It was around six in the evening.

  Under normal circumstances, as he had diligently done in the past few months, Mirac would have spent this time studying aging in something productive.

  However, that te afternoon, he decided to stay in his room. His tired body, marked by interaining, forced him to remain lying on the bed, curled up on his right side, immersed in thoughts he couldn't shake off.

  The stern gaze of his father tio haunt him, like a nightmare that refused to fade away.

  'I'm not enough...' Mirac kept repeating to himself, letting the sense of failure overwhelm him.

  Every effort, every drop of sweat shed during training, seemed to have lost any value in the face of that imperable indifference.

  His heart throbbed painfully in his chest, tight in an invisible vise, as if someone were crushing it mercilessly. Each beat in his chest was an uing and painful reminder of what he cked: his father's approval.

  "Tsk!"

  A light kno the door broke the oppressive silence.

  "e in…" Mirac murmured, g energy.

  His voice sounded weak, faint. No longer as determined as it had always been.

  The door slowly opened.

  The red-haired servaered with delicate steps, carrying a silver tray on which rested a lid of the same material.

  Her presence was always apanied by a sense of calm, capable of transmitting serenity. However, that afternoon, it was not enough to dispel the cloud of sadhat enveloped Mirac.

  "I've brought you a snack, young Prince," she said in her usual sweet and measured tone, gently pg the tray on the desk, positioned against the wall opposite the bed.

  Mirac didn't move, nor did he respond.

  His gaze was fixed on the su, on the sky painted with red and e. The glow of the setting sun, which he usually found f, now seemed to only emphasize the emptiness he felt inside.

  Carmen observed him closely, immediately sensing the distress in his downcast eyes.

  "Young Prince, has something happened?" she eventually asked, with a sweethat sought to slip past the barriers of his silence.

  Mirac sighed, avoiding her gaze.

  "No, nothing, Carmen."

  Carmen wasn't deceived.

  "Are you sure?" she insisted, with the patience of someone who doesn't get disced easily.

  "Yes… Nothing important…"

  Carmen slightly shook her head, letting out a mencholic smile.

  "You know, young Pri's very easy to read your mind. In my eyes, you are an open book. So much so that all I o do is look into your eyes to uand what's going through your mind. And that's precisely why, young Prince, you should stop shamelessly lying to me."

  At that point, Miraderstood: it was useless to try to hide the obvious truth.

  He slowly rose from his lying position, feeling the blue bs sih his weight, and sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands iwined. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the sun was disappearing behind the walls, leaving the sky immersed in fiery hues.

  "Today my father watched the training," he finally said, breaking the silence.

  "Yes, I knew," Carmen replied calmly. "After all, His Majesty the King does that on the first day of every month."

  "Exactly!" Miratinued, and frustration began to rise in his voice. "But in all these months, not once has he smiled at me. Not a single spark of pride in his eyes. Sometimes I think I'm not enough for him. And today… today I got firmation of that. He himself told me!"

  He took a moment to ch his fists and grit his teeth, his body tense like a rope about to snap.

  "Other times, I wonder if I'll ever be able to meet his expectations..." Mirafessed, his voice trembling with emotion. "If things keep going this way, if I never mao see a proud smile on his face... what's the point of tinuing to push myself and train so hard?!"

  Carmen watched him for a moment, still standing by the desk. Then, without saying a word, she csped her hands in front of her and, with measured and graceful steps, approached Mirac. She sat o him on his left.

  For a brief moment, she too allowed herself to be drawn to the horizon, where the vibrant colors of the su were transf into darker, deeper shades. The room seemed enveloped in a suspemosphere, thick with silend ption.

  After a moment of quiet, Carmen broke the sileh her usual reassuring voice, each word carefully chosen to lighten Mirac's heart:

  "Young Prince… Listening to your words, the way you speak and express yourself... You seem much older and more mature than the usual children of ye."

  Mirac stiffened for a moment, taken aback by this observation. He felt a slight tremor run through his body but tried not to show it.

  'Damn, she's right!' he thought, a small unease creeping inside him. 'I o be more careful with how I express myself… After all, I'm supposed to look like a 7-year-old!'

  With a graceful gesture, Carmen adjusted her regur gsses, the refle of the su caressing the thick bck frame.

  Then she spoke agaione being slightly more serious:

  "But besides that, young Principe, you also seem much strohan children of ye!"

  "You think so?" Mirac replied, his tone skeptical, as if those words couldn't reach him.

  "Absolutely," she replied with fidence, a slight smile. "I'll be ho. Instead of ing the dishes, I watched you today during the training. Of course, I'm not a fighter, and I don't know much about swords or bat, but resisting for so long against an oppo like the Grand Knight Leonard at your young age is no small feat. And you should be very proud of yourself!"

  Mirac looked up at Carmen, a mix of curiosity and slight embarrassment in his eyes.

  "Thank you, but-"

  He was about to reply, but she interrupted, her tone being deeper and more reflective:

  "However, I uand that all of this may not be enough to calm what you feel inside. And I imagine how you must feel. Your efforts, so great and stant, are all aimed at making your family proud, especially your father. It's natural, young Prince. Desiring the approval of those we love is a feeling that we all, sooner or ter, experie least on our lives. However!..."

  Carmen paused for a moment, takiime to choose her words carefully.

  Once she had gathered her thoughts, she turned her head towards Mirac, gazing at him with calm determination.

  "This goal of yours, this desire to make your father proud, must not bee a cage."

  Mirac flinched, caught off guard by those words.

  "W-What do you mean?" he asked, turning slightly towards her.

  His hands, nervously gripping the edge of the bed, betrayed the uainty that was ing him.

  Carmen remained silent for a few moments, letting the warm sunlight caress her for a brief instant, making her seem almost ethereal.

  When she sehe moment was right, she spoke again, with disarming calm:

  "You see... Often, in trying to meet others' expectations, we risk walking paths that don't truly belong to us, chasing goals that don't represent who we are. It's a subtle trap, one we sometimes only reize when it's too te to ge dire."

  She slightly turowards Mirac, meeting his fused gaze.

  Then she tinued, with a firmer tone:

  "This is why, young Pri's important to ask yourself: what you do—training hard with the sword—do you do it because you truly want to, because it makes you happy and fulfilled? Or do you do it solely and exclusively to please someone else?"

  The question hung in the air, heavy as a boulder.

  Instinctively, Mirac looked away, staring at an indefinite point beyond the windows. It was clear that her words had stirred something within him, perhaps a doubt he had never dared to front.

  Not receiving an answer, Carmen moved a little closer, closing the distaween them.

  "External approval is fragile, fleeting," she tinued, her voice warm and reassuring. "It es and goes, depending on the circumstances. But inner satisfa, the kind that es from doing somethiruly love, that sts forever. It will apany you for your whole life."

  With a gentle gesture, her hand brushed against Mirac's, transmitting a warmth that brought him peace.

  "Don't misuand me, young Prince," she added, keepiole yet firm. "I'm not suggesting that you should ignore your father's advid expectations. But I urge you not to base your self-worth and happiness solely on his judgment."

  Mirac listened in silence, just like a child, with eyes full of uainties as he absorbed those words.

  Carmely took his hands, trying to establish a deeper e.

  "Look inside yourself for motivation, the joy of learning and growing," she resumed, with gentle insistence. "Find your path, follow your heart. And if, by doing what you love, you also mao make your father proud, so much the better! But always remember: safeguard your ambitions, nurture your dreams, and achieve yoals."

  Once again, Mirac lifted his gaze towards her, his eyes filled with doubt.

  "And what if... I fail?" he whispered, almost afraid to give voice to the fear that gripped him.

  Carmen shook her head firmly, and the su ignited her red locks, framing her face.

  After meeting his gaze, she responded with vi:

  "In life, you shouldn’t worry about failing... But rather about giving up on yourself."

  Mirac seemed to freeze for a moment.

  Whispering, he repeated her words softly, as if trying to uand them fully:

  "Giving up... on myself?"

  "Exactly," she firmed, her eyes full of calm determination. "Only then will you have truly lost everything."

  For a moment, siletled over them like a light b. Carmen's words hung in the air, as light as feathers, leaving a luminous tra Mirac's heart.

  It seemed as though a flicker of inspiration had illuminated his gaze, and his face felt warmed again by the su.

  "Oh, it's getting te!" excimed Carmen, gng at the cloirac's desk. "I believe it's time for me to return to my household chores, young Prince."

  Carme go of Mirac's hand and stood up slowly, giving a slight nod of respect. With graceful movements, she made her way towards the door, but at the threshold, she stopped and turned slightly, once again showing her kind eyes.

  "I hope I've been of help to you," she said with a sweet, almost motherly smile. "The tray stay there. I'll e by ter to collect it."

  Without saying anything else, Carmely closed the door behind her auro her duties.

  Though still lost in his thoughts, a fleeting smile appeared on Mirac's face, a sign that his mood had slightly improved.

  The up from the bed, stretg lightly, and walked towards the desk. Sitting in the wooden chair, his eyes fell on the silver tray that y waiting.

  With almost distracted movement, he lifted the lid, revealing a bowl of creamy, inviting chocote ice cream, topped with a yer of panna cotta and twht red cherries.

  "An ice cream?!" he thought, surprised. "This is the first time I've seen one here in this world! I had started to think they didn't eve!"

  With some urgency, he grabbed the spooing beside the bowl and, mouth watering, took the first bite. The dessert melted on his tongue, spreading a rich, velvety fvor as a sense of calm enveloped him.

  "Thanks again, Carmen!..." he thought, letting the chocote, at least for the moment, soothe his darkest thoughts.

  * * *

  After finishing the dessert, Mirac stretched, letting out a sigh of satisfa.

  "Ah, that was just what I needed," he murmured to himself, stretg his body, which seemed to slowly release the accumuted tension.

  Seated on his elegant wooden chair with a carved backrest in flowing lines, his thoughts returo the ice cream he had just finished and, iably, to Carmen's words.

  "Wait a minute... Could it be that Carmen decided from the very beginning to help and e like this?" Mirac thought, absentmindedly stroking his —sometimes he fot he no longer had a beard. "Hmm... It's possible. But I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case."

  After all, it wasn't the first time she had shown her for him, sensing his needs even before he was aware of them himself.

  She was always atteo his mood, stantly ready to act or scold him when necessary, perfectly refleg her proverbial feminine, almost maternal instinct.

  "There's nothing that escapes you, is there, Carmen?" he murmured, an amused smile slipping onto his lips. "Or at least, that's how it seems..."

  In front of him, the spoon he had used to enjoy the ice cream y in the empty bowl, ed of every trace of the sweet treat.

  Then, almost uedly, the servant's words echoed ba his mind, like an echo interrupting his moment of peace:

  "Giving up on yourself..." he repeated softly, letting those words shape themselves among his thoughts. "Maybe that's exactly what I've done. I admit I like wielding the sword, but maybe... I focused so mu living as Mirac that I fot how Vector wao live..."

  His eyelids suddenly shot up, and his gaze slid toward the drawer to the right.

  With his heart still full of emotions, he looked around cautiously, almost fearing someone might be spying on him through the cra the door. Only when his instincts reassured him that there was nothing to fear did Mirac rex

  "Alright!" he excimed, as though he had made a definitive decision.

  With a decisive movement, he opehe draulled out a notepad with a rigid yellow cover. The color, vibrant and sunny, seemed almost like an invitation to begin something new.

  He turhe pages gently, the brown lines running across the beige pages, like tracks ready to guide his thoughts to new destinations.

  Gripping his quill, he dipped it in ink and wrote at the top of the first page the "title":

  "LIST OF THINGS I WANT TO DO"

  A smile lit up his face.

  In a way, Mirac felt as if Carmen's words had awakened a fotten spark within him.

  Maybe—but he was quite sure—it was the old version of himself he had lost in this new life...

  "Yes, now I remember!"

  And in that moment, the river of his thoughts began to flow again, carrying with it the old dreams buried by the misery of his past life, the desires crushed by the daily struggle for survival.

  "I wao learn how to cook..."

  And he wrote it down.

  "I wao learn how to draw..."

  That found spa the page as well.

  "I also wao travel the world..."

  The ink gave shape to these words too.

  Sooor found himself p every dream he had ever had in his past life onto the page.

  The quill, sequently, began to glide quickly across the paper, driven by an unstoppable enthusiasm. Oer ahe lines filled with ideas, ambitions, and skills to acquire.

  These weren't just long-term dreams, but also small goals and activities to aplish as soon as possible, before this life too could end prematurely without having achieved anything meaningful.

  However, Mirac carefully avoided writing anything that might raise suspi.

  Some desires were too tied to his old reality or required objects that likely did in this "fantasy" world.

  Writing something too "strange"—like learning to drive a car or reading the st chapter of a book that surely didn't eve in this nd—could reveal his true nature as a transmigrator, if anyoo e across that list.

  He didn't want to take such risks, especially sidering that his parents and his personal servant, Carmen, had permission to enter his room even in his absend, occasionally, rummage through his wardrobe or desk drawers.

  So, he focused on desires and goals that would appear pusible for this new world but still reflected his deepest dreams. They could be practical ambitions like mastering the art of the sword, or visual experiences like witnessing a meteor shower.

  After fifteen minutes of frantic writing, his quill stopped.

  Mirac leaned ba his chair, a satisfied expression on his face.

  "Excellent!" he excimed with satisfa, resting against the backrest and allowing himself a moment of well-deserved rexation.

  In front of him were fifty points. A promising start for a child—or rather, an old man—with a list of dreams as vast and varied as they were.

  "It's just the beginning… Over time, I'll surely add more!"

  That yellow notebook, seemingly so simple, had now ied all his old ambitions never realized.

  Mirac reread each point on his list with pride before looking up at the clo his desk.

  "It's around 18:00…" he murmured, stretg again and hearing his back creak like dry wood.

  He took o satisfied look at the list, whiow filled ten and a half pages, before carefully putting the yellow notebook ba the drawer. The up from the chair and walked with determieps toward the dining room.

  * * *

  After dinner, Mirac gathered his ce and asked his mother if they could talk privately. She, always kind and uanding, agreed without hesitation. Together, they made their way to one of the pace balies.

  The sky was clear, dotted with stars, while the moon was hidden.

  "Tell me everything, my son," his maly, sitting on one of the white chairs on the baly. Her gaze, filled with affe and uanding, was fixed on him as she elegantly adjusted her , making it shine in the moonlight.

  Mirac sat in front of her, his face serious, and without wasting any time, went straight to the point:

  "Mom, I o talk to you about something: it's about Professor Shirkenn..."