“Hurry, hurry! And bring your daughters too! The master is waiting!”
“Um…”
Reina wished someone—anyone—would explain what was going on. The children clung to her skirt, wide-eyed and afraid.
“I can’t just follow someone I don’t know.”
“Ah—!”
The man quickly let go of her hand, realizing his mistake.
“My apologies, I was too hasty. I am Shane, the owner of the Saintbell Theater Troupe. The second Shane, in fact.”
“…”
“The lord rented out our entire show today. He said he wanted to enjoy the play comfortably with his family.”
“What…?”
Reina and the children stared at him, mouths open. Only then did Reina realize what Damian had gone off to do.
Before they could even gather their thoughts, troupe workers guided them into the tent.
There, in the vast, empty hall, sat a single man. Even from afar, Damian’s tall, elegant figure looked imposing. He sat with legs crossed, watching the empty stage with a bored expression—until they arrived.
“…You’re here.”
“D-Damian? What is this?”
“My daughter shouldn’t have to freeze outside waiting to watch a play.”
Of course not—Estelle was a duke’s child. Damian arched a brow as if it were obvious.
If he was going to do this, why didn’t he just invite the troupe to the mansion? Reina thought, but bit her tongue.
Estelle looked around at the deserted seats, uneasy. She tugged Damian’s sleeve.
“…Then, the people outside… can’t come in until we finish watching?”
“That’s right. So we’ll have more peace.”
“…”
He sounded proud, but Estelle’s face darkened. Damian, unsettled, looked to Reina for help.
Lately, she noticed his human side more often. Leaning close so Estelle couldn’t hear, she whispered:
“She feels bad for the people waiting outside.”
“…Why?”
“They gave up their time to wait, but because you rented the whole show, they’ll have to wait even longer. That’s what troubles her.”
“….”
Damian fell silent, clearly not understanding Estelle’s compassion. Then he turned to the troupe master.
“Let in families with children first.”
“Wh-what? Yes, yes, of course!”
“…No, wait.” Damian rubbed his chin, then changed his mind.
“Invite the children from the orphanage too.”
“…Right now?”
“Yes, immediately.”
“….”
“I’ll pay you double.”
“Understood! We’ll fetch them at once!”
Reina didn’t want to imagine how much Damian had already paid. Knowing would only make her dizzy.
Soon, the orphanage children were seated in the best spots while Damian led Estelle, Bonita, and Reina to the front.
“Is this better?” he asked.
Estelle hesitated, then nodded. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold. Reina sat beside Bonita, murmuring:
“…My lord.”
“I told you to call me Damian.”
“No one is listening here.”
“…Fine.”
Gathering courage, she asked the question that had been bothering her.
“What did you tell the troupe master about… us?”
“Nothing special.”
“…Really?”
“I only said I wanted to bring my daughter to see a play, and that a woman nearby was watching two children for me. I paid him to fetch her.”
“…I see.”
So he hadn’t called her his wife. The misunderstanding was Shane’s own.
Not long after, the performance began.
The tent darkened, and a troupe magician filled the stage with sparkling illusions. Children’s eyes shone in wonder—not just Estelle and Bonita, but all the orphans too.
Reina couldn’t help smiling at the sight of so many different faces lit up with the same joy.
“…What are you smiling at?” Damian leaned closer to whisper. Reina turned—and startled at how near his face was.
“…J-just… the children look so cute.”
“….”
“You’ve given them a wonderful gift.”
“…It wasn’t my plan.”
“Still.”
Feeling awkward, Damian straightened up. Reina smiled softly.
“Damian, you’re like… Santa Claus.”
“…?”
“Here, would you like this?”
She broke her flower-shaped cookie in half and handed him the larger piece. He turned it in his hand, mulling over her strange comparison. Santa Claus was no figure of Eisen, or of this world at all.
When he glanced back, Reina was already watching the stage with the children, her expression as bright as theirs.
Damian thought, for some reason, that he would never forget this moment.
The play told the tale of Bendicion, the god who once blessed the world. A child prayed for salvation, Bendicion appeared, and from their love came eternal fruit—the “Permon.” But tragedy struck when a knight named Felix killed the child, claiming himself greater than a god. In grief, Bendicion created the first star from the child’s body and vanished, vowing to guard the world until the soul was reborn.
“Do you think it’s true?” Reina asked afterward.
“Who knows. I don’t put much faith in gods.”
They stepped out into the winter air.
Tradition said that on the day of the first child’s death, Bendicion blessed children everywhere. That was how the Star’s Birthday began.
Reina had only thought of it as parents giving gifts to children—or lovers exchanging presents. Today she learned the deeper story.
Damian, glancing at her thoughtful face, remarked:
“You seem to have enjoyed it.”
“…Yes. I never knew plays could be so fun. Maybe it’s because it was my first time.”
She looked back longingly at the tent. I’d like to see another someday, she thought. Perhaps when Bonita was grown, they might have that luxury.
Damian tilted his head toward her. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“It is about lunchtime. The children must be hungry too.”
“Do you know a place?”
“I do—Sir Dean recommended a tavern. Shall we go there?”
“….”
“It’s very affordable, but the food is plentiful and delicious!” she hurried to explain, worried Damian would find it beneath him.
“…Then let’s go.”
“Yes! Leave it to me.”
I’ll pay this time, she resolved, secretly thrilled at the thought.
The tavern was crowded but lively. Luckily, they found a table for four. Reina eagerly explained the menu items Dean had recommended, ordering a spread of hearty dishes: fresh bread, spicy chicken stew, seasonal salad, salted beans, a signature herb soup, and a vegetable gratin.
The table filled with food, and the children ate with gusto. Even Damian seemed to enjoy it.
“…At least there are no blueberries,” he muttered.
“Ha…ha…” Reina chuckled awkwardly.
She dipped her bread into the soup. It looked unpleasantly green, but tasted refreshing and smooth. She discovered it was a seasonal dish, available only during the Star’s Birthday. We’re lucky, she thought.
When no one was looking, she slipped away to pay the bill herself. Damian noticed afterward, his face hard to read. Reina only smiled, pleased with herself.
It had been the richest Star’s Birthday Bonita had ever known.
As they left, Bonita pointed excitedly toward the temple. Priests were handing out small bags to children.
“Those are gifts,” Damian explained. “On this day, all children are given blessings equally, no matter their status.”
Reina’s heart twisted. Would they have helped Bonita that time she carried her to the temple, sick and weak? She doubted it.
Still, Bonita begged to go. Estelle too.
“…Shall we go together?” Reina asked.
“No, I’ll go with the young lady,” Bonita said.
“Alright. We’ll be right behind you.”
The girls ran ahead, hand in hand. Damian and Reina kept close watch.
“You don’t like the temple, do you?” he asked quietly.
“…Did it show?”
“A little.”
“Personal reasons,” she answered shortly.
He didn’t press further.
Soon, the girls each received a small pouch. They opened them with delight—until Bonita suddenly froze.
“…?”
Before Reina could call out, a loud crash echoed nearby as a stall collapsed under the crowd’s weight.
Startled, Bonita dropped her pouch and bolted.
“Bonita!”
Reina’s face went pale as she pushed through the mob, desperate to follow. But the press of people made it nearly impossible. She stumbled, nearly falling—until Damian caught her.
“Reina, steady yourself!”
“S-sorry, my lord. My child, again…”
“Damn it, Reina, focus!”
Tears brimmed in her eyes.
“I lost her… I troubled you and the young lady again…”
Damian’s voice hardened.
“Reina Borton. Do not apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“….”
“You didn’t lose her through neglect—it was an accident. And if you must apologize, it is not to us, but to your daughter. Do I speak falsely?”
“…N-no.”
Her tears finally spilled over.
“…No.”
Even then, she wept silently, without a sound. Damian thought he had seen her cry more often than smile.
He ordered Reina back to the carriage, deciding he would search himself.
“Bonita!”
It felt as though neither mother nor child was allowed a peaceful life.
Finally, he found her crouched and crying outside a dull gray building.
“Bonita Borton.”
“…!”
She looked up, relief flooding her face.
“L-lord…”
“Not lord. Duke.”
He checked her quickly for injuries, then lifted her into his arms.
“Why were you here?”
“…Mom said… if I got separated, I should wait in one place. But… I left the restaurant, and then all the buildings looked the same…”
Damian glanced at the identical gray walls. Easy for a child to mistake.
“Is Mama angry?” she sniffled.
“She’s worried.”
“Is she… crying again, because of me?”
“….”
Her tears fell harder. Damian clumsily patted her back.
“She won’t be angry. She worries—but she won’t cast you aside.”
“…But what if she doesn’t want me anymore?”
Damian thought of Reina, frantically searching with a face drained of color. The idea was absurd.
He wiped her tears.
“Reina Borton begged me to let you study whatever you wished. Does that sound like someone ready to abandon you?”
“…Really?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes lit, though still wet.
“Then… I want to learn the sword.”
“…The sword?”
She nodded vigorously.
“Why?”
“…So I can protect Mama, like Sir Dean and the knights do.”
“…I see.”
Few women in Eisen learned the sword. But Damian, whose late wife had been from Penecke, wasn’t one to deny her.
“If that is your wish, I’ll find you a good teacher.”
“Thank you!”
She hugged him tightly. For once, Damian found himself awkwardly comforted by a child.
Reina wept again when Bonita was returned safely, but said nothing of her fear. Damian and Estelle urged her not to scold the girl too harshly.
Later, Damian told her privately:
“I’ll have a sword master assigned to Bonita soon.”
Reina was stunned. He only added, “It’s the Star’s Birthday, after all,” as though it were nothing.
Days later, Estelle sat nervously with Reina and Bonita, blushing bright red. When Damian approached, she blurted out, trembling:
“…O-of all the gifts this year… the one Father gave me was the best!”
Damian froze, then lifted her high with a radiant smile.
“Say it again.”
“…The one Father gave me was the best…”
“One more time.”
For the first time, he felt truly recognized as her father.
From that day on, the entire estate celebrated.
Snow began to fall—the first snow of the year. Estelle and Bonita ran ahead, laughing, while Reina and Damian followed.
“…You told her, didn’t you?” he murmured.
“That you wished she’d call you Father? Yes,” Reina admitted with a smile.
“…Why?”
“Because you and Estelle… it seems like the two of you are in a one-sided love with each other.”
“….”
She called it her Star’s Birthday gift—to both father and daughter.
Damian could only watch her walk ahead to join the girls, his heart stirred in ways he couldn’t name.
Snow fell gently, covering the world in white. For Damian, it was the first time life had ever felt peaceful.
