Silence fell over the room the moment the three sisters stepped through the doorway. Seeing Ulrich casually seated in a chair directly behind their desks was such a jarring sight that their brains seemingly short-circuited, freezing them right in their tracks.

Eventually, Hermione was the first to snap out of the collective stupor. She jabbed a finger in his direction. "W—what are you doing here?" She blurted out, stammering slightly. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Ulrich slowly lifted his gaze from his book resting on his lap. His blood red eyes locked onto Hermione, and as he caught her pointed finger, his brow lowered into a microscopic, chilling glare. Taking the silent hint immediately, Hermione snatched her hand back and hastily looked away.

Since Hermione’s sudden bout of cowardice left them without an answer, and Airam was too busy subjecting the Count to a perfectly dry, unblinking stare to speak up, the burden so fell to the youngest.

"Um... what are you doing here, Lord Ulrich?" Esther asked timidly.

"Observing," Ulrich replied.

"I—Is that so..." Esther muttered. She had no idea what he actually meant by that, but she certainly wasn’t going to press him for details.

"O—Oh! You are here. Welcome, my ladies, p-please take your seats," Linnea suddenly squeaked out from the front of the room. The poor tutor was stuttering terribly, looking even more rattled by Ulrich’s towering presence than the sisters were.

It was an unprecedented situation. Ulrich never showed up for their academic classes, let alone right at the beginning of the period, lurking in the back of the room just to watch them like a hawk.

An awkward pause stretched out until Airam finally broke the tension. Completely unfazed by the awkward atmosphere, she calmly walked over to the desk furthest from the Count and took her seat in silence.

"Hmph." Emboldened by her older sister’s blatant indifference, Hermione threw her shoulders back. She marched toward her own desk with exaggerated strides, eager to show off that she wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. Unfortunately, the overly dramatic display only made her look unnatural.

Lastly, Esther remained hovering near the door, her eyes glued to Ulrich. He had already returned his attention to his reading material, but the moment he flipped a page and casually flicked his gaze back toward her, Esther’s courage evaporated. Averting her eyes at lightning speed, she scurried over to her chair and sat down as quietly as possible.

Another silence descended over the room, stretching out to the point of absurdity. Linnea remained frozen like a deer caught in a hunter’s trap, her eyes darting nervously toward the back of the room.

"Are you going to start today, or tomorrow?" Hermione finally snapped.

"O—Oh yes!" Linnea yelped, forcibly tearing her terrified gaze away from Ulrich. She fumbled clumsily with the parchment and quills scattered across her desk, trying desperately to regain some semblance of professional composure. "W—We will then resume our previous study of classical court poetry," she added, quickly turning toward the board as if facing it was easier than facing the room.

Her voice was calm enough at first, but the tension in her shoulders gave her away. Even the hand with which she held the chalk looked slightly stiff. It was obvious that Ulrich’s presence at the back of the room was making her very nervous.

With a small breath, she began writing several lines across the board in neat cursive.

"High-court poetry," she continued, "is not merely about beauty of expression. It is also about discipline, elegance, and knowing how to convey meaning in a refined and measured manner. Among the nobility, one’s words reflect one’s upbringing as much as one’s clothes or manners."

Hermione gave only a faint sigh through her nose, resting her cheek against her hand, already looking unconvinced by the usefulness of the lesson. Esther, on the other hand, had straightened completely in her seat, her eyes fixed on the board with bright attention. Airam sat in silence, unmoving as ever, showing neither boredom nor interest.

Linnea tapped the chalk lightly against the first line she had written.

"Now then," she said, swallowing once before speaking again, "what is the purpose of repetition in noble poetry? Lady Esther?"

Esther nearly jolted in surprise at having been called first, but she recovered quickly.

"To... to give emphasis to the feeling being expressed?" She answered, carefully. "And also to make the line sound more elegant and memorable!"

"Y-Yes, exactly," Linnea replied at once, clearly relieved to have received a proper answer. "Repetition can reinforce emotion, but in court poetry it is often used with restraint, so that the speaker appears controlled rather than vulgar in sentiment."

Esther’s face brightened immediately. Almost without thinking, she turned her eyes toward the back of the room.

Ulrich was still seated there, one leg crossed over the other, the book resting shut now in one hand. His face showed nothing as usual.

Still, Esther’s heart gave a tiny leap. She quickly looked back to the front, trying to hide the small smile threatening to form on her lips. Even if he said nothing, she could not help hoping he had noticed.

Linnea moved on to the next line.

"Lady Hermione," she said, perhaps hoping to keep the lesson flowing smoothly, "can you identify the central theme in this verse?"

Hermione lifted her head at once, confidence already returning to her expression.

"It is about restraint through superiority," she said. "The speaker is obviously placing themselves above common people by refusing emotional excess."

Linnea hesitated.

Hermione’s expression faltered slightly.

"That is... not entirely incorrect," Linnea said carefully, already sounding nervous, "but it is not the central theme here. It is more about grief being concealed beneath formality, rather than pride."

A pause followed.

Hermione stared at her.

Then her brows twitched.

"...What?" She asked.

Linnea looked even more uneasy under that stare. "The poet is using refinement as a veil for sorrow," she explained, her grip tightening around the chalk. "The tone is mournful, not arrogant."

Hermione’s cheeks colored at once.

She clicked her tongue softly and crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair with visible annoyance. For a brief second, she shot a glance toward Ulrich as if checking whether he had paid attention to that humiliation, hoping inwardly he didn’t.

However, seeing him still silent, somehow she felt like he did as much as he did for Esther’s good answer.

Linnea hurriedly continued before Hermione could say anything.

"Lady Airam," she asked, "what effect does the final line create?"

Airam lifted her gaze from the page to the board.

"It leaves the meaning unfinished on purpose," she said. "So the reader continues the emotion alone."

The room went quiet for a second.

Linnea blinked, then nodded quickly. "Yes. Exactly. Very good."

Airam said nothing more and simply lowered her gaze again.

Hermione looked even more embarrassed by how easily that answer had come, especially from Airam!

Airam and poetry should be like heaven and earth, yet she answered better and without hesitation!

Linnea turned back to Esther, perhaps because Esther at least answered with enthusiasm instead of pressure.

"And why would that be valued in courtly writing?" She asked.

Esther raised her hand this time before being called upon.

"Because saying too much directly can seem inelegant," she replied, perhaps a little too eagerly. "So leaving something implied makes it more graceful... and also allows the listener to understand it without being forced?"

"Yes," Linnea said, this time with a more smile. "Very well said. As expected of you, Lady Esther!"

Esther beamed a smile, and once again, her eyes drifted toward Ulrich before she could stop herself.

He had not moved much at all, but she thought, perhaps only imagined, that his gaze rested on her for a fraction longer than before.

That alone was enough to make warmth bloom in her chest.

Hermione noticed it immediately. Contrary to Esther, she noticed Ulrich’s gaze on Esther, and it was definitely an acknowledging gaze.

When Linnea asked the next question, Hermione answered almost before she had finished speaking.

"The comparison shows devotion!" Hermione said, showing eagerness in Linnea’s class that she had never shown before.

Linnea glanced down at the text, then back up. "No, in this case it shows obligation."

Hermione froze.

A very awkward silence followed.

Linnea visibly regretted everything.

Hermione’s ears turned red. "T—That is basically the same thing," she muttered.

"Not... not exactly," Linnea replied weakly.

Hermione’s head slowly turned toward her.

Linnea almost flinched under the glare.

It was not that Hermione truly meant to intimidate her, but embarrassment sat terribly on her pride, and now it was radiating from her in waves. She looked displeased, both with the lesson and with the fact that her sisters were somehow thriving in it while she herself alone kept stumbling.

Linnea cleared her throat and tried to regain control of the lesson.

"Poetry such as this," she said, a little too quickly, "is important because it teaches not only language but subtlety. A noble must know how to imply, soften, and veil meaning. Directness is not always considered a virtue in aristocratic society."

Esther nodded along attentively, writing the words down.

Hermione only stared at the board with narrowed eyes, now looking at the verses as though they had personally insulted her.

And from the back of the room, Ulrich continued to observe them all in silence, making every answer, every pause, and every mistake feel twice as heavy.

But somehow, as his gaze swept over the three sisters one by one, he found himself feeling a strange sensation he couldn’t quite describe, but it was clearly not an unpleasant one.