Isn't It Just Math?

The morning sun cast a golden hue across the ornate halls of the grand estate, where tapestries depicting heroic battles and serene landscapes adorned the walls. The maids, ever attentive and dressed in their crisp uniforms, escorted me, little Octavia, to my father's study. Their footsteps echoed softly on the polished marble floors, a testament to the grandeur and discipline of the household.

As we approached the study, I could feel a mix of anticipation and a lingering frustration from my previous night's dreams. The maids, sensing my mood, exchanged concerned glances but said nothing, knowing better than to pry. Finally, we arrived at the imposing wooden doors of my father's study. Without a moment's hesitation, I slammed the doors open and stomped inside, my small frame filled with an unusual determination.

Inside, the room was filled with the scent of parchment and ink, a familiar and comforting smell that reminded me of countless mornings spent here. My father, Duke Daniel, was at his desk, surrounded by stacks of documents and ledgers. My mother, Lillian, sat gracefully by the window, her elegant form bathed in the soft morning light.

"Young lady, you seem to be in a foul mood this morning, what with the attitude?" My mother's voice, calm and measured, carried a hint of amusement as she inspected me with her piercing blue eyes.

"Mummy, I had a very bad idea when I woke up today." I folded my arms and scrunched my face, a mix of frustration and determination. My mother's laugh, light and melodic, filled the room. She reached out and gently picked me up, placing me on her lap. Her touch was warm and reassuring, a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts swirling in my mind.

"And what was this idea, darling?" she asked, her voice soft and encouraging.

"Imagine, getting drunk and mistakenly drowning when you pass out. It's just horrible, Mum!" The words tumbled out of my mouth, a jumbled mix of my past life's regrets and my current life's fears. My father's laughter, a deep and infectious sound, echoed through the study.

"How did you get such an idea?" he asked, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"I was reading a romance novel, and I thought of ways to kill the antagonist, but that death was just dumb," I replied, my face serious. My parents exchanged a glance, a mix of amusement and concern, before turning back to me.

"Octavia, you are five. Why are you reading a novel with a romance genre?" my mother questioned, a playful pinch to my ear accompanying her words.

"Well, I was bored of reading all the baby books I had and decided to explore the library. MA! I'm sorry," I laughed as she continued to tease me, her fingers gently tickling my sides. The warmth and love in her eyes were unmistakable, a stark contrast to the neglect I had felt in my past life.

As breakfast was brought in by the diligent maids, I picked up a slice of bread and continued the conversation, my mind still racing with thoughts and memories from another time. My mother watched my carefree nature, her eyes softening with every word I spoke.

"Don't you agree, Mum?" I asked, noticing her distant expression.

"Of course, darling," she replied, her voice gentle and full of affection.

Breakfast was short, the usual routine of polite conversation and shared smiles, but today I found myself growing bored quickly. My father's study, usually a place of quiet reflection and hard work, seemed to buzz with an undercurrent of energy.

I wandered over to my father's desk, drawn by the piles of documents and the faint smell of ink. He looked frustrated, pinching the bridge of his nose as he removed his glasses. Without thinking, I took a chunk of files from his table and sat on the couch, my small hands fumbling with the heavy documents.

The papers I picked up were filled with complex calculations and detailed budgets, outlining the expenses and income of the estate. My past life's experience with advanced mathematics and calcultions suddenly surged to the forefront of my mind, and I began to work through the documents with a surprising ease.

Hours passed unnoticed as I lost myself in the numbers, my fingers smudged with ink and my face streaked with concentration. Eventually, the soft light of morning gave way to the brighter rays of noon, casting long shadows across the room.

"Lillian, have you seen my budget documents? They were on the table this morning," my father's voice broke through my focus, a note of panic evident. He began to search the room frantically, his usual calm demeanor replaced by worry.

My mother, ever observant, pointed towards me, her eyes twinkling with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "As much as you might find it unbelievable, Octavia was working on the budget, not playing with it," she said, picking up the papers and handing them to my father.

He stared at the documents, his eyes widening as he realized the neat calculations and annotations were far beyond what any five-year-old should be capable of. "That's impossible," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Lillian picked me up gently, her touch soothing as she patted my back, rocking me slightly to help me fall back into a peaceful slumber. As I drifted off, the last thing I heard was my parents' whispered conversation, filled with wonder and a newfound sense of curiosity about their young daughter.

When I woke, the sun had moved higher in the sky, casting the room in a warm, golden glow. My mother was still holding me, her gentle hums a soothing backdrop to the steady rise and fall of her chest. I snuggled closer, enjoying the rare moment of tranquility.

"Do you think it's possible, Lillian?" my father's voice was soft, filled with a mix of disbelief and hope.

"Daniel, our daughter is remarkable. There's no denying that. But we must be careful. We don't want to draw too much attention to her abilities," my mother replied, her voice tinged with concern.

I stirred, their words pulling me from the edge of sleep. "Mummy, Daddy, I'm awake," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes and sitting up.

My parents turned to me, their expressions a mix of love and curiosity. "Octavia, how did you learn to do all of this?" my father asked, holding up the budget documents.

I paused, my mind racing to find an explanation that a five-year-old might give. "I just... I just looked at the numbers, and they made sense," I said, my voice small and uncertain.

My father nodded slowly, his eyes thoughtful. "Well, you certainly have a talent, my dear," he said, his voice filled with pride.

If it's not for the fact that in this world, learning is for nobility, practically anybody can do it. Isn't it just math? ... .