Chapter 41

From the first trial to the second, and even the third, Elena's argument remained consistent.

She asserted that she alone could shape Lucy into an exceptional individual and vowed to dedicate her entire life to the cause.

Those who recognized her sincerity sided with her, yet a persistent question lingered in their minds:

"But can that child really become a renowned mage?"

It would have been easier to decide if Lucy were ten years old, but at three, she was simply too young.

The question "What if she can’t?" hovered in their hearts, echoing Viretta's assertion that most people are, by nature, ordinary.

Elena never directly answered Viretta’s repeated question of what she would do if her child turned out to be less than extraordinary.

The final verdict was reached. The judge struck the gavel.

“This court hereby overturns the rulings of the first and second trials and grants custody of Lucy Beckdelace to the defendant—”

“Wait! Please, hold on! I can’t accept this!”

Elena, her eyes brimming with tears, stammered as her composure crumbled under the relentless pressure of Viretta’s words.

“So you’re saying I should just raise my child as... as just a lady? Teach her to be satisfied with that kind of life? That it’s better for her to grow up as a woman who achieves nothing in Count Carl’s hands than to pursue her dreams?”

“That’s not Lucy’s dream,” Viretta replied softly, her tone oddly gentle as she watched Elena weep pitifully.

Elena glared at Viretta and pulled her young daughter closer.

“To tell me to be content with such a life—it’s like asking me to raise her like some... like some pig or cow! I can’t! I won’t!”

“Oh, Elena. That’s what we call a normal life. Like yours. Like the lives of the lawyer here, and everyone else in this room.”

“If living ordinarily isn’t a pig’s or cow’s life, then what is? Telling me not to strive for more—”

Unable to contain her overflowing emotions, Elena burst into fresh sobs. Her sorrow wasn’t because she was about to lose custody of Lucy but because every word Viretta spoke cut her to the core.

“Elena, don’t cry, Elena!”

Count Beckdelace, flustered by Elena’s tears, tried to rush to her side but was stopped by Viretta, who stretched out her arm to block him.

Iola intervened as well, gently restraining the count.

“You’ve misunderstood me completely. Lucy isn’t going to grow up to be an ordinary lady, at least not as you fear,” Viretta said, her voice measured and firm.

“What are you saying now...?”

“She has a proud, ambitious mother and a wealthy father. She’ll have the opportunity to learn whatever she desires and explore every possibility.”

No one could predict what kind of person three-year-old Lucy would grow into.

But with a father of means and a mother brimming with pride, she wouldn’t become the kind of helpless, dependent lady Elena feared.

People are unpredictable. With money, Lucy’s future would naturally be broader than most.

“What I’m saying is, when Lucy decides to live her own life, she’ll find it far easier to reject your expectations than to reject the count’s.”

“My expectations... will be crushed?”

The count, who had misinterpreted Viretta’s defense as advocating for Lucy’s sheltered upbringing under his care, blinked in astonishment.

The courtroom, equally confused by Viretta’s remarks, erupted in murmurs.

“Yes, crushed,” Viretta confirmed. “Parental expectations exist to be broken. Don’t you agree, Iola?”

“Absolutely. Didn’t I, too, shatter my parents’ bloody hopes of me becoming a mercenary captain and instead became a lawyer? Life works like that.”

Whether the expectations are grand or modest,

whether the child is gifted or not,

a moment always comes when parental expectations crumble.

The question is simply when and how that day will arrive.

“Disappointing your expectations of her becoming a great mage to become a merchant or a singer would be tough. But breaking the modest expectation of just being a proper lady to do those things? A breeze.”

In this respect, the count had the advantage. Viretta clicked her tongue as if it were obvious and laughed lightly.

“Overcoming a mother who demands you become an archmage? That’s hard. Ignoring a father who simply wants you to grow up healthy to become a chef? That’s easy.”

It all came down to the level of difficulty.

The count’s expectations were easy to ignore, and if Lucy chose a good path for herself, he would likely be supportive anyway.

“The count doesn’t want Lucy to grow up as a helpless fool. He just wants her to grow up safe and sound.”

The count was a father who could cheer for his daughter if she chose her own path, as long as it wasn’t a destructive one.

“After all, he married a commoner mage with pride, didn’t he?”

“......”

Elena’s tears began to subside.

At first, she had been enraged, thinking Viretta saw her as an unreasonable mother. Later, she cried because she believed herself accused of being a mother who would ruin her child.

But now she simply stared at Viretta.

Her clear blue eyes, once filled with rage and despair, now reflected Viretta Medleidge’s image steadily.

Elena’s gaze was calm and unwavering. She no longer looked at Viretta with hatred.

“...You’re right.”

The silence was heavy but not oppressive. Elena wiped her tear-streaked face and sighed deeply.

Her sharp features softened, her expression becoming gentler, even serene.

“I’ve always wished for my child to surpass me. But I was scared, knowing how hard that path is because no one understands it better than I do.”

Everyone reaches a moment of reckoning with their limitations.

Elena, who had spent her days working and her nights studying magic, had hit that wall herself.

Marrying the count had been a compromise, born of the hope that her child would carry on where she could not.

But knowing how difficult and hollow such a hope could be, she couldn’t silence the quiet voice of reality inside her.

“But I thought it would be sadder to not believe in her at all, so...”

“A wise person once told me something,” Viretta said as she stepped away from her designated spot and lightly patted Elena’s arm. The tears threatening to well up again in Elena’s eyes were barely held back.

“They said that since you can’t be certain of the outcome, you shouldn’t trust the ending—you should trust the effort. I’ve come to love those words.”

She glanced at Iola, who gave her a small, encouraging smile.

“Trust in Lucy’s potential. Don’t trust in the result. And love her all the same.”

Viretta bent down to take Lucy’s tiny hand. The little girl didn’t hesitate to accept the unfamiliar woman’s touch.

She was a delightful child, the kind of child anyone could love and believe in, no matter what she became.

Elena, now devoid of the harshness she had displayed earlier, trembled as she stammered.

“Can I... let go of these expectations? Can I look at her as kindly and warmly as... as Carl does?”

“What can’t you do? You’re the same person who rose from being a farmer’s daughter to becoming a mage and then a countess!”

With her usual exuberance, Viretta gave Elena a firm pat on the back.

Lucy was still just three years old. Elena herself was a new mother of fewer than four years. There was plenty of time to adjust.

Buoyed by Viretta’s encouragement, Elena staggered toward the count.

Visibly exhausted, she collapsed into Carl Beckdelace’s arms.

“I’m sorry, Carl. You were right. I almost made Lucy’s life harder.”

“It’s fine, Elena! I’m sorry, too, for not explaining myself clearly. What matters is that we’ve figured it out now.”

The count, who had been waiting for a chance to intervene, immediately embraced Elena.

Count Beckdelace and Elena gazed at each other with tearful yet relieved eyes.

“Well, it seems everything worked out,” the judge muttered.

Realizing that the trial no longer held any meaning, the judge let out a weary sigh.

“Given the mood, I suppose the effort and time spent on three trials were wasted… but at least the child’s future seems brighter now.”

With the air of someone listening to a friend recount an exhausting love story, the judge raised his gavel one last time.

“In that case, this court declares that custody of Lucy Beckdelace is granted to Carl Beckdelace.”

The trial was over.

The silence in the gallery broke into murmurs.

It took the audience a moment to process the verdict.

Those who expected the count to lose were stunned by his unexpected victory.

But soon, everyone realized what had transpired:

The paradigm of custody trials had shifted, and the person responsible for this change was none other than Viretta.

“Ah…”

A sigh of astonishment escaped someone’s lips.

What followed wasn’t applause or celebration but a wave of boos and jeers.

“Why did you help the count?!”

“Traitor!”

“We trusted you to bring him down!”

The crowd in the courtroom erupted, hurling whatever they could grab in Viretta’s direction.