Baby Squirrel Is Good at Everything

‘Huh?’

Beatty’s expression turned blank.

‘Running away…?’

Why was that word being used here? It was the kind of term people used when a beloved child from a peaceful home caused trouble.

As Beatty tilted her head in confusion at the boy’s greeting, a familiar knight—the one she had first seen upon arriving at the ducal estate—began fidgeting anxiously behind him, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Y-Young Master! The young lady is at a very delicate age right now! If you act too insensitively, it’ll only provoke her rebelliousness!”

“What?”

“In the Aslan family, everyone goes through a stormy phase. Eight years old is an especially sensitive age for a young lady.”

“Really?”

“Of course! Didn’t you realize that already, considering she went so far as to run away from home?”

Clenching his fists with conviction, the knight continued passionately.

“That’s why you mustn’t come across as an unyielding adult. If she senses any distance, it’ll only push her away even more—”

“Hm.”

Lowering his voice to a whisper, the knight discreetly delivered his Handling Young Ladies in a Rebellious Phase guideline to the young master, while simultaneously recalling the past.

‘Young Master was quite the little menace himself at that age… ahem!’

The boy, who had been absentmindedly nodding along, seemingly indifferent, began walking forward.

“Y-Young Master!”

The knight, catching sight of the boy’s state, was so startled that he quickly rushed out to block Beatty’s view.

“Your hand—there’s blood!”

Thick droplets of still-warm blood dripped from the boy’s hand, staining the carpet.

Of course, the blood wasn’t his.

“You can’t go in like this…!”

Speaking in hushed tones to avoid alarming the young lady, the knight hurriedly pulled out a handkerchief and began scrubbing at the boy’s hands, face, and even the strands of hair he had carelessly touched with his bloodied fingers. Only after wiping away every last trace of red did the knight step back with a relieved expression.

“There, now it’s acceptable.”

“…Hah.”

How annoying.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, the boy furrowed his brows and stepped toward Beatty.

Gulp.

She instinctively swallowed, looking up at him.

Even though he was in human form, his towering height made her feel just like she had when she was a tiny squirrel.

His face looked around fourteen or fifteen years old, but his physique was more suited to an adult.

His features were striking, like something out of a classical painting. Yet, despite that beauty, the fierce gleam in his eyes betrayed his true nature.

‘Carlitus El Aslan.’

That name was famous not only in the kingdom but across the entire continent.

A prodigy who had demonstrated outstanding swordsmanship from a young age and had been wandering battlefields as if they were his playground since the age of ten.

Because of his merciless blade, his hair had once been so drenched in blood that its original color became unrecognizable—earning him a chilling title.

‘The Crimson Lion.’

It was said that whenever he unsheathed his sword, a trail of red always followed.

‘Though that was before my regression.’

Was this before he had gained that infamous title?

For a moment, Beatty wondered where exactly in his timeline she had landed.

She wasn’t sure what nickname people called him by at this point in time, but one thing was certain.

‘Whether his hair is dyed in blood or not, he still has an absolutely terrifying presence!’

Even without a sword in hand, his sharp aura was suffocating.

Shudder.

A primal chill ran down her spine, and the fine hairs on her arms stood on end.

‘This person… is my brother.’

Until now, he had been nothing more than a distant figure she had only ever seen in newspapers.

For the first time, Beatty found herself standing face to face with a member of her family, staring up at him with nervous eyes.

Tilt.

The boy tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes gleaming like a predator assessing whether the small creature before him was prey.

“A sister, huh…”

Beatty couldn’t quite decipher what he meant by that.

‘…Does he dislike the idea of having a younger sister?’

Furrowing his brow, the boy carefully observed her.

“Why.”

Flinch.

His low, almost growling voice carried a note of dissatisfaction, making Beatty shrink back involuntarily.

“You smell like a snake.”

‘A snake’s scent?’

What did that mean?

Before she could question it, the boy suddenly leaned in.

Gasp!

Caught off guard, Beatty froze in place.

His golden eyes filled her vision completely.

‘…This is Aslan’s Golden Gaze.’

He was obviously looking at her with disapproval.

And yet.

For some reason, his golden eyes felt unexpectedly warm.

Beatty found herself marveling at the sight.

‘I never thought I’d see the eyes of a true predator in person.’

She had heard stories of how beastkin with predator traits could intimidate others just by looking at them.

But contrary to those rumors, she didn’t feel oppressed by his gaze at all.

‘Rather than feeling crushed… it actually…’

The longer she faced him, the more a strange sense of warmth settled in.

‘It’s like… an empty vessel is finally being filled.’

A ticklish sensation flickered near her wrist, where her Signum resided, making Beatty tilt her head in confusion.

"Hm?"

Noticing her reaction, the boy’s expression turned curious.

"You."

‘Oh no.’

She must have stared for too long, lost in thought.

‘He already seems unhappy about having a younger sister, and now I’ve probably given him another reason to pick a fight.’

Bracing herself for whatever complaint was coming, Beatty was caught off guard by his unexpected question.

"Are you not afraid of me?"

“…Huh?"

As she blinked in confusion, the boy suddenly grinned.

"Ah!"

With a swift motion, he grabbed her by the scruff of her neck as if she were a small animal and effortlessly lifted her into the air.

‘W-What?!’

Startled, she instinctively flailed.

"Hm."

The boy, however, remained completely unbothered. As if playing with a toy, he tossed her lightly into the air.

Thump.

"!!"

And caught her.

Handling her like an adult would a baby, the boy treated eight-year-old Beatty as if she weighed nothing.

The fact that his arm didn’t even waver under her full weight gave her a terrifying sense of just how strong he was.

He effortlessly shifted her onto one arm, holding her steady, while his other hand patted her back—as if to calm her down.

A perfect embrace.

‘He—he just hugged me?!’

Beatty had never experienced such casual physical affection before, and her body froze up completely.

"Stay still."

Still supporting her with just one arm, the boy lifted his free hand and began roughly scrubbing at the back of her neck.

‘Huh?’

What was he doing?

‘Did I spill something while eating earlier?’

She couldn’t recall making a mess, but then again, how could food have gotten on the back of her neck?

Beatty tilted her head in confusion, unaware of the significance of the spot he was rubbing.

That was precisely where Ritter had bitten her.

"There."

Satisfied, the boy finally stopped. His expression shifted into something like contentment.

He had successfully covered up that disgusting snake stench with his own scent.

Even though his smile revealed sharp, fang-like teeth, making it seem rather menacing.

"…?"

Beatty tilted her head as she watched him grin at her.

‘Wait… doesn’t he dislike me?’

Just as something curled up deep in her chest seemed to loosen—

"?!"

She stiffened in shock at the boy’s next action.

Without hesitation, he pulled her tightly into his arms like a stuffed doll and buried his nose against the nape of her neck.

Then, taking a deep inhale, he muttered,

"Now, this smells right."

"…."

Beatty turned completely rigid, like a wooden puppet.

Seeing this, the boy cocked his head.

"Did she die?"

"Young Master, what on earth are you saying in front of the young lady?!"

The knight beside them nearly had a heart attack.

Thump, thump!

From earlier, Beatty’s heart had been pounding wildly—far too loud for her small frame.

Without a second thought, the boy placed his hand around her stiffened neck, casually feeling for her pulse.

After confirming the rapid, erratic beat, he muttered in confusion.

"She’s alive."

‘Of course I’m alive!’

His words sounded bizarrely murderous, as if he had genuinely been wondering.@@novelbin@@

‘I—I need to put some distance between us.’

She hastily pushed at his shoulders, signaling to be let down. Thankfully, he released her without much resistance.

Thud, thud, thud.

Scrambling out of his grasp, she curled into herself, trying to steady her erratic breathing.

"Young Lady…! Oh dear, Young Master, you must handle the young lady with more care. She’s still a child."

"Injure her?"

"Yes!"

"If she gets hurt without me even drawing my sword… she won’t live very long, will she?"

"…!"

Beatty’s jaw dropped.

‘Wait. He’s thinking about whether or not to draw his sword upon meeting me for the first time?’

The Crimson Lion indeed! He had been terrifying since childhood!