Chapter 174: What is Family? [6]

"You made outsiders comfortable mocking our name."

Anastasiya’s expression darkened.

"And that is something I will not overlook."

Anastasiya looked down at Mikhail for several seconds, and whatever anger had been visible on her face gradually settled into something far more formal.

"Mikhail Olegovich Volnograd, you will present yourself before the Belozersky Council at its next convening. Your conduct will be brought before the elders, along with everything we’ve heard here and everything contained in these documents."

Anastasiya’s eyes remained fixed on him.

"I will personally petition for your expulsion from the family."

Mikhail’s face went pale.

"L-Lady Anastasiya..."

"You clearly have no understanding of what it means to carry our name, so I see no reason you should be permitted to continue carrying it."

Anastasiya’s voice remained calm as she delivered the words.

"I will ask the elders to strip you of your standing within the family and sever your place from House Belozersky entirely."

"You can’t..."

"I can bring the matter before the Council."

"You can’t do this to me..."

"And I will see to it that they understand exactly what you’ve done." Anastasiya turned away from him and began walking toward the door. "If the elders have any concern left for the dignity of our House, you will never again have the privilege of calling yourself one of us."

"Y-You can’t do this..." Mikhail’s voice trembled as he watched her leave. "You can’t fucking do this to me..."

Anastasiya ignored him.

Her hand had already reached the door when Mikhail’s fear finally overwhelmed whatever sense he had left.

"You fucking bitch!"

"...."

"...."

Silence.

Ilya closed his eyes. "Oh, now he’s done it."

Anastasiya’s hand remained on the doorknob, her shoulders trembling.

"Hah... Haha..."

Then, she slowly turned around.

"What did you just call me?"

The blood drained from Mikhail’s face so quickly that even Ilya almost felt sorry for him.

"Ah..." Mikhail took a step backward. "I-It was a slip of the tongue. Lady Anastasiya, please forgive me. I wasn’t thinking."

"No." Anastasiya released the doorknob. "I clearly heard that."

"Lady Anastasiya—"

"You damned fucking mutt."

Mikhail’s face twitched.

Anastasiya extended one hand without taking her eyes off him.

"Ilya. Give me a sword."

"...There aren’t any weapons in here."

"Then give me something else."

Ilya looked around.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Her eyes landed on the table.

"That pen."

Ilya followed her gaze and found a small fountain pen lying among the documents. He picked it up, stared at it for a second, then looked toward his sister as though giving her one final opportunity to reconsider.

Anastasiya held out her hand.

"Give it to me."

"...."

Ilya placed the fountain pen into her palm.

Mikhail immediately began backing away.

"W-Wait."

Anastasiya examined the pen between her fingers, turning it once as though testing its weight.

It was barely longer than her hand, completely unsuited for anything resembling swordsmanship, but considering who was holding it, Ilya suspected that distinction would matter very little.

"Lady Anastasiya, I apologized!"

"I heard you."

"I didn’t mean it!"

"And I meant every word I said, you damned ugly-faced dog who somehow inherited all the arrogance of a Belozersky without a single quality necessary to justify it."

Mikhail’s mouth fell open.

"You miserable little shit. Look at you."

Anastasiya gestured toward him with the fountain pen, her disgust becoming more apparent with every word.

"That stupid face, those trembling legs, that hunched back. You look like someone dragged a half-starved mutt out of a ditch, dressed it in a nobleman’s clothes, and taught it just enough words to embarrass itself in public."

"L-Lady Anastasiya—"

"Don’t interrupt me, you inbred-looking mongrel."

Mikhail immediately shut his mouth.

"You’re the son of a Margrave, yet somehow you carry yourself with less dignity than the shit beneath my boot. You strut around the academy using your father’s standing, surround yourself with people weaker than you, whisper behind your cousin’s back, and then piss yourself the moment someone stronger walks through the door."

Anastasiya looked him up and down.

"What exactly are you proud of? Your face? Your mediocre swordsmanship? Your father’s title? Because there doesn’t appear to be anything belonging to Mikhail Olegovich himself that’s worth mentioning."

Mikhail’s face had become completely red.

"You hide behind your friends when you want someone hurt, hide behind your father when you want respect, hide behind Volnograd when you want authority, and hide behind technicalities when someone asks you to take responsibility."

Anastasiya raised the pen toward his face.

"Strip all of that away and what’s left? An ugly, cowardly little dog with a loud mouth and absolutely nothing between his legs."

"...."

"And you called me a bitch? Hahaha..."

Anastasiya laughed.

"You?"

Mikhail took another step backward.

"A third-rate little branch-house brat whose greatest accomplishment this year was convincing a collection of equally worthless noble children to laugh at his cousin?"

Anastasiya shook her head.

"Gods, Mikhail, if you insist on being this pathetic, at least have the decency to be quiet about it. Every time you open your mouth, you somehow lower my opinion of you further, and I genuinely didn’t think that was still possible."

"Lady Anastasiya, please..."

"Oh, don’t start begging now, you pathetic little bastard. You found your courage a moment ago, didn’t you?"

Anastasiya spread her arms.

"Come on. Where did it go? Call me a bitch again."

"I-I didn’t mean—"

"Say it."

"...."

"Go on, dog."

Mikhail’s back struck the wall.

"Bark."

"...."

Anastasiya smiled as she settled the fountain pen between her fingers.

"That’s what I thought."

Anastasiya stepped forward.

"Then we’re done here, aren’t we?"

"W-Wait, what are you—"

"Today, Mikhail Olegovich..."

She lowered her stance. The fountain pen settled naturally between her fingers.

"You will learn the name Anastasiya."

"...."

"And you’ll remember it every time you open that filthy mouth of yours."

"Please—"

What followed was considerably less dignified than the formal family hearing Anastasiya had announced only moments earlier.

By the time the servants finally saw Mikhail again that day, the young master of Volnograd was covered from head to toe in cuts and bruises.

Thin wounds ran across his arms, shoulders, cheeks, and legs in such a gruesome pattern that anyone seeing him would have naturally assumed he had lost a particularly vicious sword fight.

That assumption would have been understandable.

After all, no one looking at Mikhail’s condition would have guessed that Anastasiya Valentinovna Belozerskaya had done all of it with a small fountain pen.