From a young age, Delphius had been particularly poor at recognizing people.

“Oh my, young master. I’m not the madam.”

The maid whose skirt he had grabbed stopped in her tracks and smiled brightly. There was no sign of discomfort; only fondness. It was as though she found him too adorable to be bothered.

This wasn’t an unusual occurrence.

In fact, it happened so often that the estate’s servants had long since grown used to it — some even found it endearing.

“It seems the young master mixed them up again.”

“He must have good eyes, though. How could he possibly confuse you with the madam? You were probably the one blocking his way.”

“Ah—my lady.”

But the lighthearted teasing didn’t last long.

As soon as the lady of Lukehardt Castle appeared, the servants immediately lowered their heads in respect.

“Mother…”

A small, fragile hand came down sharply.

The Duchess of Lukehardt — Milian— didn’t spare even a glance for the child’s reddened hand. Instead, she immediately lifted his small body into her arms.

Sensing her darkening mood, the servants quickly cleared the area. Before long, the corridor fell silent, broken only by the faint rustle of her trailing skirts.

Held tightly against her, Delphius clutched at her clothes.

He already knew where she was taking him.

He knew what would happen next.

And yet, he could neither stop it nor escape it.

As expected, his fears were realized.

Only after they reached his room and she had dismissed his nurse did Milian finally put him down.

“Mother…”

“Look at me properly.”

Her grip tightened around his arms, causing Delphius to furrow his brows in pain. The force was crushing; it was as if she intended to break him. There was no trace of maternal warmth in her grip.

“How could you mistake that kind of woman for me—the most noble person in the Lukehardt family?”

“…I’m sorry. I was mistaken.”

It was a clear apology, heavy enough to carry even a hint of gloom.

But what came in return was a thunderous rebuke.

“There are things you simply do not mistake!”

Whenever Delphius made a mistake, Milian would drag him into his room, no matter where they were or what the situation was.

She used far too much force for someone who was supposed to be her own child.

Yet the servants had grown accustomed to seeing Milian take Delphius away like that, and he had grown used to her merciless behavior.

Even at such a young age, he never screamed. He remained silent even when her long nails dug into his clothes and tore his delicate skin, leaving red marks and blood.

And that silence only unsettled Milian all the more.

‘A child that doesn’t act like a child.’

He could understand objects well enough, yet fail so completely at recognizing people?

‘Had I given birth to something defective?’
‘Had I stained this noble bloodline myself?’

The thoughts that filled Milian’s mind only drove her to push him harder.

“Never give people reason to whisper about you again! You are a son of Lukehardt—you must never show weakness, not even once!”

“Yes, Mother.”

Whenever Milian became hysterical, Delphius simply nodded in quiet obedience.

Otherwise, his mother was gentle and kind. If only he could be careful, everything would feel like it would be all right.

So he tried.

He listened closely to his teachers and learned from his opponents with respect.

But when it came to recognizing people, he kept getting it wrong.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t tell them apart; it was that they all gradually began to look the same.

There were hundreds of people within the castle. They all wore the same clothes and styled their hair in the same way.

For someone like Delphius, who found it difficult to tell one face from another, it was the worst possible place to be.

“That… is my son? No. That can’t be. It can’t be…!”

Whenever Delphius failed to recognize someone or made a mistake, Milian would lash out at him.

Some days, it seemed as if she wanted him out of her sight entirely. Even when he tried to hide, she would find him and berate him anyway.

As the years passed, her *buse became more frequent and violent.

“That is not my son. Yes… unless he’s a demon that devoured my child, there’s no way such a wicked thing—unable to even recognize his own mother—could be mine!”

In the end, unable to hold back any longer, she began throwing things.

It started with lighter objects—then cups, teacups—until finally even books and jewelry boxes were hurled.

Anything within her reach, she threw.

“Give him back! Return my son to me, you demon!”

Delphius, who had silently endured his mother’s outbursts, had his head lowered—and so he never saw what was coming.

“Young master!”

“Oh no—!”

He had no memory of what had happened.

He had been struck directly on the head by a heavy box containing a mirror. He collapsed in a pool of blood and was bedridden with a high fever for a week.

When he finally rose again, the world had changed completely.

He could no longer recognize the faces of those around him.

He could see that they had eyes, noses, and mouths. He could tell men from women.

But that was all.

Although he knew that each feature was different, when he looked at them as a whole, they all blurred into the same face.

That person. That person.

He could see their eyes shifting and feel their cautious gazes fixed on him, but he couldn’t tell who they were.

He could no longer connect a face to a name.

Doctors were summoned from far and wide, one after another, but they could only shake their heads.

It was an incurable condition.

At last, a flaw had been born within the House of Lukehardt.

“That child is not mine. I don’t know such a thing—something that can’t even recognize people.”

Milian rejected Delphius outright. She denied him as her son, drawing a clear line between them and treating him as though he did not exist within the castle. She refused even to take responsibility for raising him.

Deprived of his mother’s affection, Delphius was raised entirely by his nurse.

But even that did not last.

Each time he failed to recognize her and mistook someone else for her, the warmth of her hand in his would change.

Ultimately, the nurses stopped touching him altogether. They only spoke to give instructions — almost like commands — and left everything to him.

As those around him became increasingly uncomfortable, Delphius slowly withdrew into his room.

He even gave up swordsmanship, an activity he had once loved.

The things he reached for began to change.

Books. Money.

These were things that remained the same no matter how he looked at them.

By the time Delphius was old enough to command servants, even his last nurse had resigned, saying that she could no longer care for him.

And so he was left alone.

In a vast castle filled with hundreds of people, he became utterly isolated.

Although he knew how beautiful the world beyond the castle walls was, he never stepped outside.

Even when he heard the laughter of his siblings and family echoing from afar, he did not go to them.

He wouldn’t have been able to tell who was who anyway. Avoidance spread like a quiet plague. Before long, everyone in Lukehardt Castle began to avoid him.

The only shadow within the castle was Delphius’. He believed he would live like that for the rest of his life.

“Who are you?”

During one winter, they stayed at the seasonal estate to escape the harsh cold.

Despite the house being filled with lively social gatherings, there was still no place for Delphius. As always, he was shut away in his room until a white-haired child suddenly appeared and asked him a question.

“Why are you here?”

“…How did you get in?”

“I opened the door and came in!”

“The door should’ve been locked.”

“I’m the daughter of Calante. There’s nowhere I can’t go.”

The child spoke boldly, puffing out her chest. Despite having entered another person’s room uninvited, she was utterly shameless.

It was as if there were nowhere she couldn’t go.

Her thin legs looked fragile, yet somehow they seemed stronger than his.

“What are you doing there? Isn’t it boring, staying alone like that?”

“If I go out… everyone hates it.”

“Why?”

“…Because I can’t properly tell people apart.”

“That doesn’t matter. As long as you can recognize me, that’s enough.”

“But…”

“Is there anyone else like me in this castle?”

Delphius hesitated for a moment.

A strange discomfort scratched at something deep inside him. He almost chose not to answer, but slowly lifted his head instead.

Long silver hair.

Confident eyes fixed on him.

She wore a dress that was far too extravagant for her small, delicate frame.

In all the time he had spent outside or looking out of the window, he had never seen anyone like her.

Delphius shook his head.

“No… there isn’t.”

“Then that’s settled. You won’t confuse me with anyone else, so come with me!”

Without hesitating, the child took his hand — the same hand that everyone else avoided — and pulled him along.

Despite her small, fragile appearance, her grip was surprisingly strong.

Before he could think, he found himself being led out of the room.

Delphius still remembered that day.

He remembered the way her silver hair scattered brilliantly in the sunlight.

It was only after being dragged around by her all day that he finally learned her name: Ariella, daughter of the Marquis of Calante.