Chapter 8

"Anyway, this thing."

"'This thing'?! Young Master, you mustn't refer to your younger sister like that!"

"Then what should I call her?"

Beatty, who had been silently listening to their back-and-forth, flinched as the conversation suddenly took a sharp turn toward her.

"This squi—hm, the squirrel."

Ah.

She could already predict what he would say next.

"She doesn’t have a name."

As a child, the people around her used to call her things like:

"Half-blood girl, just lie down quietly and don’t cause any trouble, understood?"

"This month, you're in charge of looking after the half-blood? You’re in for an easy bonus. Oh, and that jeweled ribbon—don’t touch it. I saw it first."

Half-blood.

That was what they called her.

‘I guess I’m just a "half-blood."’

Since those were the only words she ever heard, she had naturally assumed that was her name.

It wasn’t until one day, when a newly hired maid whispered to another:

"Why do they call the young lady 'half-blood'?"

The other maid simply laughed.

"Are you worried about calling her that in front of a noble? Look at how the Viscount treats his own niece. Do you really think we'd get in trouble?"

"Yeah. Besides, she is a half-blood. So why not call her that? Have you seen those black eyes of hers?"

Black eyes.

Unlike the other squirrel beastkin in her family, Beatty’s eyes were pitch black, as dark as a shadow.

They were different from the eyes of her family.

"Didn’t you know? Every member of the Golden Lion family is supposed to have golden eyes."

"The mark of a true beastkin."

"They say when you stand before them, you instinctively want to kneel."

Predator beastkin had Predator Eyes.

Snake beastkin had Serpent Eyes.

Dragon beastkin had Dragon Eyes.

The eyes of the most powerful beastkin in the kingdom all gleamed gold. The stronger their beastkin bloodline, the deeper the golden hue.

Particularly, the Golden Eyes of Aslan were said to carry an oppressive aura, making common people feel as if a predator had grabbed them by the scruff of the neck.

Unlike the golden eyes of her family—eyes that inspired both fear and reverence—her black eyes stirred nothing in others.

"In comparison, have you ever felt anything standing in front of the half-blood girl?"

"Ahaha, true!"

"See? That’s why she’s just a half-blood."

And so, she was nothing more than half.

Even when she whispered to herself in front of the mirror, insisting that wasn’t her name, no one else ever acknowledged it.

***

Recalling those childhood memories, Beatty’s face paled for a brief moment.

‘No.’

But she quickly shook her head and clenched her fists, determination flickering in her gaze.

‘I’m not a half-blood.’

Her black eyes, once dulled by past wounds, now shone with unwavering resolve.

‘I have a name.’

Beatty.

She hadn’t been given that name until she was nearly ten years old, long after she should have had one.

It had arrived in a letter from the main household, as if it had only just occurred to them that she should be named.

And yet, she had been happy.

Even if it had been late, she had taken it as proof that her father had not forgotten her.

‘Well… that was the first and last time.’

After sending that letter, she never heard from her father again.

He had remained entirely indifferent to her existence. Beatty figured he had likely scribbled down a few letters at random, not putting any real thought into it.

Even so.

‘But now that it’s in my hands…’

For a child who had nothing to hold onto, this was hers.

‘And what’s mine, I will protect.’

Clenching the rich fabric of her dress, Beatty took a deep breath and spoke.

"I have a name."

Her voice trembled slightly, but she quickly steadied herself, lifting her chin with conviction.

"Beatty."

"What?"

The boy’s expression remained eerily blank—an expression cold enough to make most children burst into tears.

His slightly furrowed brow seemed to carry an instinctive sharpness, making his presence all the more intimidating.

But instead of cowering, Beatty squared her shoulders and repeated herself proudly.

"Beatty. That’s my name."

She didn’t care how insignificant the person who gave it to her might have thought it was.

To her, it was precious.

And because she cherished it, it was valuable.

‘If it’s important to me, I’m the one who has to protect it.’

She had so little in life—so the things she did have, she would treasure.

With that firm resolve, she straightened her back, refusing to be overwhelmed by the boy’s suffocating presence.

"…."

The boy gazed down at her with an unreadable expression.

‘Does he think I’m being insolent…?’

His golden predator’s eyes held something indistinct.

Was it pure indifference? Or perhaps… the faintest trace of unexpected goodwill?

Gulp.

Beatty swallowed unconsciously.

"Beatty… it carries the meaning of blessing."

At that moment, a soft voice interrupted. It was Johanna, the head butler, her aged eyes crinkling warmly as she smiled.

"It’s a good name, Miss Beatty."

Hearing her name spoken aloud with such ease and affection, Beatty’s face instantly brightened.

"Did you choose it yourself? You’re quite clever."

"No. It was given to me."

"…I see."

Beatty shook her head as she answered, causing Johanna to blink in mild surprise.

But it was only for a fleeting moment.

‘Someone would surely be disappointed by that.’

Johanna quickly recovered her composure.

"Beatty?"

The next person to say her name—

"…!"

—was the boy.

‘My brother…’

The word surfaced in her mind, but she still couldn't bring herself to say it out loud.

Her chest felt oddly ticklish, and she fidgeted with her fingers without realizing it.

"Hm."

The boy’s golden eyes flickered briefly as he noticed the faint blush on her cheeks. Then, he spoke again.

"Squirt."

"Huh?"

"You’re tiny."

Caught off guard, Beatty’s eyes widened.

"Little squirt Beatty."

He repeated her name, this time seemingly satisfied with the nickname he had attached.

"Furball."

"What?"

"You’re smaller than a tuft of tail fur."

"…."

One jab after another left Beatty dumbfounded.

‘Am I really just the size of my tail fur in squirrel form? I kind of want to check…’

She had no idea that the boy was comparing her to the tuft of fur at the tip of a lion’s tail.

‘That’s an oddly irritating nickname.’

She had a strong feeling it was similar in meaning to squirt.

"Furball Beatty."

Puff.

Beatty’s cheeks puffed up indignantly.

‘As expected of a squirrel beastkin, she’s stuffing her cheek pouches.’

Amused, the boy’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he opened his mouth again.

"A runaway squirrel Beatty."

That was the final straw.

"Why do you keep saying runaway—"

"Ahem!"

As their playful bickering escalated, Johanna loudly cleared her throat, cutting into their exchange.

‘At first, I thought he was just trying to get closer to his younger sister…’

Now that she looked at it properly, the young master wasn’t just bonding—he was having far too much fun teasing his younger sibling.

‘You should act your age, Young Master!’

With a pointed glare at the boy’s immature behavior, Johanna turned to Beatty with a gentle smile.@@novelbin@@

"Miss Beatty."

She spoke in a warm tone.

"Earlier, before the young master arrived, you asked about the acting lord, didn’t you?"

"The acting lord?"

Beatty tilted her head, the question mark in her tone making her unconsciously lean to the side—a habit Johanna found endearing.

"Didn’t you say you wanted to meet an important person to discuss a… trading game—ah, I mean, a proposal?"

"Oh! Yes!"

Right! That’s right!

Beatty nodded eagerly.

"The acting lord is the one who manages the ducal estate’s affairs in the absence of the master. If you wish to see them, shall I call them over now?"

"Call them… Is that really okay?"

"Of course."

"Then, without hesitation—yes, please!"

‘Oh my, where did she learn such an expression?’

Johanna chuckled fondly. It seemed the young lady had picked up phrases that sounded like grown-up words for her little business negotiations.

Hearing Beatty confidently use the phrase "without hesitation", Johanna felt genuinely charmed.

"Then, in the meantime, the two of you can continue your conversation."

‘Huh?’

"Hm?"

The siblings simultaneously lifted their heads, mirroring each other’s expressions.

***

Click.

Stepping out of the parlor, Johanna turned toward the office where the acting lord was likely to be.

Her stride was quick but refined, a model of grace befitting a head butler. As she walked down the corridor, she murmured in a surprised tone.

"I never expected the young lady to have already chosen her name…"