I didn't have everything, but I could possess everything others owned.
But I never expected to pay such a steep price for it.
Never imagined my future would twist in this way.
Sincerely.
"Bored."
That was the word seven-year-old me muttered every single day.
If a completely clueless kid that age were sitting next to me now,
I'd smack him upside the head for acting like he'd seen it all.
Back then, everything in the world truly bored me to death.
Waking up at the same time every day,
putting on the same clothes and getting ready,
heading to the same place and sitting behind Father the whole time.
'Bored.'
That day was just another tedious repeat of the same old routine.
The suffocating daily grind where I had to sit still without saying a word.
"Welcome."
"Good to see you, Count Noir."
Today, another guest arrived at the beautifully manicured garden of our estate.
'...Fatso.'
I scanned him from head to toe with a blank stare.
I knew it was rude, but it was my one and only source of entertainment.
In this monotonous routine, the only thing that changed
was who the client of the day would be.
Father motioned me back with his hand.
I nodded slightly and rose from my chair.
The only time I was allowed to stand was to greet the client.
"Hello. Nice to meet you. I'm Celen Noir."
"Ho, the third son of House Noir in the flesh."
"I'm educating my son as a member of House Noir. I hope you'll overlook any shortcomings."
At Father's words, the man nodded and examined my face closely.
'Rude, you tubby.'
I couldn't say it out loud, so I responded with a fake smile.
Then, as always, I poured the black tea and placed the prepared dessert exactly in front of him.
That was the end of my job.
Once the scripted task was done, it was back to the chair
for the boring cycle of sitting until the talk concluded.
"Thank you, Count Noir."
"Not at all."
"Reliable as ever. House Noir lives up to its name."
I clicked my tongue watching the satisfied client leave the garden.
'...Same old greeting again.'
I'd heard that line a dozen times just this month.
They all praised Father with the same words and the same expressions.
I hated everything.
Everything bored me.
Their insincere flattery and formal tones,
the faces they made at Father,
even Father dutifully smiling through the greetings.
Everyone was just performing in a dull play, and I was the audience trapped backstage.
After over two years of that routine, life was hardly fun.
I hated the House Noir they spoke of,
and whatever power our family had meant nothing to me.
But...
"Celen."
"Yes, Father."
"What did you see from this client?"
Not to the household servants or my father.
They believed I had to inherit the name of Noir,
and above all, the family's power.
'He didn't spill everything he saw.'
I clicked my tongue inwardly, then looked at Father with a blank expression.
"He's doomed."
"Is he?"
"He'll divorce his wife and disown his eldest son. Then... he'll get assassinated fighting his younger son over the family head position."
"I see."
Father quietly lifted his teacup.
I picked up one of the desserts meant for the client and popped it in my mouth.
I can glimpse other people's futures.
That was why I was stuck in this boring audience seat.
It wasn't a power unique to me.
Anyone with Noir blood could use it.
House Noir wielded foresight.
We peeked into the future, read its flow, and shaped it as needed.
It was customary for even the royals to seek House Noir's counsel before official events.
"What day should we set out?"
"Which house should we ally with to avoid failure?"
"What's the likelihood of a political assassination?"
To those questions, House Noir always gave answers—not superstition or guesswork, but certainties.
Based on the futures we'd seen.
That's why clients never stopped coming,
and seeing the future was no big deal if Noir blood ran in your veins.
But—
My ability was a bit special.
Unlike the others, I could peer far into the future.
Even centuries ahead.
My eldest brother could see up to a year ahead,
my eldest sister six months, my little brother three months at most.
Even Father, the head of House Noir, could only go three years.
My power awakened at five.
The first future I saw was centuries later—a world where everything I knew had burned away.
"Father! The whole world's on fire and gone!"
"What nonsense is that?"
Naturally, everyone, including me, dismissed it as a childish dream or nightmare.
But another future I saw soon after
proved that the world in flames wasn't mere fantasy.
Because the second future matched exactly what big brother and Father had seen a year ahead.
That foresight came true,
and only then did the family start listening to me.
'That was the start of my misery...'
Thanks to it, at an age when I should've been playing and eating, I became glued to that chair.
If I could turn back time,
I'd never breathe a word and stay a worthless freeloader.
Sincerely.
At least my power's one silver lining was its lack of practicality.
"Celen."
"Yes, Father."
"How many minutes did you see today?"
"...15 seconds?"
Father let out a sigh deep enough to cave the ground.
It was justified.
For a dessert worth a commoner's monthly living expenses, all I got was 15 seconds.
The cost-performance ratio was disastrously low, as always.
'At least this time it was somewhat useful...'
My power had another fatal flaw.
Unlike other family members, I couldn't specify which future I wanted to see.
When I tried to glimpse the future, my power spread like ink dropped on water, all on its own.
Unwanted scenes popped up,
and it always ignored my requests for specific visions.
'Annoying.'
Everything else worked fine, but futures and pasts were always a mess.
Father knew this too,
which was why he kept up this grueling routine to somehow strengthen my power...
'Two years for the growth of an ant's antenna.'
What remarkable, forward-thinking progress.
To gain that little, he wasted two years of my life and piles of money.
Grandfather would've risen from his coffin and grabbed Father by the collar.
But Grandfather passed three years ago,
and Father planned to repeat this dogged routine today too.
'Just one more year...'
Father had set a three-year limit.
If no improvement by then, I could live worry-free as the family freeloader.
At least until adulthood.
Before the next client arrived, Father checked my mana with a magic tool, as always.
"Pitiful."
"Same as ever."
"...Don't resign yourself to it, Celen."
But it was the truth.
My mana was just a smidge higher than a non-mage commoner's.
If average was 10, I was about 12.
(It had risen a whopping 1 in two years, hence 12.)
'That's why my futures go haywire.'
My current state?
I'd learned heaps of high-grade spells but had zero mana to cast them.
Might as well burn the fireball spellbook for actual fire—faster that way.
So to peek at others' futures,
unlike family members, I had to pour in absurd costs.
House Noir's power could activate via offerings from others too.
'Mana hits zero fast... Gains don't outweigh the losses.'
Forget family potential,
our finances would collapse first.
Father's sighs grew longer by the day—my breakout might come soon.
The chime rang again.
Signal of a new client.
I straightened my clothes
and fixed my slouched posture against the backrest into a proper sit.
Moments later—
someone entered the garden.
'That's...'
I knew him.
Metal-gray hair like frosted steel.
Golden eyes betraying no inner thoughts.
Grand Duke Eliad.
I could feel even Father tense.
As I started to rise from my seat as usual, Father motioned me back.
"Celen."
"Yes, Father."
"Step out for a bit."
"...Yes."
This signal meant Father needed to speak privately.
I bowed politely, dessert still in hand, without offering it,
and stepped outside.
That man wouldn't touch a single bite anyway.
I went to the outskirts of the neatly groomed garden, as always.
'What now.'
Rare freedom, but
I knew I'd be called back soon enough—no real joy in it.
Like a guard dog, I'd waste time pointlessly nearby.
'Oh, that's...'
I spotted the previous client.
The creepy fatso who'd stared holes through my face.
He hadn't left yet, scanning around with a nasty glare.
Specifically—
leering unpleasantly at our estate's maid.
'Pervert.'
Those types hid their filth behind haughty airs and constant talk of dignity.
While their eyes lurked in the lowest places.
I glanced at the pervert fatso.
Good thing I hadn't used much future-sight; some offering remained.
'Something to maximize his humiliation.'
A familiar energy tingled at my fingertips.
My mana spread like moonlight, subtly enveloping the fatso.
Moments later—
a pitch-black wig appeared in my hand,
and in my view, the shiny bald head of the panicking fatso.
I hid the wig behind my back and snuck away.
'Serves you right.'
Plan was to dash to my room,
stash the wig under the bed, and destroy the evidence.
"...What was that?"
Until a voice I'd never heard before came from beside me.
I whipped around.
Deep navy hair and pink eyes.
A girl looking at me with a vaguely bored expression.