‘Meditation Time.’
Constantly brushing away distracting thoughts, I struggled to determine what exactly was irritating me, preventing me from achieving harmony—until I cast aside my blinkered view and discovered that everything I had known until now... was false. After all, there weren’t seven life-cycle, but… eight?
To my great surprise, I discovered a new center located slightly above the heart, on the outer side of the sternum. I could distinctly sense the incorrectness of its placement.
The remnants of my memories screamed that such a thing was impossible, and yet I saw with vision, a new mana chakra(life-cycle), which turned out to be more than half full.
Trying to push this oddity out of my mind, I continued working on my body, setting it up for recovery and accelerating metabolism. For the next few days, I likely wouldn’t even need to visit the restroom—every calorie would be used exclusively for building muscle mass, strengthening bones and tendons, and, most importantly, developing my brain.
Moving from the bottom up, I widened the channels for mana circulation, and by the time my upper soul center was emptied and I drifted into a restless sleep in a semi-conscious state, every center contained at least some energy. However, I didn’t get a proper rest.
A sharp clatter of heels against the marble floor and loud, multi-voiced shouting echoed in the corridor. Only fragmented exclamations reached me.
"…How dare he!" came an indignant woman’s shout.
"Olenka, calm down," immediately replied another, lower-pitched but equally agitated voice. "Vasily, don’t you dare raise your voice at your daughter! She has every right. That stray is her son, too!"
"QUIET, WOMEN!" roared the head of the family, and at that moment, the door to my bedroom flew open, and an entire procession appeared on the threshold. Three flushed, furious women in expensive evening gowns, Miroslav Zuvorin, the family head and my valet.
"You… how…," stammered the woman, no, the girl who had burst into the room, staring at me as I rose from the bed. "You want to name THIS as Yulka’s heir?! Over my dead body!"
From the outside, the situation probably looked comical: a delegation of lavishly dressed ladies and gentlemen in modern suits bursting into the room of a scrawny boy. It was as if a delegation from parliament or the state council had arrived at a patient’s hospital bed. But I was far from amused.
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"Greetings, Your Graces," I croaked, brushing my dishevelled hair with my hand.
"Your Graces?! Did you hear that?" the girl indignantly turned to the others. "He doesn’t even know our names. How did you let this skeleton into the palace?"
"This ‘skeleton’ is your adopted son, and I’ve already welcomed him into the family," said Miroslav, striking his cane on the floor. "I gave him a name and my word."
"But I haven’t accepted him," firmly stated a lean woman in a business dress with a jacket draped over her shoulders. "Dear, I understand your haste perfectly, but this is not a settled matter. My father will object to such a violation of noble law."
"Ludmila, this is the decision of the head of the family!" Miroslav frowned again but was gently cut off by the woman, who placed her hand on his forearm.
"And it cannot contradict the statutes and laws of the Empire. Yulka could have recognized him as a son or even an heir, but it should have been done before the noble commission. Then no questions would arise. Now, however, in light of his sudden and undoubtedly tragic death, this is unprovable," she corrected her husband respectfully but insistently.
"Last wills are sacred," Miroslav said darkly, though he did not shrug off his wife’s hand. "But we won’t go against the Emperor’s will or the law. Julius will appear before the commission, and I will become his official guardian until he comes of age."
"The Mirans will oppose it!" my "mother" likely, named Olneka proudly interjected.
"That’s right," Ludmila nodded. "Dear, you wouldn’t want to quarrel with the Ministry of Public Education, would you? My father created an entire Zuvorin program under your patronage, allocating funds for an orphanage that bears your name. For fifty years, Emperors have allocated treasury funds for it, and now you want to ruin it all with one action?"
"What does this have to do with anything?" Miroslav glared at his wife.
"How could it not? I understand you’re always with the troops, on the front lines, at inspections, but even you should be aware of such simple social matters," Ludmila smiled. "Thousands of orphans across the country are inspired by the chance to become heirs of great princes. Competitions between orphans have already become a national sport, beloved in all regions. If you bypass all mechanisms and appoint this one as the heir…"
"They won’t recognize it," Miroslav said grimly, seemingly resigned. So much for the word of the family head. But it seemed I was disappointed in the old soldier too soon. "Then we need to make it so they do recognize it. The final selection of the current course is six months away; there’s time."
"Mother-in-law, are you serious? You really think of accepting this spawn into the family?"
"Well, dear, just look at this poor boy. I’m afraid nothing can be fixed, not in a year or even a lifetime," Ludmila replied with a smile, shaking her head.
"I will pass both the exams and the trials," I said firmly, meeting the woman’s mocking gaze as best I could. I don’t know if she saw something in my eyes or felt it, but she involuntarily turned away. "I’m not afraid and will do everything I can to justify Grandfather’s trust and fulfil my father’s last will."
"He’s no father of yours!" Olga flared up again. "Yulka was just a proud fool who valued service over family, and this is the result! I don’t accept him!"
With these words, the girl stormed out of the room, and most of the people followed her, suggesting there would be significant disputes ahead, likely extending far beyond the family.
Ludmila lingered for just a moment longer, kissed her husband on the cheek, and then left, leaving only Miroslav, Roman, and the valet Vasily at the door of my temporary quarters.