By the time I turned five, the estate's endless hallways and polished chambers were no longer a maze—they were a lesson. Every door, every portrait, every servant's hurried step carried information if you knew how to look for it.
Hawthorne had made sure I did.
"It's not enough to see, young master," he would say, adjusting my posture for the third time that morning. "You must observe. There's a difference."
We were in the reception hall, my small frame dressed in a fitted navy coat. Across the room, two visiting financiers whispered by the window. I wasn't here to greet them—I was here to study them.
"Tell me," Hawthorne murmured. "What do you notice?"
"The older man's body is turned toward the door," I replied quietly. "He's nervous. His left hand hasn't left his breast pocket—probably holding a letter. The younger man is smiling, but his eyes keep flicking toward the clock. He's impatient to leave."
Hawthorne's mouth curved, just barely. "Better. Soon you'll notice the things they try not to do."
That afternoon, Father summoned me to his study—not for a lesson, but for what he called an observation exercise.
Maps of Kalos's regions stretched across his desk, littered with red and blue markers. Adrian didn't look at me as I entered.
"You will sit there," he said, pointing to a chair, "and you will listen. Speak only if spoken to."
Two men from the High Council filed in—aura-heavy presences that made the air shift subtly. The discussion was about trade rights along the coastal routes. I was silent, small, invisible. But I listened.
The key moment came when one councilman pressed my father for rapid concessions. Adrian pretended to consider… then steered the conversation toward 'longer-term stability'. I saw it: a deliberate stall, meant to make the other side reveal more than they intended.
When they left, Father finally met my eyes.
"What did you hear?"
"That he needed your agreement more than you needed his."
Adrian leaned back, the faintest nod of approval. "Remember this—urgency is a weapon, and in a negotiation, it cuts both ways."
Evenings were for training. Elise took me to the estate dojo, lit only by lanterns that threw long shadows across the matted floor.
"No Pokémon today," she said, stepping onto the mat barefoot. "You will learn by your own movements first."
For an hour, she pushed me back again and again—sidesteps, sharp sweeps, using my momentum against me. I tried to anticipate her, to "read" her as she instructed. It wasn't until I closed my eyes, letting my Aura stretch into the space between us, that I caught the faint shift of her stance before her next strike.
I stepped aside before she moved.
Her eyes lit with approval. "Now you are listening."
Training wasn't limited to the battlefield. Magnus began psychic exercises in his private laboratory—a room of cold chrome counters and humming machines. My first challenge was simple: lift a small brass sphere.
It was maddening. Minutes of effort moved it barely an inch. My head pounded.
Magnus watched calmly. "Patience, Robert. Force is crude. Will is fine."
When I finally made the sphere roll toward me, I looked up for praise. Magnus was already placing a heavier one on the table.
One evening, while alone in my room, I felt it again—that presence. Vast and cool, brushing the edges of my thoughts. Not hostile. Just… scrutinizing. Almost like something cataloguing me as one might examine an interesting book. The sensation vanished as quickly as it came, leaving me with a faint shiver.
I didn't mention it to my family. Some instinct told me this was a secret best kept to myself.
Days blended into lessons, sparring, study. The Alucard name was a shield and a spotlight, and even at this age, I knew the eyes on me were measuring, waiting. I was learning to do the same.
Born into wealth, yes. But also into a world where missteps could cost far more than money.
I wasn't playing a child's game.
I was learning to live among wolves—and someday, to lead the pack.