In The Eyes of a Noble: An Assassin's Creed Revolution Novel

February 17, 1882

I.

As the sun's rays gently streamed through my window, I slowly awakened to the realization that today marked the beginning of my swordsmanship training. Reluctantly, I rose from my bed, the anticipation and nervousness stirring within me. Our maid soon arrived to escort me to breakfast, where the atmosphere was as somber as ever. My father, as usual, sat in silence, his demeanor distant and unapproachable, refusing to engage in conversation with me or anyone else at the table.

"Mi Hijo, are you ready for your first training?" My mother asked.

"Si, mama," I responded, injecting a hint of jest into my tone, "I'm already oriented by my hermana menor with the basics last night."

My sister chuckled.

We followed suit, and laughter filled the air as the three of us exchanged banter while we ate. However, we noticed that my father remained silent, casting a shadow over our jovial mood, so we simply continued eating in silence.

After finishing my meal, I ascended the stairs and headed back to my room to change for my swordplay training. The wooden floorboards creaked slightly underfoot, a familiar sound that added to the comforting ambiance of home.

Entering my room, I swiftly changed into my training attire, the fabric cooling against my skin in contrast to the warmth of the day outside. As I fastened the ties of my training gear, I couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation for the upcoming swordsmanship practice. Leaving the confines of our mansion, I ventured into our garden, a sanctuary of tranquility bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant chirping of birds created a serene backdrop for my training. Standing amidst the lush greenery, I allowed myself a moment to appreciate the beauty of nature surrounding me.
My gaze fell upon a cluster of vibrant orange Ixora flowers, their delicate petals catching the sunlight and casting a warm, inviting glow. Despite my eagerness to begin training, I couldn't resist pausing to admire their exquisite beauty.
As I waited for my maestro to arrive, beads of sweat began to form on my forehead, causing discomfort. The fabric of my Ropa de Entrenamiento clung to my skin, trapping the heat and intensifying the sensation of warmth.
Each passing moment seemed to magnify the stifling heat, causing beads of sweat to trickle down my brow and gather at the nape of my neck. 
With each breath, I focused my mind, channeling my energy into preparing myself mentally and physically for the challenges that lay ahead.

Moments later, I heard the distinct rumble of a carriage pulling up at the front gates of our mansion.
Peering from within the garden, I observed our maid leading a Chinese man towards the training grounds. He was clad in a navy blue coat adorned with a strip of red lines along his shoulders, paired with a simple white linen shirt accented by a red ribbon on his collar. Strapped to his back was a bag containing what appeared to be the swords for our training session.

I approached him and greeted him to show courtesy and decency as a noble.

"Buenos días, señor, I assume you're the one who'd mentor me in the arts of swordsmanship?"

"Shì de, wǒ jiù shì nín de dǎoshī, lìngmǔ pìnqǐng wǒ jiāoshòu nín jiàn shù de jī běn yuán lí." He answered in Mandarin.

Well, dear journal, to my surprise, the mentor was indeed hired...BY MY MOTHER?! I couldn't believe it. I always thought she embraced my ideology of "being myself," which naturally excluded the necessity of learning something I had no interest in. It was an unexpected twist, to say the least.

Fortunately, I was able to learn simple Mandarin at the age of 6 and somehow understood what he said.

"I never expected that a Chinese man would be the one teaching me how to wield a sword... I thought it would be someone from Europe," I replied in Mandarin. 
He simply smiled at me, his eyes squinting so tightly it seemed as if they vanished altogether, lost in the creases of his smile.