I woke up to unfamiliar surroundings.
The ceiling above me was different again—higher, painted in a soft color, with a faint chandelier hanging from the center. The crib I was lying in wasn't the same one from before either. It was larger, sturdier, and clearly well made.
So this must be the outer estate.
I tried to move, pushing my arms against the mattress. My body responded slowly, clumsily. I attempted to sit up.
I failed.
Right. Still a baby.
My limbs lacked strength, and my balance was nonexistent. No matter how much I tried, my body simply wouldn't cooperate. I lay back down, staring at the ceiling in silence.
At least I was alone.
The room was quiet. Too quiet. No shouting. No cold stares. No silver-haired man.
A dull sensation rose in my stomach.
…Hunger.
I waited.
A few minutes passed, and soon I heard footsteps approaching. The door opened gently.
"There you are, young master," a familiar voice said softly.
The maid entered the room, her expression warm as ever. She picked me up with practiced ease and settled into a chair nearby. From beside the crib, she took a bottle filled with warm milk.
"Here you go. You must be hungry."
She placed the bottle carefully against my lips.
I didn't hesitate.
As I drank, I listened to the quiet sounds of the mansion. Nothing felt hostile here. If anything, the place felt… empty.
When she finished feeding me, she laid me back down and adjusted the blanket.
"Rest well," she said gently before leaving the room.
Once again, I was alone.
Good.
As my body relaxed, my thoughts became clearer.
If I was going to survive in this world, I needed information. About the people, the land, and the rules I was now living under. Strength would come later. For now, observation was enough.
I couldn't even walk yet—but in a few months, that would change.
When that happened, I'd start exploring.
Months passed quietly.
By the time I reached seven months old, my body had grown stronger. I could crawl now—slowly, awkwardly, but steadily. It was enough.
The mansion was large. Far larger than it needed to be for just two people.
Most of the time, the only ones I ever saw were the maid and the cook. The cook—a broad, quiet man—was responsible for preparing my meals. Somehow, even milk tasted better when he was the one who made it.
"You'll grow big and strong at this rate," he said once with a chuckle as he handed the bottle to the maid.
They didn't know.
They thought I slept most of the day.
That was when I moved.
Whenever the maid and the cook were busy—or when they believed I was fast asleep—I crawled out of my crib and began exploring. Slowly. Carefully. Always listening.
Empty halls. Closed rooms. Long corridors untouched by footsteps.
No guards. No servants. No signs of life beyond the two of them.
This place wasn't just quiet.
It was abandoned.
For the past few months, the maid and the cook were the only people I had seen. And as long as they believed I was nothing more than a normal infant, they wouldn't suspect a thing.
That suited me just fine.
For now, this mansion would be my world.
And I intended to learn everything about it.
My exploration eventually led me to a room unlike the others.
The door was slightly ajar. Inside, the air felt different—older, quieter. The room was lined with bookshelves filled to the brim, their spines worn with age. Some books were neatly arranged, others stacked carelessly, as if their owner had once moved through the room in a hurry.
A library.
Or something close to it.
As I crawled farther in, I noticed a large object against the far wall, completely covered by a white cloth. It stood apart from the shelves, almost as if it were meant to be hidden.
Curiosity won.
I crawled closer, reached out with my small hands, and tugged at the cloth.
It slipped down.
I froze.
Behind it was a painting.
A woman stood at the center of it, so beautiful that my eyes refused to look away. She had green-olive hair that flowed gently over her shoulders, and eyes of deep purple—clear and radiant, like polished crystals. She wore an elegant dress, one that spoke of nobility and grace.
Beside her stood a man I recognized immediately.
My father.
My chest tightened.
So that's her.
My mother.
A memory surfaced from months ago.
"You really took after her, young master," Estrelle had said once as she adjusted my blanket.
"You have her eyes… and her face too. If this keeps up, you'll grow quite handsome someday."
She had laughed softly then, her voice warm and genuine.
I hadn't understood at the time.
Now I did.
I stared at the painting for several long moments before carefully pulling the cloth back over it clumsily but I still can cover it up. This wasn't something I was ready to face for too long. I guess this life is just the same as my past life.
I turned my attention back to the bookshelves.
That was when I noticed a book lying on the floor.
It was thicker than most, its cover slightly worn. I crawled toward it and stared at the title, squinting as I tried to read.
…Good.
It seems that I can read this world's language just fine.
[ Beginner Spellbook for Magicians ]
I let out a quiet breath.
Magic.
So it wasn't just stories or myths. Magic was real in this world—and there was a book for beginners lying right here.
This had to be my mother's room or a reading room.
Which meant… she was a magician.
That explained a lot.
I glanced toward the doorway.
Too long.
If Estrelle noticed I was gone, explaining that would be difficult. And embarrassing.
Great. First exploration and I'm already risking exposure.
I carefully turned around, crawled back to the door, and closed it as quietly as I could before making my way back to my room.
By the time I returned to my crib, exhaustion hit me all at once. My timing was perfect in a few minutes passed and she came back with a bottle.
"There you are, young master, why are you on the floor are you playing again?" Estrelle said with a kind smile.
"Were you comfortable?"
I didn't respond.
I never did since all i can say is babu baba.
She didn't seem to mind. She lifted me gently and fed me, humming softly under her breath. When she was done, she placed me back in my crib, adjusted the blanket, and left the room again.
I stared at the ceiling, already replaying what I had seen in the room filled with books.
A spellbook.
A mother who was more than just a name.
This place had answers.
And I intended to go to that place again to study maybe i can use magic.
Estrelle's POV
Estrelle rinsed the young master's bottle in the kitchen sink, her hands moving automatically.
Her expression, however, was tense.
The cook noticed.
"You look worried again," he said, setting aside a pot. "What is it this time?"
She hesitated before answering.
"It's the young master," she said quietly. "He doesn't cry."
The cook frowned. "Doesn't cry?"
"Not even once," she replied. "I've never seen him laugh either. He doesn't fuss, doesn't throw tantrums… i never saw him making any emotions..."
She tightened her grip on the bottle.
"Once, I saw him fall inside his crib. Any baby would cry. But he didn't."
She swallowed. "He just shrugs and try to crawl like nothing happened."
The cook fell silent.
Estrelle continued quickly. " I'm just… worried. What if he grows up never sharing his pain? Never telling anyone what troubles him? I don't want him to be distant from us... I treat him as a child of my friend her grace..."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"I'll be the one taking care of him. And yet… I don't know what he's feeling."
The cook sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"It is worrying," he admitted. "But whatever he becomes, he's still a child. And as long as we're here, we'll protect him."
She nodded slowly.
"There's only the two of us here," the cook added after a moment. "Maybe we should request help. Ask the butler at the main residence to send another maid here maybe they'll agreed."
"That might be best, we should request a gardener too maybe." Estrelle said softly.
She looked down at the clean bottle in her hands.
No matter what, she would do her best.
For the quiet child who never cried.