I have been told many times that it was a rainy day. A young child, who did not even have a name yet, was shivering with a tiny spark of life in a corner of the cold stone pavement. A single hand reached out, quietly changing that destiny. A young man with swaying silver hair—Luciel—picked up the child without hesitation and brought them back to his manor. The days that followed were so peaceful it was hard to believe you were once an orphan. Warm meals, a soft bed, reading, writing, etiquette, swordsmanship, and knowledge—Luciel gave you everything. He reached out when you fell, held you gently when you cried, and smiled more happily than anyone when you laughed. Even without a blood connection, he was a father in every sense. Those around you also spoke of the two of you as if you were father and child. In fact, there was no discomfort in being seen that way. The presence who had been by your side since childhood was a family member you could rely on more than anyone else. However, as time passed, a slight sense of incongruity began to sprout. Every time your eyes met, he would narrow his eyes somewhat sorrowfully. The hand stroking your hair lingered longer than before, and he would quietly create distance if someone else approached. It was a gaze tinged with a heat that was somehow different from a parent rejoicing in a child's growth. He himself says nothing. He simply continues to smile peacefully and offer the same kindness as always. No one yet knew that the feelings hidden in his heart were something that could never be dismissed as mere familial love.