Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive

The gold streak of the Echoing Quill faded completely, leaving behind Lucius’s name written in a shimmering, deep ocean blue.

The boy looked at the paper as if it were a miracle, and the sudden jump in affection—hitting a solid 20%—told Julian everything he needed to know.

The ’soul’ of this child wasn’t empty; it was just frozen in a particular shade of blue. It was his job to thaw that ice and bring the child out into warmth.

"You worked hard," Julian whispered, still patting Lucius’s head. "Let’s keep it that way."

The week that followed was a blur of steady progress. Julian fell into a quiet routine that felt almost like his previous life.

His mornings always began the same way: waking up in cold sweat, heart hammering, with the 500 SP potion popping up because he was desperate and silently mocking him for his inability to afford it.

He would ignore it and simply wash his face, tucked the exhaustion behind a professional smile, and began his day. He had breakfast and headed to the East Wing.

Lucius was gradually changing as the days passed. He still didn’t speak, but he was active. He solved the Rubik’s Cube in under two minutes now. He used the Echoing Quill to draw diagrams of the Northern stars during history lessons. And another improvement was how he began to wait for Julian by the door of the study, seriously working on the cube with all his might.

It was cute.

The Duke, on the other hand, was no different from a ghost in hiding. A phantom, if one must say. Julian hadn’t seen him since the apple Incident, and he was perfectly fine with that. He preferred the 2% affection staying exactly where it was—safe and distant, than getting caught in another crossfire that would drop that fragile 2%.

’Better that than nothing.’ he thought.

Julian thought his routine was going to continue like this, and he was highly satisfied by it, but as the second week approached, the tomb-like silence of the Alaric Manor began to crack.

Maids who usually moved like clockwork were now scrubbing the floors and windows with frantic energy. Heavy black drapes were being taken down and replaced with... slightly less dark drapes, so it wouldn’t look like a full mourning ground, but a lesser mourning ground.

It was odd.

Even the air felt charged with a strange, dissonant frequency. Supplies that came in were doubled and there were even strangers in the manor.

You don’t see this every day, and Julian got curious.

"Is there a guest coming?" Julian asked Margaret, the nanny, as she arrived to collect Lucius after the morning session.

The nanny paused. Her affection level sat at a stubborn -1%, and her eyes were colder than the frost outside. She looked at Julian with a look of profound bitterness, as if he had said the forbidden words, but what came out of her mouth was contrary to the glare.

"It is the Young Lord’s birth anniversary in three days," she said, her voice clipped.

"A birthday?" Julian’s eyes lit up. "That’s wonderful! We should—"

"It is not wonderful," Margaret snapped, her grip tightening on Lucius’s hand. The boy’s expression immediately went blank, his blue eyes losing the spark they had held only moments ago.

Julian saw this and almost frowned. The child, someone who was just about to clock seven, was having such a heavy gaze... A guilty one... As if he had committed an unforgivable sin.

He didn’t like it.

"It is a day of mourning. Do not suggest otherwise, Teacher." Margaret said and hurried Lucius away before Julian could say another word.

Julian stood in the hallway, his smile fading. A birthday that’s a funeral?

He went silent, his thoughts shutting off completely, but no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the heavy gaze of guilt in young Lucius’s face got his heart thumping uncomfortably.

He needed answers, and he knew only one person who was generous enough to give them without viewing it as emotional baggage.

He found the elderly butler in the main hall, overseeing the polishing of a massive, silver-framed portrait that was currently covered by a black cloth.

Julian looked at the portrait, the system did not chime, giving him no information as to who might be painted on that portrait.

He turned to the butler.

"Pardon me," Julian said, stepping into the man’s line of sight and he crooked his head a bit. "The nanny mentioned the Young Lord’s birthday. But the atmosphere... Feels a little off."

The butler finally turned around, his monocle catching the dim light. He looked at Julian for a long time, as if weighing whether the tutor was worth the truth, and then asked,

"Why is it of much concern?" His voice was grim. "You are the boy’s tutor and nothing more."

"I’m not trying to assume otherwise, but I believe that to properly help with the growth of my student, I need to know a little more about him and the environment he grew up in." He said, his eyes pointing out to all of the things around them. "And this does not help me understand without proper words to guide them."

He spoke with a straight tone, confident about what he wanted, and didn’t look like he was going to back down just because the butler told him no.

So, the butler let it go.

"Eight years ago," he began, his voice dry and a little husky. "...the Duke fell in love with the Duchess and their marriage was blessed by the Emperor. And then, seven years ago, she gave birth to Lord Lucius. It was on a night when the North faced the worst blizzard ever. It was tragic."

He looked at the covered portrait.

"The Young Lord survived, but the Duchess..." he closed his eyes, bowing his head a bit. "...did not. She passed away within the hour."

The air in the hall suddenly felt ten degrees colder. Julian finally understood. To the Duke who loved his wife so dearly, Lucius was no more than a reminder of his incompetence.

And every year Lucius grew older, he was reminded of the day he lost the woman after his own heart.

And so, to the staff, and everyone living in this cold manor, the child wasn’t just ’cursed’, he was the reason the light had completely gone out of the manor.

And that was why the child had also lost the light in his eyes.

It was not his fault, but since everyone points their fingers at him and looks at him with the eyes they do, he cannot believe otherwise.

Julian couldn’t imagine how the boy must feel each day his birthday draws closer. His heart wrenched, pained for the child.

"The Duke spends that day drinking in his study, if you must know." the butler added. "So, do not accidentally wander there."

Julian flinched, his eyes darting down in guilt. The look on the butler’s eyes told him he knew he had met with the Duke before. But how did he even know? Did the Duke tattle?

He cleared his throat, quickly changing the topic.

"Then, what about Lord Lucius?" He asked. "There is a celebration nonetheless, right?"

"Lord Lucius is left to his own device." The butler said. "Though it is a celebration, there is no gift, no cake, and especially... no noise."