"You little bastard, are you fucking kidding me—"
Faced with Tales's sarcastic provocation, Count Aitchison Lasia finally lost patience and shot to his feet.
"Father, sit down!"
At the last moment, the Count's eldest son caught his father before he could disgrace himself. With his gaze and tone, he firmly forced him back into his seat:
"You're a Count. Leave the discourtesy to me."
Count Aitchison's nostrils flared as he breathed heavily.
He stared at his eldest son in disbelief, then turned furiously toward Tales. With an angry snort, he flung back his sleeve and turned his head away.
Eddie's expression was grave as he nodded at his father.
The father and son displayed filial devotion and paternal kindness. The eldest son offered proper advice, and the Count readily followed it.
Tales could not help envying them.
They ought to be held up as a model father and son, vigorously publicized and promoted throughout the kingdom.
Yet a small voice spoke up in his heart once more:
Don't be fooled, Tales.
First of all, perhaps they only act like this in front of you?
The Prince's expression changed.
Second, what if they weren't from the remote backwater of the Wetlands, nor members of the impoverished and feeble Rasia Family?
What if they belonged to another, wealthier and more powerful family or organization, one with enough authority to leave more behind for its descendants without worrying about survival and self-preservation?
For example... the Crescent Star Family?
As he pondered, the Count's eldest son looked at him with a sharp gaze and asked softly:
"Why, Your Highness?"
Why?
"Because you're accustomed to indirect provocation and luring your targets in."
Tales came back to himself.
"Instead, you would never make such a crude, direct attempt to assassinate the Old Duke. It doesn't fit