Aidan looked at his mother. He was certain—if he said yes, Matthew wasn't going to have a good time.
"Mom, we were just training. Matthew was careful—I was the one who got overconfident and ended up getting beaten. If he really wanted to hurt me, do you think I'd be in this condition?"
Sophia couldn't help but stretch her hand, pinched his nose before saying, "It doesn't matter, Aidan. From now on, he won't be your teacher anymore."
Aidan's eyes widened as he froze. Aidan's expression froze before he hurriedly and firmly said, "Mom, you can't."
Sophia looked at him, caught off guard. She hadn't expected him to be so firm—so certain.
Aidan met her gaze firmly. "You don't understand, Mom," he said softly.
"He's the only one who can teach me the way I need to be taught. He doesn't see me as a Wilson. Not as the duke's son. He sees me as a student, his master's son—a man who needs to take responsibility for his choices."
Sophia frowned as she crossed her arms. "But he beat you, Aidan. That's not training."
Aidan calmly said, "It was… to teach me responsibility. For what I did."
Sophia's voice sharpened. "What responsibility? What action could a soon-to-be seven-year-old child possibly do?"
Aidan lowered his head for a moment before lifting his eyes again.
"Mom," he said quietly, "trust your son… please." He clenched his fists beneath the blanket. "Matthew is a good teacher. He doesn't go easy on me, but that's exactly why I need him."
Sophia felt her chest tighten. Seeing the firm expression on Aidan's face, she knew—he wouldn't settle for anyone else.
She let out a shaky breath before rising to her feet. "I'll believe you, Aidan," she said softly.
She stepped closer, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"Take care of yourself," she whispered, brushing a hand through his hair. "And recover fast, alright?"
Aidan nodded, a small smile on his lips. Sophia, who was at the edge of the door, looked one more time at Aidan before she left the room.
Aidan fell to bed once after his mother left the room, as the events replayed in his mind. He remembered his laugh, he remembered the raw emotion he felt that time, and what the fuck kind of dream did he see.
Matthew had never seen that look in Lord Erwin's eyes before.
Erwin wasn't just a commanding figure—he was the man who had shaped him. The one who had drilled every ounce of military discipline into his bones. Every instinct Matthew had, every lesson carved through pain and repetition, had been taught by him during their years in the military.
He respected Lord Erwin—deeply. He was also the brother of the man he long admired. Erwin was a legend in his own right. While not like Liam, who was an untouchable god-like figure, Lord Erwin was more like a human. A figure etched into the history of the army. Even if Matthew had surpassed him in rank or skill, that reverence never faded. To him, Erwin was more than a general. He was the standard by which all others were measured.
Now, they stood in the living hall of the Wilson estate. Unlike most, Matthew had the rare privilege of coming and going as he pleased. But today, the familiar space felt different.
The temperature inside was stifling—thick, almost suffocating. It was nothing like the cool air outside. The tension seemed to simmer in the very walls. Then, Lord Erwin finally spoke, his voice low and sharp.
Erwin's voice cut through the stifling air of the hall, his eyes like flint. "I didn't expect something like this from you."
The disappointment was unmistakable—tight jaw, the rigid set of his shoulders. This wasn't the tempered reprimand of a superior. This was something raw.
"Why?" Erwin demanded.
No trace of the quiet patience he reserved for Aidan. This was grit and gravel, a tone Matthew had only ever heard on battlefields, directed at traitors.
"What made you this angry, Matthew, that you forgot your responsibility and duty?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and accusing.
Matthew couldn't answer. He wasn't sure what to say. He didn't know himself—so he stayed silent, head bowed.
Just as Erwin's patience seemed to wear thin, a voice echoed through the living hall.
"Let him go, Brother Erwin," came Sophia's voice, calm but edged with quiet authority. She stepped forward slowly, every movement exuding the dignity she carried so naturally.
Erwin didn't glance back. "Did Aidan regain consciousness?" he asked instead.
Sophia descended the stairs, her gaze calm yet unreadable. She took a seat on the nearby sofa, then turned to both men.
"Matthew, you can go now," she said.
"Not because I've forgiven you—but because my son says you're the only one who can teach him."
"Matthew—" Sophia's voice softened, her eyes steady. "I've been treating you like my own nephew. I know there must be a reason behind your actions… but even so, I hope that next time, you'll be more mindful of your actions. Aidan is still just a child."
"Understood, Aunt Sophia," Matthew murmured at last, his voice barely above a whisper.
He gave a short, respectful bow to Erwin, then walked out without looking back.
Erwin let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "He's one of the finest soldiers I've ever trained," he said to Sophia. "Whatever happened… I doubt it was without cause."
Matthew's steps were slow, his boots scuffing against the path of the inner castle as he neared the training grounds.
He could have told Aunt Sophia the truth. The moment she stepped into the hall, calm and fierce as ever, he had the words ready on his tongue.
He had a reason. He was prepared to tell everyone the truth of Aidan's wrist breaking.
But when the time came...
He said nothing.
Maybe it was the way Aidan had looked at him during the fight—refusing to fall back, refusing to break.
Matthew decided to give Aidan one more chance.
Days slipped by, and the tension between Aidan and Matthew began to fade—quietly, naturally.
The incident was never mentioned again.
As if, somehow, they had both agreed: it had happened, and that was enough.