I became the male leads adopted daughter

Ferio Voreoti arrived at the orphanage without ceremony.

There were no guards announcing his presence and no formal escort. He came alone, as if the act itself did not require witnesses or preparation.

The staff recognized him immediately. The atmosphere shifted at once—tense, careful, overly polite. No one stopped him, but everyone watched his every step.

Ferio spoke little. He simply stated that he would look at the children.

He moved through the corridors at a steady pace, listening to the sounds coming from behind closed doors—laughter, arguments, crying, the restless noise of a place filled with children who had no families.

He was not searching for anything in particular.

At least, that was what he told himself.

But his thoughts kept returning to what he had seen recently at Carnis Line’s estate.

Carnis, usually composed and distant in public life, sitting in the garden surrounded by his children. Not as a noble conducting affairs of state, but as a father. Present. Natural. Unburdened in a way Ferio could not easily dismiss.

That image lingered longer than it should have.

Ferio did not interrupt his pace. He did not allow himself to dwell on it openly. But something about it had changed the way he looked at the orphanage in front of him—without him fully understanding why.

He had never lacked purpose. He had never lacked responsibility. The North demanded enough of him that there was no room for anything unnecessary.

And yet, something here felt like a question he had not known how to ask until now.

When he finally stopped, it was not because he had reached an answer.

It was because, for the first time, he allowed himself to consider that there might be something beyond what he had always known.

He said nothing.

But when he left, his steps were no longer the same as when he had entered.