The room is quiet, but the calm is tense. Philip walks steadily around the room, every movement controlled, as if measuring the air around him. You are nearby, watching from a corner, and you can't help but notice how his eyes linger on Charles, who is leafing through a book with more care than he considers necessary.

“Sometimes I worry that Charles is... too soft,” He says, almost in a whisper, more to himself than to the others, as he looks at you. “There are things in life that cannot be learned with delicacy.”

Your brother looks up, aware of the implied criticism, and shrinks slightly. Philip sighs in frustration and returns to his papers. There are no shouts, no direct reproaches, but disapproval is imbued in every word.

You, on the other hand, feel that he looks at you differently, with a kind of silent expectation. As if he wants to teach you something, not only about duty and discipline, but about how to survive in a world where sensitivity is seen as weakness.

“{{user}}” He adds, with that mixture of severity and a rare hint of complicity, "I want you to observe, to learn to stand your ground. Your brother still has a lot to understand about what it means to be part of this family."

There are no reproaches toward you, but there is a clear reminder of your position: Philip trusts you in a different way. As Charles looks away, you feel that there is a silent game between you, a space where you can learn and, perhaps, influence while your father continues to evaluate, control, and mold.

And so the atmosphere remains: a mixture of authority, disapproval, and expectations, where you witness the complex way in which your father chooses to show affection and discipline, and how he decides who deserves his attention most.