The brothers were sitting at the dining table for breakfast. Mrs. Bacchus and Roger, who had spent the night at the Marsen mansion, were doing the same.

“Hello, Roger. Did you sleep well?”

“Somewhat uncomfortable, but manageable.”

Roger yawned upon my question. So far, everything was as I had expected.

“Did you sleep well, Sili?”

Except for my father, who was sitting like he wasn’t going to work.

Daylight was breaking, and the situation was no different from dinner last night.

My father was even more overly courteous to his wife than yesterday. The lady also seemed somewhat accustomed to his courtesy and conversed naturally with him.

Here we go again.

How far would the story go today? The Marsen chronicles covered my grandfather’s youth and my father’s childhood so far.

In other words, the climax of the Marsen chronicles, my father’s youth, was yet to be told.

It would be a long and perilous story, although in reality, he had welltodo parents and lacked nothing.

“All the expectations were on me since I was the only child. It was really hard back then.”

According to my father, he was a complete person without even going to school.

However, he inherited the company late, and even the title came to him later than others.

My father called this bad luck. The problem was that no one else thought he was unlucky.

Father might not have had talent, but he was born lucky. So much that he would have died without it.

“My father finally left me the title, and everything else…”

“So, Earl, did you marry Isabelle around that time? I remember that being the case.”

Mrs. Bacchus subtly changed the topic, making my father’s face immediately sour.

“Well, yes.”

“I still remember it clearly. Isabelle said that a marriage proposal had come to you, who had just received the title.”

“Is that so? Well, this story isn’t important, so…”

“Isabelle was writing a paper that contradicted the published theories in physics. She was leading a group of students who were advancing their research, all sleepdeprived.”

My father’s words were cut off.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

He tried to regain control of the narrative but failed repeatedly.

“I was so surprised when Isabelle suddenly announced she was getting married.”

“We did arrange the marriage suddenly, but…”

“But she gave up what she was doing for it. It was an extraordinary thing.”

An extraordinary thing?

Mrs. Bacchus’s excited voice vividly conveyed the past. That group of three was said to be among the most competent young people in astronomy at the time.

“The central figure of the group formed through the research was Isabelle. She was the most outstanding.”

Mrs. Bacchus recalled a desk full of papers, an empty ink bottle, and a chalkboard that couldn’t be completely erased even after a good wipe.

“When Isabelle was researching, I was her assistant. Collecting broken quills, and such. No one had time to clean the lab. It was that meticulous and important of a research.”

Only Mrs. Bacchus was excited. My father showed no particular interest in a story he found dull. Yet he couldn’t entirely ignore it and continued to give soulless responses.

Then, Isabelle, who had been quietly listening to her own story, put down her cup. Realizing the reality, Mrs. Bacchus, who had been reminiscing, became conscious.

“Stop talking, Sili.”

Isabelle wiped around her mouth and ended the conversation.

“It wasn’t that important of research, and I barely remember it anyway.”

At those words, Mrs. Bacchus hesitated and slightly furrowed her brow.
“No, I still remember vividly, Isabelle. The theory you contradicted also helped prove other fields. Yet, you discovered a small error value in this theory, Isabelle. Proving it could have also changed conservative views on women.”

“That would only be the case if it had been proven. I only conducted research; I didn’t prove anything.”

“You never published it. The research was going well. If only you hadn’t felt the pressure of an arranged marriage, Isabelle.”

The conversation, which had begun as a Marsen chronicle, unexpectedly turned into a clash between Mrs. Bacchus and Isabelle. Mrs. Bacchus, who always brought up the past to Isabelle, finally released her pentup frustration.

‘Why?’

Mrs. Bacchus was genuinely sad about Isabelle giving up her talent and denying her past glory.

‘…So Isabelle had that much talent to make her that pitiable.’

Isabelle’s ability could no longer be denied. If others reacted like this, it was clear that Isabelle wasn’t just talented; she was exceptional.

Perhaps that exceptionality still remained in Isabelle.

“I should get up now.”

“Isabelle.”

“Please talk to the Earl.”

Isabelle chose to leave her seat. Not long after she stood up, the sound of a door closing rang clear. The maid who was filling the empty cup spilled the water.

“Ah, I’m, I’m sorry.”

Apologizing, the maid hurriedly wiped the spilled water.

However, no one scolded the maid or even glanced at her. The flustered brothers were looking at the place where Isabelle had sat.