“I expected you to say something different. Like talking about Mom.”

Astariol’s delicate memory remained intact.

So, I was able to answer. Questions like how Mom had been for the past 30 months, if she didn’t have too much trouble after giving birth to twins… Dad knew it too.

Dad smiled slightly as if he understood. He answered calmly without hesitation.

“Right now, I just want to see you as young as you were back then. As for Charlotte’s story, you should hear it from Charlotte.”

Mom witnessed moments like these from Dad. Moments when Dad acted like an ordinary father in front of me.

Somehow, words didn’t come easily, and I averted my gaze.

Lanterns illuminating the hot summer night flickered like fairy’s prank.

The mansion, enveloped in the damp darkness yet maintaining a delicate and beautiful impression, was vast and splendid, far surpassing the monastery.

I nestled close to the master of this place and whispered. For some reason, I couldn’t speak loudly.

“I was happy at the monastery. Everyone was kind to us.”

“Did you?”

“It was a place I really liked… I hope you can support that place, Dad.”

Dad adjusted his hold on me. He asked in a leisurely tone.

“How?”

I fidgeted with my hands and answered softly.

“Well… a donation…?”

Dad chuckled slightly at my uncertain response.

Then he asked.

“And if I give a donation? How much should I give?”

… I thought he was going to say yes right away.

I blinked. I hadn’t expected him to ask that.

“Last time, when I said I broke the floor, you said you could give gold equal to my weight…”

“I can. Of course.”

“Then why are you asking this time?”

Without realizing it, I stared straight at Dad. His gaze  felt unfamiliar.

To be precise, it wasn’t unfamiliar…

“Claire. Do you know the first phrase you would have memorized if you were born here?”

“… no.”

“Countess Locard didn’t teach you. Well, it’s better if I tell you.”

Rational, calm, and dry eyes.

Words listed in a monotone voice.

“Flowers should not be excessive, and swords should not be insufficient.”

What did that mean? I couldn’t understand it immediately and frowned slightly.

‘It seems metaphorical, but…’

Dad’s hand tidied my disheveled hair. It was a familiar touch.

“You know we are the Astariol family of judgment.”

“Yes.”

“What do people expect first from <judgment>?”

I answered without hesitation.

“Fairness.”

A fair judgment.

A punishment that weighed the crime by the immutable standard of justice and struck with just that amount of force.

Ah, was that it?

“Does the sword mean <punishment>?”

“Close.”

Dad’s tone was no different than usual.

“Flowers are for grace. Swords are for revenge.”

“…”

“When repaying grace, don’t be excessive. When taking revenge, don’t be insufficient. That’s what it means.”

“… being fair means neither excessive nor insufficient, doesn’t it? Not just fulfilling one side.”

I couldn’t help but question in astonishment.

Dad showed no discomfort. His voice answered calmly.

“You can’t satisfy everyone, can you? It’s impossible to fulfill both. You should try, but.”

An explanation that continued smoothly.

“This phrase simply sets a minimum direction for that effort.”

“But even so… usually… you repay grace sufficiently and revenge not excessively.”

Dad’s steps had already reached a narrow path circling the mansion’s main building.

Where no one would meet us, where no one could hear our conversation.

The man holding me spoke in a low voice.

“No, Claire.”

“… why?”

“Such things are up to the person who repays.”

“…”

“If you want to give more flowers, give more. If you want to give less sword, that’s fine. It’s your choice.”

It was a statement that I couldn’t help but look at Dad. Even as he said such things, his violet eyes were calm.

“But don’t let implicit conventions… or what you’ve learned dictate you to give more or less against your will.”

“…”

“There are already too many of those. At least this much, do it your way.”

If Mom had heard this, she would have scolded Dad for teaching such things to a child.

As I stared at Dad’s eyes in a daze, I thought. Dad didn’t particularly seek my reaction.

“And about the monastery.”

That calm tone.

“If you want to give a donation, you can. Gold equal to your weight? If you, Eciel and Charlotte were happy, why not ten times that? I can give a thousand times.”

‘… a thousand times?’

Seeing my astonished expression, Dad smiled slightly playfully.

“Claire, do you understand? I don’t think any amounts of <flowers> for the monastery is excessive.”

“… it’s too much. It’s a place I am really grateful for, but that’s too much.”

“Then you decide. How much, how, and in what way to give. Your way.”

My head got complicated.

‘The phrase <flowers should not be excessive> actually means to stop repaying too much because it’s already excessive?’

Unable to say anything, I pondered for a while.

On a hot summer night, the lanterns along the path were dense, and Dad’s embrace was firm.

I whispered, hiding in that embrace.

“I don’t know right now.”

“It’s okay. Think more about it.”

A quick and comfortable answer. I nodded a few times as if being pushed.

Then, hesitating, I spoke up.

“Dad, but actually… I don’t even know where it is. I don’t know how many priests are still alive there.”

This time, Dad didn’t answer immediately. Feeling down, I added a humble request.

“So… could you find out while I think?”

Where it was. Who was still alive. What their situation was now…

If it was not too late yet.

The flood of questions made my insides ache with worry.

Then, his long, elegant fingers brushed my hair behind my ear and gently stroked my cheek with the back of his hand.

Dad spoke in a low, affectionate voice.

“Don’t be sad, Claire. You know. I’ll do anything if you want.”

Because there wasn’t a single lie in his words, it was even more heartbreaking.

I answered with a voice that trembled slightly.

“… it feels too late. Dad would really do anything, so I should have asked as soon as I met you.”

I had never forgotten for a moment.

Why did good memories get pushed back by bad ones?

As my voice wavered with self-reproach, Dad rarely showed signs of distress. He stopped walking abruptly.

He adjusted his hold on me and, after a moment of hesitation, whispered anxiously.

“Claire… I was already looking. It’s okay. It might not be too late.”

‘… already looking?’

Suddenly, sadness was completely pushed away.

I looked up at Dad intensely. Asking him to explain what he meant.

“Do you remember the day Charlotte couldn’t go out with you because she went to the temple?”

“… yes.”

The day I met Nathan Colta and cried a lot.

“Charlotte knows where it is. She had other errands, but she also went to find out what happened to that monastery.”

Ah. Yes. Even if Eciel didn’t know, Mom would surely remember.

Even though I didn’t always stay with my parents, Mom would have mentioned it to Dad when I wasn’t around.

‘So… you already knew.’

Then why did you react as if you didn’t know and ask how much to donate…?

I was dumbfounded and asked.

“Then you already knew about the monastery. Why did you answer as if you were hearing it for the first time?”

It was absurd, but that absurd feeling oddly calmed me down. Sometimes, incomprehensible emotions suppress even sadness.

Dad, confirming that I had calmed down, resumed walking. His voice flowed softly and serenely.

“I heard it from Charlotte, but it’s the first time hearing it from you.”

“… why is that the first time?”

“Charlotte’s story is Charlotte’s. Claire, your story is different. So, it’s the first time hearing it.”

Did he think that made sense?

It was so absurd that I lost the will to argue. Seeing Dad’s composed face, I lost even the will to question further.

He genuinely seemed to think that way.

Astariol thought logically and rationally… but maybe, as Mom put it, Dad wasn’t quite normal.

‘Or maybe he’s only abnormal when it comes to Mom, me, and Eciel.’

That was, in its own, kind of…

Feeling uncomfortable, I tried to shake it off.

Anyway, I came to Dad because I wanted to find and repay the priests. Since he was already looking, it was not a bad thing for me.

“… so do you know what happened to the monastery after we left?”

We were almost at the entrance. The butler, waiting ahead, opened the door in advance.

Unlike his brisk steps inside, Dad was hesitant to speak…

I understood why.

“Dad, I could hear the wind even then. I know many have passed away.”

Unable to wait, I spoke first.