Baby Squirrel Is Good at Everything

You never know. Maybe he’ll start cherishing me.

Pirina smirked, recalling those pitiful black eyes that used to beg for affection.

"So, it turns out... does a rat have good instincts?"

It was just before she could put her plan into action, yet the child had managed to escape precisely on that day.

"Of course, it was just a coincidence, but luck like that won’t last forever."

Tap.

Pirina retrieved a small vial hidden deep inside her handbag.

The crystal bottle was adorned with ornate engravings, its many-cut surface reflecting the light to obscure the sinister substance inside.

"Hehehe. Once she takes this…!"

Her eyes gleamed with greed as she envisioned the fruits of her conspiracy.

***

Pirina had arrived at the Duke’s estate.

Beatty, who had not expected her aunt’s sudden appearance, had trouble sleeping and groggily got out of bed with a stiff expression.

After finishing the breakfast that had been brought to her room, she found herself wondering again—

‘So why exactly did my aunt come?’

From what she had always said, she had ‘no choice but to take in an unwanted burden.’ It made no sense for her to go out of her way to chase after that very same burden.

Just as Beatty tilted her head, puzzled, an excited commotion reached her ears.

"Master has sent another gift today!"

"Oh my, this time it’s fur."

"Did you know? This Northern silver fox was personally hunted by the Duke himself."

"Everyone was wondering who would receive this flawless, highest-grade pelt, and it turns out it was for the young lady!"

Gasp!

Beatty’s face lit up in anticipation.

"Look at this fur texture! Not a single scratch—truly top-tier quality!"

Tap, tap, tap.

Her excitement barely contained, Beatty quickly walked over to see the pristine, snow-white pelt, reminiscent of a winter landscape—

"Young Lady?"

—And walked right past it, heading instead to the table.

There, on top of the polished wood, lay a small, unadorned card, so plain that it could almost be mistaken for a scrap of paper.

It was something Beatty had once requested from her father.

"If I’m allowed to receive gifts..."

"You may."

"Instead of things like that, could you send me letters—or even just a card?"

At that time, the Duke had nodded in response.

Since then, he had continued to send her cards—along with the gifts she had declined.

‘Today too…’

Seeing Beatty’s eyes sparkle as she looked at the card, the maids chuckled and playfully encouraged her.

"Oh my, another card from the Duke!"

"How thoughtful! I wonder what he wrote today? Young Lady, hurry and open it."

Their teasing made Beatty’s cheeks flush as she picked up the card and carefully flipped it open, her heart fluttering.

Inside, written in neat, rigid handwriting—

[Don’t forget your coat.]

"…Oh. Umm."

"Haha. Look at that! He cares so much that he even worries about how you dress!"

‘Duke… if you’re going to be considerate, couldn’t you go all the way with it…?’

‘For an eight-year-old daughter, this is less of a letter and more of an order…’

The stiff, military-like tone, something more suited for commanding subordinates, left the maids awkwardly smiling as they tried to interpret it in the best possible way.

The Duke’s cards were always like this.

Each one, arriving with a gift, contained only a single short sentence—if even that.

Yet—

Squeeze.

Beatty held onto it tightly.

Looking around—

"Ah, Young Lady. Here."

Noticing what she was searching for, one of the maids handed her a small bag.

A golden pouch embroidered with thread to resemble an acorn. This little golden acorn bag had become Beatty’s favorite item as of late.

Inside, she carefully stored every single card her father had sent. She carried them with her wherever she went.

And in between her daily routine, during tea time, breaks, or even at random quiet moments in the afternoon, she would take them out and read them again and again.

Each card contained only a few words.

Even if she gathered them all, they wouldn’t fill a single sheet of paper.

Yet, Beatty read them over and over, as if trying to etch them into her mind.

Compared to the mountains of gifts that piled up daily outside her door, it was this single line on a card that she truly looked forward to.

‘Even if it’s just one sentence… it’s something he sent to me.’

And that meant everything to her.

‘I never received a response before, not even once.’

Tightly.

Without realizing it, she gripped the card harder, memories from before her regression flooding back.

[Hello, Father. My name is Beatty. Thank you for giving me a name. I will cherish the first gift you ever sent me. May I visit the ducal estate? I am curious about your face…]

The very first letter she had sent, when she was too young to know any better.

[Hello? This is Beatty. Did you receive my previous letter? There was no reply, so I wasn’t sure…]

Letters written foolishly, still clinging to the illusion of family.

‘Sending letters was expensive, too.’

That was why she hadn’t sent many.

It cost a great deal to send a messenger to the North, and with her limited resources, she could only afford to send one every few months.

Eventually, she gave up on expecting anything at all.

[How have you been? I don’t know if you will read this, but I am now 18 years old. Yes, I’ll soon have my coming-of-age ceremony. You won’t be attending, will you? I don’t expect a response. I just… felt like I should ask.]

Her final letter.

Before then, she had scribbled without expectation, as if writing a diary.

But that last letter… had been different.

For beastkin, a coming-of-age ceremony was especially significant. She had wondered if, at the very least, he might respond out of consideration for the family’s dignity.

Perhaps, she had thought, just maybe.

Lost in thought, Beatty slowly blinked.

"…."

Those letters no longer existed.

The eight-year-old her had not written them yet.

And now, she never would.

Her father had never received them, nor would he ever send a reply.

Glance.

Beatty looked down at the card, held tightly in her hands.

‘It’s not a reply.’

But still—

It was a letter from her father.

So many questions had plagued her mind.

‘If he ever replied, how would he begin his greeting?’

‘What would his handwriting look like?’

‘And how would he… address me?’

She hadn’t received all the answers she wanted.

But this card, even with its short message, filled an emptiness inside her little by little.

Tilt.

Beatty tilted her head.

‘I ate a full breakfast, but…’

How odd. Why had she thought of herself as feeling empty?

Just then—

"What is that?"

A sharp voice, ill-suited to the peaceful morning, rang through the room.

It was her aunt, Pirina.

Startled, Beatty quickly hid the card in her pouch.

"A white fur coat…! Isn’t that a bit too extravagant for you? I worry you’ll be spoiled with such luxuries at such a young age."

Fortunately, Pirina was more interested in the expensive pelt than what Beatty was holding.

Feigning concern while secretly coveting the lavish gift, her words made the surrounding maids’ expressions turn sharp.

"Ahem. I need to have a private conversation with my dear niece. You all may leave."

Acting as though she were the lady of the house, Pirina dismissed the maids.

Once they were gone, she settled herself comfortably into the best seat in the room and looked at Beatty.

"It’s been a while, niece."

"…"

"Do you have nothing to say to me?"

Seeing Beatty meet her gaze directly, without flinching, Pirina clicked her tongue.

"Tsk, tsk. Do I have to teach you manners again? No words of thanks for the aunt who worried about you?"

Beatty snorted and turned her head away, making her rejection clear.

"What’s with that arrogant attitude! Ha, how long has it been since I’ve seen you? This is all because you’ve never had proper training."

For a moment, Pirina, who was used to easily wielding her power over the child’s rebellion, was taken aback. But, as usual, she managed to console herself with the victory of her superior education.

Still, since Beatty didn’t react much, Pirina cleared her throat and changed the topic.

"By the way, you named yourself, didn’t you? Beatty."

The first time Beatty heard her aunt say her name, her shoulder twitched.

"Good name."

"Huh?"

Something seemed off.@@novelbin@@

"My aunt wouldn’t say something nice about me."

Beatty raised her guard.

Immediately, Pirina sighed dramatically, as if she were feeling sorry for Beatty, then spoke.

"But what should I do… You didn’t know, but there’s a peculiar custom in the Northern regions."

Pirina spoke with a subtly excited expression.

"People in the North place great importance on names. They say they won’t give a name to a child they dislike."

"...."

"Well, it seems the Duke hasn’t said a word, and you ended up naming yourself… It’s so pitiful that it almost makes me cry."

Pirina pretended to wipe nonexistent tears, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

"Who else would tell you something like this, if not your aunt?"

She raised her eyebrows, her intentions transparent as she tried to show off.

"I don’t know if I should say this, but I’ll tell you anyway so you don’t get your hopes up… Even though you’re the Duke’s daughter, I asked the Duke if he could give you a proper name in honor of your deceased mother."

Could that really be?

Thinking it was just nonsense, Beatty was about to ignore it, but then something strange reached her ears.

"Hah. But what do you think? The Duke said absolutely not."

"…He said he didn’t want to bother thinking about a name?"