unguarded, genuine laugh that startled them both.
Claire's lips twitched into a faint smile. She advanced again, pressing him with a flurry of attacks. He parried two, dodged one, and nearly lost his grip on the last. They broke apart, breathing harder. The sun had risen fully by now, illuminating their dusty footprints and the sweat on their brows.
"You're actually enjoying this," Claire said, lowering her sword just enough to speak.
Kageno nodded, wiping his forehead with his free hand. "Strangely, yes. Don't think this means I've embraced all your barony's customs or something—I still think my crowbar has its charms."
Claire snorted, leveling her blade again. "If I ever see you swing a crowbar in combat, I'll disown you from the barony that you were never actually part of."
He laughed again, surprising himself with how at ease he felt. He could feel a bond forging in these moments, one made not of quiet understanding but of shared struggle and grudging respect. The clack of wooden swords, the scrape of his boots in the dirt, the stern glint in Claire's eyes—these had become familiar comforts.
They resumed their spar, faster now, each testing the other. Kageno's sarcasm flowed, but it no longer masked fear or frustration. It was playful, a part of who he was. And Claire's sternness softened around the edges, tempered by pride in her student's progress and a strange camaraderie.
In that morning light, they found a balance between mockery and earnest effort, forging something that felt like friendship, even if neither would call it that just yet. The swords sang their wooden song, and for the first time, neither resented the sound.
The morning sun giving way to an evening sun bathed the baronial estate in a soft, golden glow, casting long shadows across the stone walls and manicured gardens. Baron Gaius Kagenou stood on the balcony of his study, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked down into the practice yard below. There, Claire was finishing sparring with Kageno, their second session of wooden swords clashing rhythmically. The faint sounds of sass and corrections drifted upward, carried by the breeze. Beside him, Lady Elaina Kagenou stood in quiet observation, her hands resting lightly on the railing.
"She seems happier," Elaina said softly, her gaze lingering on their daughter's animated expression. "It's been a long time since I've seen her smile like that."
Gaius remained silent for a moment, his sharp eyes fixed on the scene below. Claire was relentless in her instruction, yet there was an unmistakable camaraderie between her and Kageno—a dynamic that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day. "She's taken to him," he finally said, his voice measured. "Too much, perhaps."
"Then why is he still here?" Elaina asked, turning to her husband. "You've always been cautious about letting anyone close to her. And yet, this boy—a stranger, a mystery—you keep him here. Why?"
Gaius didn't answer immediately. Instead, he straightened, his hands gripping the edge of the balcony. "He's under house arrest," he replied, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears. "We need to understand who he is, what he might be hiding. He's… an unknown."
Elaina's lips curved into a faint frown. "You're not convinced of that yourself, are you?" she said, her voice gentle but probing. "There's more to this than you're willing to admit."
Gaius sighed, his usually stern demeanor softening for just a moment. "Perhaps," he admitted, his tone low. "But… when I see him with Claire, I wonder. I wonder if Aedric would've been like that with her. If he would've teased her, challenged her, stood at her side like Kageno does now."
Elaina's expression softened, and she placed a hand on his arm. "Gaius," she began, her voice heavy with understanding, "you can't replace Aedric. No one can."
"I know that," Gaius replied quickly, his jaw tightening. "But… I look at him, and I see what could have been. It's not rational. It's not fair to him. But I can't help it." He turned to meet her gaze, his voice quieter now. "Is it wrong to want to hold onto something, even if it's fleeting?"
Elaina smiled faintly, though there was sadness in her eyes. "It's not wrong," she said gently. "But we have to be careful, Gaius. For Claire. For Kageno. And for ourselves."
The two fell into silence, the sounds of laughter and clashing wood filling the air as they watched the scene below. Despite their doubts and unresolved grief, neither could deny the warmth that had begun to seep back into their lives—a small light in the shadow of their loss.
~Unfortunately, not all was completely settled…~
~A Week Later~
The study was quiet, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. Baron Gaius Kagenou stood by the window, his hands gripping the sill so tightly his knuckles turned white. Outside, the moonlight cast a pale glow over the estate, its serenity mocking the storm raging within him.
His thoughts were a torrent of conflict, swirling between reason and the aching, irrational hope that refused to be silenced. Every time he looked at Kageno—his demeanor, his quiet resolve, even the way he carried himself—he couldn't shake the gnawing possibility. Could he truly be Aedric? Could my son have somehow found his way back to me?
The evidence said otherwise. Logic screamed that this was impossible. Kageno's arrival was coincidence, a cruel twist of fate that had dredged up old wounds. But the heart is not so easily silenced, and Gaius' heart was desperate, grasping for a truth that didn't exist. He felt it breaking him, warping his thoughts into something unrecognizable.
The baron's mind turned to an idea, one he'd been pushing to the edges of his thoughts for days. If Kageno wouldn't prove himself, then he would force the truth out of him. A test, cruel but necessary—a test that would either confirm his irrational hope or shatter it completely.
Gaius turned away from the window, his steps heavy as he moved toward his desk. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for parchment, quill, and ink. He would issue the order to his guards to confine Kageno, isolate him until there was no escape from the truth. If it meant breaking the boy to uncover what he needed to know, then so be it.
Before his quill could touch the parchment, make the order real, the study door swung open.
Lady Elaina Kagenou stepped inside, her expression both stern and pleading. She had seen the shadows darkening her husband's heart, had heard the quiet mutterings that spoke of a plan born from desperation. Her voice cut through the tense air, trembling with emotion.
"Gaius, stop this madness."
He froze, the quill hovering above the page. Slowly, he raised his head to meet her gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of anger, grief, and uncertainty. "Elaina, I have to know," he said, his voice low but raw. "What if I'm right? What if he's Aedric? I can't let this go."
Her steps were measured as she approached him, her hands reaching for his trembling ones. "He's not Aedric," she said gently, though her voice cracked under the weight of her own grief. "You know that, Gaius. Deep down, you know. But if you do this—if you hurt that boy to chase a ghost—you'll lose yourself. And you'll lose Claire. You'll lose all of us."
Her words struck something deep within him, a truth he couldn't deny but refused to accept. He sank into his chair, his head falling into his hands. "I don't know how to stop, Elaina," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I've carried this pain for so long, I don't know who I am without it."
She knelt beside him, her hands gripping his tightly. "Then let it go," she said softly, tears brimming in her eyes. "Let it go, for Claire's sake. For Kageno's. For ours. Please, Gaius."
The turmoil, the event horizon ended with Gaius sitting in silence, his mind and heart at war. Elaina's words echoed in the quiet room, a plea for him to release the chains of his grief before they destroyed what little he had left. And for the first time, Gaius hesitated, the weight of his choices pressing down on him like never before.
"Please leave me, I have much to think about."
Before Elaina could speak another word, he had to reassure her.
"I won't give the order, I promise you."
Elaina, understanding that this was the best she could get from him for now, nodded and retreated back to their room, waiting for clarity from the man she married all those years ago.
Baron Gaius Kagenou sat in his high-backed chair; his hands clasped tightly together as he stared at the empty goblet on his desk. The day's (and night's) events replayed in his mind—Claire's laughter, Kageno's quiet determination, and the ease with which the two had bonded. The sight had stirred something within him, a deep, nagging guilt that refused to fade. The awful, desperate action he was about to commit to…
He had been beyond cruel to the boy.
Kageno wasn't a spy or a danger to his family—he was a boy who had been thrust into a world that wasn't his own. Brought here not as an enemy but as someone Claire believed could strengthen their barony. And yet, Gaius had treated him like a criminal, keeping him under house arrest, questioning his every move.
Kageno wasn't Aedric.
The realization struck him like a blade to the chest. He had allowed his grief to cloud his judgment, replacing the son he had lost with a boy who bore no responsibility for that pain. It wasn't Kageno's fault. It had never been his fault.
Gaius rose from his chair, his resolve firm. He strode to the door and called for a servant; his voice steady but quiet.
"Fetch Kageno," he ordered. "Bring him here immediately."
The servant bowed and left without question, leaving Gaius alone with his thoughts once more. He paced the room, his boots scuffing lightly against the wooden floor. Would the boy even accept his apology? Did he even understand the weight of the burden Gaius had placed upon him?
Moments later, there was a knock at the door. The servant entered, followed closely by Kageno, who looked slightly disheveled but calm. His dark eyes regarded the baron with quiet curiosity, though there was a faint wariness in his stance.
"You summoned me, Baron Kagenou?" Kageno asked, his tone even.
Gaius gestured for the servant to leave, then motioned for Kageno to step closer. "Yes. Sit," he said, his voice softer than usual.
Kageno raised an eyebrow but did as he was told, taking the chair opposite the baron. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably before Gaius finally spoke.
"I owe you an apology," Gaius began, his gaze fixed on the desk between them. "I've treated you poorly since the day you arrived here. I've kept you confined, questioned your intentions, and treated you as if you were some sort of… threat. None of it was fair to you."
Kageno tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.
"I suppose I didn't make the best first impression," he said lightly, though there was no malice in his tone.
While he wished he could appreciate the lightness, Gaius shook his head. "No, that's not an excuse. You've done nothing to deserve my suspicion or my cruelty. You've only been kind to my daughter, helpful to my household, and patient with my… shortcomings."
He paused, his voice dropping lower. "The truth is, I let my grief blind me. You remind me of someone I lost—my son, Aedric. And in my pain, I allowed myself to see you as a replacement, or worse, a threat to the memory of what he was. It was wrong of me."
For the first time, Gaius looked directly at Kageno, his eyes heavy with regret. "You are not Aedric, and it was unfair of me to treat you as if you were. You are your own person, and I failed to see that. For that, I ask your forgiveness."
Kageno studied the baron for a moment, his expression thoughtful. He wasn't one to hold grudges, but the sincerity in Gaius' words surprised him. The baron, who always seemed so cold and unyielding, now looked like a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"Apology accepted," Kageno said simply, his tone measured. "But… you should know, I'm not good at holding grudges. I'd rather move forward than dwell on the past."
Gaius let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You're a wiser boy than I gave you credit for," he said.
Kageno shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "People keep saying that. Maybe you're all just setting the bar too low."
For the first time in what felt like ages, Gaius chuckled. It was a quiet sound, but it carried with it a sense of relief. "Perhaps," he said. "But I promise you this—I will do better. You are not a prisoner here. You are a guest, and you will be treated as such."
Kageno rose from his chair, offering the baron a small nod before leaving the study. Gaius remained seated, the weight of his confession still heavy on his mind, but for the first time in years, he felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, in time, he could make amends—not just to Kageno, but to himself.
~!~
The clatter of wooden swords filled the practice yard, mingling with the occasional sharp intake of breath or muffled laughter. Claire's stance was impeccable as always, her dark hair tied back in a practical braid, her eyes locked on Kageno's movements.
His form had improved—not by leaps and bounds, but enough that she found herself no longer grimacing with frustration at his lack of coordination.
Kageno deflected another strike, his movements still rough but deliberate. He stepped back, his expression calm, though Claire could see the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"You're getting better," she admitted, though her tone carried its usual edge of challenge.
"Or maybe you're just going easy on me," Kageno replied with a faintly teasing tone, the sarcasm that had once annoyed her now carrying a strangely lighthearted quality.
Claire rolled her eyes but couldn't help the faint smile that crept onto her face. Something had shifted recently—an unspoken change in the atmosphere of the estate.
Her father, Baron Gaius Kagenou, had always been a commanding figure in her life. Stern, gruff, and demanding, he carried the weight of the barony with an iron will. But over the years, a colder, more distant side of him had emerged—a shadow of the man she remembered from her childhood.
Lately, though, that shadow seemed to be lifting.
Claire glanced toward the balcony overlooking the practice yard, where her father stood, watching them with his arms crossed. His expression was stern, but there was a faint light in his eyes, a spark she hadn't seen in years. And then, to her surprise, he laughed.
It wasn't a loud laugh—just a short, gruff chuckle—but it was enough to make her falter. She nearly dropped her wooden sword as she stared up at him in disbelief.
"What's wrong?" Kageno asked, lowering his guard.
Claire shook her head, quickly recovering her composure. "Nothing," she said, though her mind raced with questions. What had changed? Why was her father suddenly... lighter?
Inside the estate, Lady Elaina Kagenou watched the scene unfold from the comfort of her sitting room, her delicate hands resting on the embroidery she had set aside. The faint sound of Gaius' laughter reached her ears, and a knowing smile spread across her face.
Her husband's change in demeanor hadn't gone unnoticed. The weight that had hung over him like a storm cloud for years seemed to have lifted, if only slightly. And she knew why.
Kageno.
The boy had unknowingly sparked something in Gaius—something that had been buried beneath layers of grief and guilt. It wasn't just that Kageno had reminded Gaius of their lost son, Aedric; it was that he had shown her husband the possibility of healing, of moving forward without forgetting.
Elaina's smile softened as she returned to her embroidery. Claire, sharp as she was, would realize it soon enough. But for now, she let the mystery linger.
For now, she had to prepare some tea.
~!~
As the day wore on, Kageno leaned against a training dummy, his wooden sword resting across his lap. The oppressive air that had once clung to this place—the heavy, suffocating tension that had made every interaction feel like a battlefield—seemed to have vanished.
For the first time since his arrival, he felt like he could breathe.
He glanced up at Claire, who was muttering something about his footwork while adjusting her stance. Her sharpness hadn't dulled, but there was an ease to her movements now, a lightness in the way she carried herself.
Kageno smiled wistfully, his dark eyes softening. He didn't know what had changed—what had shifted in the hearts of the people around him—but for the first time, he didn't feel like an outsider.
When the late afternoon sun stretched over the courtyard, a messenger knocked lightly on Kageno's door. The guard outside stepped aside as Kageno answered, expecting more training orders or some new chore. Instead, the messenger bowed politely and handed him a sealed note. It bore the Baronial crest and was written in a graceful, looping script:
~You are cordially invited to join Lady Elaina Kagenou for afternoon tea in the East Solar.~
Kageno frowned slightly, unsure what to make of it. Tea with the Lady of the castle? He'd had only brief, mostly emotional encounters with her and the Baron, and none had been easy. Still, he couldn't refuse. Curiosity pulled at him, and a strange sense of responsibility too.
After a quick wash and tidying his clothes as best he could, Kageno followed the messenger through a series of sunlit corridors and a couple of stairways upward. The East Solar was a bright room, high-ceilinged with wide windows that looked over orchards and distant fields. Soft chairs, embroidered cushions, and a delicate table set with a teapot and cups gave it a comforting air. It was worlds apart from the stern stone walls and clanging steel of the training yard.
Lady Elaina rose to greet him. She wore a pale blue gown and a gentle smile. If sorrow lingered in her eyes, it was well-tamed by kindness. "Kageno," she said warmly. "I'm so glad you could join me. Please, sit."
He inclined his head respectfully—somehow it felt appropriate not to crack a joke here. He took a chair opposite her, glancing at the fine porcelain teapot and the honeyed pastries arranged on a silver platter.
Elaina poured the tea, steam curling in the air. "I've been meaning to speak with you," she said, offering him a delicate cup. "Away from all the noise and tension. Claire has told me how much progress you've made under her instruction."
Kageno took the cup carefully. Tea wasn't something he often enjoyed, but it smelled wonderful—floral and fresh. "She's… dedicated," he ventured. "And I appreciate that, even if her methods can be intense." He allowed a small grin at the memory of their early morning battles of will.
Elaina chuckled softly. "That's a polite way of putting it. Claire has always been strong-willed. But I can tell that you give as good as you get." She studied him, noting the way he held himself. Younger than Claire, yet carrying himself with a seriousness beyond his years.
"Tell me about yourself, Kageno. Where have you come from? What have you seen?"
He hesitated, sipped the tea, and found it surprisingly to his taste. "I've… traveled," he said simply. "I don't have a home like this place. I drifted, helping where I could. Karstal was one such place." He shrugged. "I'm not from any noble family. I'm just me."
Elaina nodded, not pressing. She sensed that he was guarded about his past, and that was understandable. Instead, she asked gentle, open-ended questions. Had he enjoyed the countryside? Had he seen other towns that took pride in their crafts and festivals? She listened without judgment as he told a few small stories—sparks of kindness from strangers, fields he'd slept in, bandits he'd thwarted.
As they talked, Elaina refilled his cup. The late afternoon sun turned golden, signaling dusk was coming and from this high vantage, they could hear distant laughter—Claire's voice mingling with others, perhaps practicing or conversing in the yard below. Elaina smiled at the sound, and for a moment, Kageno saw the light in her eyes shift, as if remembering happier times.
"I must thank you," she said after a lull in their conversation.
Kageno blinked, surprised. "Thank me? For what?"
She met his gaze, her voice steady. "For reminding us that we can still feel. For helping Claire find something to focus on other than walls and swords. For showing the Baron a reflection that is not entirely shrouded in grief." She sighed softly. "We lost something very dear once, and the ache never left us. But your presence, unexpected as it is, has stirred us to life again—painful, yes, but also necessary."
Kageno lowered his eyes, humbled. He had never considered that his reluctant role here could bring comfort. He was no hero, no long-lost child, just a boy caught in a tangle of fate. Yet her words warmed him, as did the aroma of the tea.
"Lady Elaina," he said quietly, "I'm glad if I can help, even in a small way. I never meant to bring trouble, but if I can bring something else—well, that's good, I think."
She smiled, genuine and warm. "It is good. And please, call me Lady Elaina only if you must. Here, in this room, we can forget titles for a time."
He nodded, feeling a subtle relaxation in his chest. They sipped tea in companionable silence, allowing the sun to dip lower and the quiet to settle comfortably between them. For a brief moment in the East Solar, the weight of loss lifted, replaced by the simple exchange of stories, smiles, and understanding.
Outside, Baron Kagenou observed from afar, seeing the silhouettes at the window—his wife and the boy who had altered their course. And he, too, found himself grateful, if only for these precious, fragile moments of peace and memory.
~!~
The changing of seasons crept gently over the baronial estate. Where once the training yard and corridors felt alien to Kageno, now they carried a sense of routine and comfort. He had grown accustomed to the morning dew dampening his boots, to the distant clang of the smith's hammer at midday, and the quiet hush that settled after supper. He still had guards, technically, but they had long since relaxed into a casual camaraderie. If he wandered too far, a gentle cough or a raised eyebrow was often all it took to remind him of his limits.
Sometimes, as Kageno sat under one of the old oaks in the courtyard, he pondered the strange circumstances that had led him here. He had come as an outsider, a suspicious figure who rattled old ghosts. He stayed as a reluctant guest (read: prisoner), caged by uncertain loyalties and fragile hopes. Now—months after his arrival—he recognized a new sensation in his chest: contentment. He found himself oddly at ease within these walls.
He let out a snort, amused at his own internal commentary. "Am I going soft?" he murmured to himself. "Is this some sort of… Stockholm syndrome?" He knew the term vaguely from half-forgotten whispers of other travelers—something about prisoners growing fond of their captors. It sounded silly, and he doubted anyone here viewed him as a prisoner anymore. He scratched his head, unsure. "I guess I'm not in any hurry to leave, but I'm not chained up either."
His hands were calloused from sword drills with Claire, who had grudgingly admitted he was "adequate," a compliment he suspected was high praise in her vocabulary. She still rolled her eyes at his quips, but these days it was more playful than infuriated. When he practiced now, the wooden sword felt less alien, and the routines less like punishment and more like a dance—awkward steps included.
After training, he sometimes joined Lady Elaina for afternoon tea. They spoke of many things: the slow growth of spring buds, the tales he'd picked up in his travels, or the local gossip that floated through the corridors. She never pried too deeply about his past, and he never challenged her gentle attempts to bring warmth into his life. Their conversations had become a pleasant ritual that reminded him that kindness could be subtle and quiet.
Baron Kagenou remained a measured presence, neither interrogating nor ignoring him. The Baron would watch Kageno and Claire's mock duels from a respectful distance, nodding slightly when Kageno showed improvement. Sometimes they crossed paths in the gardens, exchanging polite greetings and the occasional question about the estate. Kageno even saw the Baron smile at a stable boy once—a small act, but one that hinted at a thaw in the man's once-perpetual frostiness.
Though not a perfect life—he still missed the freedom to wander open roads unburdened by expectation—Kageno couldn't deny the peace he found here. Days passed without the threat of bandit attacks, without suspicious glares. Nights came with warm meals, not uncertain scraps. He began to anticipate certain rhythms: Claire's determined face at dawn, the guards' light-hearted banter in the hall, the pleasant hush of reading in the library, and the soothing aroma of Lady Elaina's tea blends.
He settled into these rituals, feeling them wrap around him like a soft blanket. He was no noble, no heir, no famed warrior, but within these walls he was someone known. Perhaps not fully understood, but neither condemned nor cast out.
"Stockholm syndrome, my foot," he muttered one afternoon, smiling wryly. This wasn't about captivity forging strange bonds; it was about people learning to trust one another, wounds slowly healing, and a boy finding a place—however temporary—to belong.
Yes, he was still uncertain about what the future held. One day, he might return to the road, carry his crowbar and baton through fields unknown. But for now, he allowed himself the quiet luxury of enjoying the steady hum of baronial life: the sound of footsteps echoing through stone halls, the gentle murmur of voices drifting from the courtyard, and the subtle warmth of acceptance that asked for nothing more than his presence.
Kageno's nights had taken on a curious shape. Rather than tossing and turning with discomfort or lingering fears, he drifted into dreams rich with half-remembered shapes and contraptions. He saw diagrams flickering behind his closed eyes—gears, wheels, and levers that moved with elegant purpose. Strange tools and devices danced through his mind, their purposes half-realized and tantalizingly out of reach.
He woke before dawn, heart racing, these images leaving a faint glow of inspiration behind his eyes. What were they? Memories of another life, or simply the product of a restless imagination fed by fragments of old stories?
As the days passed, he began studying the barony's records during quiet afternoons. With permission from the Baron's scribes—and a nod from Lady Elaina—he pored over farming accounts, inventories of tools, sketches of the mills and looms that fed and clothed the people. He traced ink lines detailing the village's irrigation channels and grain storage. He examined how plows were forged, how wind and water were harnessed for grinding wheat. The barony was well-organized, disciplined, but the tools were basic, relying on muscle power and simple mechanics.
"This is definitely pre-industrial," Kageno mused aloud in a dusty corner of the archives. The scribe attending him looked puzzled at the unfamiliar term, but Kageno offered no explanation. He saw opportunities here—ways to make tasks easier, to increase yields and spare labor. The dreams still hovered at the edges of his mind, whispering that more efficient methods existed if only he could recall them.
Curiosity and a budding purpose drove him to make an unusual request. He knew Claire was often the messenger between him and the Baron, but this time he wanted to speak directly. He asked one of the guards to convey to Baron Kagenou his wish for a private audience. The guard raised an eyebrow but agreed to pass the message along.
That evening, as the sun dipped low and the halls took on a warm golden light, a page knocked at Kageno's door and led him to the Baron's receiving chamber. The room was quiet, lined with tapestries and a sturdy oak desk. Baron Kagenou stood near the window, arms folded, watching the last rays of sunlight slip beneath distant hills.
When Kageno entered, he bowed stiffly—an awkward gesture, but one he had learned to show respect. The Baron turned, surprise and mild curiosity on his face.
"You wished to speak with me?" he asked, voice calm. It was not often that Kageno initiated conversation. Usually, it was Claire who dragged him into the Baron's presence, or Lady Elaina who arranged polite meetings over tea. For Kageno to come forward on his own accord hinted at something significant.
"Yes, my Lord," Kageno said, choosing his words carefully. "I've been studying the records in the archives—the equipment used on your farms, the mills and forges. And I have… questions."
The Baron's eyebrows rose slightly. "Questions about farming equipment and mills?" He sounded perplexed, perhaps expecting a question about his new relationship between them or about the family's past. This was new territory.
Kageno nodded. "I'm trying to understand what you know, how far your technology extends. Do you rely solely on wind and water mills? Are there attempts at more complex machinery?" He paused, considering how best to phrase what felt like a delicate subject. "I think I have ideas that could help improve efficiency, but I need to know the limits of what's known here."
The Baron regarded him in silence for a moment. In the young boy's eyes, he saw earnest curiosity and a spark of something else: ambition, creativity. Kageno looked genuinely eager, not as if he were playing a trick or mocking their ways. This was no sullen prisoner's request.
"You have my attention," Baron Kagenou said quietly, taking a seat behind his desk and gesturing for Kageno to do the same. "I'm not certain what you mean by 'complex machinery,' but I will answer what I can. Our methods are as we have always known—muscle and simple machines. Our plows are pulled by beasts of burden, our grain ground by millstones turned by wind or water. We have little reason to believe there are more efficient ways."
Kageno leaned forward, heart fluttering. "But what if there were? What if, with some changes to the design, you could plow fields faster, or reduce the strain on animals and people? Or produce textiles more quickly, or pump water where it's needed without so much manual labor?"
The Baron tilted his head, intrigued. "You speak as though you've seen such marvels."
Kageno hesitated. He couldn't explain the hazy dreams, the half-familiar recollections of more advanced tools—he barely understood them himself. Instead, he said, "I'm not sure. I just… have thoughts. Ideas that seem right, as if I've heard of such methods somewhere. If you'd allow me to work with your craftsmen, maybe we could try small experiments. Nothing grand. Just improvements."
Baron Kagenou tapped a finger on the desk's smooth surface. Months ago, he would have dismissed this boy's strange notions. But now, he saw a chance to rekindle something in these halls—a spark of innovation, a legacy not defined by loss. The boy's presence had already stirred old emotions and new connections. Why not let him try?
"Very well," he said at last. "I will arrange for you to speak with our blacksmith and a carpenter or two. You can present your ideas, and we'll see if anything comes of it."
Kageno's face brightened, the calm mask slipping to reveal genuine excitement. "Thank you, my Lord. I'll do my best."
The Baron nodded, and for a moment, silence held them. Two souls from different worlds, both searching for meaning in their own ways. "Just remember," the Baron added gently, "we are a cautious people. Don't expect everyone to embrace your proposals without question."
Kageno smiled wryly. "I'm used to skepticism." He rose, bowed again. "That's all I ask—an opportunity."
With that, the audience ended. Kageno left the receiving chamber, heart lighter and mind buzzing with possibilities. He would pour his dreams onto parchment, sketching designs as best he could recall. Simple improvements first—perhaps a more efficient plow or a basic pumping mechanism. It might not be easy, but he would try.
Outside, twilight deepened. A faint smile hovered on the Baron's lips, lingering after Kageno's departure. There was something hopeful in that boy's eagerness, a break from old patterns of sorrow and regret. In these halls of memory and mourning, a young mind's curiosity might open doors to a brighter future.
Kageno hunched over a small writing desk in a quiet corner of the baronial archives, the fading afternoon light painting the old parchment and ink bottles in a warm glow. He had been here for hours, sleeves rolled up, hair in disarray, lost in the swirl of half-remembered visions and new insights. By now, the old scribe who watched him come and go no longer raised an eyebrow at his muttering or the furious scratching of quill on paper.
On the table before him lay sketches—some neat, most chaotic. Rejected ideas and crossed-out notes littered the surface. But at the center of this mess, a single piece of parchment stood out. There, he had begun to solidify something tangible: a device to help sow seeds as the land was plowed. He knew that the plowing itself was backbreaking work, done by beasts dragging wooden or iron plows through stubborn soil. Afterward, workers would scatter seeds by hand, a tedious process prone to uneven distribution and waste.
In his dreams, he had glimpsed a contraption—something that channeled seeds through a simple mechanism and delivered them into neat rows behind a moving plow. He didn't fully grasp where this idea came from—some half-remembered invention from a life he couldn't quite recall. But he had the gist of it, enough to try re-creating it with the materials and methods available here.
His design wasn't fancy. A wooden hopper to hold seeds, a sloping channel leading to a small rotating cylinder with holes or scoops carved into it. As the plow moved forward, the cylinder would turn, scooping up a few seeds at a time and dropping them at regular intervals into the newly furrowed earth. Nothing too elaborate—just a seed distributor, powered by the motion of the wheels as the plow moved across the field. The key insight was that it would save labor and ensure more even planting. He called it an "auto-dispensary" in his notes, unsure what else to name this new device.
Kageno leaned back and sighed. He was no master carpenter, no blacksmith. He couldn't be sure if his sketches were perfectly workable, but he had tried to keep it simple. Simpler was better, he reasoned. Less likely to break, easier to explain. The villagers here were practical folk; if something saved time and effort, they would see the value. If he could help them plant more efficiently, they might have more food or less need for backbreaking labor.
He rubbed the ink from his fingertips, smudging a bit of it on his cheek. Tomorrow, he would show these sketches to the Baron's chosen craftsmen. He expected skepticism. He was prepared for it, even welcomed it. They would ask tough questions, poke holes in his design—good. He needed their expertise. He wasn't prideful enough to think he had it all solved, but this was a start.
As he carefully rolled up the parchment, he thought of Claire's intense training sessions, of the Baron's quietly watchful gaze, of Lady Elaina's gentle encouragement. He had begun in this place as an oddity, a suspicious echo of lost hopes. Now he felt as though he might leave a mark of his own, not by changing who he was, but by offering something new—an idea no one else had yet imagined.
The sun dipped lower, and the light grew softer. Kageno smiled to himself, holding the rolled parchment tight. He could almost see it—the day when farmers guided their plows across the fields while seeds dropped neatly and effortlessly into the soil behind them, sprouting in tidy rows without the old wasteful scattering. It might not revolutionize the world overnight, but it would be a step forward—a sign that the future could bloom in unexpected ways.
Tomorrow, the real work would begin.
~!~
Extra Chapter: Tea Time with Claire
The sun shone brightly over the baronial gardens, casting a warm glow over the table where Kageno and Lady Elaina Kagenou sat. The tea was fragrant, the cakes artfully arranged, and the atmosphere deceptively serene. Kageno, dressed in borrowed attire that finally fit somewhat well, took a cautious sip of his tea, marveling at how luxurious even the most basic things seemed here.
Elaina, her usual elegance intact, smiled warmly as she poured more tea into his cup. Her demeanor was charming, but there was a glint in her eye—a mischievous spark that Kageno couldn't quite place.
And then the door to the garden opened.
Claire stepped through, her usual composed expression replaced with something bordering on exasperation. Her black hair was tied back, her posture as rigid as ever, but her lips were set in a thin line. She looked at the table, saw her mother, then Kageno, and let out a sigh.
"Oh, good," Claire said, her voice flat. "Tea. How… wonderful."
Kageno raised an eyebrow, unsure if she was genuinely annoyed or just putting on a show. Elaina, however, was positively radiant as she gestured for her daughter to join them.
"Come, Claire," Elaina said sweetly, patting the seat next to her. "It's not every day we all have a moment to enjoy each other's company."
Claire hesitated but eventually relented, sitting stiffly at the table. She glanced at Kageno, who offered her a faint smirk, which only seemed to irritate her further.
As soon as Claire took a sip of her tea, Elaina leaned forward, her smile widening. "You know, Kageno," she began, her tone light but laced with mischief, "when Claire was a little girl, she used to insist on having tea parties just like this."
Claire choked on her tea, coughing violently as her face turned a deep shade of red. "Mother!"
"Oh, yes," Elaina continued, ignoring her daughter's protests. "She'd line up all her dolls, give each of them a cup, and then scold them if they didn't hold it properly. She even had names for each one—what was the name of your favorite, Claire? Sir Fuzzybottom?"
Kageno snorted, quickly turning it into a cough as he tried to compose himself. Claire, meanwhile, looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.
"I was a child!" Claire hissed, her voice a harsh whisper. "And why would you bring that up now?"
"Because it's delightful," Elaina replied smoothly, her grin only growing. "And it's good for Kageno to know these things, don't you think?" She turned to Kageno, who was doing a valiant job of keeping a straight face. "You've been sparring with her, haven't you? I thought you might like to know she used to make her dolls duel each other, too."
Kageno raised his cup in mock solemnity. "To Sir Fuzzybottom's valor, then."
Claire slammed her hands on the table, her face a perfect mix of mortification and fury. "Mother! Enough!"
Elaina tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Oh, but I haven't even mentioned the time you tried to 'rescue' a puppy by sneaking it into your room and feeding it cake scraps. Do you remember what happened to your bed that night?"
Kageno couldn't hold it in any longer. He laughed—a genuine, belly-deep laugh that he quickly tried to muffle with his hand.
Claire stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the stone patio. "I think I've had enough tea for one day," she said through gritted teeth, her eyes shooting daggers at both her mother and Kageno.
As she stormed off, Elaina sighed contentedly, taking a delicate sip of her tea. "Isn't she adorable when she's flustered?"
Kageno, still chuckling, shook his head. "I think I'm starting to understand where Claire gets her… tenacity."
Elaina's grin turned conspiratorial. "Oh, I assure you, Kageno, this is just the beginning."
Their time together ended with Kageno marveling at how, for all her poise and elegance, Lady Elaina Kagenou was the true force to be reckoned with in the Kagenou household.
He could learn from her.