The Noble Kindergarten Teacher’s Hardships – Episode 007
He said it. He called me Dad.
‘In childcare stories, when the father is called “Dad,” he usually smiles like a fool and does anything the child asks.’
So why was her own father making a face like he had just chewed dung?
The Count of Windister asked again, his expression like someone who had just heard nonsense.
“What did you just say?”
“I said I want to leave the family.”
Efna’s lips curled into a soft and elegant smile. Just like her dead mother’s.
Was his daughter always able to speak so clearly?
The Count of Windister found all of this unfamiliar. Even the words coming out of his eldest daughter’s mouth.
But the more flustered he became, the calmer Efna grew.
“I was worried you might find it troublesome, so I even prepared the documents. You’ve always found anything related to me bothersome, haven’t you, Father?”
“When did I ever find you bothersome…”
“Here they are.”
I treasured them carefully so I wouldn’t lose them. After all, doesn’t everyone carry around something like a resignation letter in their hearts?
Efna ignored the Count’s words and spread the documents out on the table.
Adoption Registration. Application for Expulsion from the Family. Mandatory Property Division Agreement.
“You, Efna—you know what these are…!”
“Yes, Father. I know. Should I explain them to you, just in case?”
Since the “Dad” strategy didn’t work, there was no reason to call him that anymore.
“This one is for Lilien.”
An adoption registration form to register Lilien as the daughter of the late wife.
“This one is for me.”
An application to sever Efna from the Windister family.
“And this one is for my future.”
If a child under 19 is expelled from a noble family, the family is legally required to provide a minimum division of property.
“Say the word, and I’ll explain everything.” Efna’s service-minded attitude only fueled the Count’s anger. He couldn’t see the effort she had put into this.
“You’re not asking because you don’t know!”
“Then I have nothing more to say. Once you’ve filled out the documents, let me know. In the meantime, I’ll go look for a place to live. You’ve always wanted to cast me out anyway, haven’t you?”
“Efna. Have you truly lost your mind? I’ve never once wanted to cast you out.”
The Count slammed the armrest of his chair. Efna gently brushed her hand along the dented wood.
“Don’t make such scary jokes. And for the record, this is the sanest I’ve ever been in 18 years.”
“Efna!”
Never wanted to cast her out, he said. Then what was all that—treating her like she wasn’t even human?
She looked straight at Hardness, who clung to Lilien like sticky rice cake.
‘How could he not notice when it was so obvious?’
Tsk. Efna clicked her tongue softly and drew out the last document she had kept most carefully.
“Here. A gift.”
Hardness, bewildered, took it into his hands, and his expression hardened bit by bit.
His voice came out low and heavy.
“What is this?”
“Try reading it. It’s a breakup letter.”
“I mean—what does this mean?”
Did he really need it spelled out? Efna lightly tapped the annulment letter with her finger.
“Let’s break off the engagement.”
It was nothing less than a bombshell. One of the servants watching even fainted.
Her second brother, just entering the parlor, stood there with his mouth wide open. The first brother dropped the financial report he had been holding like an extension of himself.
“Brother, did she just say what I think she said?”
“……”
Only Efna remained calm in the room.
Sip. She leisurely sipped her lukewarm tea. Perfect posture. Perfect etiquette.
‘Tastes good.’
Hardness trembled as he watched her sip tea so nonchalantly.
“Break off the engagement? Efna, are you insane?”
“I already told you. This is the sanest I’ve ever been.”
“No! I won’t allow it!”
“Why not?”
Her catlike eyes blinked, cold and sharp. The atmosphere grew so heavy that no one dared to speak.
Clink. Efna set down her teacup and stood. As she stepped closer, Hardness’s pupils shook with unease.
“Why can’t we break it off? Because I have to manage the marquisate’s affairs in your place, since you’re incompetent? Because Lilien is still just a mistress’s daughter? Or could it be… do you actually like me?”
The last one was a joke. No need for him to go so pale.
“W-what are you…”
“You dare think you can deceive me twice, Hardness? And you, Lilien.”
Her gaze, sharp as a blade at dawn, fell on Lilien. Lilien trembled but managed to open her mouth.
“Sister…”
“Who’s your sister? I’ve never had a half-sister born of a mistress.”
Efna Windister. She was not one with a gentle disposition. There was not a shred of hesitation as she dug into the inferiority complex of the half-sister who had betrayed her.
“Take it all, Lilien. My place. My fiancé. Everything I’ve discarded suits you perfectly.”
With that, she turned away.
Perhaps unable to endure such humiliation, Lilien lowered her head. Her well-kept hair fell forward, hiding her face.
So no one saw. No one saw her pretty face twisted in fury.
“She’s lost her mind!”
The second brother raised his calloused hand and came charging at her. A very familiar scene.
The difference this time was that Efna didn’t squeeze her eyes shut. She smiled faintly instead.
“Go ahead. Hit me.”
“You—you arrogant…!”
“Is this really all you can do with your God-given talent? Resorting to violence? Aren’t you ashamed? So this is what chivalry means to you, Brother?”
At her words, his raised arm trembled. The same arm that had never hesitated to strike his sister faltered at the mention of chivalry.
Pathetic. Efna walked past her frozen brother and went upstairs.
Still the same shabby walls, the useless fireplace, and the musty-smelling bed shoved in the corner.
She took it all in, leaning against the worn bookshelf.
‘I’ve done it now.’
She had gone so far this time that her father would surely cast her out.
“Haa.”
Still, it felt refreshing. She exhaled a lighter breath, bracing herself against the bookshelf.
Thud. Suddenly, a notebook slipped out from deep within the shelves. What caught her eye first was the small writing on the cover.
[Diary – Efna Windister]
Efna Windister?
‘Did I write something like this?’
She didn’t remember it at all.
Turning it over curiously, a thought flashed in her mind.
“Could it be… the original Efna?”
It wasn’t impossible, was it?
She carefully opened the diary. On the very last page, written as if most recently, were these words:
Today I became certain. I was born with the same “talent” as the First Count of Windister.
“The same talent as the First Count of Windister?”
Come to think of it, about a month after she had possessed this body, her father had once struck her cheek and said:
‘Lilien was born with the same talent as the First Count of Windister.’
What that talent was, she didn’t know. But one thing was certain: Efna herself had no talent.
“And yet, talent? What is this supposed to mean…”
She couldn’t understand. She flipped to the first page of the diary.
Today I secretly fired my second brother’s gun out of curiosity. All 20 bullets hit the bull’s-eye. Must’ve been a coincidence…?
They say my first brother is gifted in business. I secretly read one of his business plans. It was surprisingly easy to understand!
Physical talent.
Business talent.
Father played the violin in the lobby today. The sound was so beautiful that I drew out the sheet music by ear. I’ll try playing it myself later.
I wanted to study so badly that I stole a language book of the Queiman Kingdom my brother was reading. It was my first time seeing it, but I could read it fluently.
Artistic talent.
Linguistic talent.
The pages went on and on. As she turned them, Efna’s face grew pale with shock.
The casually written lines were anything but ordinary.
“If this is true, then Efna really did have talent…”
And yet she had always been treated as talentless.
Even after she woke up in this body, she had never felt any special ability.
At best, that one time when a bullet happened to hit the bull’s-eye.
Hit the bull’s-eye?
“…Oh, hell.”
A curse slipped out before she could stop it.
Yes. Back then, too, she thought it was just a coincidence. Just like the Efna who had written in this diary.
‘But still, it doesn’t add up. That was the first and last time it happened. I’ve never experienced anything like what’s written here.’
With a tense heart, Efna turned the page again.
Before leaving the estate, the head housekeeper, Mrs. Maxturner, called me to her. She told me I was born with the same “talent” as the First Count of Windister.
I couldn’t believe it. Me? And if it really was the First Count’s “talent,” then that means…
