Doggone Academy-Chapter 1: Childhood

I didn’t trust people’s words easily. For the most part, I was numb to people’s emotions as well.

Whether someone liked or disliked me didn’t much affect me.

People pointed their fingers at me, labeling me by nature a nasty piece of work.

It wasn’t as if I was born indifferent to others and emotionally barren, though.

There had been times when I desperately yearned for someone’s attention and love. I was capable of responding truthfully to the emotions of others and had sincerely connected with someone, pouring out all my feelings.

It was just that, over time, I had grown insensitive to it all.

The first person to ever tell me they loved me was my mother.

A month after my father left for another city to make a living, he died in an unexpected accident, and my mother raised me alone.

After struggling for several years, one day, my mother vanished, leaving behind a letter that expressed her apologies.

For three days and nights, I roamed every nook and cranny of the city. Even when I cried on the streets until blood trickled down from my forehead from a carriage accident, I didn’t stop because I was afraid that my mother might be gone forever.

Exhausted, I would fall asleep on the streets, then wake up and continue searching. That seemed to go on for nearly ten days. I was so hungry that I couldn’t cry anymore, and I even got caught stealing fruit in the marketplace and was beaten for it.

I was left neglected in the slums, half-dead, until a priest from the Acates Order happened to find me and took me in.

Since then, I lived in the Acates temple, and more precisely, in the Loreille Hall, which was operated as an orphanage.

There were about a dozen other orphans there besides me. Most of them didn’t even know their parents’ faces. They firmly believed that their parents would come to find them someday.

I longed for my mother every night. How could she abandon me so heartlessly after saying she loved me? As a child, I simply couldn’t understand.

For several months, I cried every night. It felt as though I had been forsaken by the world forever. As time passed, a life without my mother gradually became normal. I realized then that even the greatest sorrow could become familiar and endurable.

Sometimes, the sorrow of being abandoned would surge over me like a natural disaster, particularly when I saw other children my age holding their parents’ hands and walking with carefree smiles.

All the orphans at Loreille Hall had similar wounds in their hearts, and perhaps because of that, we were able to bond quickly. I managed to fill the emptiness in my heart by being with them.

That’s where I met Liza. She was my age and had been entrusted to the temple one year earlier than I had.

She was a girl with dull grey hair and big, bright eyes.

There was something unusual about Liza’s status – she was of noble blood, from a renowned family of mages that even had some connections to the royal house, and that she had come here despite having family to care for her.

Her parents died during a war, and her uncle took over as the head of the family. But Liza suffered from her uncle’s violence and abuse, and after a series of rebellions, ended up here.

After we became friends, Liza often confided in me.

“I envy you.”

“Why?”

“I wish I didn’t have a family at all.”

“You don’t know how lonley it is to be without a family.”

“So, can you marry a family member?”

“What are you talking about?”

“My uncle always said that. Our family is the most outstanding lineage of mages in the continent, and to maintain the blessings passed through our bloodline, we must forge ties within the family.”

“What?”

“And he called my mother a mongrel that rolled in from nowhere, without proper lineage or family record.”

“He’s truly awful.”

“Be careful with your words. If you get caught saying things like that, this will happen.”

She then drew her finger across her throat.

“My uncle would beat me all night for saying just one wrong thing. He won’t leave you alone, either.”

“Does ‘forging ties’ mean you have to marry your uncle?”

“Yes. I would rather die than that. Once I’m of age, my uncle will come for me. It’s terrifying. I’d rather die or become a nun than marry him.”

Liza didn’t easily become friends with other children. The other kids knew she was from a noble family, and because of that, she struggled to assimilate with the group.

For some reason, she opened up to me. Maybe she liked that I listened well. She enjoyed talking, and I enjoyed listening.

I was Liza’s closest friend. Whether we were in prayer, attending doctrine and manners classes, or even eating meals, she would sit by my side. Even during playtime with the other children, she always teamed up with me.

Liza loved flowers and herbs. Whenever she had free time, she studied botany on her own. After classes, she would drag me along for walks in the forest. She’d get excited whenever she found a familiar herb, eagerly recounting stories she had read in books.

For much of my childhood, Liza was always there beside me. While her presence certainly provided support for my troubled emotions, it was not always easy.

If I ever sat next to another child or mingled with others after class, she would sulk and lock herself in her room for hours.

When she was upset, I would pick her favorite flowers or herbs to cheer her up. She especially loved a flower called Elcantara; it had no special properties, but she favored it because of its beautiful petals and sweet scent. She would immediately brighten up upon receiving them.

But there were times when not even flowers and herbs could soothe Liza’s intense anger.

She didn’t get along well with another girl at the temple, and if I associated with her, Liza would express her jealousy and anger through drastic actions.

When she was mad, she’d pour sand into my bedding or tear my clothes and notebooks to shreds. She’d been harsher with the girl I’d spent time with, secretly sprinkling poisonous plant powder into her pillow, which ended in serious reprimands.

Fed up with her excessive behavior, I once declared that we should part ways. In response, Liza stopped eating, locked herself in her room, and became a recluse. That reclusive stunt lasted an entire week. The priests said they heard her sobbing mournfully when they passed her door at dawn.

As Liza’s health declined, the matron intervened and forced us to reconcile, ending her period of seclusion.

Liza and I stayed together even into our adolescence.

As Liza reached puberty, her appearance changed significantly. Her dull grey hair turned to shimmering silver, and her initially playful eyes deepened into a more womanly expression. She grew taller every day, her cheeks slimmed down, and her jawline sharpened. Her skin grew paler as time passed.

Liza’s meetings with the high priestess became more frequent due to issues with her heritage.

“A well of power has opened up.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a special ability from our Pascal lineage. Our family members have it open around my age.”

“Is that good?”

She caressed her silvery hair, draping it to the side as she spoke.

“Yeah. My well is in the solar plexus, where a lot of magical power emerges. This hair color change is also due to the well. I preferred how it was before.”

“You look splendid now, too.”

“Thanks to the well, our family members don’t age much.”

“Hm.”

“You’ll be a middle-aged man, and I’ll still look pretty much the same.”

“I wouldn’t want to be treated like a child by then.”

“Neither would I. And the high priestess said she would teach me basic magic.”

“Starting when?”

“From tomorrow.”

“So, starting tomorrow, I have a mage friend?”

“Yep. Starting from tomorrow, don’t cry or cause trouble in my absence.”

“Are you going far away?”

“No, I’m just going to have separate lessons for an hour or two in the evening.”

“What will I do in the evenings?”

“Just stay out of trouble. Or better yet, spend the time thinking about me. Think about what we can do together.”

Watching her grow up, it became starkly clear to me: Liza and I were fundamentally different. Our backgrounds, innate talents, and growing appearances – the differences became more pronounced over time. If not for the Acates priest who had picked me up, we might have never crossed paths.

But fate had it that she and I were the closest of friends, family, and companions. We shared everything about each other. As time went on, Liza and I became deeply embedded in each other’s lives. Our bond was emotionally tight, and life without one another became unimaginable.

Liza feared growing older. It was the fear of her uncle coming to take her that terrified her.

After Liza’s power well opened, the Pascal family’s retainers visited the temple every six months to check on her condition.

On the days she faced them, Liza’s expression was terribly agitated.

Since then, Liza habitually brought up the topic of staying together even when we grew up.

“Let’s always live together when we’re older.”

She would playfully suggest marriage, to which I would agree every time.

We both knew how difficult it would be to keep this promise and stay together as adults. The likelihood of us parting was high, and as Liza’s abilities blossomed and she grew day by day, I felt this more acutely.

But by making such promises, we could momentarily forget our troubles.

At Acates temple, orphans older than 17 couldn’t stay at Loreille Hall. Therefore, they had to find their path early and learn to live independently once the time came.

Liza had the potential to become an excellent mage. It was likely she would enter the academy at 17. Her future was promising.

I began learning metalwork at 14, and by 15, I was in a sizable workshop doing odd jobs and gradually acquiring the skills.

Time flew by and we turned 15. Liza was edgy and sensitive during that period.

The Pascal retainers visited more frequently, and equally, Liza sought me out more often.

After meetings with the retainers, she sometimes held me tight, trembling silently like a lost puppy. When I asked what was wrong, she stayed silent.

At the workshop, I collected discarded scraps of iron and wire. I picked out the decent pieces, melted them, and joined them together, applying the techniques I learned while I worked through the night to make a ring.

When I presented my first creation to Liza, she was overjoyed. She slipped the ring onto her left ring finger. She beamed and showed it off like it was a diamond, flipping her hand back and forth in the light.

“I’ll give you something even nicer later.”

“This is perfect already.”

Liza’s laughter was always a pleasure to see. How long could I keep watching her smile? A desire to always be with Liza grew inside me.

And then, on a summer’s day when I was 15, I heard the words ‘I love you’ for the second time in my life.