"Hello to you too. How have you been?"

Bartholomew brightened at once.

"Good, good," he said, adjusting his glasses with two fingers the way he always did when he wanted to appear more composed than he felt. "Cynthia is inside helping with the renovations. What do you think?"

Trafalgar let his gaze travel across the orphanage grounds.

The first time he came here, the place had felt old in the honest way poor places often did. A large three-story building wrapped in ivy, worn by time, with faded paint and the sort of warmth great houses could never buy no matter how much gold they stacked into stone. Back then, the roof had needed work, the halls had carried the quiet fatigue of a place surviving one season at a time, and yet the children’s laughter had already made it feel fuller than most mansions.

Now the difference was easy to see.

The roof had been repaired properly. One side of the exterior had fresh paint where the older walls had once looked weathered and tired. New timber and stacked tools sat near the side entrance, and one section of the yard had been cleared for materials. It was not transformed into anything grand, but it no longer looked like a place forever one storm away from trouble.

"It looks better," Trafalgar said. "A lot better."

Barth smiled in that quiet way of his, proud without trying to make it larger than it was. "Yeah. It really does."

As soon as they stepped through the gate, the same feeling from his first visit came back.

Children running through the courtyard with badly tied shoes and scraped knees, a half-finished ball made from patched cloth, voices from open windows, the smell of bread, dust, and wood that had recently been cut and carried inside.

A few of the younger children noticed Barth first and ran toward him. Two of them attached themselves to his arms immediately. One little girl stopped near Trafalgar, clearly trying to decide whether he was terrifying or impressive.

Probably both.

Before he could say anything, a familiar voice reached them. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

"Bartholomew. You came back quickly."

Sister Lunea crossed the courtyard with her sleeves rolled to the elbows and a cloth still hanging from one hand. Her smile was the same as before, gentle and practical at once, the kind carried by someone who had spent years making difficult things feel manageable for children.

"And you brought him again." She turned to Trafalgar with that same warmth. "Welcome back, Mister Morgain."

"Just Trafalgar is fine," he said. "And I told you before, most of this was thanks to Barth."

Sister Lunea’s expression shifted into one of those patient smiles adults gave when they had already decided modesty was a problem they were going to ignore.

"And I told you before that I’m thanking both of you." She gestured loosely toward the roof above them. "You can see it yourself. The repairs are holding beautifully. The children will not have rain dripping through the ceilings this autumn."

Barth rubbed the back of his neck. "We still have a lot left to do."

"Which is why you are here," Lunea said, and the line was so matter-of-fact it almost made Trafalgar laugh.

Cynthia appeared from the side entrance before he could answer. Her clothes had a little dust on them, and a loose strand of white hair had escaped near her cheek. She stopped when she saw him there and her expression changed in that small, quick way she never seemed to realize other people could catch.

"You actually came."

Trafalgar raised a brow. "You say that like I’m unreliable."

"You are many things," Cynthia replied. "Reliable is not always the first one."

Barth, caught between both of them, decided wisely not to involve himself.

Trafalgar glanced past her toward the materials inside. "Helping with the renovations?"

"Obviously."

Before Trafalgar could say anything back, another voice came from behind the open doorway.

"So this is the young man causing my girl trouble again."

Sister Alena stepped out into the light.

She looked much as Trafalgar remembered: pale skin, elegant black horns curving back from her temples, dark robes simple enough to feel unpretentious on her and refined anyway. There was something quiet in the way she carried herself that made the whole courtyard seem less noisy around her.

"Trouble?" Trafalgar said. "That sounds unfair."

Alena smiled. "Good. Then you’ll survive being treated unfairly for one sentence."

Cynthia closed her eyes briefly. "Sister..."

Alena ignored that with complete ease and came closer, her attention settling on Trafalgar with that same steady intelligence from their first meeting. "You came back. That means either you are very kind, or Bartholomew and Cynthia have become much better at dragging people where they want them."

"Probably the second one," Trafalgar said.

"That is a relief. I distrust boys who claim to be purely kind."

That got a laugh out of him.

Lunea shook her head, though she was smiling too. "Don’t listen to her. She becomes worse when she’s pleased."

"I become more honest," Alena corrected. Her attention shifted briefly toward the repaired hall and the roof above. "Still, since you are here, I’ll say it properly again. None of this would have moved so quickly without the help that reached us through Bartholomew."

Trafalgar made a small face at that. "And I’ll say it properly again. Most of it was thanks to Barth."

Barth nearly choked on his own attempt at breathing. "M-me?"

"Yes, you," Trafalgar said. "You handled it. You brought it here. You made sure it was used here."

Lunea nodded. "He did."

Alena folded her hands loosely. "Which means I should continue thanking both of you until one of you finally accepts it."

Trafalgar let out a breath through his nose. "That sounds exhausting."

"It is," Cynthia said. "You should give up now."

Alena’s gaze moved from Trafalgar to Cynthia, and the smile that followed had far more intention in it than Trafalgar liked.

"You know," she said lightly, "if the future heir of House Morgain keeps appearing here, perhaps I should start thinking he’s here for more than charity. Cynthia would do well with a husband who can actually hold a conversation."

Cynthia froze.

Barth looked down so quickly it was almost impressive.

Trafalgar laughed.

It came out easier than he expected, mostly because Alena said it with such perfect calm that the provocation barely felt like one.

Cynthia, on the other hand, turned red in a way she clearly hated. "Sister Alena."

"What?" Alena replied. "He’s strong, rich, and at least moderately house-trained. You could do worse."

Lunea covered part of her face with her hand. "Alena."

"I said moderately."

That made Trafalgar laugh again, and this time Cynthia reacted before anyone else could speak further. She stepped forward, caught his wrist, and started pulling him toward the side hall.

"We’re leaving."

Trafalgar let himself be dragged with only token resistance. "You’re very aggressive when embarrassed."

"I’m not embarrassed."

"Right."

She shot him a glare over her shoulder and kept walking.

She did not answer that. She just kept walking, ears a little red, which only made his expression shift further.

The hallway inside carried the same old wooden creak beneath each step, though parts of it had changed since his first visit. One wall had been repainted. A stack of folded blankets waited by a half-open door. New boards rested along one side where part of the floor was being redone piece by piece.

Cynthia finally let go of his wrist once they had put enough distance between themselves and the courtyard.

"Sister Alena says whatever she wants," she muttered, clearly more irritated by that than she wanted to admit. "And once she starts, there’s no stopping her."

Trafalgar glanced at her. "I noticed."

"Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

"Enjoy it."

That almost made him laugh.

Before he could answer, his attention shifted past her.

One of the smaller side rooms stood partly open, and inside, near the window, sat a boy he had never seen before. He looked around eight. Dark hair, thin frame, small horns rising from his head.

Trafalgar’s expression changed.

"That boy is new," he said. "I didn’t see him last time."

Cynthia turned slightly and followed his attention.

"Oh. Him." Her tone softened at once. "Yeah. He arrived recently."

Something warm pulsed against Trafalgar’s finger.

The ring.

A system line flickered at the edge of his vision.

[Heirloom of the First Lord – Unique Rank]

[Warning: hidden bloodline signature nearby]

Trafalgar stared at the child.

’Seriously!?’