In summary, this incident between the next generation is the cause for Esteban’s current metaphoric hill of worries.

The act of throwing your glove has long been a widely accepted form of courtesy in noble circles. Most nobles hold a high amount of honor in their nobility and one of the most prominent symbols of wealth and comfort is accepted to be a clean pair of hands. The act of dirtying your hands could be seen as a type of disgrace.

There is a saying that proclaims

“Hands as smooth as silk, a gaze as deep as the sea, a presence as all encompassing as the sky.”

This is one of the most basic codes of conduct that are taught to the young nobility during their early education.

That is not to say that the hands of a noble may not devote themselves to work:

In different countries their interpretation of this widely accepted ideal would differ largely.

In the country of Estica, in which the noble faction held both political authority and military authority, the act of having blemishes in your hand would be seen as proof of your engagement and self-sacrifice for your own country.

In this country the act of dirtying ones hands is interpreted as a more of a symbolic saying than a literal one. In their eyes, dirtying their hands for the sake of devoting themselves to their cause is seen as a sign of honor. It is the concept of wagering your pride and honor for a greater cause.

This is all the more reason for all the noblemen to wear gloves during their everyday life for the glove should only be taken off if one is willing to offer themselves up for their own cause.

The act of throwing away the glove used to protect this honor and throwing it in front of an antagonist would mean wagering your own pride against the honor of the opposing party.

But even then, this situation was slightly different:

Normally the hand that throws away the veil around your honor needs to be the strong hand, or in other words the left hand of the challenger. This could be said to be an act of respect of your fellow opponent.

However, the hand, that threw the glove in front of the boy’s feet was Ricardo’s left hand.

If it had stayed at that level, then maybe Esteban might have been able to persuade his grandson to resign his declaration through a clever use of arguments on his side. Ricardo at this point in time had already received over two years of practical combat lessons, including the art of fencing, which is the predetermined form of a duel between two parties.

In the eyes of Esteban this duel was completely unfair.

But regrettably the declaration didn’t stop there.

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By justifying his actions using their family’s name, Esteban simply wasn’t allowed to stop this situation anymore. If he did, he would have to undermine the authority of his entire family and even go as far as to oppose the possibility of Ricardo one day inheriting the Blueseva family-head’s position. He simply mustn’t do that for the boy’s sake.

It had been blatantly obvious, what Ricardo’s real goal behind this challenge was. A punishment.

After the incident Esteban had ordered for his grandson to appear inside his quarters at the break of afternoon. During the many times, where the family head Karuso Blueseva was away on political duty, Esteban is accepted as the interim supervisor and leader of this household and possesses the authority to order the potential heir around like that. Thus we have the situation of Esteban and Ricardo sitting face-to-face inside his quarters.

POV of Esteban Blueseva:

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My grandson is sitting in front of me. This six and a half year old brat is sitting in front of me without quivering. What a disrespectful fellow has he grown up into? Was I too soft in his education?

That’s not good, I need to keep on the tough act for this meeting of ours.

<>, I ask him while looking him into his deep-blue eyes.

He visibly tenses up when hearing me but still remains to keep his face composed.

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What?

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<>, He interrupts me without betting an eye.

I can see that his face is reddening while he is talking. There must be a lot of pent-up rage inside him right now.

I simply let him continue on.

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The more I hear him talk the more I can see the increasing trembling inside his fists.

<>, he simultaneously shouts and slams his small fists on the table, tears stream down his face as he says that.

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Now I see, where he is going with this

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

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All this time I always thought that the two of them simply didn’t get along because they didn’t like each other. But I was wrong.

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Ricardo always wanted to be friends with Imogyeran for a long time.

<>, now he is simply screaming while crying and hitting the stone table with his fists. His face is completely flushed red and I can see some blood pouring from his mouth, where he probably grit his teeth together too hard.

<>, my grandson stops for a moment to swallow down the welling tears.

Afterwards he proceeds to look straight into my eyes again.

He is speaking in a cracked and silent voice, his arms now helplessly dangling down from his sides.

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He takes another breath to calm himself. I put my hand on top of his head to pet him but he shoves it away before mimicing Imogyeran’s last words:

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<< I laugh all the time, so...>>

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...

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He completely explodes.

<

HOW DAREEE YOU??? WHAT ARE WE TO YOU? ARE WE NOT WORTH YOUR LAUGH, YOU BASTARRD??? >>

He looks completely enraged and indignant in this moment. In this moment, what I am seeing is not a young boy, who is trying to prove a point through a children’s quarrel.

In front of me I can see a man, who has something to prove to himself.

To this man, what could I possibly say?

<>, I say that and leave my own room for the man to cool down for.

<>, these are my last words before exiting.

My next destination should be obvious.

…

Here I am, standing in front of Imogyeran’s room. I ordered him to rest in here and prepare for the fight. I knock at the door and say in a slightly more than intended grunting voice

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I hear a shuffle behind the door and after a few seconds I can hear the sound of a lock clicking and the door opening.

I enter the small bedroom chamber and I find myself face-to-face with the boy.

He has taken off the clothes covering his upper body and is currently sweating profusely.

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…

*Pant**Pant*

I look at the panting boy, I look at his developed muscles on his abs as well as his developed frontal muscles. He has been training for a while it seems.

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the thing that is confusing me the most are his eyes. These red eyes, that normally only appear like hollow lights that seem to emit a gray hue of death; they are sparkling in a deep color like an ancient abyss forced into a small spot and compressed into a beautiful pair of gems. Those are not the eyes of the boy I have been nurturing until now.

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Without thinking, this question spurts out of my mouth. Without understanding my emotions, I tighten the fists to my side, waiting for his answer.

..

Now I get, what’s going on. This in combination with Ricardo’s behavior can only mean one thing.

Hmmm, what should I do in this situation? Should I plan a deliberate response or just wing it and go with my honest feelings.

The answer is obvious.

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Step1: Start off like a prick. Try to be provocative

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Step 2: Make the old man sad.

I can see something break inside the old man’s eyes. Is is disappointment or maybe rage? I don’t know. But I do know this.

Step 3: Opening!

I quickly use the wind spirits I have been communicating with in the meantime to explosively propel myself forward and I dive in to hug the old man tightly around his waist, throwing him off balance onto his behind. I use said spirits to soften his impact with the ground and look up to him.

I can see by his blank expression that I succeeded.

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Step 4: Provocation

I snuggle up to the old man’s chest and after a couple of seconds I stand back up with a bright smile on my face.

<>, the guy is completely flabbergasted and I can’t stop giggling to myself when seeing him like this.

<>, I ask back sheepishly.

But I don’t get a reply. It seems that I might have gone too far with my joking so I should probably dial the trolling down a notch or two.

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I close my eyes to concentrate for a moment.

<<’Donmir’>>

At my call I can hear the cute little friend of mine stomp into appearance. First thing he does when seeing me is jump me. I give him a big hug and he starts profusely licking my face.

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He is such a good boy.

..

Here I am, sitting on the cold stone floor, blankly staring at this child, as if he was some sort of alien species, not saying anything, fully drowned in an ocean of confusion.

My 69 years of life have taught me one thing and only one thing to do in such a situation.

I quickly get up and correct the alignment of my outfit before opening my mouth and commenting on what’s in front of me.

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After tidying myself, I sit on top of the bed next to the one, Imogyeran is sitting in.

I look him into the eyes only to become startled by his expression. He has a bitter smile on his face as he stares at me with his eyes. I can feel a deep sorrow permeating these eyes. Why does he look like that?

<>, he orders me

I do as I’m told. The front of the bed-frame is made with granite-wood, a type of material that is known for its high robustness and cheap price. The pattern engraved on top is a little hard to make out due to the heavy amounts of debris that is covering it.

I move my gaze further down to the floor. The floor is simply a layer of cut stone that is

With 3 years of age he lost his father. Mada Ashenwald died supposedly on the same spot.

I simply watch the floor, that my feet trampled on just a moment ago without looking up at Imogyeran. There is nothing more to be said.

I get down from the bed, while being careful trying not to step onto the space in front of it.

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With a mountain of questions inside my head and a stream of tears welling up inside my eyes I simply run away. This is the first time in my life that I felt this helpless.

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All that remains is to watch the events unfold.

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