It all started with nothing more than a pudding.
But just around that time, Annamaria and Rosaria were on the verge of entering puberty.
The vague stirrings of self-awareness were beginning to take shape into a definite sense of identity.
Rosaria was a dazzlingly beautiful girl, and on top of that, possessed extraordinary physical abilities.
Though she still lacked experience in fully controlling her body, she could run as fast as a hunting dog and effortlessly throw around knights of the heaviest class.
Annamaria was also said to be cute.
Yet, she envied Rosaria’s shining silver hair, feeling that her own black hair made her seem like a shadow compared to Rosaria’s bright appearance.
The magical power she held within her was considerable, but it required harsh training to manifest.
Back then, Annamaria could only make a pebble explode with the force of a firecracker.
Even so, compared to ordinary magicians, she was considered outstanding for her young age, but she paled in comparison to Rosaria’s physical prowess.
When they were even younger, she had been able to simply and purely say, “Rosaria is amazing!” with joy.
“My best friend is so wonderful,” she had thought.
But at the age of ten, she began to realize that being mentioned alongside Rosaria meant being compared to her.
Standing next to Rosaria might be shameful—
She might not be worthy to stand beside her—
Because such thoughts had quietly taken root in her chest, she felt frustrated.
That frustration was surely directed at herself.
But in a burst of misplaced anger, it also turned against Rosaria.
All because of the pudding.
Three days after their declaration of severance, Annamaria thought to reconcile once more and baked some cookies.
But she never delivered them.
For a certain reason—she gave up on making peace.
After cutting ties, Annamaria pushed herself to the brink of exhaustion, determined not to lose to Rosaria.
She entered the Magic Academy in Capital Keno and skipped through the six-year curriculum in just two years.
After returning home, she resolved to seclude herself in the Padova Mountains for a year.
Her father wept and begged her not to do such a thing.
If she did, no matter how many lives she had, they wouldn’t be enough.
He at least demanded she bring an attendant.
But she firmly refused.
“If I die, then please consider me only a daughter of that level. At that time, I think our cousin Franco should be the heir,” she declared, leaving the manor with only Galileo.
She built a small cabin in the mountains—an area troublesome for its wild beasts and rogue mages who sought refuge there—and continued her training.
Because of this training, she earned the unflattering nickname, the Wild Countess.
After all, a talkative merchant happened to see her gnawing on a roasted snake cooked over a campfire in the mountains.
It was sheer luck that the epithet only included “wild.”
She might have been called the Snake-Eating Countess or the Gluttonous Countess if things had gone worse.
If she was to be mentioned alongside Rosaria, she wanted to become someone who did not pale in comparison.
With that single-minded determination, she honed her magical power.
As a result, she was now able to easily materialize the Venomous Serpent Phantom and even possess it—a rather advanced magic, though not exactly used for noble purposes.
Climbing along the wall, she reached the floor of the second-floor terrace.
Beyond the sliding door was Count Romano’s chamber.
Count Romano, with his sturdy build, was leaning against the back of a long chair, dozing.
On the low table before him was a bottle of fruit wine available only in the capital and a goblet.
‘That’s Father’s souvenir. So, perhaps Father has already returned to the manor by now.’
Count Furlanetto, her father, was scheduled to return from the capital today.
Before going back to his own manor, he must have stopped by the Romano Manor to deliver the gift.
‘Those two uncles still get along so well.’
Glancing around from the terrace, the western sky had softened into a vague vermilion, while the eastern sky darkened into indigo night.
Lights were beginning to flicker here and there in the provincial capital, Pulsa.
It was still too early for Rosaria to be in bed.
That was precisely why this time was perfect.
Since she would be having dinner soon, Annamaria planned to slip into the room and hide under the covers.
She would likely have to stay hidden for several hours, but it was no hardship if it was to startle Rosaria.
She moved along the railing to Rosaria’s balcony, climbed along the sliding door frame, and pressed herself into the gap between the double doors, peering inside.
Rosaria sat at the desk before her.
The back of her silver hair, bathed in the afterglow, shimmered faintly pink—a beautiful sight.
She was staring intently at a letter in her hands.
‘What’s that?’
Shifting her position, Annamaria looked over Rosaria’s shoulder at the letter.
It had golden edging, and at the top was the royal seal of the King of Trie.
A letter issued in the name of the king.
[The heir of Count Romano shall be Rosaria Romano.]
That was the only sentence in the letter.
When noble houses decide on an heir, a certain procedure is required.
The chosen heir must be presented to the king and granted permission.
Rosaria had been regarded as the heir, but this letter meant she was now officially confirmed as the next Countess Romano.
The approval process took several months, and the issuing of such letters was often unexpected.
Count Romano had probably been unable to make the trip to receive the approval himself.
So, Count Furlanetto, who had business in the capital, took the letter on his behalf and delivered it with the gift to Count Romano today.
‘I’ve been beaten to it.’
Annamaria’s father tended to procrastinate on such formalities, so the heir application had been repeatedly delayed.
If they applied, barring any unusual circumstances, approval would be granted smoothly.
Annamaria would surely receive permission eventually, so whether it was sooner or later didn’t really matter.
But she couldn’t help feeling annoyed that Rosaria had gotten ahead of her.
‘I bet Rosaria’s going to brag to me, all high and mighty, about having received the approval before me…!’
Imagining such a scene made her blood boil, but her thoughts were cut off by a deep sigh coming from inside—
“Haaahhh—.”