Chapter 48

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Translator: Vine

Chapter: 48

Chapter Title: The Worn-Out Male Lead Picked the Wrong Opponent

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I stood there amid the sharp clash of gazes between Major Rodriguez and Masera.

It was tempting to say, Don't fight over me! but Masera was just being petty.

"You two, please come to an amicable agreement."

This wasn't the time to spectate the men's tense standoff.

I spotted Eugene trudging off somewhere and hurriedly chased after him.

Emil, impersonating the late Professor Hayden, was a wicked villain—but to Eugene, he was a precious person.

Eugene sat on a garden bench, rubbing his teary eyes as he gazed up at the sky.

"Young Master Eugene, shall we play ball?"

Emil had once been a servant in Eugene's household.

He had played with him kindly, like a father, and cared for him warmly. The young Eugene had adored and followed him devotedly.

Eugene didn't know why he had left the mansion, but after going through so much and ending up alone, reuniting with him had filled him with joy.

"Due to circumstances, I have to hide my identity. Pretending to be Professor Hayden as a tutor is my only option. I won't say a word about your mother."

Even though the man now treated him like a subordinate while playing the teacher, Eugene still liked him.

He was like a friend from the happiest days of his life.

Still, Eugene didn't want to lie to drive Cynthia away.

He worried alone.

Where should I go now? I'm really alone this time.

Emil would talk about his runaway Esat mother, and Uncle Masera would come to hate him.

Just like at the duchy hospital and orphanage.

He would be separated from the kind people at the residence, too.

Eugene sat there listlessly until the sun caught on the edge of a cloud and reemerged on the other side.

At that moment, Cynthia's characteristically gentle voice rang out.

"What are you doing there?"

Eugene didn't answer.

"Eugene, are you really upset?"

Cynthia asked again, standing there gazing at his lonely back.

"Sis, about the frog house."

Eugene recalled the time he had caught a hibernating frog to tease Cynthia.

"Yeah."

Cynthia crouched down beside him in response.

Eugene, still staring at the sky, said,

"Most frogs that wake from hibernation don't survive."

Eugene already knew the frog was no longer in the tank filled with dirt.

Seeing Cynthia's eyes widen in surprise, he turned his gaze back to the sky.

"Did I kill it?"

"No."

"Did I get Emil killed too?"

The startled Cynthia shook her head.

"Killed? If he's found guilty after investigation, he'll go to prison."

"I know what seditious books are. Everyone who read them got arrested and never came back. They probably died."

During the empire's occupation, Eugene had seen the families of his playmates and the neighbors he greeted every day dragged off by the police for possessing seditious books.

Eugene was a child who had grasped the chain of cause and effect in death far too early.

Cynthia gazed at Eugene's expressionless face.

The child's light green eyes seemed resolute. In place of the occasional flashes of fear and anxiety, there was now a resignation that had given up on everything.

"Eugene. That was the empire suppressing its colonies. Free nations don't do that."

Cynthia explained earnestly, trying to reassure him.

But Eugene lowered his eyes sadly and said,

"Sis, Mom and Dad died because of me too."

It was the first time he had brought up his parents.

Cynthia made a pained face and patted his back.

"Why do you think that? I don't know what happened, but..."

Eugene said nothing more after that. Just like before, when he had clammed up, he silently watched the drifting clouds.

Even as Cynthia chattered beside him, even when Masera spoke to him, even when the officers offered him a ride on their horses, even when he lay down to sleep and opened his eyes again—he remained silent.

The child had once more chosen to build walls around himself and isolate alone.

Several days had passed since Eugene had shut his mouth.

According to the doctor, rather than worrying or scolding him, they should treat him as usual and wait until he felt stable enough to speak on his own.

Cynthia spent her time following Eugene around as she always did.

"Eugene, the mama cat brought her kittens. Aren't they cute?"

Eugene looked at the mother cat rubbing against him and the fluffy kittens.

"Cats do communal parenting with their partners. She recognizes us as partners and brought them so we can care for them together."

Cynthia smiled smugly at the silent Eugene.

"Winter's harsh cold is coming soon, so we'll build them a house to get through it. Want to help? We're their cat guardians, after all."

Eugene nodded silently.

He no longer avoided Cynthia like before and quietly followed along with whatever she suggested.

It's not that he's feeling better... Does he think he's about to be abandoned soon?

Cynthia felt a pang of sorrow, knowing this child who understood death was far too mature for his age.

That evening, Cynthia went to see Masera, who had returned to the residence.

"Rather than just waiting, I feel like we should do something."

She knew he was suffering from war trauma.

But this was an era when PTSD from war wasn't recognized as a diagnosis.

Instead, it was dismissed as fabricated symptoms to demand compensation from the state or as mere weakness, not taken seriously.

Which meant there were no proper treatments available.

"He went through bombing at such a young age and lost his parents. It seems the wound in his heart hasn't healed yet. I want to find a psychiatrist researching war neurosis."

Masera, who had been focused on his documents, looked up at Cynthia.

It was the reply from the Queensguard Count to an inquiry about Cynthia's condition.

Masera mulled over the contents of the reply and let out a sigh. He felt pathetic for having briefly pitied her.

"How can you speak so lightly about the pain of those who've been through war, when you know nothing of it?"

Cynthia stared at him with a blank expression.

"I'm not speaking lightly."

"So, you're saying we should lock a child away in a psych ward?"

Families of veterans would indiscriminately commit those showing strange symptoms to mental hospitals.

They even treated them as ill-omened, thinking they were possessed by demons after killing on the battlefield.

What passed for treatment was locking them in cramped rooms and pumping them with sedatives. Far from improving, the patients only worsened over time.

"Colonel Giz! Salute! No issues on duty!"

When he had visited a comrade abandoned by his family and committed, his mind was still stuck on the front lines.

Masera had seen enough of such sights to make him sick.

His angry eyes darkened to a deep blue.

"You're not thinking he's abnormal, so useless and bothersome?"

"Why say something so harsh..."

"Do you think marrying me makes you part of my family?"

Masera stood and approached her with a menacing air.

"The world may look beautiful through the eyes of someone raised in a greenhouse, but many people are still unable to escape their suffering. Don't meddle in the affairs of those who endured real war, you weakling who trembles at mere hunting rifle shots."

His cutting words made Cynthia's face grow even paler. Her red eyes rippled like jewels submerged in water.

She recalled her past life.

Her mother, wrapped in bandages from bombing and leaving in pain; her father, gone with the crack of enemy gunfire; her brother, returned only as a dog tag; her sister, whose body couldn't even be found under the collapsed building.

And that moment—like fireworks at a festival, standing amid dazzling, beautiful shelling, gazing at the last sky.

That moment, the world looked beautiful.

She could find the beautiful parts of the world precisely because she knew its horrors all too well.

"I know why you're angry."

Because he understood the public's gaze toward war victims and the ugliness of their reality.

"But your words were too harsh. You don't even know everything about me."

Cynthia smiled and left the room.

Her hurt expression and wistful smile lingered like an afterimage in the empty space.

"...Damn it."

Left alone, Masera rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh.