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Chapter Text

When he fell asleep that one, typical day off, Kim Rok Soo was cold.

Not freezing—not exactly—but the room temperature at the time was a decent middle of both hot and cold, and the curtains were drawn close together without a sliver of sunlight to warm his skin.

It was peaceful, he'd say. Falling asleep while reading the series he planned on immersing himself in until evening was a good way to end the day. He deserved this break—earned it, really. He was done staring at the files on his desk, brain, head and eyes overheating while he analyzed data after data after data without break until he felt like flipping over his desk in frustration.

So when his eyelids began to feel heavy, dipping until he saw the blur of his lashes and the dark red behind the folds of his skin, Kim Rok Soo allowed himself to succumb to his well-deserved rest, only slightly wishing that he could do such a thing every day—to be a slacker in his every moment, in his every second, wherever and whenever he wanted.

And so he allowed himself to fall, to accept the drowsiness that washed over him, and slept. He slept even as it began to feel warm and then eventually hot, as if there was a bubble surrounding him and embracing him in a comfortable heat. But then for a second, it felt cold—a brush of wind that hit him so suddenly he barely had the time to register it.

Grumbling to himself, he decided to ignore it.

When he woke up, however, Kim Rok Soo noticed something was different.

Very different.

Everything seemed... larger. As if he had somehow shrunk in the short amount of time he had fallen into a slumber.

And lo and behold, when Kim Rok Soo shook off the remainder of sleep from his foggy head and looked around, he found himself with plump, small limbs, chubby where there were once the muscles that he gradually built up over the years. His hands that were once able to imitate perhaps half of what a decent pen twirl was were now... small. Tiny.

Baby fat.

Kim Rok Soo was... a chubby baby.

And to his side, there was another one—another baby, that is. With what small hair there was on that living lump's head, Kim Rok Soo could spot thin growing strands of red so vivid it might as well be dyed—but who in their sanest of minds would dye the hair of a baby? Certainly no parent with even an ounce of common sense, so he reasonably deduced it to be its natural colour, especially with how he had been surrounded by shades of browns and blacks his whole life.

And as if sensing the gaze of another on his face, the other baby slowly opened his eyes, greeting Kim Rok Soo with a brownish-red gaze much similar to that of his own, yet with features that weren't as Korean—as well as much younger—as he was used to.

Just as he had been in the middle of a contemplative trance, the baby suddenly opened its mouth and began to cry right in Kim Rok Soo's face.

He didn't know why it happened—he was just laying there, limp like a sack of potatoes, unmoving and non-threatening, nothing that would prompt a young child to start bawling their eyes out.

... Stop crying, he irked to himself, attempting to frown but got whisked away by the wet blur that welled up in his own vision, way too sudden for him to properly comprehend. And before he knew it, Kim Rok Soo was also crying, small lungs bellowing themselves out in a way he had never done before, not since his early childhood.

He didn't think of himself as someone so easily moved to tears. Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he cried, not even when he was dressed in a black suit, not even when he found himself staring at several framed photographs placed on top of simple yet ornate coffins, back and shoulder slumped like they always seemed to find themselves as the days went on.

Kim Rok Soo wasn't the type of person to cry for any reason.

And yet here he was, bawling himself out alongside a redhead baby he didn't even know, feeling so oddly emotional and vulnerable like he's never been before.

Kim.

That was his name now, apparently.

Not Rok Soo, not Kim Rok Soo—but… Kim. That was what the beautiful red-haired woman softly muttered and cooed whenever she cradled him in her arms.

With long, fiery locks that would occasionally brush over his forehead or tickle the sides of his face, she often flooded his nose with the floral fragrance of roses. The light aroma of flowers was subtly engrained into her scent, recognizable whenever she came near, and it didn't take long for it to slowly become something that Kim... strangely took comfort in, whenever he caught whiff of it.

The woman felt very familiar and comforting, her presence lifting him up without any ounce of effort, and when she smiled, it was beautiful and graceful, even more so whenever she brought him up to muzzle their foreheads together. The warmth she radiated was welcome, soothing against his own, one he didn't find himself minding and sometimes she'd even hold him and the other baby in both of her arms—a feat Kim didn't know how it was possible, but considering he's never held a child before (let alone two at the same time) he decided to ignore it in favour of feeling slightly impressed.

But then the baby on the woman's other arm began to cry once more, breaking whatever serenity they were basked in. If Kim was able to, he would've rolled his eyes or let out a sigh.

Babies were tiresome. So quick to break the peace and quiet.

"Oh, Cale... What's wrong, hm? Hungry? A poopie in your diaper?"

Kim never understood the point of talking to babies, let alone asking then what was wrong when they were incapable of speech, but he couldn't find it in himself to criticize this woman—kind, gentle, beautiful, comfortable, and every bit of what he was beginning to associate with warmth and home.

"Ron?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"I think Cale has soiled himself again. Would you please keep Kim company while I take care of his brother? I'll be right back."

"Of course, my lady. Leave the young master to me."

Kim was shuffled around, his mother standing up from her chair to walk over to a man in a black servant's suit. And while his mother could be associated with everything good and comforting, the butler that was always accompanying her was the complete opposite.

Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe it was because he had been reading [The Birth of a Hero] before he had fallen asleep only to wake up here... But the fact that this butler of theirs was a middle-aged man that went by the name of Ron, who was so competent he was nearly perfect, whose steps were so silent Kim never noticed when he had appeared to check up on him and his brother while they were in their crib, whose entire person reminded him of that certain fictional character...

Ron sort of... scared him, quite frankly.

"You're always so well behaved, young master Kim. So unlike your brother. Not even my own son had been this quiet at your age."

Kim couldn't tell the man that it was because he technically had the mental maturity of an adult—mostly because he couldn't properly enunciate at his age, but also because Kim's throat contracted and dried whenever he was held by this butler of his, like the instinct of prey in the face of its predator.

"Agah... gooh.."

"Ho. Yes indeed, young master Kim."

..... Kim didn't know why this man was so happily playing along with the indecipherable speech of a child that wasn’t even a year old, even more so when he was trying to say "put me down, you scary old man," before his mouth and tongue failed to properly deliver his words—though thinking about it on a more rational scale, it wasn't as if he would ever say that to this terrifying butler of his. Ron might smile at him and appear before everyone benignly, but Kim has seen the way the man polished a dagger while watching over him and his brother's playtime, and therefore he valued his life.

… It was terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. But as much as his baby instincts wanted him to, Kim couldn't even cry. What if he accidentally pissed Ron off with his screams and the man snapped, finally putting to use that knife he always carried to silence him once and for all? What if merely a few months into this new life, Kim suddenly go offed and sent to his next?

It didn't help that whenever his twin brother—named Cale, quite similar to the young master of Ron Molan in [The Birth of a Hero], much to his... very much concerning and growing speculations—started his waterworks, Kim always found himself on the verge of joining him. Not because he was startled by his brother crying and definitely not because he was sad or anything of the likes, but because Ron Molan of all people was on stand by and by god, he didn't want either him or his new brother to die. He was only alive for less than a year in this world, yes, but he had a sense of camaraderie with the chubby baby that resembled him nearly exactly and felt fear over their possible fates.

Maybe it was because they shared a womb and some odd twin thing was going on that immediately made him empathetic. Maybe it was because they both couldn't control their own bladder and he was glad he wasn't alone in that. But whatever it was, Kim didn't want Cale to piss their butler off with his screeching, wailing, eardrum-shattering voice.

Thankfully it was their mother who was in charge of caring for their diapers—though, as unfortunate as it was, if their mother wasn't available then the job would inevitably go to Ron. And at this point, he wasn't sure if Ron was supposed to be a butler, a wet nurse or a nanny, or if the duties overlapped... Whatever. It was none of his business. What that scary old man did outside of his range of view was entirely up to him, and Kim had no desire whatsoever to have even an ounce of insight into the man's pastimes.

But besides having a terrifying butler that he was around ninety-(nine) percent sure was the assassin of the book he was reading as Kim Rok Soo, Kim was.. leading a pretty amazing life.

He did nothing but sleep, eat and on occasion play with the toys the servants procured for them—but sleep and eat primarily, since he left most of the toys for Cale to enjoy.

Life was good. He never would've imagined saying he loved what being a baby entailed.

"Mama is back Kim! Did you miss me? Come on let's go on our walk to the gardens now, hm~?"

Hah... Finally. Take me away. Flooded with relief, Kim immediately reached his chubby hands towards his mother and her red hair, and by extension his now-calm twin brother in her arms, but he was suddenly pulled back, his small body separating further, further and further away from his safe haven.

"My lady, you shouldn't strain yourself to hold both of them. The master has told you repeatedly to not burden your body," Ron lightly chastised. And no matter how gentle his tone was, Kim still couldn't help the way he felt his entire stomach sink like a stone in a well, the impact loud and resonating. "Allow me to hold young master Kim for you, hm?"

"Ron, I am perfectly capable of holding my sons."

"Ho. This Ron heavily implores my lady to reconsider that confident statement of hers."

"..... What if I... politely refuse to do so?"

Ron's smile remained firm. Kim had to turn his gaze away to avoid premature heart failure.

"Ron..." And before she could refute and demand she hold them both, Ron sent her a pointed look under the guise of a gentle quirk of his lips. "... Alright, fine," she finally relented, though not without a bit of petulance. "But just this once! Now, let's go to the gardens then, shall we? My cuties and I need our daily dose of fresh air and sunlight."

And so, that was how Cale ended up being carried in the comforting bosom of their mother, while Kim remained stuck with a middle-aged man who most probably hid daggers up his sleeves.

..... He really wanted to learn how to walk.

He was previously fine with just laying around and on occasion crawling whenever it was necessary, but maybe he should start training his muscles so that he could avoid being carried by Ron any longer than he'd appreciate.

By their first birthday, Kim was certain.

He was inside [The Birth of a Hero], someway or another. He wasn't quite sure how, but it happened—and no matter his feelings about the entire situation, Kim Rok Soo was currently a useless baby who couldn't do anything about the situation he was in, and therefore, he will accept it. Begrudgingly, albeit, but he could deal. He was no stranger to having to deal with the sudden and unexpected, after all.

And another thing he was certain about was that he became a part of that very novel as a child of the Henituse family—the family that oversaw the territory where the first village the protagonist visited was located. And... that his older twin brother was the future trash of this family, Cale Henituse, who gets beaten to a pulp by Choi Han at the beginning of the very first book.

At that realization, he found himself laughing.

... Hah.

How great. How amazing. Just what he needed! To be related to the infamous first son of the Henituse family of the Roan Kingdom's north-eastern region. Unbelievable how that said trash was currently giggling at the odd faces their father was making for them. He was very different in comparison to his counterpart in the novel, but Kim supposed that was a good thing.

All that aside however, he was slightly confused. When was there ever a Kim Henituse? He remembered everything of all the five books he had read and not once has he heard of Kim Henituse, younger twin brother of Cale Henituse. Was this an unmentioned aspect of Cale Henituse's story? or was he playing the part of an entirely new original character that the author hadn't planned to have exist in the first place—or even at all? But knowing how incredibly thorough Nelan Barrow was with his descriptions, wordbuilding and the backstories he gave even a minor cannon fodder like the trash Cale, Kim doubted it was the former. With such a consistent style, it would feel odd for the man to have hidden such a backstory to the character of Cale Henituse.

"Happy birthday, Cale, Kim," a man with curly brown hair gently squeezed their hands. Count Deruth Henituse, Kim noted to himself after breaking out of his thoughts with his father's prompting. Just as he was described in the novel, the man was quite average in appearance, but was somewhat charming in his own way, too, although Kim supposed he could be biased, considering the nature of their relationship.

"My children are growing up so fast..." came another tearful sniffle from the side. "Kim has already started walking a bit and Cale sounds as if he will speak his first words any day now..."

And upon hearing her recognizable voice, Kim slowly turned to his mother, a newfound realization struck the gears in his head.

'Mother,' huh.

His mother with bright red hair that had a soft scent of roses...

His mother who expressed firm desires to carry both of her children at the same time to avoid favouritism, only relenting when Deruth or Ron reminded her of her health...

His gentle mother that wasn't even alive by the time the events of the novel started.

(If he started tearing up due to his cursed baby emotions and prompted Cale into following his example, well, that was a story for another day.)

"Kim..."

A soft nudge.

"Kim?"

A drawled hum. The sound of rolling over.

"Kim!"

Groaning, Kim lazily looked over his shoulder, meeting a pair of brownish-red eyes that were only slightly darker than his own. "... Brother," he greeted curtly, only to flop his head right back onto the couch the second after.

Cale gasped, almost in affront. "Kim! Stop sleeping already! Let's go play, Mama said we could go outside in the gardens!"

"... Hyung-nim, I don't want to."

"Kim!!"

It has been a few years already and it never ceased to amaze him how different Cale Henituse was as a child, compared to how he was in the few scenes he appeared in, in the novel. Who could've imagined the trash young master at eighteen was once a child who jumped around and whined petulantly because he wanted company? The contrast was stark and oftentimes baffling to think about, with how the image of an impulsive and drunken young man failed to properly transition over the figure Kim associated with the brother he knew. But here they were, Kim Rok Soo, now Kim Henituse as a young toddler; and Cale Henituse as a decently behaved—though eccentric—child.

"Young master Kim, you'll be turning into mashed potatoes if you continue laying around like this any longer."

Sitting upright in a flash, Kim looked up, his eyes meeting Ron's and his benign face who was standing right next to his brother.

This crazy— he gasped, clutching at the fabric over his chest. When did he even get here? And mashed potatoes? Isn't a normal potato enough? Do you want me dead if I don't play outside? Is that what you're trying to get at??

Upon seeing his brother no longer imitating a lazy cat lounging on a heated stone, Cale cheered, immediately latching onto his brother's arm to pull him along. "Let's go, Kim! Ron got Beacrox to lend us some toy swords today, you know!"

Beacrox got them toy swords? That cook who had a hobby of polishing daggers, throwing knives, and who had a… questionable skill set outside of cooking that consisted of torture and interrogation???

Hah.

Imagine his non-surprise when the toy swords turned out to not be toys after all.

"... Ron."

"Yes, young master?"

"These..." Kim slowly weighed the small sword (a dagger..? a knife???) in his hands, carefully observing how Cale was swinging his around in a poor imitation of what he's seen of the knights' training regime and Deruth's personal morning sword practice. "Ron, these appear to be real."

Ron's kind face allowed for a sliver of surprise to cross his expression. Kim was 99.99% sure it was fake.

"Oh my. My apologies, young masters. It seems Beacrox gave me the wrong ones."

..... Bullshit. A person like you immediately would’ve noticed the difference between a real sword and a toy. Why are you pretending you didn't know anything??

"Hyung." Steadying his perturbed expression to the best he could, Kim turned to his brother. "Stop playing with that."

Cale immediately frowned, his lower lip jutting out just as his voice reached a high whine. "But what if I want to learn?"

"... Excuse me?"

Ron, the vicious man that he was, immediately quirked his lips and pounced upon the opportunity to interject: "Is that so, young master Cale? Then, would you like for this Ron to arrange you both swordsmanship lessons?"

"Really? YES!!"

No. NO, absolutely not—!

When Ron turned his gaze to confirm with him, Kim was unable to express his opposition, too afraid of what lied beneath that benign and patient smile. And as if sensing his hesitation, Ron let out what might have been an amused huff, his gaze turning gentle as it settled upon his youngest master's form. "It would do you good to learn how to protect yourself, young master Kim. You never know what could happen when your guard is lowered."

….. Kim didn't like how threatening those words sounded. He felt as if Ron was implying he might stab him one day if Kim wasn't being careful.

But just as he was about to choke out a stiff refusal, he felt a tug at his sleeve and upon looking to his side, he saw the pleading puppy-dog look on Cale's face intensifying tenfold.

"...... Fine." Fuck! Whatever! Sentence him to death while they're at it!

And with good cheer, Cale flung the sword to the side, already jumping up to glomp his twin into a devastating hug. With the air nearly knocked out of him and too preoccupied with his arms full of brother, Kim missed the fond look that swept over their butler's face, a small slip up that the man allowed himself to fall into.

Indeed, he chuckled. It would be a good idea for these two puppy and kitten young masters of his to learn how to protect themselves well.

And learn they did.

But it seemed that no matter how many lessons they took—with Cale being diligent and enthusiastic, and Kim begrudging and tired—no amount of sword practice would be enough to protect their mother from the illness that was affecting her.

They were walking in the garden one day, heading towards that one tree near the hilltop at the back of the estate that was perfect for hosting small family picnics.

Deruth had been carrying Cale on his back and Kim was content with merely holding their mother's hand, although the fact that he ever was in the first place was mostly because of her own persistence.

Everything was going as per usual and absolutely perfect until she staggered and missed a step, her form stumbling when it was usually so confident and graceful. Kim didn't know why he suddenly froze, eyes locking onto her bright red hair—wild like fire underneath the sun, but suddenly as fragile as a dwindling candle flame against the grass floor.

Cale probably screamed in alarm, his joyful rendition of a song he learnt cutting abruptly mid-verse to make way for a cry of startled horror. Deruth might've dropped to his knees in an instant to try and catch his wife, too driven and flooded with both adrenaline and concern to remember his son on his back.

Maybe. It all went by in a blur, so he couldn't quite remember.

“—H ey, rookie. How come you can remember anything you want to remember a fter seeing it once, b ut never remember anything you don't want to remember as if y ou have a m nesia?—”

But oddly enough, all Kim could vividly recall was how her hand slipped from his, its warmth lingering faintly even as it dropped to the ground, tingling the skin of his palm until it felt numb and cold.

When was the last time..?

"—im."

... he saw someone fall before him..?

"—Kim?"

The warm hand of his mother gently landed on his shoulder. Her red hair appeared vibrant, contrasting the soft white of her sleeping gown and bedsheets.

"Kim, what's wrong?"

The fuzz around his ears gradually receded. Regaining himself, he shook his head. "Nothing is wrong."

"Your face is all scrunched up, dear. The same way it does when Ron gives you lemonade."

Deruth's lips quirked up, despite the worried crease of his brows. Looking towards his eldest son who was burying his face into the covers of the bed—always so emotional yet currently trying his best to appear mature—and his youngest who appeared a little too mature in all aspects, yet was so visibly affected he couldn't even hide the way his lip quivered, fists clenched until his knuckles turned went white... Deruth couldn't help but force himself to smile, to reassure these two children that shouldn't be drowning in worry. Not at such a young age, not when their faces were better off carefree and happy without a concern to dampen their mood.

"Your mother is going to be fine. We have a good doctor on their way to check up on her."

"That's right. Mother will be getting better soon, hm? You children don't have to worry about me so much." Chuckling, her hand gently patted the short curls of Cale head. "So enough with that expression, Kim. You're going to make your face freeze that way if it continues any longer. Worry isn't a good look on my cutie, hm?"

… Kim wasn't that worried. Why was everyone looking at him like he was going to break down?

A small hand suddenly reached out to tug on his sleeve. On instinct, Kim accepted his sibling's hand, holding it maybe not only to comfort his brother, but to perhaps comfort himself, too.

But Kim Rok Soo had read the novel, and he knew that Cale Henituse didn't have his birth mother by his side by the time he appeared in the novel.

... Forget.

If only he could forget.

But despite his strong desire to close his eyes and remain blind to the world, Kim couldn't help the way his eyes recorded the scene before him—his gentle mother, his father's minuscule smile, the weight of his brother's hand in his… taking it all in like he once did near a mountain in the countryside, alongside two annoying-as-hell punks.

Silently, Kim squeezed his fingers around his brother's, only vaguely registering the ministrations of their mother's hands as she comfortingly played with his long hair, red much like her own.

Contrary to what she told them, however, their mother had been getting worse each day. Her smile seemed to glow even brighter in contrast, however, as if to make up for where she was dimming.

And throughout this all, Cale worked hard on his swordsmanship and began studying diligently even though he hated academics to the core. Kim was sure it was all done just to make mother happy, to impress her and to make her eyes twinkle and glow whenever they reported their days, because why else would this kid—who always bantered with their teachers, daydreaming and complaining more often than not—make an effort to be more attentive during their lessons?

What a little kid, he scoffed.

Although, Kim... also might've wanted to do that. To make their mother happy, to hear her laugh as much as he could before she inevitably took her leave. So if he put more effort into studying or in what little he didn't skip out on actually attended of their swordsmanship lessons, well, no one brought it up, but it didn't go unnoticed either. That was for the better, anyway—Kim didn't need any more of the knowing looks sent his way, nor the way the tutors would beam when he finally stopped sleeping as much during their lessons, and even less so how Ron would smile whenever they met eyes, a glint in his gaze that seemed sharper than it should be.

But Kim was doing well. Studying was no problem for him with how he could easily remember anything he wished, and despite being new to this world of fantasy quite different than his old one, he had read the book in which the universe was based in, and had somehow arrived with a familiarity of this language so different than that of Korea.

He already had a headstart in this game of lectures and relentless studying, compared to Cale, who, on the other hand, didn't have the same advantage—but to say his brother was dumb would be nothing but false slander.

Cale had a certain sharpness in his eyes that narrowed down onto social cues quicker than most, not to mention the children his age. He possessed a determination that rivalled Kim's own laziness, (which Kim could admire, in some way) and that energetic child he was currently growing up with was... emotional, too, in the way that made Kim wonder how his twin ever managed to survive with all those sentiments he had to spare.

He wondered briefly how long it would take before the boy would be unable to put a reign on them all, but as he was now, Cale was stable when it came to his emotions, and Kim had yet to see the boy enter the rebellious phase that led him on the path of "trash". Whatever excess energy Cale had was well spent on sword practice or martial arts at the moment, and who knows? maybe if he does eventually go down the route of getting beat up by the protagonist, he'd be able to defend himself enough to not get completely pummeled to the ground.

... At that thought, Kim decided it would best to subtly start encouraging Cale to pick up martial arts.

It wouldn't do anyone harm if the eldest young master of the Henituse Household knew how to beat some feral doberman when the time called for it. But the downside of Cale learning martial arts was that his brother, in turn, told Kim to do good in their studies, quote, "if I'm gonna do your share of sword practice, then you do my share of studies!! You can't slack off when I'm out here in the sun working so hard!"

And so, it didn't take long for rumours about the twin sons of the Henituse family to rise, claiming that the siblings would soon grow to be well versed in the arts of sword and pen respectively.

The whole territory was proud. Young master Cale was a good child, if not a bit eccentric and slowly showing signs of being... a little too curious about the wine their territory was famous for (in Kim's opinion, something he'd have to veer his brother away from for the sake of the future), and his younger twin, young master Kim, albeit... incredibly lazy (and according to Cale, not unlike the lazy stray cat that liked to laze around near the main gates), was mature and stoic but seemed to care more than he let on—especially when he indulgingly let himself be dragged by his older brother around town, despite claiming 'he was tired' and 'wanted to go home' even when they were already a few hours into their city outings.

They were good children that many people could be proud of. And their mother especially so.

Kim remembered how she smiled and caressed their heads, running her slender fingers through Cale's unruly short locks, and brushing through Kim's longer hair. Cale would energetically report their day and the results of whatever latest test or homework they were assigned, and their mother would continue smiling, gaze soft and chuckling gently, a candle flame that never wavered despite how small it was.

But then one day the windows opened,

And wind came to blow her fire out.

She died one autumn, early in the morning.

There was no warning, no farewell or goodbye.

She just left.

Like the leaves during autumn, vibrant and red and fleeting, she had fallen.

Inevitably, silently...

Without notice moments prior, except for the gradual dwindling of her health.

And yet again, even in this second life, Kim found himself standing in front of a coffin. Surrounded by weeping family members that have visited from other territories, he faced a pair of once-lively eyes, immortalized between the delicate pigments of—not a digital photograph, this time—but a beautifully painted portrait.

Cale had clenched onto his sleeve so hard the fabric ended up crumpled by the end of the whole affair. But Mother had always told them to appear as tidy as they could, because the Henituses were nothing less than clean and presentable, so Kim took it upon himself to take his brother's hand in his to avoid having him crease his clothes any further, remaining unaffected no matter how harshly Cale squeezed his hand back.

It was then that it crossed his mind that their mother was the one that picked out all their clothing, the one that took them to the tailor whenever they needed to have their clothes fitted, either for special occasions or her own personal enjoyment. And no matter how long their mother spent, browsing around and walking until their feet went sore, going from shops to bazaar to marketplace, enjoying whatever little delicacy was offered in the food stalls or local cafes...

Kim felt a little hollow now that he understood he would never be able to experience such things again.

(Not for a long while.)

There were sounds of muffled sniffles and sobbing all around him, as well as quiet mutterings from the distant relatives he hardly bothered to remember. But despite the faint noise, he couldn't find it in himself to hear a thing. It felt like dull buzzing, like white noise. Like cotton was currently occupying his head.

It seemed there would be no more of those joyful visits to clothing stores.

... This wasn't something new to him.

It shouldn't be something new to him.

But even so, he couldn't help the way it hurt as if it were the first time, all over again—a freshly covered scab being mercilessly torn back open. Both his shoulders and head felt heavy and his back too small as he stood beside his brother, who was snivelling as quietly as he could, holding his breath on occasion to bite back his hiccups.

He didn't speak up. He let Cale cry, let him grieve. Cale didn't know how inevitable this outcome was compared to Kim Rok Soo, so the shock was surely hitting him harder.

The hand his twin was tightly holding was a little numb by now, but the grip had significantly loosened, and that was alright.

That was good.

It meant Cale understood he was there for him, and that he was starting to calm down.

... But he couldn't say the same for their father.

Even as the sun began to set and the leaves continued falling in fluttering droplets of red and orange, Deruth never moved. Not even when their relatives bid their goodbyes and condolences and began retreating for the night, eyes full of pity and sharp emotion when they flickered over the madam's young sons and their respective faces, and then to their unresponsive father.

Rooted in spot, Deruth stared at the fresh dirt covering the coffin of his wife's grave, at the dark brown bark of the tree she was buried under, at the flowers his sons had picked and placed for their mother, plucked from the gardens she loved to stroll in so very often.

Roses as red as her hair and as fragrant as her perfume, the sight was a fickle reminder of who they were so strongly associated with.

The blue of the sky slowly melted into a blush red, much reminiscent to that person that was as striking as fire and as warm as the sun.

With a veil of blurs hindering his sight, Deruth failed to notice his twin sons standing behind him the whole time, left and right hands respectively clasped together, one holding on so tightly as if to make sure the other wouldn't fly away, too.

Cale's shoulders trembled every so often despite having calmed himself after a while, lips red with how much he's bitten and chewed on himself, eyes puffy and red with how much he's cried, nose red and cheeks red with the slow dip of temperature that occurred throughout the day, the bite of the wind harsh on his skin.

Red.

Everywhere they looked, there seemed to be hints of red—yet the splash of red they yearned for the most was nowhere to be seen.

Reaching out, Cale grasped the sleeve of their father, tugging once before he paused in hesitance. "Papa."

Deruth's shoulder trembled, the curls of his warm brown hair lowering with the dip of his head.

"Papa. Father, we're here..."

The smile on his brother's face was brittle, fragile... shaky and clumsy at best. But it was radiant and steady in the way it was genuine, a rare stillness amongst the stone-casted ripples of a pond.

Slowly walking forward, Cale stepped near his father and wrapped his small arms around the man's waist, reaching out for a hug Deruth didn't immediately reciprocate.

"... Father." Carefully, Kim lifted his hand too, softly landing on the count's back. No patting, no rubbing—merely establishing his presence in the form of a single, lingering touch. Perhaps it was because he didn't exactly know how to comfort this man that looked on the verge of breaking. Perhaps it was because he didn't quite know what else to do.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps..

But Kim took one glimpse at his brother who was trying his best to smile despite the glossy sheen of his eyes, and another at his father who had just dropped to his knees to pull them both into a tight, sobbing embrace... and decided that perhaps it was enough that he was just there.

And it was only when Ron came to get them maybe an hour later did Deruth finally stop shedding his tears, slowly calming himself down with the grounding presence of his sons to keep him afloat.

"... Ron."

"Yes, young master Kim?"

The middle-aged man's voice was incredibly soft. In any other situation, Kim would've felt wary of such a tone—but as it was now, he didn't have the energy to react as usual, too tired, too exhausted to find it in himself to have even a single hair on his skin stand on edge at the surprising gentleness.

Staring at his older twin, Kim noted his red-rimmed eyes and the way he firmly held their father's hand on their way to their coach.

Cale was smiling. Fragile under pretenses of being strong, but smiling. Letting his palm fall on top of Cale's head, Deruth's cold hands ruffled gently at his son's red hair. A sliver of a smile could also be found in his expression, despite his mournful eyes.

... It'll be alright.

They'll be alright.

"..... Nevermind."

Kim took one last glance at their mother's rose-decorated grave before he turned away, heading towards the carriage where the rest of his family were waiting.

... Bye, Mother.

Right hand over his heart, Kim Rok Soo held his own private ceremony. He was no stranger to the weight of death, but it still pulled him down every single time without spare, heavy around his small limbs.

Pounding his fist onto the thighs of his legs that refused to move, Kim dragged his feet through the red leaves on the ground. Under the shoes that mother had gifted him, they scrunched painfully loud in the silence of the graveyard, dying and starting to shrivel—but beautiful while they had lasted.

"Let's go, Ron."

"Of course, young master Kim."

And when he looked out the window of the coach as it slowly began driving away, Kim couldn't help but record the way the red leaves and roses seemed to sway with the wind, as if gently waving them goodbye.

Chapter Text

The estate was quiet for the first couple of days after the day of the funeral, but it didn't take long before the servants began cleaning up the eggshells they were walking around, slowly easing themselves back into their usual routines as they discarded solemn black mourning clothes for their regular work outfits.

Deruth had spent several days walking through the rose gardens behind the manor, using much of his time tending to them and watering whatever he could. The sight of such mournful tenderness could do nothing but make the knights and gardeners silently turn their gazes away, deciding it best to leave him alone with the privacy he deserved. As the lord of the territory, however, it would be impossible to let him continue on with that drifting behaviour forever, and Deruth was inevitably expected to get himself back on track and tackle all the paperwork he had missed and neglected throughout the span of the last few grim weeks.

But it was hard to convince a grieving man to drop his woes. The words the vassals all wanted to say whenever they came and visited the manor hung permanently in the air, but never were they able to get the phrases out to pull their lord out of his mournful rêvery, to the point where the members of the territory council eventually grew desperate enough to reach out to Cale and Kim to hopefully nudge the man back into his work.

... Perhaps it was cruel, requesting these children who had just lost their mother, to ask their father to momentarily leave her memory to return back to his work—but their pleas had been accepted anyways, with the brother with the shorter hair nodding and smiling brightly at them like a beaming ray of reassurance and reliability when they had spotted him outside at the knights' training ground, a wooden sword being diligently swung in repetitive motions.

Bless that child, they remembered thinking as they watched his back retreat into the castle. The image of that young boy bawling during the funeral procession was still as clear as day to many of them, the sight of red eyes and loud wailings being heard throughout the estate as the children and their father were walked to their carriage on their way to the family memorial site—and yet here they were now: the father in a deep depressive state and his children doing their best to liven up the mood enough so that the estate didn't end up as a lifeless ghost town.

And as he ran through the hall, Cale's footsteps were the only thing that could be heard. The servants were normally quiet, never being much to cause a ruckus, as per the etiquette, but the circumstances only made the atmosphere even more so.

Kim remembered how Cale barged into his room in the middle of his self-study session (personal time that he,, might not have been using for studying) still sweaty and flushed from his morning training with whatever instructor Deruth assigned him—probably one of their knights, actually, and Kim has seen his brother talking with a young man he recalled was slowly climbing to ranks and gaining a certain prestige amongst the brigade (Treesman? Plainsman? Mountsman..? whatever)— before the vassals pulled him out of his lessons.

He had been sitting quietly—as per the usual these days, it seemed—and he wasn't surprised to see that it was none other than his brother that would be the one to break the looming silence that had reigned over the estate for days.

But of course, Kim refused to be dragged around by his brother's sweaty hands and forcefully shoved him away to the servants, taking full advantage of his household authority to demand his brother be cleaned.

"Traitor!!" Cale had loudly called before getting whisked away by Ron's unusually strong arms into the bathing room, which Kim promptly ignored.

Picking up the wooden training sword his brother dropped on the floor that Cale had been obsessed with ever since their mother's death, Kim sighed, placing it back onto his sibling's desk. The blade was starting to become blunt, he noticed after a passing, disinterested glance.

As to why Cale was working so hard and what for, well, Kim couldn't even fathom. All of these knights under their father's command, and yet his brother was so adamant in learning how to wield a sword. What he thought would be an impulsive interest actually ended up becoming an object of deep passion and devotion.

… Well, I guess it's alright. It'll be harder for him to be beaten to a pulp if he learns all these things.

Not to mention, he did somewhat play a role in encouraging his brother to pursue it, now that he thought of it. He just didn't quite expect the boy to be so dedicated.

And after a few minutes of being left alone to his own thoughts, Cale barged out of the bathroom and snapped him out of his head, robe and all with Ron at his heels. "Let's go now!" he nagged, running back over to his side to tug at his sleeve.

With a roll of his eyes, Kim cringed away with a wrinkle on his nose as droplets of water grazed where he sat.

"Put some clothes on first. And dry your hair. You'll end up troubling the servants if you start leaving a trail of water wherever you run off to."

Cale frowned, his expression very nearly crossing a mix between a sneer and a petulant pout. "Fine! Ron go prepare what I told you to earlier! I can dress by myself!"

"Of course, young master Cale. Are you certain you'll be alright without any assistance?"

"It's fine. I'll just get Kim to help me!"

At that exclamation, he had been shot a doubtful look, but upon their young master's insistence, the issue was pushed no further.

Once Ron and the rest of the servants were out of the room, Kim finally shot his brother the distasteful look he had been holding in to refute back.

"You can dress on your own."

"Hm, well, I don't want to. Now help me pick something out before we go visit Father!”

Throwing open the large wardrobe, Kim felt something stir within him at the sight of the extravagant assortment of clothing that could be found in his twin’s closet. There were more in there than in his, mostly because Kim didn’t quite appreciate fancy clothing that much and ended up giving most of his to his brother—a common occurrence throughout the years.

“... What about that one?”

Cale followed his brother’s gaze and slowly reached out to grab a sleeve. 

“This, huh..”

With gentle hands, he lifted the fabric, silent emotions brimming in his brown eyes. 

Kim paused, before he shrugged, turning his gaze away. “... Yeah, why not. Just hurry up and change already.”

Staring at the garments he was now holding in his hands, Cale carefully began fitting his arms through the sleeves of one of the more recent shirts and blouses Mother had gotten him. Still brand new, the colours were vibrant and still faintly smelt of the shop it was bought from, still having yet to be worn and cozied into with the respective scent of their household's laundry soap.

When Cale finally turned to his brother, spreading his arms and twirling once as if to show off his new outfit of the day, Kim immediately grimaced. “Hah, you… You’re not a baby, don’t you know how to put a shirt on properly?” His scowl was distasteful as he made a move to smooth out his brother’s collar and fic his tie, folding them until it looked clean and proper, just how their mother and their teachers taught them in their various lessons; as well as from what he's observed from the servants that occasionally came and helped them dress.

“Does it look good on me?”

“Hm.. It’s so-so.”

Cale laughed at his characteristic response, the curls of his head still slightly damp as they swayed and bounced.

“Tsk. Dry your hair already.”

“Make me!”

Snatching his sword from the desk, Kim watched as water dripped from his brother's hair as he made a dash straight into the hallway, his boisterous laughter echoing throughout the Henituse estate with his every swift step.

Without thinking much of it, Kim calmly made his way to sit on his brother’s bed, and perhaps less than a minute later, he watched with an unimpressed gaze as Cale eventually sulked his way back to the room, a towel thrown over his head that one of the servants had most likely given him when they saw the ungodly state of his hair.

“.....”

A sad, pitiful puppy-like whine left his brother's throat, brown eyes going doe-eyed and comically teary.

“..... You didn’t chase after me.”

“Why should I waste my energy?" Kim snorted. "I knew you were going to come back running anyways.”

And with a ridiculous kicked puppy look on his face, Cale petulantly grabbed his brother’s sleeve with a little more force than necessary and began dragging him down the hall towards their father’s office.

Knocking a few times on the door, it didn’t take long for a voice to call for them from the other side, and without even announcing himself, Cale cracked it open. Peeking his head halfway, his face beamed into a smile once he caught sight of a tired-looking Deruth, sitting at his desk with his back towards a large window with the curtains drawn, somewhat hunched over his large wooden desk.

He looked awfully lonely, Kim couldn’t help but remark.

Such a large office, with hundreds of books enough to keep a man company for a few months or years… yet Kim doubted his father’s newfound solitude could be soothed with the company of books written by people that weren’t even present in the same room to discuss them. And what use there was in having a chessboard when there was no longer any partner to play with, he hadn't a clue, but Kim could still remember the searing concentration on both of his parent’s faces whenever they engaged in a round; the memory filed away in his head in vivid detail. But he figured storing away an object that came with that much history would be a waste, so he decided it best to go against asking anyone to pack it back up into its respective box.

Briefly, however—in a passing, meaningless glance—he took notice of how the pieces of the board hadn’t moved from the last time it was played. The white set that his father often played had nothing but its king left, a rook and a knight not too far apart, along with a few pawns scattered about. But the strongest piece was missing, and it didn’t take Kim too long to notice that the game currently displayed on the board hadn't been in his father’s favour.

Mother had always been incredible at chess, he reminisced, observing how the pieces were all scattered about.

Pushing two chairs towards Deruth's desk from the coffee table a little further away from the desk near the window, Cale sat himself down, tugging on Kim’s arm to motion for him to do the same.

"Rose tea, father?" Cale smiled once they were all cozy and seated. And as if he had been long awaiting his cue, Ron appeared not a second later with a trolley cart, rolling in a tea set and three porcelain cups.

"Mother was very fond of this brew. I remember when we went out into town and came across a small boutique, just a little past the main district,” Cale started, spinning a silver spoon into his cup. The light clanging of the tableware ran loudly in the silence of the office, but it served greatly to bring attention to the young boy who was currently speaking with a gentle, reminiscent smile. “She really liked the decor and how kind the staff was, you know? We spent a while browsing around the shelves and talking with the owner about all the different variants that they offered. Mother ended up buying a whole stack enough for us to enjoy for several weeks, but in the end, she favoured the rose tea out of all the ones she brought home best."

Silently taking a sip, Kim only occasionally nodded along with his brother's increasing ramblings, speaking about whatever nonsensical things that crossed his mind. Without meaning to, Kim's mind wandered to the missing fourth cup of this specially commissioned tea set and how it wasn’t present amongst them anymore, most likely fated to gather dust in the cupboards until it found use again.

"—Father when you're done with your work, let's go out together to buy some more. So finish your work soon, alright?"

Deruth paused, staring into the swirling pools of translucent red of the cup before him. If anyone noticed how the man's eyes crinkled and brows drew together, casting faint shadows over his misty eyes, no one commented. But he smiled and that was enough—even if it was but a small, minuscule quirk of his lips.

"... Of course, Cale.. whatever you wish," Deruth appeased with a tired, yet reassuring expression on his face. His smile was somewhat stiff, as if he hadn't moved the muscles of his face in several days. "I'll be finished with everything as soon as I can."

"Good. We'll be waiting for you, so finish them all quickly! Oh, but you have to make sure you join us for dinner later. Even if work is important you shouldn't stay in here all day, or else I'll get angry!"

"Yes, of course, Cale,” Deruth said in his soft, patient voice. “I'll be there for dinner."

Turning to his brother, Cale smiled, the quirk of the lips appearing just slightly above the rim of his cup. Maybe it was the faint steam that wafted around his face, or the red of the tea reflecting in his stare, but Cale seemed to appear a little crafty for a brief, passing moment. It was then that Kim realized exactly why his brother had dragged him here for tea and he nearly scoffed at the boy's antics.

… The old guys in the council better be thanking him when this is all over.

Kim avoided those eyes that appeared oddly resolute and mature—so unlike the little kid he remembered would whine during the visits of their tutor, who pouted when he wanted to go and play in the gardens with his brother yet always got turned down, who ran in the hallways with damp hair and sulked back to his room when he noticed he wasn’t being followed as planned... It made him question how much of this person was the same as the image recorded in his mind and how much of this person was going to keep changing without him quite noticing.

Kim looked at his hands that rested over his lap, small and without scars, as a silent turmoil brewed in his head.

Ten years.

Kim had ten years before this child would— might become infamous "trash". He had about ten years before the protagonist would arrive at their gates and begin spinning the thread of events that was [The Birth of a Hero].

… He had so much work to do.

He enjoyed childhood while it lasted. But in the end, he couldn't forget the nature of the world he was currently living in, as well as the fate that had been written for it in meaningfully printed ink.

".... Kim, your face," Cale snickered, snapping him out of his trance. For a moment, Kim had to wonder if it was even genuine amusement, or something his brother was forcing himself to do to keep the atmosphere light. "Is the tea sour? Bitter?"

"It's not."

"Hmm, is that so... If it is, you can always just add some honey or sugar."

"... No, it really isn't."

Despite his words, however, the fact that he had so much to do left its own bitter taste in his mouth.

If only his infanthood had lasted forever. He missed it all. He missed lying amidst the rose gardens, the sun cradling his face like gentle hands. He missed the feeling of his mother’s fingers playing with his hair, the way Deruth’s papers would shuffle around and the scratching of his fountain pen, the sound of Cale humming a small, childish song. He missed the numerous outings to the city that he had been dragged out of his room for, and he even found himself missing the way being a baby included nothing but sleeping and eating, even if the uncontrollable bladder, incomprehensible speech and inability to walk were inconvenient. Even that was better than the complete mess that was the future far ahead of him—of them.

He was still a child at the moment and there wasn’t much a kid could do with what small influence he had, but it wouldn’t hurt to get a head start in everything.

"Young master Kim, would you like some honey?"

"It's fine Ron, I don't—" he paused, staring at the bottle the man was handing him, his nose twitching upon catching a sour scent. "... This... is lemon juice."

"Ho! My apologies. I must've been careless."

..... Careless, my ass.

Chuckling at the antics before him, Deruth softly grinned, his eyes meeting the translucent red pools of the tea before him—sharing a smile with the vague memory encompassed within that familiar colour.

When they finally left their father’s study to give him the privacy and silence needed to accomplish his duties, Cale enthusiastically announced his intentions to go run his way back to the knight's training grounds and work on his sword, determined to practice as much as he could before winter arrived.

Watching that oddly energetic brother of his kick his heels down the hall with excitement no one but the boy himself could understand, Kim was finally back in the comforts of his study, alone and at peace.

Plopping himself down on his chair, he sighed, leaning his full weight back as he rested his eyes for the day.

`` Day 15 of the 11th month in the 771st year of the Felix Calendar. ``

That was the current date if the numbers and marks on his calendar were anything to go by. He had until the 29th day of the 3rd month in the 782nd year before news regarding the people of Harris Village being attacked by a secret organization would be reported. That was ten years before the protagonist Choi Han would lose the first people he had seen as family since arriving in this world; ten years before he would run all the way to the gates of Rain City and jump over their walls to report the tragedy to the count of the territory.

Kim couldn't help but wonder.

What could an eight-year-old do to prevent a whole village from being massacred? What could a child do against an entire unknown organization? And while Kim Rok Soo used to be a man in his mid-thirties in his past life and has retained most of that mentality, he had long been reborn and was currently nothing but an eight-year-old without any significant power. Even with his advanced life experience and typically more mature outlook on life, there were still many things that were restricted to him—especially with the current situation in the household.

With Mother having passed, Deruth had been more strict over how often Cale and he could leave the house, always fretting over the unknown and the possibility of them getting hurt outside his range of view. Kim knew for a fact that Cale was quite displeased by the new restrictions imposed on their actions, although so far, his twin seemed to know better than to say anything about it to their father, mostly choosing to instead barge in his room to plop headfirst onto Kim's bed and quietly lament in his boredom.

But knowing Deruth from both personal experience and from what he remembered of the character in the book, Kim was sure that strictness wouldn't last long—especially if Cale or he started asking for something that would require the man to bend those regulations.

Deruth Henituse was that kind of person, that’s right... Kim sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

For someone who was known to be firm and strict when it came to the rules and laws of his territory, he was a man that grew incredibly lenient to the often unreasonable demands and less-than-proper antics of his son Cale. It also seemed to him that they were currently around the time in the novel where that leniency began taking root, too.

… Perhaps it was Mother's death that drove him to further become like that.

Releasing yet another sigh, Kim arranged his thoughts on his position in the timeline, getting back to his original concerns, and pushed away all distracting thoughts that would only serve to uselessly plague his mind more than he needed them to.

It would be different if he had ended up in this world, say, one day after the Harris Village massacre, because that meant there was nothing he could've done to influence it. But he had been here since his second birth, and now had a grand total of ten whole years before that day arrived—and no matter how much Kim wanted to avoid all the trouble that would come with preventing such a life-changing event, to live a peaceful life also meant to live a life without regrets.

The guilt that would come with allowing such a tragedy to occur, yet still choosing to let it run its course all while he had the ability to change it for the better, would definitely dampen on the plans of "a worry-free life with no regrets." To add to that, he also didn't appreciate the sense of responsibility that came with this knowledge of his.

So many possibilities, so many courses of action he could take.

Amidst all his options, however, there was one thing that remained clear to him.

There was a reason why the novel was called [The Birth of a Hero]—

Choi Han hadn’t been one at the very beginning.

The protagonist was strong and had lived tens of years in a forest where monsters lurked in every corner, yes, but he was still very much a gentle and kind person who would naturally hesitate to raise his hand against another person, even if killing monsters were of no issue to him.

In order for Choi Han to be set on a path to becoming a hero, the people of Harris Village had to serve as his trigger for change.

Thoughts spun around in flurries inside his head, and Kim Rok Soo clenched his fist.

….. It would be unreasonable to just sit by and let that happen.

It would be one thing if he had no knowledge of what would become of that small village. His excuse for not doing anything would then be justified, since he wouldn't have had the means and foresight to help prevent what he didn't know would be coming in the first place. It simply would've been a casualty that he had no way of preventing, something out of his hands, something that he never would've known about only after a day had passed and the deed finally got reported.

And it was also another thing for Kim to be aware of the fate that would befall it and decide regardless to sit out and let things run its course, just as dictated in the novel. As someone who had been taking care of himself since childhood—his first one, at least—Kim Rok Soo knew first and foremost that the responsibility associated with human life was the heaviest.

… So much trouble. Thinking about it made the ten years to come seem like a stressfully packed ten days.

Why did a peaceful life require so much effort in order to be achieved? There were so many obstacles he had to avoid, events to avoid triggering, flags to tear down...

To start, there was his brother's possible descent down the road to becoming trash; the fact that a secret organization would breach their territory and cause the destruction of an entire village; an unavoidable debate over which of the two twin sons of the territory lord the next would end up becoming count; the inevitability of him and his brother attending summons of the crown and their eventual social debut; and following that was the upcoming war that would shake the entire Roan Kingdom and Western Continent as a whole…

Kim wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep for the remaining of the next ten years and beyond to come.

Recalling the first few steps of the ever-changing plan that he kept in the records of his mind, Kim drummed the pads of his fingers against the arm of his chair.

Hm… alright.

Amongst the many things planned, he first needed to obtain an indestructible shield.

It would take his father a few days to catch up on his duties and paperwork. If possible, Kim decided the days before that he would use that free time to do whatever he pleased in order to advance his plans.

And while there was little he could do with a child body and zilch power, money was not an issue for him. In fact, the monthly allowance he and Cale were given was enough to satisfy a modest peasant for a year—if he wanted, Kim could very easily save up enough money to ensure days of peace and zero labour just by saving up the allowance he'll end up collecting over the years. Keeping that realization in mind and storing it away for future reference, Kim took some of those golden coins from the stash he kept hidden from even his brother, safely tucking them into the safety of his pockets.

He had to do this before they went out into town with Deruth, as his brother had planned for them. He wouldn’t be able to run as he pleased with Cale and Father hanging around, and no doubt the man would disagree with him running to the far west of the territory—in the slums, no less. But if worse came to shove, he could always pick up his plans after their planned outing in town, too. It was merely a matter of him being alone and without anyone to hinder him.

… But now that he thought of it, ever since he arrived in this world Kim had never once gone off into town by himself.

When he did step out of the house, it was always in the company of his mother, and if he wasn't too busy Deruth would also tag along as well, on occasions. And while his parents were often preoccupied and couldn't quite shower him their every ounce of attention each day—with managing the territory and maintaining connections with the members of other influential households in the area respectively—there was one constant variable in his life that stubbornly manifested under the form of his brother.

Clingy and always dragging him by the sleeve whenever and wherever he pleased—always barging in his room without knocking, seeking him out when Kim least expected it, constantly announcing his desires to fulfill whatever whim swept him up for the day…

Actually, wasn't that sticky brother of his one of the biggest reasons why he even went out of the house at all?

At the realization, Kim’s hand paused around the knob of his door.

Hm, well... Hopefully Cale wouldn’t come looking for him today. It would be trouble if the kid went around telling the servants—or god forbid, their father (or even worse, Ron) —that he was missing and not in his room in the midst of “self-study” like he was supposed to be.

“—Brother!”

Just as he twisted the knob, Kim quickly shut back his door with a slam.

Almost immediately, the surface he was leaning his forehead against began to vibrate with each pound of a fist against its surface.

“—Kim?? Kim, why did you slam the door on me??? Open up!”

The banging continued, and Kim regretfully acknowledged the headache growing beneath his skull.

Shit… of all the times he could come looking for me… Rubbing his face with his hands, Kim took in a deep breath before he finally swung his door open. Greeted nose to nose with a face that would’ve been nearly identical to his own if it weren’t for the large difference between their respective expressions and the length of their hair, Kim frowned, only barely managing to keep his foot from tapping the floor in his frustrations.

“Aren’t you supposed to be practicing the sword with the knights?”

Why are you here?

“Ehe~ Hilsman sprained his ankle after stepping over uneven grounds, just earlier! Clumsy of him, right?”

So that means I have time to bother you now!

“... Why don’t you go ask the other knights to help you?”

Tch, go bother someone else.

Cale grinned, pearly and wide, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. That alone was enough of a response for Kim to roll his eyes at.

“...? Oh Kim, were you planning on going out today?”

Pausing, Kim curiously looked back into his brother’s gaze, ignoring the foolish grin and the dumb tilt of his head that brought attention to the hair clinging to his sweaty forehead.

Blinking once, Kim casually articulated, “What made you think that?”

“You usually wear those shoes when you plan on going out," Cale shrugged his shoulders, eyes shooting his brother’s feet a glance. "They’re not as fancy as your other pairs and are more for practicality than looking nice.”

"... Aigoo." Kim clenched the few coins he hid in his pockets, finding a faint sense of comfort in the cold feel of the metal. “... For someone who is so absent-minded during their studies, you sure like to overthink.” Slowly sighing through his nose, he shook his head. “Tell me why you’re here already."

The curious expression of his brother's face washed over like the quickest of waves, brightening so suddenly it almost gave Kim whiplash.

“Let’s bake a cake!”

“..... Why?”

“I just felt like it! Come on, I’m sure Beacrox wouldn’t mind helping us! Ron said he would be free around this time.”

… Kim wanted absolutely nothing to do with the torture-loving psychopath that was the son of their local assassin-in-hiding butler. Sure, Beacrox might be extremely gifted in the arts of cooking and had made most of Kim’s favourite meals over the years (if not all, actually), but it didn’t mean he wanted to be associated with the guy any more than they were young master and chef.

Alas, Kim allowed himself to be dragged all the way to kitchen #2 by his crazy brother, only to have the last snicker when Beacrox kicked them out not a second after because of how filthy Cale was from his previous visit to the knights' training grounds, telling them to return only once they were disinfected and washed from head to toe.

And so followed the downfall of attempt #1 of Operation: Obtain Unbreakable Shield, which resulted in a complete failure since, at the end of the day, a half-burnt red velvet cake contributed nothing to Kim's plans besides the fact that it filled his stomach and made Cale laugh at the gradually worsening expressions of despair and resignation on Beacrox's face.

Actually... scratch that. He'd count that day as half a success. The look he had recorded of the younger Molan's face was enough to bring a smirk to his own for at least a few hours whenever he recalled the memory—especially considering how that bastard was the one who gave Ron actual weapons when they asked for swords, prompting Cale to bring up wanting to learn swordsmanship (and by extension, him, although only before they had given up on trying to get him to attend the lessons—a small victory he'd like to be able to cackle over right in the Molan's face one day, if he had enough of a death wish).

Ah… If only it were possible to share this treasure with Cale—he was certain his brother would burst out in snickers upon revisiting it.

Besides that one evening that impulsively spiralled into a baking session, Kim would like to think he was good at making plans and sticking to them.

Looking ahead and deciding routes that would benefit him in the road ahead as something he considered he was decent at, so when he made his mental list of steps to achieve in order to ensure his end goals of surviving peacefully in this universe, he imagined it wouldn't take too much trouble.

Well. If it only weren't for his damn brother always getting in the way.

No matter how often he considered the blanks in their schedules, no matter how hard he tried to take advantage of the fact that they didn't quite share the same lessons… just before Kim could put on his shoes and sneak out the back door of the kitchens, Cale would be there waiting for him.

Always.

Six times Cale had been there just as he opened the door to leave his room.

Five times when he was near the exits of the manor.

Twice he had been caught when he contemplated climbing out of his window.

Once when Kim was already halfway down his window, dangling from a rope he made with his own bedsheets once he had run out of options and patience.

His constant failures had sometimes been because the servants or knights had snitched on him, unwilling to lie in the face of the bright and earnest puppy dog eyes that the eldest young master would direct towards them when inquiring for the whereabouts of his younger twin brother. Although Cale wasn't the only one casting stones in the still pond that was supposed to be his plans—sometimes out of nowhere, Kim would immediately find Ron standing right by his side, as if summoned the very second Kim thought of leaving the house without official permission.

But overall, the main root of his problems stemmed from Cale seeking him out to bother him, the supposedly proud owner of a 'Kim is thinking of doing something stupid again, so I must bother him to prevent anything from happening' detector.

Thus, situations like these occur:

"Kiiiiimmm!!"

"Kim! Check out this new sword move I just learned! It’s so graceful yet fierce, how do you like it??"

"Kim! Can you help me with this problem? The dumb arithmetics teacher didn't explain it the way you do, I can't understand her."

"Kiiimm, stop hiding in the study! Let's go out in the gardens today!"

"Kim, Father's planning on staying up late tonight to finish his work again, let's go bother him to sleep!"

"Kim..? Hey, why are you leaning out the window? Did you see something? Close it already, you'll catch a cold, you weakling! You know how easy it is for you to get sick! I will beat you into dust if you dare get sick!!"

"Kim!! I got the chefs to make us a snack before the stupid etiquette teacher arrives! Let's go eat before she starts chewing us off!"

Kim here, Kim there, Kim, Kim, Kim.

Kim had enough.

"Ron."

Dutifully as always, Ron responded to him without delay, his voice warm and steady as it has always been ever since Kim had known him, his tone much reminiscent to a kind grandfather.

"Yes, young master Kim?"

"Keep Cale away from me for the entire day. I need some time alone."

The man smiled, displaying none of his curiosity on his face. "Of course. What shall you have me do?"

"I know you're perfectly capable of thinking up a good enough distraction, regardless if you consult about it with me or not,” Kim clicked his tongue, waving a hand. “Do whatever you want, as long as things turn out as the way I expected them to."

Ron chuckled, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling softly. Ignoring his goosebumps, Kim couldn't help but notice the subtle glint of amusement that was well hidden behind that mirth-squinted gaze. "Very well. This Ron will strive to bring you desirable results, then. May I also inquire about your intentions for the day?"

"... I'm going into town. Alone."

Ron's tone quirked up, this time appearing somewhat intrigued. "Your father will soon be finishing his duties, young master Kim. Wouldn't it be better to wait until he is free? I recall your brother arranging for the three of you to go into town once he was finished."

"As I said, I have something to do. They don't need to know about it."

A certain light flickered amidst the butler's wise eyes, speaking a message Kim didn't want to bother trying to decipher.

For good measure, Kim warily added, "... Don't follow me."

"Ho. Of course."

… He damn as well hoped the guy listened.

Once he was off the carriage and had told the coachman to wait for him in some unsuspecting corner of the city, Kim shifted his gaze away from the main streets, angling himself towards the western side of the city.

Pulling over the hood of the inconspicuously coloured cloak he had adorned during the coach ride right after leaving the estate, Kim made sure it hid as much of his red hair as it could. After all, it was well-known throughout the territory that the late madam of the Henituse household had flowing waves of roses for locks, and that her sons' heads blazed with manes no different from her own. With such renown attributed to the mere colour of his hair, it wouldn't do if anyone recognized him as the youngest twin of the territory lord.

It didn't help that the occasional outings that Cale used to drag him out on had gathered them quite a reputation—they were probably recognizable enough to be distinguished at a glance by now. Not to mention, when accompanied by their mother they became the equivalent of a bouquet of sentient roses walking in the middle of the city streets, garnering more attention than necessary. It also didn't help that their mother was a renowned beauty, so much so that even without her eye-catching red hair she'd no doubt attract more stares than the average beautiful person would, much to Cale’s and his' grand annoyance.

Alone as he currently was, however, Kim was able to revel in the lack of spotlight following his every step.

Barely anyone spared him more than a single glance—with autumn losing its colours and winter soon approaching, it was not uncommon to see men and women wearing cloaks and thicker robes to protect them from the early cold sweeping through the city.

He was decently satisfied with how it was working in his favour.

Along the way to his destination, Kim stopped by a bakery, one that he noticed was the least frequented in the current area, most likely because of neighbouring competition that offered better deals, but Kim paid no mind to which store had the cheapest prices or which had better quality. He wasn't here to thrift or bargain down prices until it benefited his budget—all stores demanded money in exchange, and if there was one thing Kim had at the moment, it would be shit tons of money.

Pulling out a bag from underneath his cloak just as the bells over the door chimed and rang, Kim walked up to the worker at the counter and said, "Give me all the bread available in store."

"Y.. Young sir..?" A little taken aback, the woman at the counter blinked, gesturing from the front of the shelves to the very back of the store. Peering down just enough to fully see Kim's head poke over the counter, the woman slowly reiterated: "All of the bread?"

"Yes." Kim pulled a gold coin out of his pocket and placed it before her. "If you could do it, I have a bag to place them all in."

"... Wh.. What are you planning on doing with so much bread? Are you running errands? Will you be able to carry them all?"

Kim placed another gold coin on the counter.

"Ah—"

After a brief moment of consideration, Kim then pulled out another, the metal clanking loudly against the wood.

"... I- I'll pack them right away!"

And it was like so that Kim found himself hauling a sac nearly as large as him, content with the work he had done. He had always wanted to know how it felt to throw money away like this.

Money is a powerful tool, he nodded to himself in agreement to the words of his father that chimed in his head, ignoring the way his arms faintly strained to carry the bag along.

(Although because of his size, he was ultimately unable to take them all. In the end, the baker slowly slid back one of her freshly earned three gold coins across the desk.

Feeling somewhat annoyed, Kim pointedly disregarded it, telling her he would be sure to come back and collect them at some point later on, and if he didn't, to just put them back on the shelves or hand them out to whatever next customer came since they have technically already been bought.)

Tch. If only Cale was with him. His brother had most likely built up way more muscle than Kim's current body had ever since the kid started studying the blade, and no doubt would've facilitated this task of his. Not to mention, the two of them certainly would’ve been able to— 

No.

No Cale.

Cale would bother him—might ask too many questions, might unintentionally cause him more trouble.

Rolling his shoulders to soothe what little he could of the strain put over his back, Kim huffed, thinking nothing of the boy who he looked nearly exactly alike, so sticky that even when he wasn't around, he still clung onto Kim's mind.

It took a while to get to the west side of Rain City, especially with how small his child legs were. What could've been at least a fifteen-minute walk suddenly turned into perhaps a little over thirty. Considering how [The Birth of a Hero] was incredibly detailed about small things—including several of its locations, even the most obscure ones—and how Kim had followed what he knew to the best he could, he doubted it was due to poor sense of direction, deciding to blame it all on his short limbs.

And so, the more he walked, the further away he got from residential areas and merchant shops, four-story tall buildings gradually flattening to three, then two, and then simple ones.

Stares followed him the more he walked up the hill. That, he easily took notice of. With winter approaching, the people of the slums were starting to gather their provisions, preparing the thickest clothes they could to keep them warm during the nights, and stocking up food to ensure it would last them the whole season. There were many things the people of this area did, but one thing that prevailed over everything was their determination to have their stomachs filled.

 `` The children of the slums have no fear. It was because they treasured a single grain of rice more than a blade coming their way. Death is always around them, so they do not fear death. They fear being hungry more than death. ``

[The Birth of a Hero] made that quite clear. 

Perhaps it wasn't a good idea, coming here while still a kid. He wasn't quite sure if anyone would be willing to attack a child in hopes of stealing their loot, but Kim Rok Soo knew firsthand that age, status and gender were nothing, so long as a person desperate enough could feel sated and have enough to last them another day longer.

Kim contemplated taking off his hood, but he doubted that displaying his hair—vibrant red and a trademark feature of the lord's sons—would help his situation here. In fact, it would be foolish to strike out the possibility of someone taking him hostage in hopes of getting some ransom money out of his wealthy father. And though he doubted the culprits of such a scenario would get away lightly with such a thing, there was always the factor of him dying or getting hurt whilst.

Being alive is the best, Kim reminded himself, and he calmly walked past a young child eyeing his bag. The older boy's nose had no doubt sniffed out the fragrance of the food he was carrying in bulk, but Kim spared him not even a single glance. But as his knees started to shake and arms started to strain, Kim made up his mind and finally set down the heavy weight that was the sac and turned to the young teen watching him.

"Hey."

The boy—perhaps… a little over five years older than him—jolted, his long, dirty-looking ginger-brown hair jumping along with his shock.

"Catch."

Throwing him some wrapped-up loaves, Kim didn't spare the older boy any additional glances before he immediately closed up his luggage and went back to walking up the hill, ignoring the stare that followed him right after.

“Eat well.”

He clicked his tongue at the faint call of thanks ringing behind him, a stutter that was high-pitched and thankful. What the older boy was thanking him for, Kim didn't know, because it was all done for his personal benefit in the end. The bag was much easier to carry now and walking as fast as he could with his small limbs, it took only a small while before he could finally reach the top of the hill.

Pushing through the rusted door of the fence that stood before his goal, Kim wasted no time in dropping his bag of bread to the ground, shoulders tired after lugging a sack nearly as big as his own high, even after he had lessened the load.

Kim enthusiastically untied the opening to the sac and waited no further to start dumping the contents inside the small crevice at the base of the trunk. To his disappointment, however, the bag of bread he had put in so much effort just to carry all the way up the hill did barely any difference to the dark crevice at the bottom of the tree, save for lightening it a notch or two.

All that sweat shed, all his muscles that had been strained… all that for a mere few shades of dark lighter. Plopping to the ground, significantly more exhausted than usual, Kim lamented over how arduous this task was proving itself to be.

Whatever. For now, he'll return home. If he stayed out any longer than this, he doubted even Ron would be able to cover for him as successfully with how nosy Cale could be.

And so, on his way back, he met the long-haired boy once again, still sitting where he had been when they last parted.

"... Hey."

Meeting his gaze through his dirty orange fringe, just barely catching a glimpse of what appeared to be grey eyes, Kim contemplated before speaking up.

"If you want more food tomorrow, then stay quiet about me ever coming here."

And with the nod that eagerly followed, an agreement was made right there and then.

Chapter Text

Cale Henituse wouldn't exactly say he was the sharpest boy around, but to say he didn't know his brother well enough to pick up on the boy's increasingly secretive behaviour would be the equivalent of saying he wouldn't notice if his hand was missing, even if nothing but a bloody stump was left at the juncture of his wrist.

He was aware that Kim wasn't the type of person to easily open himself to others, so his being secretive was nothing new or surprising. But recently, however, it was starting to grow into something Cale noticed was… unlike the usual amount.

Eight years was a long time to get to know someone, after all, and Cale has spent all his eight years by his brother's side.

He's seen all the minuscule emotions his brother was capable of, the way his small quirk of the lips or brows could express emotions more powerful than anything Kim would ever admit aloud. Cale has seen enough to know which of Kim's rare smiles were real, fake, devious, playful; all the little twitches of his nose when something pleased him, the wrinkles when something did the exact opposite; the way his pupils shook when troubled, despite his entire face remaining stoically blank.

He noticed as well the way his brother pounds on his thighs with clenched fists when he despairs, how his feet seem to be heavy as they drag against the ground; how his brother remained quiet by his side during their mother’s funeral, complaining not even once about how tightly Cale had been gripping his hand.

He remembered how he said nothing about the whispers of their distant relatives, words like daggers as they murmured over how Kim didn’t seem to shed a single tear over their mother’s coffin being lowered into the ground, that he was heartless, that he was cruel, that he was ungrateful and didn’t care— But Cale felt the way his brother’s hold trembled through their joined hands and saw how his pupils quivered, how he stood tall and still, never seeming to acknowledge or even hear their words, omitted from his ears and ignored so casually it was a little baffling.

Cale has seen it all from where he was sitting in the carriage with their father, while Kim had chosen to remain outside just a little longer, chatting with Ron near their mother’s lowered coffin. His shoulders had been hunched as if plagued by a large weight, looking as if he had aged several years despite being so physically small.

How was it possible, he wondered, for someone to look so old and tired when they were so obviously young?

In all honesty, he hadn't a clue.

(An enigma his brother was, even to the one who knew him best.)

And once they returned to the castle, Cale recalled with furious satisfaction, he had called Ron over and made sure that those distant relatives of theirs were to never be welcomed to their estate ever again. It didn’t matter if they shared his mother’s maiden name or not, because he knew Mother would’ve done the same, had she heard what those vile people have said about his brother who cared so much, whose heart was so large that it was a mystery how some daft people didn’t seem to see it.

He was angry.

Cale was frustrated beyond measure for missing out on berating them for it when it happened, but he had been crying, weak and powerless and helpless, and his father in no better state.

He regretted how he prioritized his own grief over the slander being done to his brother while all the foxes around them shed a few tears while sneering behind silk fans and gloves at his brother for expressing himself in ways different than theirs. Cale hated how he stood there and cried, grounding himself with his brother's support yet failed to do the same in return.

Weren't they brothers? Weren't they two halves of the same? What kind of failure was he to neglect his brother in such a dire time in need of support?

Taking in a deep breath, Cale calmed the tremor that was quivering throughout his small hands.

… Eight years.

Cale Henituse has known that brother of his for eight long years. A child had no true concept of time when they've only lived for so long, but for Cale, eight years was his entire life, and Kim was part of it the whole way through, and he was there for his.

By his side watching, listening—picking up whatever little speck and crumb Kim allowed him, to the best that he could. If there was anyone in the world who knew him best, it would be Cale Henituse and Cale Henituse alone.

Eight years. Cale would know it if his brother was hiding something from him.

So when he had been notified by Ron of his brother's arrival and had finally caught a glimpse of him near the hallway of their bedrooms, Cale didn’t hesitate to disregard the etiquette teacher’s voice in his head reminding him that running in the corridors was unbefitting, increasing his paces to reach his brother as fast as he could.

"Kiiimmmm!" he cried, hearing his voice loudly echo throughout the manor halls. "Where were you, I couldn't find you in your room earlier!"

And as soon as Kim turned his head, Cale immediately spotted the small crease of his brows that sang of his twin's annoyance.

"I'm not always in my room, brother."

I know that, Cale's smile faintly twitched. I know that quite well. "Well, then where were you?" he whined, leaping over to sling his arm around his brother. "The servants couldn't even tell me this time! Did you disappear for a few hours? Did you leave the estate? Where'd you go, don't sneak around without me!"

"Aigoo, I’m hurt. Are you sure you even looked for me? Try harder next time."

With a sigh that was slightly tinged with exasperation, Kim soon pried him off his arm. Cale didn't offer any resistance, letting his brother brush him away easily, because Cale knew him best, and he knew his brother didn't like prolonged contact with others unless he initiated it or in other special exceptions.

"I'm going to be reading until dinner. Call me when the table is prepared."

"Ugh, fine."

Other than a roll of the eye, no other response was given to his petulant tone besides the soft click of the door upon closing.

Cale remained still in the hallway even after his brother's back had long been replaced with the view of his bedroom door. Basking in the sudden silence, Cale looked down to the belt and sword around his waist—accessories that he had been wearing for quite a while, companions that were starting to grow so familiar on him it felt weird to go without—and felt something within him begin to faintly tremor once again.

Kim smelled like bread, he absentmindedly noted. Along with something… quite unpleasant, like dried mud or sewer water, along with the heavy stench of either wet cat or dog.

His brother's feet were slightly dragging when he walked, too, obviously exhausted, his body quick to tire out unlike his own. His shoes were also dirty, as if Kim hadn't even bothered to properly clean them upon entering the foyer, bits of drying mud being left sprinkled around where he had walked.

Fingers twitching, Cale clicked his tongue. Reaching for the hilt of his wooden sword, he spared a single glance at the closed door to his brother's room, trying to calm the flurry that was beginning to pick up within him almost uncomfortably so, but mostly to no avail.

… Eight years, he told himself, reminded.

He has known Kim Henituse for his entire life—the way one would the creases of their palm.

Him being secretive or evasive was nothing new or surprising— it shouldn’t be. It was eight years after all, and that was plenty of time to get to know someone.

Cale desperately tried to ignore the way his hands felt restless, unnerved by the unknown sensation coursing through his chest and fingers. Tightening his grip around the hilt of his sword, he tried to soothe it by releasing some tension but even then it served little to help.

The hallways of the castle seemed a little lonely these days, a little colder. The more he stayed inside, surrounded by paintings covered in black veils and servants who treated him like fragile glass, the more empty everything seemed to feel—something was clearly missing, and the gap made itself known in the hollowing pit of his chest, just as it did in the silent manor he was living in.

And he hated it.

Hated it so much.

He slowly breathed through his nose, thinking nothing about the significant lack of additional red by his side. He let his mind run on the brighter side of things, stuff that wasn’t as harmful as the thoughts he kept deep in his head, stuff that didn't make him feel like throwing himself off the territory walls in desperation to scratch the itch.

I'll… just go back to training. And then...

Clenching his fist, now resolved in a decision that he had been pondering over for quite some time, he made up his mind.

"Catch."

Kim lightened his load once more as he treaded up the slope of the slums. The same ginger-haired kid was still lingering around the most discrete path he usually took, and judging by the lack of additional audience, Kim didn't doubt that he avoided spilling news about his frequent visits to monopolize him to the best they could, and as per their agreement, as well.

"Th- Thank—"

"No need," Kim quickly cut off, dismissing him with a small wave of his hand. "If you really want to thank me, just continue keeping quiet about me coming here."

The older boy immediately faltered, his voice growing small as he stuttered to take back his words. He suddenly took on the appearance of a wet kitten (a rather lanky one, if Kim were to be honest), especially with how the moisture of the fog was dampening his fluffy orange hair, puffing it out at the same time, but Kim was already walking ahead before he could notice it. As usual, he left without saying much, doing nothing more to advance their relationship that was born out of pure coincidental and mutual convenience.

It had already been quite a few days—over a week, in fact—since Kim first started doing this, and the tree still hasn't even been sated halfway yet.

It was taking so long.

His child-sized body didn't have the strength needed to haul the large quantities of bread required to accomplish this task any faster, and he couldn't even bring a wagon with him in consideration for keeping this whole affair more secretive. Not that carrying a huge sack of food was any less eye-catching, but squeaky wheels were the last thing he needed—not to mention, would probably be inconvenient since he’d be going through the uneven streets of the slums, followed by uphill on the grassy terrain of the hill. If he let go for even a second, he'd have to chase after both his bread and the wagon, and then trek himself up the hill all over again, and Kim didn't hate himself enough to want to risk going through that amount of exhaustion or trouble.

Nearly collapsing to his knees upon slipping through the cracks of the fence, Kim tiredly poured the bread into the mouth of the tree.

OOOOONNNGGGGGG—

"Hah... I know, I know… eat quietly, will you?"

Peering into the hole once he ran out of food to offer, Kim genuinely wanted to cry, unsure if it was the effect of his child body's lack of emotional reign or genuine, overflowing pent-up frustration.

Barely enough difference yet again. He was too small to carry enough food to make significant progress on a single trip, but he couldn't quite do anything about it, could he? He could always wait until he was older or try to build some muscle to expand the limits as to how much food he can carry by himself, but to build muscle would mean to work out, and to work out would mean to sweat and strain his body, and to sweat and strain his body would mean to do more work than he wanted to, and that was something he'd like to avoid at all cost.

Seating himself against the tree that he was no longer so afraid of, (even if its strange moans were eerie enough to make him never want to hear them ever again), Kim closed his eyes, immersing himself in thought.

If only there were an easy way for him to carry a large amount of food without having to sacrifice his muscles, or recruit nosey main-d'oeuvre that might accidentally get themselves eaten by the tree..

...

Wait.

Kim slowly opened his eyes, a grin forming across his face.

"We haven't been out in town in so long!" Cale grinned in an excited craze, skipping around the road, just a few steps further away from where his family was following him.

Deruth let out a small chuckle, a little exasperated by the way his oldest son was quite literally buzzing around the more they walked. It was stunning how much the boy fit in with the bustling atmosphere, just as busy and vibrant as the light his son shined with in his every step. It was a miracle how such a star didn't dim in the cage that he kept him in for the past few weeks, but Deruth also knew his son burnt with a vigour akin to a thousand suns, and the reminder made his guilt simmer all the more.

Standing by his side, Kim noticed the hint of shame clouding his smile, subtly present in his expression despite the lighter look to his general atmosphere. But overall it was a change that he welcomed greatly, much better than it was the last time he had a proper look at him.

"Cale…" Deruth gently started. "I'm... sorry if keeping you inside the estate made you feel suffocated. I shouldn't have taken away you and your brother's right to have fun."

A cackle was heard immediately after those honest words poured out.

"Father is speaking such nonsense!" Cale snorted, rushing back with three meat skewers after having paid at a nearby food stall. Forcing one of them into Deruth's hands, Cale soon looked back up to his father with a smile, red hair blazing under the midday sun as radiant as his whole demeanour. "When was I suffocated? I spent so much time with the knights training with the sword and I even learnt some martial arts in the meanwhile—I've been having so much fun at home I didn't even think of coming back to town until recently!"

Well aware that was very much not the case, Kim nearly snorted, knowing just how often Cale had barged into his room to come and complain once he'd had enough of keeping his feelings and opinions bottled up. And upon noticing his brother’s small slip up that could very well blow his white lie cover, with a twitch of his fingers Cale forced a skewer in Kim's mouth with a strength that was very much unnecessary for that kind of foolish action, nearly making his brother choke.

"Ah— Cale!?" Deruth sCREEcheD chastised with a frown, his hands immediately moving towards Kim. "The stick is sharp, you could've hurt him!!"

"The meat's covering it, it's fine! Look at him, look! You're fine, aren't you Kim? He's fine!"

"cOUGH—!!" Kim (who was very much the opposite of fine) hacked, slapping his brother's arm and that murderous skewer away, his body curling towards his father's in a subconscious call and plea for help.  "Ugh, you damn heathen!!"

"Kim!" Deruth turned to his younger son, eyes wide as if blasphemy had just been spoken before his very nose. "Such language—!!"

"Father, he cursed at me! Did you hear that! HAHAH he said a bad word, the etiquette teacher is going to make him eat soap if she hears, maybe I'll tell her the next time she visits hahAJHAHHA—! GH—!!??"

Right after he snapped off the sharp point of the wooden stick, Kim shoved his skewer into his brother's cackling mouth without hesitation.

"KIM!!! YOU STUPID—!!"

A little further away, a merchant woman with her brown hair in a neat bun snickered at them, all while covering the ears of the small five-year-old child at her side, looking up at them with innocent-looking round and droopy eyes.

Deruth's face burst into a flustered red upon noticing their small audience, promptly separating both of his sons before he began pushing them away from the larger crowds—though not before snatching their skewers from their hands to pull them far, far away. He was the lord of the territory, after all, and even if his image wasn't plastered across the walls of the county and known to all, a reputation was a reputation, and Deruth would very much like to retain some, even if incognito in town.

(But in the end, Deruth allowed for them to keep their meat skewers—so long as they stayed apart and we're kept on separate sides with him in between. It didn't, however, stop Cale from reaching behind his back to occasionally stab his brother with the sharp point of the wooden stick whenever he thought Deruth wasn't looking.

How mature of him, that brat.)

"Kim, where was it that you wanted to go next?"

After nibbling away at the last of his food, an innocent smile bloomed across Kim's face as he started up at his father. "The Fragrance of Tea with Poetry," he said after feigning a short hum. "I saw the sign of the shop when we were in the carriage a while back."

Cale immediately wrinkled his nose, faking a gag at the name. "Bleh. What're you going to do, read poetry?"

"And also drink tea, of course. Oh, they also have nursery rhymes and bedtime stories there too, you know?"

“... I don’t like how you brought those up while smiling at me like that.”

“Whatever do you mean, hyung-nim?”

“..... Do you want to get a beating? Father, look at him, he's being annoying.”

And despite Cale's small whinings about how boring it would be to just sit around and read, Deruth looked pleased with the idea of spending a little time for relaxation with tea and some books. “It would be nice to have something to drink after eating, as well as a nice place to rest our feet, Cale.”

"Fine!" Cale finally huffed after a little prodding, raising his hands in the air in reluctant acceptance. "But after that, we're going to buy that rose tea on our way back home."

"I'm sure the owner has some rose tea for us to enjoy there as well, if you feel like drinking some now."

And so they entered the three-story building, and upon being faced with a piggy bank-like man, Kim's face took on a smile.

By his side, Cale watched his sly expression with curiously narrowed eyes.

The bastard son of the Flynn Family Merchant Guild was incredibly useful in procuring Kim with a dimensional pocket bag.

It was quite expensive if one were to buy it at its market price, but Kim managed to rent it for a while at a considerably lesser price after building a small relationship with Sir Billos by returning a few more times over a few weeks, enough to perhaps be considered a new regular.

But as useful as owning one would be, however, he didn't have a constant need to carry an ungodly amount of bread and food with him at all times—though, even if he did want to officially own one, Billos had made it clear he didn't do business with young children such as he currently was, even going so far as to pinch his cheeks when declaring so.

Besides, if Deruth, Cale, or anyone else (*cough* Ron) found one in his possession, they would surely question as to what he was doing with it, and who exactly thought it a good idea to leave such an expensive and valuable tool in the hands of a mere child.

… Well, to be fair, he was near certain Deruth wouldn’t confiscate it or anything. His father would probably stare at him for a few seconds, nod, then finally tell him to be responsible, all while following it up with some kind of small speech about how their family had a lot of money and that Kim should spend well if it made him happy.

Cale, however.

Cale could go either ways.

He might endlessly question him about why he had it, or he might take exactly one look, shrug, and then never mention it again. But despite that—and Kim would like to think he knew his brother rather well—he’d have a certain look on his face, scrutinizing and silently observing, one that spoke a thousand questions that he kept all to himself with promises of finding the answers out on his own.

But that didn't matter.

What mattered was right then, right now, he could finally shove as much bread as he wanted into a single, small, almost weightless bag, all without having to strain his muscles just to haul it up a hill.

"Hey, catch," Kim called out, as per his newly established routine. The boy he usually met up with seemed to have cleaned himself up a bit that day, perhaps after the rain from the day before, because his hair was no longer as messy and dull, now showing traces of the lighter orange it had the potential of being beneath all the grim. The older boy was also as expressive as always, and Kim paid no attention to how the young teen curiously eyed his magical bag with sparkling grey eyes, with the thought of humouring any of the curiosities the other boy might have never once crossing his mind.

"This might be the last time," he made sure to mention. It wouldn't do, after all, to leave the boy hanging onto the hopes and expectation of getting more free hand-outs only to disappoint himself once Kim stopped showing up.

"A- Ah yes! Of course, thank you very much!"

"... Yeah, didn't I say I don't need—"

But the older boy shook his head, approaching him for the first time after all these days of simply watching him go up the hill. He kept a respectable distance, however, as if he was aware it would be improper to step any closer.

The teen's head was then bowed so low Kim couldn't even see his eyes, which was saying something, considering their difference in height. His fists were clenched tightly at the side of the warm cloak he had been given throughout their multiple exchanges—mostly because winter was approaching faster than ever and Kim wasn’t daft enough to ignore how little the young teen had to wear.

"Thank you," he firmly reinstated. "For... For everything!"

Kim remained both somewhat speechless and somewhat annoyed as this transpired, but before he could chastise the older boy, the ginger quickly raised his head up and offered him a dopey smile. Faced with such an expression, Kim could only stare back blankly before sighing, feeling somewhat helpless.

"..... I'll be going."

"Stay safe!" And after a small, hesitant pause, he followed with a bright, almost clumsy grin. "S- See you later!"

And as he made his way towards the hill, he couldn't help but feel as if he was being watched—but the second he turned back, he saw no one else but the young teenager, who, upon realizing he had turned to look back, raised his head again and brightly waved before resuming to play with the few stray cats at his feet, a happy little blush on his face as if he was currently having the best time of his life.

….. Hm, Kim shuddered, passing a wary glance over his surroundings once more, the feeling of something leaving an odd sensation on the back of his neck.

It always felt like multiple pairs of eyes were staring at him whenever he went out, these days.

It was, in fact, not the last time Kim had to return to the hill. Just as he thought the light grey hole near the base of the tree would finally turn white, he noticed at the very last second that his dimensional space pouch was no longer full and that all the bread it contained was inadequate.

Kim couldn’t comprehend. Why did it feel as if the world was against him? He had spent a few weeks going back and forth whenever his schedule was free enough to sneak out of the estate to empty the local bakeries of their bread, as yet here he was, with a magical device that could’ve—should have! —been the solution to all his woes, yet all but decided to dangle his hope on a string only to rip it away before his very eyes, just as he grazed it by the fingers.

Did he perhaps miscalculate the amount of bread he thought would be enough to sate the priestess's hunger? Unlikely, considering the skills he had developed during his past job in his last life, where he was required to do a bunch of calculating and analysis both at his desk and on the field, amongst many other things. Maybe being a child messed that up, made him more careless. Or perhaps it was the effects of being reborn as a spoiled rich kid that made him grow lax.

Whatever.

Kim didn’t care anymore.

He wanted to shove his head into the damn hole and see if that would be enough to satisfy that stupid tree.

And as if hearing his silent and fuming slander, the tree let out a long groan, the vibrations strong enough to be felt at the soles of Kim’s shoes, and Kim decided with the maturity of a child much fitting for his current body to put his feet to good use and kick the tree as politely as he could.

Damn tree, he silently grumbled on his way down the hill. 'Ginger' was there waiting as usual, the few cats from an hour ago had now multiplied several times, and Kim had to wonder if the young teen was sharing his food with the strays or if he was simply a boy well-liked by animals.

“... Where do all of these things even come from?” he finally initiated conversation for once, something outside of their typically curt exchanges.

The young boy looked up in small shock, as if he was so immersed in petting and fawning over the cats before his feet that he didn’t even notice the bright head of red hair (although carefully hidden under a hood) approaching him.

“Oh! They come from here and there,” he said vaguely, before scooping up an armful of kittens. “Look!! Aren’t they cute??”

Kim subtly cringed his nose, the heavy scent of alley cats much too unbearable for his delicately sheltered nose, fine-tuned since second birth to only the most luxurious scents of expensive cologne and perfume, to the aroma of their family chefs and Beacrox’s high-spec cooking.

“... They’re alright.”

“Ehe~ Aren’t they? Do you… Do you want to hold them?”

“No." Kim immediately raised the palm of his hand, feeling the hair rise on his skin at the mere thought. "I have a curfew," he then proceeded to say while ignoring how the sun was still very much high in the sky, and how after their family outing into town, Deruth had lifted their unofficial house arrest to give them back the freedom to run around as much as they pleased.

“Oh! Oh, yes of course. And, um... Is this really your last day here?”

Kim contemplated the light grey colour that the hole under the tree had been left with after his most recent trip. His mood falling sour, he shook his head.

“... No. I’ll still be coming here for a few more days, at most. Preferably not too long.”

The teen brightened. "Oh! So I'll still get to see you for a little longer, then!"

"Huh. Do you really like bread that much?"

At Kim's words, Ginger choked, his expression turning flustered. "W-Well, I mean- of course I do! But your company is also just as nice as well, too..." he murmured the second half of his sentence, fiddling with the fur of the cat in his arms. "Oh, and young m— sir..?"

Kim calmly slid his gaze over to meet his, waiting.

"From last time… Thank you for the gloves and the boots," he bowed his head slightly once more—a common occurrence whenever they were together, it seemed, but Kim didn't pay that much heed.

… boots?

Kim blinked, looking down just briefly enough to see the new footwear the teen was manning, different from the tattered shoes he had previously been wearing. The design was old, perhaps a season outdated, made of comfortable leather of good-quality, worn but still with plenty of more years to put to use.

"... I had extra pairs," he cautiously replied.

"Still, thank you very much."

"Mh, well, I'm leaving now."

And it was with the usual cheery wave and goodbye that Kim was sent off. This time, however, he didn't leave the slums with the satisfaction and frustration that came after a gruelling time at work, but with questions burning like low embers inside his swirling mind.

He furrowed his brows.

Other than the gloves from last time, I didn't give him any boots.

Stopping in his tracks, Kim broke from his momentary contemplative trance to look up towards the sign hanging from one of the buildings to his side.

'The Fragrance of Tea With Poetry'

Altering his steps, Kim soon found himself pushing open the door, the ringing of the bell from above alerting the relatively quiet and peaceful tea house of his presence. A few of the other customers raised their heads and nodded in acknowledgement, familiar with the presence of the young hooded boy who started visiting the shop regularly just a few weeks ago. Kim merely sent his curt greeting in return, but paid them no extra attention—and with them being avid readers, they didn't mind the brief passing glances, immediately absorbing themselves in whatever book they had been reading before his arrival.

"Ah, if it isn't the young master!" the large man at the counter leaned against the counter slightly, just enough to see the young boy arrive at the desk.

"Sir Billos," Kim smiled, a docile, innocent little expression that many of the other customers have fawned over once or twice during their stay. "Regarding what you lent me…"

Billo's squinted eyes widened momentarily before he swiftly fell back to his warm grin.

"Ah… Yes, yes of course. The novel I helped procure for you, hmm... I suppose the young sir is still going to be reading it for a few more days?"

Kim kept his smile pleasant, a small tilt of his head accompanying the sheepish act. It was then that he was reminded of why he liked Billos—precisely because he caught on quickly to meanings left unsaid.

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid the story captivated me quite a bit. If it's not too much trouble, I'll be returning it a few days later than agreed upon."

Billos eyed the young boy with a look that shared faint amusement. He would be lying if he were to one day say he never once bemused how their relationship came to be. And to think he initially thought the boy to be nothing but an innocent lover of tea and literature—now that was but a fleeting, distant dream.

Patting the boy's shoulder to ease his thoughts, Billos kept his voice casual and warm. "No worries, you can keep it for a little longer. It's an old thing, I don't have much use for it these days."

"Oh?" Kim hadn't even bothered to hide the delight on his face. "Is that so?"

"Indeed," Billos chuckled before his voice took on a more sly tone. "Although, you might have to pay me extra for extending the intended return date. Though it's no matter, that shall be dealt with in due time—but alas, since you're here, would the young master like some tea?"

… this bastard, saying all that and still making me pay for tea…

"At the children's discount price, of course~"

Kim's eyes brightened considerably before he took out a coin and placed it on the counter.

"Any kind of tea," he sniffed, before pressing on, "As long as it's sweet. Sweet."

"Ah, yes yes, of course. Our young sir only likes sweet things."

Kim drew his hand back, smiling coyly. "Aren't sweet things the best?"

"If that's what the young master prefers," Billos chuckled. "Shall I bring your drink up to your usual spot?"

"That’s the obvious thing to do, isn’t it? You know your job best." With a curt wave of his hand, Kim was already heading towards the stairs leading up to the third floor of the building. He ignored the chuckle wafting from behind him as he walked, content in ignoring the man who found amusement in his words when there was really nothing to be amused about.

And upon reaching the third floor—passing by the second that was less lively than the first, but still decently occupied—Kim suddenly froze.

At the far table near the corner—close to the window he favoured quite a bit for no reason other than it gave a good, overlooking view of the city—there sat a young boy with short brown hair and droopy eyes, intensely absorbed in a book of his own, rather thick a volume for someone his age.

"Ah."

Startled, the young boy looked up, his fingers nearly dropping the thick volume of the novel he had been engrossed in. Upon meeting his gaze, he flinched once, bowing his head slightly, a small and curt thing but in no way disrespectful. In return, Kim merely looked away, just barely acknowledging the kid before he walked towards the next best seat he could find at the far opposite of the room.

That kid looked familiar, he couldn't help but note. Wasn't that the boy whose mother laughed at them during their first outing into town about a few weeks back? Where was the mother? Did she let him come here all alone? He looked rather young to be staying alone in public establishments.

Discreetly, as he grabbed a book from the shelves in the passing to go to the second-best seat on the far opposite side of the room, Kim took another glance at the boy, eyeing the unaccompanied child with only mild interest.

And it was during that fleeting observation that he saw it—a family crest, he easily deduced, one with a lily flower, etched onto the boy's sleeve. He had many of those on his own clothes, though his weren't stitched with normal materials—either in gold or silver linings, but also taking on the forms of golden buttons and badges with the Henituse turtle carved intricately onto the metal.

Because of this, it was easy for him to tell whatever family that young boy hailed from was in no way of a stance higher than his. An impossible thing, actually, considering how the Henituse Family was without a doubt amongst the wealthiest—if not the wealthiest—of all the ten big noble houses in the northeastern region, despite only being that of a county.

"Young master," Billos greeted shortly upon reaching him, having climbed the two flights of stairs required to reach Kim's favoured floor. He set down the set cup and the plate of cookies on the table and without hesitation, and Kim pushed a few coins his way in return.

"Advanced payment for the 'novel' I'm borrowing overtime," he confirmed after sipping at his tea.

The grin he was given in return was fox-like as Billos pocketed the small pouch into his fur coat. "It's very easy dealing with you, young sir."

"Of course. I am a person who is very easy to deal with, after all."

"Hahaha, indeed, indeed," Billos shook his head in amusement before he slowly took a glance at the brown-haired now sitting at the window corner. "Oh—Did you make yourself acquainted with the other young master, yet?"

"... Not at all," Kim replied after a brief pause. If he thought about it now, actually, he didn't really know anyone his age besides his brother and the children of the other noble families in the northeastern faction. "So who might he be?"

"Oho.. The young master is finally taking an interest in someone his age other than his own brother, I see."

"Wrong again." Mildly irritated by the implications of those teasing words, Kim scoffed. "Just curious. Don't really have an interest in the boy specifically." Munching on a cookie, he took a moment to savour its sweetness before he waved his hand, adding once more, "So? Will you be answering my question or will you be leaving me alone now?"

"... Haha. When you're snarky like this is when you're less easy to deal with, young master."

Kim nearly snorted. He didn't care about what Billos thought of him. Whether the man saw him as a lout or not was honestly outside of his realm of concerns so long as he proved himself to be useful. Otherwise, if he wasn't, why would Kim even bother associating himself with the man long enough for such an opinion to form?

And it seemed he wasn’t wrong to think of Billos as useful, seeing as he answered his fleeting curiosity with ease, all while refilling Kim's cup as he spoke.

"Young master Basen's mother is the head of the small Hirschel Merchant Guild that is currently passing through town again. They've done some occasional business with this humble tea house of mine, so we are well acquainted."

The silver spoon Kim was lightly stirring in his cup froze, the light clinking of the metal against porcelain resounding with a faint ringing.

"He took a liking to the place and the variety of books we have here during his few stays and has been a regular visitor ever since. I'm rather surprised you haven't crossed paths earlier, actually, considering how often you both are here. But depending on how long the guild decides to stay in Rain City, it might not be long before he leaves us."

"... Basen?"

"Ah. Yes, Basen Hirschel. Would you like me to introduce him to you? Making friends is always a good thing at your age, even if naught but fleeting interactions."

Barely registering Billos' voice chattering beside him, Kim impulsively shifted his eyes from his cup and saucer towards the young boy sitting several tables away on the opposite side of the room. When his gaze finally found focus in a pair of large brown eyes that were deeply immersed in the novel held between small hands—way more advanced than what you'd expect for the typical five-year-old—it was with an unexpected startle that he felt something drop heavily in the pit of his stomach, much like a metal coin thundering in a ceramic void.

A slight fuzz covered Kim's ears, thick and like static, and his throat went dry—but even as he sipped at his tea in an attempt to soothe the sudden parch, he found that no matter how much he drank it did little to ease the odd sensation currently coursing through his body. But regardless of how his fingers faintly trembled while holding the cup near his lips and how his pupils quivered, Kim’s mind felt oddly blank.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the aroma of the sweetened rose tea before him, calming himself in the soothing scent.

"If I may ask, Sir Billos, what business you conduct with Lady Violan?"

“Ho— I see the young master is well informed on our city’s merchants to know the madam’s name? Quite surprising, considering how small her caravan is. It seems to only be passing by as of now, so for you to know of them...“

“I remember asking for an answer, not praise on my knowledge of the city’s current trade union."

“Aigoo, you—" A well-hidden curse could be heard behind a cough. "Ahem. Well, it’s nothing much," Billos shrugged, only faintly letting slip his exasperation. As he gestured around, his large hands then pointed towards the nearest window. "Just some preparations for winter. Thicker curtains, some more firewood. Speaking of which—has your household finished with their preparations for winter?"

Winter preparations?

“..... Hah.”

A teacup was set down onto its saucer with a clink.

Billos paused at the sudden shift in demeanour coming from the young boy before him before a small gasp escaped his lips as if struck with a sudden realization that had come to him way too late.

"Oh- My apologies." Billos suddenly retracted a smile, one that could be seen as nervously-crafted on his round face. The image he gave off at the moment was eerily familiar to those made by the men who had wronged his father and were hurriedly looking to repent. "If the young sir would forget I ever said a word—"

"No, it's fine," Kim smiled breezily, lightly waving his hand before he settled it back onto his lap. Folded over the other, poised, collected, just like the tutors have drilled into him for hours on repeat uselessly for over five years.

"And to answer your question, no. I don't think the affairs have been settled as of yet, considering there is no longer anyone in charge of handling them anymore. But since you brought it up just now, I'll be sure to bring it up to my father. I’m certain he would appreciate the reminder."

Billos seemed to wince at his every passing word, though it was expertly hidden behind his smile and the way his hand fidgeted subtly against the other. Kim clenched his fist, closing his eyes to reign himself back a bit to avoid doing something he'd regret, standing up as he pulled a pouch from the pocket of his coat to drop it onto the table. A few coins jumped out from the loosely tightened bag and rolled across the table as they scattered, but Kim was already halfway towards the stairs when they began falling to the floor, each clink akin to a thud like thunder against the wooden floors.

Just as he took his first step down, his eyes so happened to cross that of a doe brown gaze. They were wide as if startled, tinged with curiosity no doubt seamed from the small scene caused from a few tables away, but Kim couldn't find it in himself to hold the contact when his gaze naturally drew itself back to the small crest stitched onto the boy's clothes. He seared it in his mind, recorded and stored into a file somewhere in his head for future use before he tore himself away from the sight to begin walking down the flights of the establishment.

He might've heard Billos call out for him, but he merely sent the man a smile and a curt goodbye before helping himself out to the door. Once outside, he decided it only made sense to blame the near-winter weather for the cold sensation panging itself in his chest, oddly tight and gripping within the confines of his ribs.

Winter preparations.

That's right. They still had yet to settle those.

There wasn't anyone left to take care of them anymore, after all.

Kim looked down, his breath coming out as faint white clouds while he watched the light fall of snow fuse itself into the thin but growing layers already piled on the ground.

He closed his eyes, breathing. The air was crisp and it tinged his nose and lungs whenever he inhaled too sharply, but the slight pain proved itself to be incredibly useful in snapping him out of the daze he was fighting to overcome.

… It was unfortunate that his father would be having yet again more work added to his load. He might have to call upon his close aide and secretaries to cope, this time.

If only there she were still here to help relieve it, Kim couldn't help but think, ignoring how the lingering sweetness of the tea slowly began tasting bitter in his mouth. But he shook his head quickly enough, brushing off the thought just as he did the few snowflakes that had gathered atop the covers of his hood, and soon set out to meet back up with the coachman he had instructed to wait for him a couple of blocks away.

The ride home was quiet.

That was to be expected when one was alone in a carriage, but Kim could recall several instances when a carriage ride had been lively. Enjoyable. But as he sat there looking out the window, absorbing the passing scenes before him that were tinted in frosty weather greys, the moment felt nothing but dim.

Kim found himself hating the cold of winter more than he ever did.

“Welcome back, young master Kim,“ Ron greeted benignly upon opening the carriage door. His gloved hand was extended to help him down the step, but Kim disregarded it without so much as a glance. “How was your visit to the tea house? Ho, did you pass by the bakery as well? I can smell quite a fragrant arom—”

“Ron, is my father available?”

The old butler paused as he helped the cloak off Kim’s shoulders, carefully watching his youngest master before responding with an eased smile.

“He is currently in his office sorting through papers. But if the young master desires to see him this instant, I’m sure he would welcome you without question.”

“—Kim!!”

A voice called out from one of the hallway wings leading to the foyer. In only a few seconds, Cale’s head of vibrant red hair appeared from around the corner and it didn’t take long for the young boy to reach him, limbs long for his age quickly taking him in strides. Like a magnet that was naturally drawn to his brother, he took his rightful place back at Kim’s side, hooking their arms together with a tug.

“Kim, you’re back! You went to the tea house again, huh? Ron told me about it when I tried looking for you, so I already knew. But I said before, you gotta tell me when you plan on going out, it’s not fun when you leave me here all alone!”

Kim's growing headache flared and he quickly raised his hand, shrugging himself lightly out of his brother’s hold.

“Not now,” he muttered, calming his mind, sorting through the words he’d have to say and the plans he had to start putting to play. “Sorry, I have to see Father. Tell me later.”

“Kim—”

“Ron,” he calledd over him, looking briefly over his shoulder to meet the older man’s eyes. “Prepare some tea. Bring it up to Father's office.”

Old but sharp eyes oversaw the scene before him, hovering between the two halves. It was with a sigh in his heart and silently narrowed curiosities that he forged a dutiful smile to hide them behind.

Neatly folding the coat in his arms, he passed it onto one of the nearby attending servants before he walked over to catch up to his youngest master who was already making his way towards his father’s office. On his way, however, he stopped before the eldest sibling, curtly passing the young boy a glance before he clicked his tongue upon seeing the boy's clenched fists.

“... Young master Cale," he shook his head, gently unfurling the tense fingers digging into faintly calloused, but still youthfully smooth palms. "This Ron will be displeased if you continue to hurt yourself like this."

Waving over one of the other servants he sent out an order for a bowl and wet towel to be prepared, as well as some ointment and bandages.

“Light a fire, as well," he added before the last of the servants departed. "It seems both our young masters have been running outdoors in the cold today.”

Snapping his gaze up, Cale freed his lower lip of his teeth, taken aback.

“How did—”

Ron's eyes swam in amusement that lasted so brief it would be a wonder if anyone saw it. ”You’ve been training with the knights again, no?" he hummed with a tone that feigned a tease. "…Or has the young master gone somewhere else without telling anyone?"

"I—"

The way Cale's eyes narrowed didn't escape Ron's trained eyes, even with how quick the boy was to have his expression quickly fall back into one of sheepish confession.

"Ehe~ It's true, I was with the knights again."

Ron hummed through a chuckle. "Of course you were. And I know the young master is passionate, but please refrain from using the outdoor fields. The weather is growing colder these days, so I implore you to resume your training in the indoor halls."

Calming the beating of his heart, Cale grinned up to the old butler with a small tilt to his head. "Don't worry, Ron. I'll be sure to do that! I’m not so crazy to want to train in cold weather."

"That is a great relief to hear," he smiled gently. "It would be bad if something bad were to happen to the young master while he is running about outside unsupervised, would it not?”

Those words seemed to prompt a stiff expression to ghost over his young master's face.

“..... Mh... Well. Ron?”

“Yes? What is it, young master Cale?”

“... Did.. my brother truly go to that tea house again?”

“Of course he did. This Ron has eyes and ears everywhere, rest assured.”

Cale stared at that warm and benign smile and upon crossing the older man’s gaze, and took in the small message he had to convey and made do with it as he could. He knew Ron well enough to know that if he had to pick between either his brother or himself to take a stance for, the old man would play both sides by taking none at all.

“Then, if you would excuse me, young master, I have to bring up tea for your father and brother.”

“... Sure.. go ahead Ron.”

And even as he was tended to by the servants as they washed and bandaged his hands, ushered towards a chair placed at a decent distance away from the fireplace, Cale couldn’t help but think about how cold it was starting to feel within the walls of this house.

Chapter Text

“Father.”

Kim knocked against the hard polished wooden door of his father’s office.

“It’s Kim,” he announced himself shortly, waiting on feet that were barely able to keep themselves from shifting about.

But as always he didn’t need to wait for long, because as busy as Deruth Henituse may be, he always made time for his family without hesitation, even if he was buried in piles of work. It was only after their mother’s passing that he began to withdraw himself, but as expected of the man, his love for family remained strong—even then—like both an obligation and something done on one’s own free will. He did the best he could to make time for his children, however—something Kim couldn’t help but commend him for relentlessly, no matter how much it struck something within him like painfully plucked strings.

“Kim?"

The voice of his father muffled through the door.

"Come in, is there anything you need?”

Kim twisted the knob and entered, sparing no extra glance at the chessboard whose pieces still hadn’t moved an inch from where they last were touched. Ever so terribly apt for remembering, the memories of two focused figures faintly made their image back into his mind, even if he didn’t wish for it to be that way—but he spent not a second longer dwelling over it, instead focusing his gaze back onto his father’s figure.

“Father. Have you begun dealing with the estate’s winter preparations yet?”

Deruth’s hands paused, the shuffling of paper stifling in their movements. A small silence hung in the air and Kim had to remind himself to breathe upon noticing he had subconsciously been contributing to it.

Slowly walking over to his father’s desk, he watched as the man’s blank face washed over with emotions he didn’t want to bother deciphering. Not because he didn’t care, but because he knew all too well what kind of face his father would be wearing before it could even be shown to him, and had no desire whatsoever in seeing his thoughts be confirmed when he knew he’d be right anyway.

With a large, worn hand sliding over to rub tiredly over his face, Deruth’s breath could be heard in the midst of a steady inhale. It didn't take long before he finally seemed to regain his composure, straightening his posture to offer Kim a minuscule smile, complicated feelings mixing in with the wrinkles near his eyes.

“... Thank you for reminding me, Kim. I’ll be sure to deal with those soon.”

“Will you be handling it by yourself? You already have so much work to do, have your steward assist you.”

Deruth lifted his hand, a small gesture of dismissal. “No. I’ll… I should be doing these in her stead.”

Kim stared at his father’s face, the faint lines suddenly looking more profound than they should’ve been, either a trick of the light or an effect of the weight of his exhaustion. He wondered if he should feel guilty for being the cause of them, for bringing a reminder to the gaping wound still very much present in his father’s chest, only just recently freshly put back together with a faint sheen of acceptance that had taken over two months to form. He wondered if he should’ve slowly built up bringing the topic to his attention, rather than barge in without notice to rip the forcefully applied bandage off the fresh wound, but Kim decided it best to avoid tip-toeing around it any longer.

“I can help you," he announced. "Administration, management, procurement, overlooking the supplies... The instructors haven't taught us the internal affairs of a manor and the responsibilities that come with it, only for it all to be of naught."

Slightly startled eyes snapped up and Deruth's gaze didn't fail to meet his in the middle.

"... I didn't know that was already in your curriculum," he muttered, almost in a daze.

His wife was the one who mainly oversaw the children's studies after all, and what he knew of their schedule often came through their small chatterings during teatime. So to be sitting there hearing it first hand yet indirectly made him feel somewhat ashamed for never taking it upon himself to personally look into his children's educational affairs, always so reliant on his wife.

"Isn't it…" He hesitated slightly. "Isn't it a little early for you to be learning those sorts of affairs?"

"I have often been told I was a fast learner."

Kim's offhanded dismissal was quick and casual, encompassed within the small shrug of his shoulder.

"Someone has to learn them soon, anyway. So I am."

But there wasn’t a doubt, however, that their studies have been pushed forward a few notches due to the Madam of the house's passing—a void that had to be filled as soon as possible, and who better to replace it than the children who were meant to take them over in the future, anyway?

"What of your brother? Last I remembered, he wasn't as advanced in that area of study as you were."

"I remember it all for him."

"Ha.." Deruth's eyes crinkled in a knowing manner, tired but exasperatedly amused at the same time. "The same way he remembers all the sword stances in your stead?"

Kim's mouth opened to retort, before the syllables he prepared to say stuck in the air and in his silence, decisively decided to keep it shut. 

Their stare held steady contact for a few seconds before something seemed to quiver on Deruth's face, a glossy sheen seemingly glazing over his brown pupils just as his lips curled further into its minuscule smile. Kim might've missed it, had he not been looking as closely as he was.

Standing up, Deruth made his way around the desk to kneel before his youngest son. They were both silent as his hands lifted to gently rest themselves over Kim's shoulders, too small to be shouldering any sort of burden, too young to be dealing with the affairs of adults. The guilt of— of everything, frankly, began swarming up within him once again and it was difficult to reign in the full extent of his emotion.

”... You don’t have to do anything, Kim," Deruth murmured after debating with himself in the silence. "As you said earlier, everything can be done by my aid. All you have to do is continue studying as you've always been and play around with your brother. Your father can deal with everything— It's alright to depend on me, you know?”

Comforting, gentle... soothing to the cold that seemed to be permanently etched in the tips of Kim’s own fingers—Kim ignored how warm the heat of his father’s hands could even be felt over the cloth of his vest. He would've leaned into it, embraced the solace, but Kim refused to relish within it just yet, instead choosing to speak up before the warmth thawed at his resolve.

“... There is a merchant’s guild that I suggest you go with this time," he murmured, a little more quietly than he would've liked. Acknowledging this, he made sure to clear his throat and speak more steadily following this as he spoke. "They may be small but I heard good things about how they run business. It might be beneficial for us to go with them this winter while they're still in the city.”

His father’s hands stilled, twitching faintly. It was obvious he didn't expect him to continue bringing it up, probably assuming he had managed to convince him to drop the topic. But Kim supposed he always had a sliver of a stubborn streak running amok within him, and to keep it all bottled to himself was a waste of his natural gifts.

“... Which business are you talking about? And from whom did you hear about them?”

“The Hirschel Merchant Guild, Father. Sir Billos from the teahouse was the one who recommended them.”

“..... Sir Billos...” Deruth’s eyes twinged in recognition, and a faint wrinkle appeared over the bridge of his nose, expression almost sour. “The owner of the tea house you’ve been visiting lately?”

“Yes, father.”

“... Ha." 

Was that irritation he saw spark in his father's eyes?

"Thank you for the suggestion, Kim. But we’re already on friendly terms with the Flynn's, you know? It would be difficult for us to suddenly switch who we deal with all of a sudden, especially when the guild you mentioned is quite relatively small—even more so if compared to, say, the Singten Guild...”

Kim nearly could've rolled his eyes at the response. “It is unfair of you to bring up the Singten Merchant Guild when they mainly operate in the Mogoru Empire. Comparing what seems to be a humble caravan on the surface, recommended by Sir Billos himself, to a guild big only in name but not as much of influence in our territory that deals little with it—that's hardly fair.” Kim pressed on. “And no matter if he is the Flynn head's bastard son, he was the one who people were pushing for to become the guild's next leader due to his talents as a merchant. With such praise as his backing, wouldn't it make sense to trust his eye and word?”

Deruth’s eyes stared right into his, blank as if he hadn’t a clue on who he was looking at despite Kim standing so apparent before him. But regardless of this, Kim didn't dare falter in his words, because this was something that had to be done and he knew that it would be important for this thread of fate to be spun.

It was a gamble. A huge stride in which a single misstep could cause a fall.

Violan Hirschel—the leader of her own small guild, if what Billos told him was right. If patrons as big as the Henituse Family were to call for them, they wouldn't dare send anyone lesser than Madam Hirschel herself as the merchant representative, would they?

Kim clenched his fist.

… But who said they had to meet?

Nothing in this universe outside of a book he read years ago on a day off said that Violan and Deruth Henituse had to cross paths.

This was an impulsive decision, he would bitterly admit. One that he should've taken more time to think about, probably not when he was already in the middle of a talk with his father and driven by emotion. He didn't know what prompted such an irrational train of thought to sway him off his feet in a way he'd think uncharacteristic of himself, but Kim quickly steeled himself up, brushing off any unnecessary baggage in his mind.

He was already pushing this cart of his down a hill, there was no way to turn back. He could always try tipping it over to get off the tracks, but who knows what kind of off-hill tumble that would result in?

Love doesn't happen immediately, anyway.

Besides.

Kim thought back to his father's hunched back as he wandered aimlessly through the withered rose gardens. It was with mournful nuances that he himself couldn't understand that prompted his following thoughts to spur on.

… When was the last time his father talked to anyone outside of his children, his aids, or the servants of the manor? Closing himself off, withdrawing himself into his own shell—frankly, it was...

It was pitiful.

It hurt to look at this man.

It hurt to see him and remember how he was like before all of this happened.

An odd turmoil could be felt in Kim's chest, squirming, curling. He didn't know what to make of it—too foreign, too complicated for him to associate words with the twinge that permanently etched itself within him, clamouring stronger on some days more than others.

… if he were an adult, would his father be able to feel more at ease? If he wasn't Kim Henituse, but Kim Rok Soo who would be way past his mid-thirties, would he be able to bring more comfort and assistance to the man before him? It was hard to confide in a child, after all, no matter how mature they—or Kim, rather—acted.

“... My lord."

(A headache.)

"I firmly believe that one day Sir Billos will rise to the position he should have been due to succeed, had it not been for prejudice over his blood. It might take years, but I don’t believe such a thing to be impossible in the slightest."

(A migraine so painful was starting to blare under his skull.)

"I’ve gotten to know him these past few weeks and recognizing dwindling patience isn’t something I am blind to, no matter how subtle or deeply rooted.”

Obtaining the Indestructible Shield… Kim didn’t let the large amounts of time he spent trying to sate that overwhelmingly gluttonous tree become nothing but an excessive waste of time. Since he was already passing through town anyway it became normal for him to take small detours to ‘The Fragrance of Tea and Poetry’—beneficial with how it served as a valid cover and excuse for him to want to leave the estate and do his actual business, as well as an opportunity to cozy up to Sir Billos on the side whilst simultaneously enjoying a nice cup of tea with snacks.

“... And with how friendly of a relationship I have with him now, I believe it would prove to be beneficial to us in the long run if I keep it up until the day he eventually rises into his position.”

His father was silent as he stared at him, brown eyes swirling with emotions Kim didn’t want to bother identifying.

No words were exchanged any further, either, because while Kim had many of those swarming inside his head, he had already gotten a good portion of them out, and felt drained with just how much he had rattled himself off. He wondered if it was normal for eight-year-old children to feel this tired at such a young age, but he then supposed it only made sense since in no way was he a normal child in the first place. But if this was the price he had to pay for remembering another life, or retaining memories of life before transmigration—he was never quite sure of the reasoning behind why he still remembered being Kim Rok Soo—he honestly wasn’t sure if it could be called either beneficial or a burden.

A soft chuckle finally made itself heard, bringing an end to the silence between them, as well as serving to tear Kim away from his thoughts. Cutting swift like a guillotine, soft like a heated knife, it was almost sad in the way it wafted through Deruth's throat.

Kim watched with steady eyes as the man that was his father bowed his head, his wavy brown hair brushing against the crook of Kim’s neck. It was a sudden thing to find the hands on his shoulders slowly stretching out towards him, something he didn't expect in the slightest to come out of this conversation he thought would play out in all due professionalism and civility. But the touch was light as Kim was gently pulled into a hug, so delicate he nearly felt compelled to let himself fall into it—an instinct he couldn't resist.

Somewhat taken off-guard, Kim let his hand hover around the air at a loss before he finally allowed himself to embrace his father’s back, softly rubbing his smaller palms over the fur of his father’s coat.

One tap, another, then three... Kim was beginning to hear the sound of his own heart beating with how silent it was in the office, until his father's voice finally slipped through to quietly break it through.

“Kim… Kim, you don’t...”

A small hitch of the breath, strangled, hesitant.

Oddly followed by the sniff of a clogged nose, it was paired as well with the slight tightening of the warm arms around him. Kim had to raise his chin slightly to avoid getting buried in the fur, the expensive strands tickling his nose as they brushed against his face in dainty waves.

“Kim, you don’t have to do so much... You don’t have to think so far ahead.."

Unable to find it in himself to refute and comment on it no matter how much he would've liked to say otherwise, Kim merely allowed his father to say the words that he was struggling to deliver in all gentleness.

"Your father is thankful beyond words for having a son as mature and considerate as you, but… but it’s alright to take it slow, you know?”

Fingers ran through his hair, gentle as they brushed and played with the strands. Only then did Kim realize how long his fringe had gotten—never being one to care for its length or appearance. But he remembered how Mother loved playing with it, softly humming while she combed through with slender fingers, the way she said he resembled her in this manner with pride and delightful joy—and couldn't bring himself to want to trim it at all.

"Kim, how old are you again?"

"I am…"

(In another life, he would've been in his forties, wouldn’t he?

Frankly, it was a tiring thing to think about—his own self-identity.)

".. I am eight years of age."

"That's right," Deruth softly repeated, patting his head with a touch no different than his tone of voice. "You're only eight, Kim. There's no need to grow so fast."

“... I am growing at the rate of the average child,” Kim murmured. Shifting his head, his words slightly muffled against the fur of his father’s robe, as if trying to conceal as much petulance as he could get away with.

Such an off-hand retort prompted a chuckle out of his father, at the very least, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Deruth heard the small grumble in his tone upon delivering those words. Still, Kim found himself closing his eyes at the sound, relishing in the lightness of it, the urge to record both this sound and sensation to replace whatever memories he had in his mind of a haggard man, unsightly bawling in front of a lowered coffin amidst red fallen leaves.

He hadn't noticed when exactly it was that he started finding small comfort in the warmth the man before him provided, lulled by the deep voice beside his ear and the soothing feel of fingers brushing his hair. Years ago, in another life, he never would've thought such a thing to be possible. But like most of his recent revelations, it seemed to have been gradual and developed without notice—and it was things like these that reminded him of just how comfortable he has gotten in this new second life of his.

“Oh, Kim...” Deruth chuckled, the overwhelming fondness so warm and deep—way too much for Kim to even know what to do with it. It felt like it was enough to last him several lifetimes, and there wasn’t a doubt in the world that he would be seared by this sensation for the rest of his life.

The amused huff left his father's lips tickled his ears, ever so unused to such things, but Kim refrained from squirming away because he knew his father was affectionate but not always physically—though he seemed to rather enjoy handing out pocket money whenever he could, which was something Kim certainly wasn’t ever going to complain about. So he allowed his father to indulge in this small moment of theirs, one that Kim, again, wasn’t sure if he could ever get used to quite yet—if not ever, who knows, he’ll have to wait and see— but didn’t exactly mind nonetheless.

“Don’t grow up too quickly, understand?" his father repeated once more, his voice approaching a pleading tone, hopeful, wishing—as if Kim maturing quickly would be something that’d bring him guilty sorrow instead of relieved delight. "Focus on your studies, laze around in the library, take naps in the sun—but not too excessively, of course. You need to exercise as well, so play around with your brother sometimes, too. And you know that he might get lonely with how often you leave the estate without telling him.”

Pausing, Kim thought back to the boy he had dismissed so abruptly upon entering through the main foyer. Only now did he register how the other's habitual warmth had long disappeared from his side during the past few weeks—found himself strangely missing it, in fact, now that it was no longer as familiar and freshly ingrained in his mind.

Slowly, while looking at the ground, he nodded.

“... alright.”

Deruth smiled, taking in how his youngest son's eyes weakly lowered in resignation, lashes hooding over his reddish-brown eyes while his shoulders went slump. The sight made him both want to chuckle and tear up a little when he saw how different his son held himself once relieved of whatever invisible weight was wearing them down, visibly relaxing in posture.

This child of mine, he thought in both fondness and exasperation. Always going about acting as if he were due to bear responsibility that shouldn't be his in the first place.

And it was like so that Ron came knocking in, carrying in a silver tray with eyes that shone in a light way too knowing for someone who shouldn't have silently been listening in the whole time. But Deruth has known him for quite a while and had no qualms with his eccentric behaviour, saying nothing about it as he accepted the two porcelain cups of rose tea that he was handed, the liquid as red and lovely as the hair of those he found most dearest to him.

The aroma of roses wafted around the air like a familiar and comforting perfume, and he relished in the short silence that overcame the room soon after.

"Father?" his son then lightly spoke up, his face just slightly hovering above the rim of his cup.

"Hm? Yes, what is it?"

"..... We have a lot of money, don't we?"

"Ho? We do, indeed," Deruth couldn't help but quirk his lips up in a boastful but subtle manner. It wasn't every day that Kim expressed his awe in the grand wealth their family had in the confines of their treasuries, wasn't it?

Kim offered him an angelic smile. A sweet, adorable little thing it would've appeared to be, had his next words not been what they were.

"Then I'm sure any loss of profit that would come from putting aside the Flynn Merchant Guild in favour of another would be of no consequence to our ties and pockets."

"....."

Deruth slowly averted his gaze while sipping at his tea. Suddenly, he felt that it tasted rather bitter.

“Father.” A small hand tugged at the edge of his coat—an act that would've been cute, had it been under different circumstances. “It’s unbefitting of someone your age to ignore things you don’t feel like hearing.”

"..... Fine," he conceded, almost in a resigned huff. "I'll have them send us a merchant representative once I have the list of preparations done."

"Thank you, Father," Kim smiled docilely, his lashes fanning over his gently squinted eyes. "I'm sure you'll be impressed with how they run their affairs. Sir Billos recommended them to me personally, after all."

"......... Of course, of course… Sir Billos' own personal recommendation, huh… Sir Billos….."

Within the next few hours, Billos received two letters at his humble tea house doorstep, both of which were engraved with the prestigious and flashy seal of the Henituse Family’s golden turtle crest.

It was with a small headache pulsating near his temple that he read the first letter (consisting of flowery words that were, in all honesty, nothing but well-disguised threats, treading along the lines of "You pray best be watching your mouth around my son, or else—" or "You better not be telling my son some weird things, or else—" or even, "I hope you're not treating my son discourteously, or else—" as well as, "Make sure you keep adult affairs with adults, don't drag my son into business he has no reason implicating himself in, oR eLSe—") and with an even bigger migraine when he read the second (consisting of a single, much shorter phrase—yet just as, if not more, headache inducing than the former: "I told my father you recommended the Hirschel Merchant Guild, so if he asks, don't bother racking your brain thinking it over, just confirm it," as if his father wasn't asking a billion other things that were completely unrelated to what the young boy just wrote to him about).

He wondered if it was a hereditary skill for Henituses to be able to give him such painful headaches.

"Brother."

Upon hearing his name get called by a voice he knew all too well, Cale immediately snapped his head up, the movement so sudden it surely would've given the average child a strained neck. Fortunately, Cale Henituse was everything but the average child, with his body well adjusted to higher levels of strain and strength.

It was a little further away from him that his brother stood, dressed as usual in dark and simple—yet in no way less expensive—clothes, a stark contrast to Cale's own, even when Cale was wearing but a simple training outfit as to not damage any of his fancier clothing.

Startled, he momentarily lost his footing, but just as he had observed and been taught by his family's knights, Cale was quickly able to regain his stance. Kim noticed his brother's small blunder easily, however—his gaze sharp as per usual—and let out a sigh-like laugh at the sight.

"You can't do any better," Cale snarked upon noticing his brother's amused gaze.

Kim snorted. "Of course I can't. Brother is the swordsman between us."

"..... Yeah, well.... you could be one too if you decided to attend the lessons with me."

There were undertones of a whine deeply seeped in those words, but unlike the childish, puppy-like tone his brother would often take on, Kim found that this one was more withdrawn and bitter than usual.

It was silent between them, still tinged faintly with the awkwardness that stemmed from their last exchange.

Ha, seriously...

"I'm going to the study."

Cale's eyes left the sword he held limply in his hands and slowly met his sibling's.

For anyone else, it would’ve been a remark that came out of nowhere.

But to Cale who knew his brother best, he was aware that Kim wouldn't have bothered announcing something when there wasn't a need to. He saw how his brother waited there even after saying those few words, different than how he would usually do— Announce and then take his leave without waiting for anyone, anything, as if expecting no one to be there at the spaces by his side.

Immediately, Cale’s face took on a familiar pout, whining as soon as he took in the underlying message.

"But I don't like reading the dumb things you have in the study..."

You could've just said you wouldn't mind it if I joined you.

"So? I do."

If you don't want to come, then don't come.

Cale glanced back at the training dummy he had ruthlessly been digging at for the last hour, once the servants had left him alone to his own devices. Just previously, he had been warming himself at the fireplace until the same restlessness that never seemed to leave him these days came back like a whiplash he couldn’t prepare himself for. Like a shiver that made him tremor even without the cold, he decided to work it out in the best way he knew of—in the indoor training hall, this time, instead of the chilling outdoors.

The straw dummy before him was half titled—almost comically so. Then, if one were to consider how it was double Cale's own size, it was even more laughable— laughable in an odd sense of disbelief and astonishment when you took into account that an eight-year-old was the cause of such casualty, already able to be so ruthless at such a young age.

His wooden training sword's blunting blade had seen much during their time together, it seemed, and these days had constantly been meeting with gradually snapping straw. He’d have to get a new one at some point, if this were to continue on, there wasn't a doubt.

With a click of his tongue, Kim appeared to have grown impatient upon seeing his brother lose himself in the invisible eyes of his sword.

"You take too long to respond,” he scoffed, already turning his chin away. “I'm leaving."

"Wha—!!" Cale snapped his head up in baffled outrage. "Hey!!! Wait for me!"

"Did I invite you?"

"You did!" Cale grinned, quickly hooking his sword back to his belt. Quickening his pace to catch up to his brother, he was unable to dismiss the giddiness welling up within him with each step. "You did, you just did!!"

"Hah. It's admirable how you seem to interpret people's words differently than they should be. And didn't you just say you didn't like reading?"

"You'll read enough for the both of us!" 

With a laugh, Cale regained his spot by Kim's side, hooking their arms like he's grown used to doing after so many years. Kim made no sign of shrugging him off this time and it made Cale want to laugh even harder—roll across the floor, even, or do a thousand squats or jumping jacks in his overwhelming sense of elation—and it was hilarious, because he was still a little sweaty from the exertion he had put himself through just a few minutes ago, yet Kim did nothing but wrinkle his nose instead of pushing him back like he would’ve done in any other circumstance.

"Whatever. I'm still not going to help you cheat for our next history paper."

"..... How cruel."

"It's not cruel if it gets you to study and learn the subject on your own."

".......... so cruel."

But as he kicked pitifully at the ground, Cale made no move to ask what business his brother had with their father. It wasn't his place, after all, what affairs Kim conducted that he saw no need in shared with him. Cale would like it if he did, of course, because didn't brothers share everything with each other? But he has known Kim Henituse for eight years, and that was enough for him to know when to pry and when to not.

And judging by the distant, withdrawn gaze in which his brother carried himself with—as he flipped through books that were not short story novellas or trashy recueils of poetry, this time, but volumes detailing the history of the kingdom's households in all the different factions, instead—it would be better than to pry.

But he also knew that one way to get to know Kim Henituse better, if not through paying intensive attention to his smaller action, was to ask outright without going around.

"Why are you reading that?"

As expect of his brother, Kim replied quickly.

"Didn't our teachers say we'll have to be attending noble gatherings soon as representatives of our house?" his brother quipped lightly, tone nonchalant enough to reveal nothing of his own actual intent. "It's best to get a head start in knowing who we'll have to deal with sooner or later."

With his reddish-brown eyes focusing intensely as he flipped through the book at an almost skimming pace, Kim didn't even look up as he spoke, much too engrossed in what he was currently breezing through. It wasn’t rare for Cale to wonder how this brother of his was able to read so fast, when it barely looked like he took the time to linger on a single page at all. 

A small huff left his brother's lips as he lifted one hand to undo the first button of his shirt, and it was briefly that Cale thought he saw a faint flush covering his brother's face. It was almost as if he was currently heating up despite it being in the middle of winter, and upon looking to the side, he noticed that the fireplace of the study wasn’t even lit to warm the room.

Silently, he opened his own book— much less informative and more on the narrative side of things, something immersive that would help him keep his mind off the odd intensity flowing through his brother’s gaze. Had he not known better, he would’ve thought he was trying to record the contents of that boring book—though, knowing his brother and his penchant for memorization, he wouldn’t even be surprised if that was the case.

It was with a slightly dampened mood that Cale realized there was still some distance between them. He didn’t know how much longer he could take this, his patience akin to a rubber band being continuously stretched until it was difficult to tell when it would finally snap.

But still.

Still.

Cale shuffled his chair over to his brother’s, dragging it across the carpeted floor in broken intervals, successfully serving to make Kim’s ears twitch with each dull thud he made resonate throughout the study. With one last grunt, Cale managed to place his seat next to Kim’s and without notice prior let his head abruptly fall to the side, successfully landing it on his brother’s shoulder.

Reddish-brown eyes similar to his finally flicked in his direction with faint annoyance, and Cale couldn’t help but snicker, blowing some of his brother’s long hair out from where it fell over his face.

“It’s comfortable,” he hummed, casually reading the page his brother was currently on. Something about a lily flower crest and a fallen noble family, before his brother scoffed and turned to the next page before he could see any further. “... maybe a little too bony.”

“If I’m too bony for your liking, why don’t you lay your heavy head somewhere else," Kim all but deadpanned. "It’s already stuffy enough in here with you just being in the room.”

“Nah, I’m too tired to get up. You can just push me off if I’m annoying.”

“Ha. Maybe I will.”

Kim's tone might’ve been stern and unwavering when he said those words, but predictably enough, he didn’t play them through.

And just like that, silence regained the study once more. Cale was once again left to his own thoughts, the novel in his hands long forgotten with how long it laid unopened in his loose grip.

—Still, he resumed, a whisper that sounded even quieter within the confines of his head.

He’ll wait a little longer.

Just a little bit.

And then, if nothing changes, I…

Lulled to sleep by the weird melody produced by steadily flipping pages and the warmth of his brother’s shoulder, moving in sync to his every breath, Cale eventually fell asleep.

(Like a rattling kettle of boiling water, the lid remained tightly shut.)

Chapter Text

Kim placed his pouch of coins onto the wooden surface of the bakery counter.

It seemed the baker had already heard rumours of a hooded young boy vacating the stock of nearly every bakery in town, and had already prepared a large bag beforehand to give to him.

As thankful as he was for the quick work, the fact that the baker seemed to predict with certainty they would eventually be visited by him at some point meant that his actions were starting to get noticed—and that in itself was a problem. His father was the lord of the territory, after all, and surely if this went on any further, there was no doubt that his cover story at Sir Billos’ would fall flat in its competency.

Not to mention, with guards stationed everywhere to act as the count’s eyes and ears, Kim clicked his tongue at the reminder that this really couldn’t go on for any longer than he was dragging it out for.

Storing the bags of bread inside the pouch, Kim watched as sac after sac lost themselves to the void of the magical device.

Clenching his fists, he released a steady sigh.

Let’s see how much I can stretch the limits of this spatial bag.

Unsurprising considering the discounted price, Sir Billos didn’t give him one with a particularly impressive limited capacity. It was enough to relieve his physical burdens, though not so much in reducing the one currently bleeding out in his pockets. But the Henituse treasury stored a lot of money, he reasoned while exiting his fifth bakery, so whatever lack of funds he experienced could easily find remedy in a check his father would no doubt procure for him without question. He had to wonder, however, how far he could get away with spending so much in so little time. No matter how indulging a wealthy parent could be, limits had to be reached at some point.

But that didn’t matter.

This would be the last time he’d have to go venturing out like this.

Once he obtained the shield, he would return to the manor and succumb to whatever whim his annoying brother wanted, bidding farewell to the sight and smell of the slums forever.

He would do as Deruth wanted: study, eat healthily, rest well, take it slow—maybe he'd even humour Cale while he's at it because like his father just told him, Kim was eight-years-old, and that was what eight-year-olds were supposed to do.

But it would be naive of him to think he could truly allow himself to relax enough to that extent, wouldn't it?

Kim cracked a bitter smile.

There were still many things to prepare himself for until the Hirschel Guild’s representative arrived at their estate, after all. He couldn’t afford to slack off after achieving only a small advancement in his plans. Ten years was an incredibly long period of time, after all, and this was but a mere step out of several many.

But while he was at it, maybe he could take a peek at what was missing in the estate that would be set apart from whatever list his father would be settling for the hivernal preparations.

Maybe a few more training dummies for the knights or even a set of training swords, since his brother seemed adamant in destroying most of the ones he used. If they requested only the highest of quality that they would pay in large amounts, maybe that would help appease the Flynn’s Guild for choosing another partner over them.

After all, they were requesting the Hirschel’s for winter preparations in specific, and had no obligation to commission their services in elsewhere affairs when they could easily be covered by the Flynn’s.

With that, they'll be able to indirectly confirm the Henituses haven't decided to completely cut off ties—but even without it, shouldn't it already be plenty obvious? Should one do even the slightest bit of research on the Hirschel Guild, they'd immediately know. Small as they were, it would be absurd to think a house as big as the Henituses would think of choosing them over the reputable Flynn Merchant Guild.

And while Sir Billos was sure to take over as head of the guild in the future, a decade was still a decade, and if there was a way to keep his house’s relations with the Flynns passive in the meanwhile, then there was no reason for him to pass over it. They were already intimate in the first place—a single occasion such as this shouldn't be much to deter them, but either way, they most probably have plenty of other wealthy patrons in different territories.

And at best, perhaps, this unusual decision to indulge in a small business could be summed up as a whim of the rich. 

With this train of thought, Kim felt the corners of his lip twitch up briefly.

It could work.

He would have to visit the training hall or ask Cale for his insight since he was the rapidly growing cause of so much recent training material being destroyed in the first place. Maybe he even had some things he’d want or like to have replaced. If so, Kim would have to make sure their father only asked for the most high quality and expensive wares from the Flynn's, but knowing Deruth Henituse, the man would no doubt already be throwing open several vaults worth of money should he learn it was to be spent on Cale, even without Kim asking him to.

What a doting man, that father of theirs was.

… In contrast, Kim was truly proving to be a troublesome son.

Feeling the damp and muddy soil of the slums stick to the soles of his boots, Kim sighed.

“O- Oh!”

A familiar voice greeted him at the same spot it always lingered around.

“Hello again,” Ginger greeted clumsily, his bony wrist lifting up to send him a short wave.

This sort of scene was no doubt familiar to Kim, who has encountered it for several days already. It was for that reason exactly that made it easier for him to notice what was amiss in the routine he had grown used to, every time he came to the slums.

This time, however, not a single cat could be seen surrounding Ginger’s feet, usually lazing around content and purring as they were pampered by the young teen. His disposition was also more nervous than usual, even more so than he was during their first encounter. He looked more shaken, more… scared, dare he say. Twitchy, on edge—not unlike those wary and territorial stray cats he seemed so fond of befriending in his spare time.

And then a voice most unfamiliar to Kim spoke up.

“Who’s this, Hans?”

Croaky, rough. Slurred in pronunciation and in all honesty, grating to the ear.

Kim slowly turned his head.

“Uncle...” Ginger— (Hans, Kim tested privately to himself. It occurred to him that he’s never asked the boy for his name, though understandably, considering the nature of their relationship)—awkwardly turned to the older man. “This is- um, my friend. You know..”

They weren’t friends, though Kim made no move to correct him.

It was much too complicated— calling them both ‘friends’ was much more simple than saying they were being mutually advantageous to each other’s needs—he’d even go as far as to admit ‘friends with benefits’ would be more accurate, but again, 1) they weren’t quite friends, and 2) though they did bring each other benefits, the connotation was, in all honesty, plain wrong. He’ll stick with a simple ‘friends.’

Walking closer, Kim immediately made a move to hide his urge to crinkle his nose. The air smelt strongly of booze, most likely coming from the bottle being held in the older man’s hand. But it didn't take an alcoholic to know that it was impossible for such a strong stench to permeate from only a single bottle, so Kim naturally presumed the man had been drinking elsewhere, long before he had arrived.

But still…

Kim paused, his eyes lingering over Ginger—Hans’s—mildly uncomfortable face.

For someone that was presumably the young teen’s uncle, he was sure blind to the discomfort of his own nephew. It wouldn't be surprising if the overwhelming stench of booze played a big contributing factor as to why there was a significant lack of cats this time around, most likely all having been driven away when their sensitive noses could no longer support the overload.

Kim was even surprised the young teen himself hadn’t gotten up and moved away yet. As he was now, he was sitting rather close to his uncle, knees brought to his chest while his bony hands awkwardly wrapped themselves around them.

No.

Rather…

Kim slowly shifted his gaze to the young teen’s uncle, taking note of the deep red flush and the glassy look in the older man’s eyes, very telling of his intoxicated state.

Rather, he’d say it was the uncle that was sitting too close to Hans.

With his unoccupied arm slung heavily over the boy’s shoulders, it was quite obvious to anyone with a pair of functioning eyes that it was a rather encasing, unnatural grip, as if he was forcing the young teen in spot under pretenses of acting familiar when the other party was so visibly uncomfortable.

In a way, the scene before him reminded Kim of unpleasant childhood memories from a vastly different life.

“Oh…? So this the friend you told me ‘bout a while back?"

Droopy eyes fell over Kim’s cloaked figure, dragging over his form in a truly unpleasant way.

“Our benefactor, huh? The mysterious kid with plen’y a’ food and money…"

A truly revolting stare was being directed in his direction. The greed was palpable and intense, something Kim felt his hair stand up at at the mere sight of.

Not even he, who coveted richesses without shame and thrived in his newfound wealth, would allow for his own avarice to be as disgustingly obvious as the man before him was currently displaying.

Filthy, he couldn't help but think. The young teen would be better off several kilometres away from that uncle of his. His odd innocence felt misplaced lingering around this kind of person.

"... I'll be going now."

"Oh!" Hans's grey eyes shook briefly before they stilled as if it had never been wavering beforehand. "Good- Goodbye!"

See you later, was the answer Kim was most familiar with.

Without having meant to, Kim's eyes were immediately drawn back to the man seated beside the young teen, and it was with complicated emotions that Kim watched the man swiftly snap his head towards his nephew, the expression on his visage shift more aggressively than anything a family member should be giving to one of their own.

"Hans," he gritted lowly. "You told me—"

"He's busy," Hans rapidly cut in, face so pale it was concerning. "He has business to do, we shouldn't disturb him."

Troublesome. Kim angled himself away from the scene before him, yearning more than ever for the ancient power just a few minutes away from his grasp that would certainly be useful for this sort of situation. As he was currently, there was very little he could make use of, besides his own words and wits—but even so, such things weren't always enough. 

Before he could take his first step, however, a bottle was flung just a little past his head, crashing with a deafening sound right near his ear.

A few drops of the alcohol managed to stain the hems of his coat before it ultimately crashed into the walls of the opposite building. Flinching to the side, the stained glass shards shattered right where Kim's head had just been before he angled his body, scattering so close to Kim's face it would've been dangerous had he not been wearing his hood.

"Uncle—!!"

The shriek that left the ginger's head was panicked, high, hysterical in its franticity. Kim himself felt rather out of it, staring at the wet stain on the wall a little away from him, and the remnants of the bottle that might as well have been flung right at him had it not been for the inaccuracies of drunken aim and his own reflexes.

Crazy, he blanked to himself with an increasing sense of danger, an odd sense of white stuffing filling his head until things began to echo.

Through the haze, alarm bells rang loud in his ears, and it didn't take long before even the hairs on his body stood on edge.

... This man is a crazy bastard.

"My 'pologies—" the older man smiled, teeth on full display as he gripped tight at the wrist of his nephew who had no doubt shot out to stop him. "It's the booze."

Kim eyed how large the man's hand appeared as it clamped down harshly on the young teen's thin wrists, and slowly responded. "...The booze, indeed."

"You should go," Hans quickly spoke up, cutting the other two's exchange short. "You'll—"

His eyes shook as they met gazes, as if trying to transmit another message despite his cheerful smile.

"You'll come back, right?"

Don't come back.

"See you later!"

Just leave.

The older man's reddened complexion calmed a bit at the words being said before him. His ugly demeanour soon softened up, a crooked smile appearing on his mug as he directed himself towards the young child dressed wrapped in a dark, but thick cloak.

"That's righ'," he sighed heavily, slumping back against the wall from where he had previously lunged. "This is our benefactor, 'sn't it? I'm sure he'll come back an' give us reimbursement for taking up our Hans’s precious time."

Dark eyes slid over to his.

"Right?"

Kim met the stare head-on, unwavering.

"Of course."

His smile was gentle, voice so soft it could pass without qualms as warm and angelic.

"Your nephew has been a big help to me. How could I not compensate him for his services? Here, I even have some bread to spare. You should take it, Hans."

Hans's head snapped up, face clouded in disbelief and incredulity—amongst many things, he had never heard the younger boy say his name before, after all.

With faintly quivering hands, he reached out to take hold of the bread.

And it was as the older man watched his nephew accept the food being offered to him that he laughed, his large hand reaching up to painfully ruffle the teen's head. Hans' upper body all but crumbled under the rough treatment, yet not a single grunt or complaint came out of him, remaining silent throughout.

"Well go on, then." The man leaned further back against the wall, his hand never leaving from where it was on the boy's head, fingers just a curl away from pulling at his orange hair. "You gotta come back to us quickly, don't you?"

"Of course."

Kim merely smiled, waving politely as he turned to climb uphill.

"Eat well."

And as he walked, he felt the familiar weight of gazes piercing his back once more, a sensation not foreign to him in these parts.

At the tender age of eight years old, Kim has gotten his first tattoo.

Well, it wasn’t actually a tattoo, but if anyone caught a glimpse of it, they would surely ask themselves what kind of parent would allow their young son to ever get such a thing permanently marked in his skin.

But it was rather pleasing to look at, Kim had to admit, and the real shield was even better. It was much better than a flimsy metal board, picked up on a whim and whose surface could so easily be bent. Silver and faintly translucent, the shield currently in front of him had wings on both sides and probably looked... a little too holy for his liking, but a shield was a shield, and Kim accepted it regardless of its appearance because he was aware it might one day come in handy for his protection, and he knew better than to complain about the appearance of what might potentially be the reason why he was still alive and kicking.

• DELICIOUS!! Absolutely delicious!!! Hey kiddo, you really know what good food is, don't you, huh?? Huh??? A real culinary connoisseur, aren't you!!! Lemme tell you, that third and tenth bag that you brought a while back—!

Although what he disliked the most out of this whole affair was probably the whole story that came upon the obtaining of the ancient power, after the priestess was done rating the quality of the food she had been fed over the weeks.

He had a feeling he had just learnt something he shouldn’t have had during the hungry priestess’ talk, but Kim was good at erasing stuff from his head if he didn't like what he heard, so he would probably be shoving his new knowledge into a folder and chuck it into the deepest pits of his head for now.

Sighing in satisfaction, he gathered his now empty bag and hastily made his way out of the fence. His good mood didn’t last long, however, because the second he stepped back into the slums, Kim was quickly reminded of the situation waiting for him once he caught ear of a few cries happening a little further away.

“—ou can’t hurt him!"

Kim's head lifted, piqued by the commotion ahead of him. Swiftly shoving his rented dimensional pocket back into his cloak, he made sure his hood was back on and well fitted to hide his hair.

“Wait!! No, don’t go any—!!”

“What’s going on here?” Kim questioned lightly, avoiding the wide-eyed stare the ginger-haired boy was sending his way.

"Oh, you’ finally back."

Hans' uncle appeared to have even worse of a complexion than before. The faint flush that covered his entire face now seemed to spread all the way down to his neck, painting him in vibrant colours that didn't complement his features in the slightest. Kim wouldn't be surprised if the man burst any time soon with how dangerously intoxicated he seemed to be as of now.

He all but clicked his tongue, fingers curling slightly into a fist before he let them relax once more.

The damn tree talked for far too long.

Upon scanning his eyes around, Kim then quickly took notice of the grip the man was holding around the young teen’s wrist. The sight made something subtle spark within him, unpleasant amongst many other things, and he couldn't help but take a step forward, though the older man spoke up before could say a single word.

“What happened to all that food y'were lugging around earlier? Gave it away so fast? Is that magic bag'a yours empty 'lready?"

Ignoring the words being spoken to him so coarsely, Kim slowly turned his gaze to meet the man’s eye.

“Can you let go of him?”

“Y- Young master—” Hans squeaked through a stutter. Pupils quivering, the sheer amount of distress on his face served greatly to bring attention to the cut near his left eye and the trail of blood now running down his face. On the ground, there laid several fractured shards of glass, no doubt from where a bottle had been dropped and broken.

"Sure, why not," the older man shrugged in response, before his lips soon into something half-akin to a sluggish smirk, before he lifted the wrist of the boy and shook it lightly. "Just continue giving me some pocket money for… for, say, the next few months? I'm sure that's…  'm sure that's no problem for our dearest benefactor?"

"Sure, that can happen," Kim agreed easily. "So let him go."

".. Well, that's too easy 'sn't it? How 'bout I… keep holding him 'til you own up to your side of the deal?"

At that, Kim nearly could've snorted. It was through sheer willpower that he held himself back from rolling his eyes.

"That can't happen."

Two children against one drunk man, Kim mused… He was sure the young teen would be smart enough to know their slight advantage, should they choose to engage. They might not have known each other for a year, but it had been a few weeks, and Kim knew enough to know the boy wasn't daft or clueless.

But upon hearing the words of blunt refusal, the man's red face contorted into something even uglier up than it already was, his eyes bulging and the veins on his forehead growing all the more pronounced. It was a hideous look on the man, and it irritated Kim to simply look at him.

"Then make it happen."

"Don't you think it's a little sad how you're trying to rob from a young child?" Kim tilted his head, all whilst subtly looking around at the food that had been spilt on the floor, as well as the belongings of the ginger that were now rolling in the dirt. "I gave these things to him. What right do you have to demand money and then throw these precious things to the ground as if they weren't just as important as the money you're asking for?"

Kim Henituse—no, Kim Rok Soo—had always valued these things.

Money and food.

Money was a given. They say happiness cannot be bought with money, but Kim was aware of how much that can be put up to debate. It was near impossible for a person to survive well in society if they didn't have the money to provide for themselves, and it went hand-in-hand with the matter of food.

No human could survive without it, especially not lonely orphans who had no one else to provide for them, besides the adults they had no choice but to rely on unless they wanted to go without.

And Kim Rok Soo remembered a time where he had to rely on other faceless adults to be fed. He also vividly remembered a scenario years after that strenuous time period where he had been starved of food for three days straight, looking up at a hole in the ceiling waiting for the next downpour of rain to soothe his thirst.

He knew the importance of good food; valued it more than ever after living through an experience such as that; valued it even tenfold more when he had been given a candy bar by a strong and gentle hand at the end of those very three gruelling days.

So the sight of the bread now caked in drying mud on the ground, dirty and nearly inedible, with some even having traces of being stomped over by a pair of large, muddy boots—it made his blood boil with incredible annoyance and indignation.

"... What bullshit this brat is telling me."

The man's face was red with fury and he roughly pushed the young teen in his hold away, not even paying a single ounce of attention to his own nephew that he had just thrown to the ground without a second glance.

"'Precious things', huh?" The man repeated through gritted teeth, his paces quickening rapidly the closer he got to Kim. With the proximity, he was able to catch an even stronger whiff of the alcohol the man had ceaselessly drowned himself in before he returned, and the overwhelming stench made Kim wrinkle his nose.

"'Precious things', you said," the man gripped his large hands tightly around the front of Kim's cloak, prompting him to stagger on his feet at the sudden contact as Ginger let out a shaky breath at the sudden development.

"Uncle, wait—!"

"Some people don't have precious things !" The man's spit flew in his sudden burst of rage, and Kim contemplated bringing out his shield—subtlety and staying low be damned. "So that's why we need money to buy s' more! That food on the ground, y'know, 't wasn't my fault. If that kid really treasured those 'precious things' then he wouldn't have let it fall in the first place!"

"L- Let him go!!" Hans yelled from where he was on the ground, one hand shakingly cradling the side of his face that had been cut above the eye. He had been pushed right where the broken shards had been scattered before Kim's arrival, and Kim noticed just then that his hands were becoming lathered in red cuts, skin splitting itself on the small shards.

Watching that boy try and stand despite all his injuries, Kim felt extreme annoyance. The injured should stay put and stay out, and not try and uselessly insert themselves in situations that would only serve to make things worse for themselves.

"Uncle," Hans' sobbed, slipping on the glass shards as he crawled his way to grip on the pants of the older man's leg. "Uncle." Tearfully, with a smile so shaken it was obvious he was trying to reel his emotions in, he offered the man a smile, as if trying to appease him to the best he could. "Uncle, please don't hurt him, he didn't do anything, he gave us— he already gave you so much, he's… he's just—"

Kicked across the face with mud-stained boots, he was unable to finish his sentence following the quick blow, and not a second later did Hans immediately found himself curling up as he clutched his cheek where a bruise was sure to form.

Kim's eyes flew wide open, then sharpened considerably as he started back to the older man.

"You damn—"

The hold around the collar of his cloak tightened and Kim felt his feet being lifted in the air.

"All I'm asking," the man breathed deeply as if trying to regain his patience, his breath smelling of booze hitting Kim in the face. "All I'm asking is for a large sum of money. Is that too hard to ask?"

"Yes," Kim lightly grunted, a blazing fury welling up within him as he prepared to summon the indestructible shield, but before he could do anything more, a hand connected with the side of his face with a clack, and Kim felt his vision spin.

Ringing filled his ears.

His vision went blindingly white.

He might've hit the ground soon after the blow—but he wasn't even sure if he ever landed at all.

Muffled. Numb.

"motherfuCKER—!!!"

He let out a sharp gasp.

The world around seemed to erupt into sudden uproars of screams and yells.

They muffled like fireworks into the shells of Kim's ringing ears, bouncing and thrashing against the very core of his walls. After the impact against his head against the ground, Kim's vision still had yet to clear, and all he could do was curl up faintly on the ground, staying as still as he could to help his senses return and equilibrate, the ringing in his ears loud and blaring.

He doesn't remember the last time he's ever been hit so hard.

Maybe in a different life.

Maybe in a different childhood.

The act of sitting still to get rid of pain is familiar in unfortunate ways—Kim never expected to experience it ever again.

Groaning through gritted teeth, he spotted the blurry figure of a man standing over him, a foot raised in the right motion to kick him in the side, but just as he shakingly lifted his hand, preparing to summon the shield to save his hide, a blur entered his field of vision, so suddenly it couldn't be called a coincidence.

"YOU FUCKER!!!!!!"

—Noise returned to Kim's ears in an instant, narrowing down on a voice he knew all too dearly.

"You dare lay a hand on my BROTHER!!!!"

Blinking through the haze his vision had been clouded in, he slowly retracted his hand, momentarily shocked by the display before him that might as well have come out of nowhere. 

"... Wh—"

"TRY AND TOUCH HIM ONE MORE TIME—!!!"

A blur of bright red lept in front of him, and he soon noticed his reckless brother older than him by only a few minutes furiously beating a grown man with his wooden practice sword.

"BASTARD!! LOW-LIFE!! PIECE OF ROTTEN DOG SHIT TRASH—!!"

Calming the beating of his heart, Kim called back the faint wisps of silver light that had only just begun to gather around his hand to stare, taken aback at the sight of his brother's red hair and how it appeared like fire underneath the sun, vibrant and wild, just as dangerous as the glint in his eyes.

Pushing himself back up, Kim winced at the few shards of glass and rocks that had dug into his skin from his small tumble on the ground.

"Brother—" he called out, slowly getting back on his feet. He swayed for a moment, the dull pain returning like a sharp stab in his head, and he hissed lightly at the sensation. But that tiny groan of pain was enough to prompt something in Cale to snap, his eyes growing large and wide at the sight of his weaker younger brother holding the side of his head, face scrunched up slightly in pain that was no doubt stronger than the boy would outwardly display.

And the last straw had been the sight of his brother's blood, just as red as Kim's own hair, Cale's hair—ɯoʇɥǝɹ,s ɥɐıɹ—scattered and smeared across those uncalloused hands that he knew disliked injury and pain.

A heat akin to a thousand suns blazed up within him, coursing through his every vein like streams of molten fire, so sudden and so strong it made him shake and tremble from head to toe, so overwhelming he hadn't clue on what to do with it.

(His brother is hurt.)

Tightening his grip around his wooden sword—wood, wHY WOOD OF ALL THINGS—Cale thought nothing of his action as he continued raining blow after blow against the man's howling form on the ground, even as he began hearing pleas for mercy and grunts of pain, cracks from where forearms are mercilessly beaten down.

But that wasn't enough.

(His brother is hurt.)

It wouldn't ever be enough.

A drop of blood spilt by even the slightest of wounds on his brother’s flesh merited a whole bucket to be drawn from to one who inflicted it.

(HE LET HIS BROTHER GET—)

Cale felt the fury within him burst in swarms, waves of anger and resentment curling and piling widely together in a reaction that bubbled in impulsive strength.

And then—

A touch that was small and steady, so light it might as well be a whisper, yet powerful enough to jolt him like a strike of thunder.

Cale stilled in an abrupt jerk, the sensation of something familiar luring his head to look behind him, and it was there that he met the cool stare of a face near-identical to his own.

The sight of his brother's unshakable gaze dousing him back into consciousness, presence washing over him like sprinkled mist.

"Cale."

He felt his entire body tremble at the sound of his name being called so calmly, breathing heavy and muscles tense.

The hand around his shoulder squeezed a little more firmly.

"Cale, it's alright."

With quivering fingers, Cale felt the embers die out, adrenaline-driven anger and energy quickly depleting as his practice sword slipped from his weakened grasp.

Falling to the ground, the wood snapped and splintered down the middle, the wet mud caking over the other stains on its surface.

Being presented with the sudden opportunity, the now-sober man hesitated not a second to get back on his feet to pick himself up and flee, stumbling more often than once as he scrambled away.

Sharper than ever seen before, Cale's eyes wasted not a second in snapping towards his direction, his vision narrowing onto the man’s fleeing figure just a couple of meters away. Fists trembling, his feet quickly moved to follow suit—but when his brother's hands turned his head, keeping it still so that he didn't look anywhere but at him, Cale found himself unable to bring his body to move another inch.

"Let him go."

"Kim—"

"No. Let him go."

The sides of his face were squeezed hard, remnants of baby fat jutting out to render his squished mouth useless. But Cale felt one of his cheeks smear on the blood on his sibling's hand and found his anger igniting all over, the wet sensation making him want to pull away immediately and douse his brother in only the most expensive medicines and potions that very instant.

"... What happened to all the graceful and cool sword moves you kept telling me you've learnt, huh?" Kim muttered after a small silence that consisted of nothing but his brother’s heaving breathing, painstakingly trying to regulate itself in an exercise he had been taught to help facilitate controlling anger. "Stupid..."

Cale's eyes snapped up to his, the red tints of his brown irises only appearing all the more vibrant when fueled by his anger.

"You don't get to call me stupid," Cale bristled, his rage bubbling up yet again, feeling wronged, insulted. He felt something within him break, different than how it was when he saw this younger twin brother of his wince in pain, different in a way that it felt as if a dam had broken and there was now no way to stop it.

"I'm not— I'm not the one who keeps sneaking out of the house, I'm not the one who's heading out to the slums of all places every other day, doing gods know WHAT!!"

Kim's finger twitched, somewhat taken aback by the sudden outburst before him as if he hadn’t a clue on where it was coming from.

"You don't tell anyone where you're going, what you're doing, and even Ron tells me hasn't a clue except that you're 'heading out into the city' but even THAT'S not true!"

"Cale—"

"No!! Shut up, SHUT UP!!"

The lid of the kettle rattles open, a rubber band snaps, and a pair of hands reached out to grab him by the front of his cloak. It was quick and impulsive, but unlike the hands of the man from earlier, large and disgustingly hot and that aimed to threaten, Cale's was desperate, fragile, shaking with an influx of emotions that cried to not be disregarded.

Kim stared at the numerous calluses that had formed on his brother's previously unscarred hands.

He saw the small cuts, the bandages, the new bumps, scars and bruises that had formed after several weeks of practice wielding the now-broken wooden sword on the ground between them.

"Kim, I—"

His brother's voice was heated and shaky, his chest heaving with every breath. Kim didn't know what to do besides remain quiet, at a loss, and let his brother vent.

"Kim, I couldn't protect mother," Cale's lightly scarred hands continued shaking from where he clutched at the front of his brother's cloak. "Kim, there was nothing I could do to help mother. A sword couldn't do anything to help her, no matter how much I practiced and trained."

"I know," he responded with a small, uneasy frown, stiffly reaching out to tap his brother's tense hands, somewhat unsure of what to do. "I'm aware of that, Cale, I—"

"If you know it so well, then stop going around like this," Cale spat out harshly, flaming brown pupils staring at him with firm, yet brittle intensity. "Stop keeping secrets that might put you in danger or- or even cost you your life because you don't think of telling anyone what you're doing. Take me with you, I won't question anything if you don't want to answer, I won't be annoying, I'll stay as quiet as you want me to, act however you want, just- just tell me these kinds of things—"

Kim silently stared at the damp eyes of his brother, watching as the fire made way for tears—clouds that had been holding in their moisture for far too long. They fell from his lashes in thick droplets, and the sight made Kim feel as if he had done something terribly wrong, a pang sparking in his chest so suddenly he had no time to properly register it.

"Even if it's only by a few minutes, I'm still- I'm still your older brother," Cale sniffed, his nose clogged and his teeth gritted. "Can you just talk to me, sometimes? I know you have a right to privacy, so if you don't want to, that's- it's fine, but I just— "

He took a wet, shuddering sniff, eyes reddening and tearing up so intensely it was startling.

"Papa— Father —even though he- he tries to give us as much of his time that he can, he's so busy these days he barely shows up for breakfast, and Mother is gone forever, and then— and then there’s YOU! You're almost never around anymore, Kim! You sneak out, try and evade me, ask the servants to keep your actions quiet, have Ron cover up your whereabouts— I tried giving you space and- and time, because I know you won't like me being too clingy all the time, but Kim—"

It was as he started into those quivering, watery brown pupils that it suddenly dawned on Kim.

The boy before him, older by only a few minutes in this universe than the him that had previously been 36 in another life, was only an eight-year-old child.

Kim had Deruth Henituse—had his father —just recently remind him that he was only still a child.

But who did Cale have?

If not their father, who else was supposed to be there for Cale and tell him those words? To reassure and be there for him when no one else would?

Kim Rok Soo had never been good with children.

He had never been good at dealing with other people's emotions, either, and probably wasn't that good at dealing with his own, actually.

How long had it been since the boy started following him, only to pretend at home that he hadn't done so in the first place? How did Cale feel, without a doubt watching him from the windows as he snuck out without a word? This dumb kid who wanted to respect his privacy but still felt compelled by worry to follow him regardless—

This dumb brother of his.

He then held back his laugh—one that made him feel almost hysterical.

No, rather.

Wasn't he the dumb one?

Kim Rok Soo, Kim sighed in his thoughts. What a mess-up you can be sometimes.

"... If it makes you feel better," Kim muttered faintly, his eyes lowered to the ground, unsure of where exactly he was supposed to let stray his gaze. "This.. is the last time I need to come here."

Cale let out a strangled sniff, face scrunched up as if he were trying to forcefully halt his crying.

"Yeah? "

Kim slowly nodded back. "... Yeah."

"Then you're not allowed to go anywhere near this place ever again. Not without— Not without me, or without telling anyone. If you do and I find out about it, I won't just stop at following you from a distance. I will- I will glue myself to your side 24/7 if I have to, you got it?"

"... I got it."

"Good," Cale squeezed his grip around the front of his brother's cloak before finally letting go. Brown eyes moving quickly, blinking away frantically at what remained of his tears, he slowly observed the cuts that Kim had gotten from where he fell onto both stones and shards of glass, as well as the bruise that was slowly starting to blossom near his cheek and temple.

Unlike Cale, Kim often skipped out on martial arts and swordsmanship lessons, so much to the point where Deruth had just let him be and notified his now-permanent absence to the knights and the occasional instructors assigned to them.

He knew little to no ways to defend himself, and the biggest fight Cale had ever seen his brother engage in before that day was one against sleep, where his head bobbed and nodded, snapping up and down repeatedly as he tried his best to remain awake during their history tutor's lectures.

This brother of his that found carrying even a bag of bread up a small hill to be tedious—and Cale would know that, because he had been watching for so, so long… For him, Cale would pick up a thousand weapons and learn billions of techniques if it meant becoming the weapon that would protect him—the weapon that could protect his entire family.

Their household that he held so much pride in—he needed to protect it.

Nobles were vile, scum was everywhere, and Cale had to protect it.

He had already failed once.

That situation that was inevitable, one where he couldn't do anything to help—Cale never wanted to feel as useless as he did when his mother had been bed-ridden and sick, when he learnt quite logically that an illness couldn't be defeated with a sword. And Cale didn't think himself smart enough to become anything in the fields of healing—wouldn't even last a day in a research lab without going insane, even if the perseverance meant possibly finding a cure for whatever it was that stole Mother away from them.

So what other choice did Cale have, other than to make do with whatever next option was best to become someone who could confidently protect the "us" that their household valued so dearly in their philosophy?

No one would touch them.

He wouldn't allow anyone to touch them.

Their Henituse Family and their golden turtle shell—Cale would do anything to ensure it remained spotless and clean, would let no one get close and trample over it.

So this stupid brother of his, who was younger than him by a few minutes… Cale had to make sure that dumbass didn't do anything drastic like he had been doing for the past few weeks.

Swearing it like his own personal knight’s creed, he seared that promise into the walls of his heart and mind until he was sure it would permanently be burnt into his soul and resolve.

"... good," he repeated again in a fragile hush, voice small and brittle.

A word so short and simple as opposed to the countless thoughts and decisions he had just made up in the silent noise of his own head.

He didn't know how exhausted he truly felt before this, and the realization wore him down like a heavy cloak.

Finally, he tore his eyes away from the growing bruise on his brother's face—a mark that had no place being where it was, a mark that wouldn't have been there, had Kim just talked to him and brought him along to play the part of a bodyguard, even if all he had was a flimsy wooden training sword.

"Now we're going to go home and- and have this get looked at and healed, and you’re gonna shower because you smell like trash," Cale added, wrinkling his nose. "And after that we’re having supper where you'll be eating everything I put on your plate."

Kim lightly sighed, placently nodding along. It felt very much like the kind of resignation one would submit themselves to upon dealing with a bossy and petulant child that you didn’t want to aggravate any further, but Cale paid that no heed.

“Fine by me. I was getting hungry, anyway."

“..... If Father isn’t too busy in his office today and he joins us for supper, he’s going to go crazy over your injuries, Kim.” Cale sniffed, wiping his face with his sleeve. With his other hand, he tugged his brother by the edge of his cloak, not wanting to hold onto those hands and risk aggravating the wounds any further. “He's never going to let you out of the house ever again.”

“If that happens, you’ll be on house arrest with me by extension.”

“Yeah, only so I can stay by your side and make sure you’re not being a dumbass.”

“.....  What vulgar language this hyung-nim of mine is speaking.”

Cale lightly kicked at his brother's leg. The impact didn't hurt Kim in the slightest, Kim noted, and he had to marvel at how good his brother was. Bratty, for sure, as well as annoying, but so good it was a little baffling that in ten years he was supposed to become unrecognizable human trash.

"... Hey."

Cale finally called out once he deemed the situation with his brother over for the moment, his voice snapping Kim out of his own trance.

And on the sidelines, awkwardly hunched in his own corner for what might've been a while, Hans flinched, peering up once he heard a voice call for him.

"..... your face was hurt by that guy while trying to protect my brother, right?" Cale referred to the cut just slightly above the ginger's eye with a deepening frown. "We have tons of money and resources—so follow us before that gets infected."

A pair of grey eyes with flecks of teal and green slowly looked up to them, wide with surprise. The young teen jumped up to his feet, slightly staggering over the shards of glass around his feet on the ground. Waving his hands quickly in front of him, he shook his head, opening his mouth in a readying sign of polite refusal, but Cale had been in a bad mood ever since he had jumped off a roof to sprint towards his danger-magnet of a brother and immediately glowered the older boy with an indisputable stare.

“It’s alr—”

"No, shut up," he scowled, the red hue of his brown eyes appearing all the more deviously crimson from the reflection of his hair. It also didn’t help that they were still red-rimmed from his previous crying, pink around the edges. "My brother and I have been spending money on you and that shitty old man of yours for weeks already, so you do as I say and follow, or else."

'My brother and I…?' Kim deadpanned, piecing the cues together. Suddenly, the multiple stares he had been feeling against his back made sense.

The young teen immediately snapped his jaw shut, his long orange hair awkwardly hanging over his eyes, bringing attention to the few strands that were already sticking to the blood on his face.

"I'll... I'll pay you back!"

"With what?" Cale lifted his nose. "All that you have, me and my brother gave you. But if you really want to pay us back then follow us like I said."

Kim tiredly watched his brother, feeling as if he were witnessing a kid bully another boy on a children's playground.

Follow us if you want to pay us back, he said, yet by offering to tend to him they were only adding to his debt. And from the look of eagerness and determination on the older boy's face, lighting up his grey eyes, Kim doubted Hans would accept that as a good enough way of repayment, especially since it benefitted himself more than it would Kim and Cale.

"Um... Young master… Kim..?"

"No. I'm Kim," Kim interjected, raising his hand lightly, before he gestured to his brother. "That's Cale you're talking to."

The ginger moved his eyes back and forth, before he finally nodded, a resolute expression crossing his face. Bowing low and deep, he clutched at what few belongings he had—ones that Kim had mostly given him, if not all, (as well as the ones Cale has seemingly slipped him, whilst following undercover behind his brother).

“I’ll pay you back.”

“You don't have to, but sure, do whatever you want,” Cale cut in before Kim could interject. Spinning on his heel, he tugged at the hems of his brother’s cloak to pull him along, only looking back once to see if the older boy was following them. “We’ll also be feeding you since the food my brother gave you is spoiled now. We were going to be eating soon, anyway.” He then did a double-take, nose slightly wrinkling at the sight of the teen’s dirty hair. “..... And a bath. A bath would do you some good, too. Both of you.”

Kim wanted to sigh and shake his head. His brother was really unconsciously adding to this kid’s debt with every spoken word.

"Ah- Um… about... about my uncle…"

The way Cale's demeanour tensed to the boy didn't go unnoticed to Kim.

"Tell us later," Cale's face twisted up, and Kim knew for certain that he was holding himself back from spouting nasty nonsense about the drunkard he had just beaten up.

"At… At your place..?"

"Where else if not at our place?" Cale grumbled, momentarily looking back once more, this time to ensure Kim's hood was securely placed over his head, enough to hide the bruise that was forming on the side of his head from view.

What scum, he glowered, thinking back on the repulsive heathen that dared lay a hand on his brother.

The heavy stench of alcohol still clung to Cale's nose, memories of sharp glass shards digging into his mind like they did his brother's skin.

If Kim got a single scar out of this encounter, he seethed in silence, he would chase every single damn bottle-throwing drunkard out of their territory until not a single one was left. If that didn't work, he'll get all alcoholic drinks banned, no matter if their territory was famous for the production of its wine or not.

He tightened his grip around the edge of his brother's cloak.

"... Let's go."

Ignoring the twinge of pain that stung his cheek, Kim released a sigh, dreading the moment they arrived home.

Resigned to his fate, Kim nodded, making sure to gesture for Hans to come with as well, though the boy made a point to walk a few steps behind them as if unsure if he was worthy to stand by their sides.

Chapter Text

The walk to the carriage was silent for the most part.

Hans tried striking up conversation at some point, but once he realized that Kim and his brother weren't going to respond, he quickly learnt it would be better to just keep his head down and stop talking. But throughout the silence of their walk, grey-ish eyes with hints of blue or green never once ceased to awkwardly wander about, and without a doubt did his nervous demeanour not go unnoticed by the two brothers with how obvious he was carrying himself.

"Wait."

The abrupt stifling of shoes suddenly made themselves heard against concrete.

Frowning, Cale turned back to look at Kim who had halted in his steps. "What?"

"The teahouse," he nudged his head to the side. "Let's—"

"No."

A sigh.

"Cale."

"When I said I was going to take you straight home, you AGREED."

“It won’t take long,” Kim calmly reassured. “I just wanted to see if Sir Billos had anything to help with that,” he casually gestured to the cut right over Hans’ eye, as if the bruise on the side of his own face meant nothing to him at all. "It would be best to treat it quickly."

With a complicated expression, Cale shot a glance at the stream of red that ran vertically down the young teen’s face. Most of it had gone dry by now, but there were still a few droplets that occasionally slipped out the cut—unable to know for certain how deep it was, it was unknown whether or not it would scar, should immediate action not be taken any time soon.

Fighting his conflicting urge to tug his brother back to the carriage he knew Kim kept waiting a few streets away or buy into the temptation of wrangling that piggy bank-like old man’s entire health kit, Cale finally decided—though with great reluctance—that it'd best to succumb to the latter. There were many people in the streets at this time, and he would rather not have any more pests peek even a single glance at his brother lest he smack their eyes out for staring far longer than they needed to.

Watching his brother release a steady exhale, it was as he took a few seconds to eye the fancy sign of the teahouse and relented that Cale finally tugged at his cloak, bringing them both through the doors of the teahouse, the bell hanging overhead ringing lightly to signal their entrance. Almost immediately, a few eyes turned their way, with some of the patrons snapping out of their engaging narratives to glance at the newcomers who’ve just arrived. There were still a great few, however, who remained far too absorbed in the worlds of their novels to even think of sending them even a single ounce of acknowledgement. But either way, just as Kim spared his brother a glance, it seemed that the fact that there were eyes on them at all seemed to rub wrongly against Cale, especially if when they were directed their way.

Like a diligent yet restless guard dog, Cale made sure to glower at every nosy person that let their eyes linger far more than necessary, and Kim couldn't help but be at a loss at what to do with his brother's recently increasing overprotective streak.

“Young master Kim?”

Standing behind a counter at the very back, the large man cloaked in a fur coat quickly noticed them.

“Welcome back, what brings you—”

Squinted eyes widened for a split second, taking in the sight of additional weight standing alongside the visitor he had the pleasure of acquainting himself with for the past few weeks. 

“... You’re hurt?”

For a second, Billos seemed to startle, before a sour expression crossed his face as he lifted a hand to cover his nose upon catching a whiff of the air, though he seemed to notice such an act might be seen as rude since he quickly lowered it back down.

“No shit he is, you old man,” Cale all but bristled in defence.

“Wh- Excuse me—? ”

Kim silently groaned. “Cale.”

“What,” Cale whined back, standing just a slight step in front of his brother to block him from the older man’s view. “Isn’t he old? He's an old man, just look at him.”

"... Well." Billos sent the young boy pointing at him with a rude finger somewhat of an awkward, yet sharp smile. “I'm not old enough to be called an old man—”

“You talk so much!” Cale interrupted with a frown. Lightly tugging Kim's coat, he ignored the gaping look being sent to him by the owner of the establishment. “Kim, tell him what you wanted already so we can get you home!”

… It was truly hard dealing with someone currently throwing a mooded fit. Kim was lucky he had already spent a few weeks solidifying his relations with Billos during the past few weeks, so hopefully causing such strife in the middle of his business hours—and right in the middle of the main floor, too—wouldn’t put any significant damper on the cordial relationship Kim did his best to nurture. Although, he wouldn’t be surprised, however, if a letter were to be sent the next day following this small commotion they were causing, but nonetheless it was still far better than offending Billos to the point of cutting off all communication.

Sighing, Kim stepped around his brother's bristling form until he was finally facing Billos. The glance they shared between them was fleeting, but Kim expressed nothing further before he shot him a gentle—almost sheepish—expression.

“Hello, Sir Billos,” he smiled, his reddish-brown eyes slightly squinting with the rise of his cheeks. If Cale was going to continue being the feral dog here, it was only natural for him to balance it out before Billos got sick of not one, but two irritating young masters to deal with.

Walking forward so that he could resume their conversation with a little more privacy, Kim lightly stood on his toes to more discreetly deliver, “You wouldn’t happen to have any healing potions in stock, would you?”

“Healing potions?” Billos’ eyes slowly trailed to the slowly darkening bruise on the Henituse's youngest master’s face, as well as the trail of blood running down the eye of the awkward-looking ginger-haired teen standing a few steps behind them. Lowering his voice enough for it to go out of the other patrons’ range of hearing, he sent them an apologetic look. “I’m afraid we don’t have any on hand at the moment, young master Kim. There was an incident at the marble quarries a while back, and all of the potions in stock went to them.”

“How useless,” Cale awed in disbelief, his voice loud in comparison to Billos and Kim's whispers, only further serving to pique the intrigue of the other people in the room. Irritated, Cale sent his brother a peeved look, whining snappishly as he tugged continuously at his cloak. “Kim, why did we even bother coming here? I'm sure we have some at home, let’s just go back already!”

At those unrestrained words, Billos’ smile twitched. “Young master Cale, if I may be permitted to politely remind you, this establishment of mine is but a humble teahouse, not a medical ward.”

The fakely polite tone that Billos was employing to speak to him must’ve rubbed his brother the wrong way, because Cale's face immediately contorted, twisting up unpleasantly.

“You would’ve been permitted to politely remind me," Cale slowly bared his teeth, "If you didn't just earlier admit to having some healing potions before handing them all out!”

“Hyung-nim," Kim hastily raised his hand before Cale could start growling, or even worse, actually lunge at Billos. “It's alright. I’m sure the quarry workers need it for something far worse than a mere bruise.”

But just after he relayed those words, Kim then recalled the young teen currently tagging along with them, and how a few drops of blood were now dripping down his chin. Being the most aware of this fact, Hans looked rather uncomfortable, hands awkwardly hovering around the wound and occasionally touching it, as if making sure the bleeding had stopped despite it obviously having not.

With a sigh, Kim turned back to Billos, jerking his chin in Hans’s direction.

“At the very least, tell me you have something to stop his bleeding. I don't want him staining our carriage on our way back home.”

Hesitating, Billos' face took on a slightly pensive look as if he were trying to recall whether or not he truly had anything that might be of use. But before he could open his mouth and deliver the results of his thoughts, a voice smoothly cut in.

“I believe I overheared something about someone being hurt?”

Mature in tone and somewhat elegant in intonation, when Kim turned towards the direction of the voice, it didn’t come as a surprise for him to be faced with the appearance of a woman whose demeanour would've matched it without flaw, had it not been for her clothes that were rather common in material—but in no way did they appear ragged, of course, not when they were worn by someone whose face and physical appearance was more than enough to make up for it.

“You..?“

Taken off-guard, Kim then lowered his gaze before unexpectedly meeting the eye of a familiar young boy, whose brown droopy eyes—added with his face plump with baby fat—were almost shyly peeking out from behind the skirt of the woman’s simple yet elegant dress.

Basen Hirschel, he recognized immediately, words almost failing him as the young boy slowly sent him a wave of his hand.

He would notice that face anywhere—one that lingered constantly at the back of his mind after their last meeting in the teahouse just a few days back.

If Basen is here, Kim quickly pieced together, looking back up to the woman. Then the person beside him—

Something heavy and suffocating seemed to rise in both his throat and lungs, and Kim couldn’t do much besides blankly stare at the duo, mind suddenly falling clear and quiet.

Violan Hirschel.

The woman’s eyes, whose colour was just as cold as those of the rapidly approaching grey winter skies, steadily fixated upon his own, not unlike a flake of snow. Her stare soon found focus onto the side of his face, no doubt where his bruise was currently forming, and at the sight, a small furrow made itself known between her sharply formed brows before she then shifted her gaze to observe Hans’s own wound. But even then, when her attention was placed elsewhere other than on him, Kim still couldn’t shake off the odd, heavy sensation that was weighing upon him like a heavy blanket he couldn't rid himself of.

“Sir Billos,” the woman—Violan Hirschel, Kim repeated to himself, like an echo that wouldn't cease to bounce around—lightly called out to the man behind the counter. “Would it be alright for us to use your backroom? It would be better to treat these boys somewhere more private.”

Kim nearly let out a laugh at those words, very much aware of the slight twitch in the woman’s nose once she approached them, the smell of alcohol and the slums no doubt having made itself well-known to those near them by now. It was considerate of her, however, to say nothing of their less than savoury scent and even go out of her way to bring up a solution to spare the rest of the teahouse of their smell, all under the guise of granting them privacy.

“Oh- But of course, that is of no issue,” Billos swiftly responded, stepping to the side where he gestured towards the door behind the counter. “I trust that you’ll be able to handle it, Violan-nim? I regret saying this, but I have to stay out front, you see…"

“It is no problem. It shouldn't take us too long, if that’s alright with you."

"Very well then," Billos sighed, before he turned to Kim, nudging his head to the backroom. His face was faintly tinted with concern, and somehow, Kim didn't dislike how the man considered each other close enough for the other to even care about his well-being. "Go get treated, young master."

At the words being directed towards him, Kim promptly shook himself out of his thoughts to respond.

"Of course," he nodded, before turning to the woman with a soft curl on his lips, innocent and brimming with gratitude. "We'll be in your care then. Thank you very much."

The smile he got in return was curt but elegant, befitting of the way Violan carried herself, even without all the bearings of the countess that Kim Rok Soo remembered reading about in the novel, several years ago on a day off.

Holding the door open, she gestured for the children to enter before her, and without waiting long, Cale was the first to pass through, though not without sending the woman a subtly wary look before he averted his gaze to scan the room, as if making sure it was safe to step into.

"It's only natural for me to do this," Violan calmly responded to him, once the door closed behind them. Rummaging through a small bag she kept slung across her chest and resting on her hip, she soon pulled out a small kit. "I was the one who asked Sir Billos for the last of his available healing potions, after all."

"You?"

At once, Cale suddenly snapped his head in her direction, eyes wide with incredulity and brimming with questions.

"I hope you can forgive me," Violan calmly spoke upon seeing the frown on the young boy's face. "The day before, a few of the workers got into an accident while I was there, and I suppose my impromptu visit ended up distracting them a slight bit and caused some trouble." With somewhat of a remorseful smile tinged across her thin lips, she sighed. "The potions were my way of apology. I thought it would be terrible if they were to possibly lose their jobs over broken bones or sprained limbs because of me."

When faced with such pure reasoning and genuine expression of guilt, Cale's irritation could do nothing but simmer down, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he came to terms with the fact that the potions were used for deeds that were too good for him to criticize or get angry over.

"... Then is you helping us just another one of your tokens of apology?" he opted to mutter instead, clenching and relaxing his fists to ease the tension in his limbs and hide his subtle petulance.

"I suppose I've been handing out medical care as forms of apology quite often these days," she hummed, no doubt including the current situation as one of those very instances.

Soon after Violan finally finished sorting through her small kit, she turned towards them, holding in her hands some wraps of bandages, a handkerchief, and a bottle of what Kim presumed would be some kind of disinfectant or ointment, before she organized them neatly into the coffee table before her.

Kim took the opportunity to nudge his head towards Hans's direction.

"Treat him first."

And predictably, his brother immediately appeared to have qualms with Kim's suggestion, but before Cale could start making unreasonable demands or complaints, complete with a whole essay detailing as to why exactly Kim should reconsider, Kim sent his brother a rather pointed look.

"His injuries are worse than mine," he stressed.

Conflict swarming in his eyes, Cale wavered back and forth between the two boys, lingering on the way Hans's eye now had to he currently kept shut to avoid having blood spill into his vision, as opposed to Kim whose face would have appeared relatively left untouched, had it not been for the bruise and scratches on his cheek.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Cale closed his eyes, fingers tightening on his upper arm from where they were crossed over his chest.

"Fine," he finally muttered, almost resigned in tone.

"Very well then." Gesturing for Hans to take a seat on the couch nearby, Violan quickly got to work once the young teen made himself as comfortable as possible. Lightly lifting his bangs, she began to clean the blood off his face, before huffing at the lack of success. "Basen? Ask Sir Billos if it would be possible to get a bowl of water in here."

Wordlessly, Basen quickly made his way out of the office, his footsteps drowning out as soon as the door closed. And perhaps less than a minute later whilst waiting in anticipating silence, he came back in with shaking arms as he carried a rather large bowl, his droopy brown eyes focusing on the water so intensely, as if making sure it wouldn't spill should he move too quickly, though unsuccessfully once his feet caught themselves on the carpet.

With a startled jolt, Cale quickly moved from where he was standing behind Kim to steady the younger boy's hold.

"Give me that," he huffed. "That's heavy, I'll take it."

"Ah-" Basen's voice faltered, his fingers awkwardly hanging in the air as Cale took the large bowl from his hands. "Thank you.."

"...'s no big deal," Cale muttered under his breath, almost in an awkwardly sheepish grumble as he placed the bowl of water near the boy's mother, who thanked him as well once it was set down in her reach.

“Basen, help the young master clean his cuts.”

“No. I can do it,” Cale quickly interjected before Basen could move towards Kim. “I know how to clean cuts and stuff.”

Violan quietly gazed at him, before a small huff of a smile crossed her lips. Reaching out, she handed him one of her rolls of bandages, letting her eyes linger on the two red-haired brothers before she turned back to Hans.

“Come help mother then, Basen.”

“Ah, yes!”

Turning his attention away as both sides got to their respective work, Kim curiously stared at his brother whose hands were slowly beginning to work on the scraps covering his own.

“... You learnt how to dress wounds,” he spoke, lightly suppressing a wince once Cale swept a cloth over his chafed skin. “Did you learn how to after all your sword practice?”

Cale’s movements paused, his head lightly bowing before he resumed trying a knot on Kim’s bandaged hand. “... Something like that,” he muttered, though his tone wasn’t that convincing, making it rather apparent that he had other motives for learning how to dress wounds when they had servants and a family physician perfectly capable of doing it for him.

“Hm..” Kim observed him calmly, though he rather easily chose to discard the awkward fluster that made itself known across his brother’s expression, an obvious tell that it wasn't the full story. It was rather easy for Kim to deduce why his brother would’ve felt the need to learn such skills if not for himself, and at his presumption, he couldn’t help but let out a minuscule smile.

“It’s a handy thing to know.”

At his words, Cale stared silently at the faint colouring of red on the cloth he used to clean at Kim’s hands, fixating upon the blood that was as red as a person in his memory. The expression on his face was complicated to discern, and so Kim made only minimal effort to understand it before deciding it would be better to leave it be instead of prying while in the presence of strangers.

But then again.

If there was anyone in this world that would be able to properly read the expressions washing over this child’s face, it would without a doubt be Kim.

“My cheek hurts.”

Cale’s head snapped up, thoughts dispelling as his brother’s voice made itself known.

“Huh?”

“Hurts,” Kim reiterated, turning his face so that his cheek could face his brother. “Didn’t you say you were going to treat me? Hurry up.”

Brown eyes blinked a few times, the scrunched expression from earlier dissipating with each bat of his lashes before Cale’s eyes crinkled, lips curling into a huff of a grin.

“I think my dongsaeng-nim is becoming a little too spoiled.”

“I am indeed very spoiled.”

This time, Cale didn't hold back his laugh, slowly cleaning the dirt off Kim’s face, nagging occasionally every time Kim squirmed in pain, though Kim endured it regardless, not exactly a stranger to such sensations. And seeing as how his brother’s mood had finally lifted enough for the tension in his scrunched brows to loosen, he didn’t want to overplay it, less the glint in his eyes damped once more and Kim had to be stuck dealing with a sulking, guilty and fury-simmering child.

A short moment of silence then washed over the room, in no way awkward after the peaceful resolving of the previous tension, though that must've been long enough on an interval before a voice spoke up, with Violan’s curiosities that have no doubt been simmering now finally coming to light.

"Would it be alright if I were to ask what you children were up to, to have gotten such injuries?"

Unsurprisingly, Cale was the one to answer, his voice lowering alongside a scoff as his irritation from earlier soon spiked back up into a peak.

"It was some crappy trash-pile of shit in the streets," he all but snapped, his frown quickly deepening back onto his face. At that, Kim could only sigh, his effort from earlier now having gone straight to the dump as the frown regained his brother’s face.

Blinking, a twinge of unexpected surprise lit up in Violan's eyes.

"... What foul language for such a young boy."

"He messed with my brother." Cale’s head swerved in her direction as if to see if she would be disapproving of his choice of wording any further, a frown slowly settling itself back onto his face. "And it wasn't as if we were having a small fight with kids. It was a grown adult and the stupid waste of space idiot kicked his own nephew in the face and didn't even care—”

Oi, oi.. Kim could feel his brother’s emotion stirring up from a mile away, even more so when they were just a few inches apart.

What a headache. It was seriously tiring dealing with someone whose feelings seemed to run on a roller coaster whose railings had sporadic ups and downs.

“— and THEN—" Cale's voice raised sharply, and Kim couldn't help but lightly inch away to spare his ears of any additional pain. "—he had the gall to try and place his dirty boot on my BROTHER! If I could, I- I would've chased him down and wrung his neck dry, but tHEN KIM— "

"Aish. It was just some drunk bastard," Kim cut in, placing a hand on his brother's hand before his nails could cut through his sleeves and start drawing blood. "Long story short, he beat Hans for getting in the way of him blackmailing me."

A rather simplified story, but Kim saw no reason to spill all of their business any further than this, especially when his brother’s eyes seemed to be back on the brink of becoming bloodshot.

“Ha.”

The hand wrapping a bandage around Hans' head stilled upon fixing it tight. Curiously, Kim shifted his gaze towards the woman to gauge her sudden silence before freezing at the sudden frost clouding her blue eyes.

"Rotten piece of fucking garbage."

Kim nearly choked.

The unexpected amount of curses flowing from the woman he previously thought to be elegant and reserved suddenly began flowing out the window with every single hushed mutter of profanity pouring out from under her breath. It didn't take long for Kim to remember this woman's experience in the world of merchants, and the elegant language they so often used.

As the one closest to her at the moment, Hans was exposed to the full brunt of the flurry, and his previously nervous face became even more nervous upon being exposed to whatever atrocities the woman before him was saying, and Kim has never felt as scared but curious in his entire life. Of course, he had been subjected to the anomaly called ‘Ron Molan’ for an enormous portion of his second life, but still, when faced with such an unexpected and surprising factor, he was unable to fully hold back his startle.

And to contrast him, however, Cale only seemed to appear even more riled up than he was before with the added sight of behaviour that only served to encourage his own, and suddenly Kim was able to discern a glint of admiration and kinship that seemed to be setting ablaze in his sibling’s reddish-brown gaze.

Kim slowly looked away from the scene with a blank face.

"Mama," Basen then muttered, his small hand tugging at the skirt of her dress. "... You said swearing profanities isn't good."

Hans suddenly whimpered as ointment was then smeared over the cuts of his hands. It was unknown, however, whether it was due to the medicine or the sudden growth of pressure being exerted by Lady Violan in her frosted silence. Whatever it was, Kim sent his condolences and pities.

With a sigh and a final tug at the bandages she was wrapping around the cuts on Hans's hands, Violan finally seemed to compose herself, her posture soon returning to its former impeccable light.

With a demeanour that was so vastly different from her mood of just a second earlier, Violan turned to her son with a gentleness that nearly gave Kim whiplash upon seeing the change displayed before him.

"Mother is sorry, Basen. Sometimes frustrations against filth must be let out."

….. Ma'am, maybe don't use the word 'filth' like that in front of your son—

"Right, right," Cale agreed with a nod and determined frown, much to Kim's tired dismay. "We shouldn't have any reason to hesitate on calling trash, 'trash.'"

"..... Brother… "

"Don't look at me like that," Cale frowned. "You know it's true!"

"Mh." Kim averted his eyes from his brother's stubborn gaze. "........ well…"

"Don't even bother. I'm right."

"... What confidence you have in yourself."

"I'm confident because I'm right."

A small huff of a chuckle escaped Violan’s lips, and upon realizing they weren’t exactly alone in the room, Cale quickly composed himself, his snark simmering down just as he recalled their audience.

Noticing that both parties were done, Kim took a glance over Hans' status, noting with satisfaction that the bleeding seemed to have stopped for now, with the trail of blood that had been previously trailing down and over his eye now cleaned without a trace left.

"Will he get a scar?"

".. He might," Violan curtly gave her estimation, though it was rather gentle as if making sure to not upset the young teen with harsh words.

Though looking at him, Hans didn't appear bothered in the slightest at the prospect of potential scarring. Slowly, he lifted his hand to the white bandage wrapped around his head and over his brow, fingers hovering lightly above it and wincing when it slightly grazed the cloth.

"Don't touch it," Violan lowered his hand. "We wouldn't want you bleeding again."

"Ah- um." Hans flustered, before finally settling both his hands on his lap. "Sorry miss, and- and thank you.."

"So it'll still scar??" Cale quickly cut in, looking at Kim's bandaged hands with wide eyes. "What weak ointment! If Kim gets scars, I'll—"

"They're minor wounds, brother. They won't scar," Kim interjected, before he turned at once to Violan, lightly bowing his head. "I apologize for my brother's rash words. We're grateful for you extending your help when you hadn't even needed to."

".. No need to apologize, young master," Violan calmly shook her head after regaining herself from the slight surprise that came with Kim's formal response. "As I said before, you would've gotten better treatment had I not already taken Sir Billos' potions stock for other needs."

This time, it was Violan's turn to bow, rather reserved and deep towards what were supposed to be but mere children in her eyes. Of course, such action didn't go unnoticed by Kim, well aware of the different types of customs and courtesies.

“My medical kit wouldn't dare pretend to be of any higher quality than it already isn't. Forgive me for not being as supplied or equipped as your estate’s family physician.”

Kim paused. A small, curious smile then appeared on his face once he fully registered her words and the implications behind them.

"You know of our estate's family physician."

A statement, rather than a question.

"Of course," Violan replied. Her back had straightened up from her curt bow, though her gaze was still slightly averted to the ground as if aware there was a place for her to keep herself. But regardless of that silent display of distancing, a rather bold expression still managed to make its way across her face, though not explicit enough to appear disrespectful.

"Twin brothers with red hair bearing the names of Kim and Cale, clothes that are anything but made of common fabric… Naturally, it would only make sense for this one to assume you are the territory lord's only sons." Violan finally lifted her eyes, calm, winter-grey eyes unfaltering when she met Kim's. "I also overheard Sir Billos refer to you as a young master. Your hyung-nim has mentioned your family's physician before as well, and I do not doubt you're aware that not everyone can afford the luxury of having either an estate or a personal physician."

Kim let out a small breath, a glint in his eyes that was everything but unimpressed. Beside him, he could see his brother watching the exchange with slightly widened eyes, no doubt feeling something similar to what he was.

"Aren't you quite clever?" Kim couldn't help but smile, a small tilt to his head after the woman before them seemed to have wrapped up her words in a reserved yet confident conclusion.

In response, Violan merely graced a small shrug, satisfaction washing over her reserved features.

"It was only natural of me to presume, given the information I was presented with."

"Ha. There's no need to be so humble, Lady Violan Hirschel."

This time, it was Violan's turn to pause. By her side, Basen slowly looked in Kim's direction, no doubt thinking back to their small run-in at both the marketplace and the higher floors of the teahouse.

"You’ve heard of me?"

"Of course," Kim smiled. "Just as you've overheard Sir Billos call me 'young master' I remember him referring to you with honorifics as well. And for someone to so casually request the use of his private backroom—and for something rather trivial, no less—wouldn't you have to be well-acquainted enough to be able to go to such liberties without being denied? Your familiarity with Sir Billos also didn't escape me, and I'm rather close with him enough to know a few of the people in his circle—he has also talked about you before, you know? Because of that, I am not exactly unaware of your existence."

Being able to witness the reserved look on Violan's face falter with a twinge of surprise evoked a rather triumphant feeling within Kim. He wondered how this scene appeared, an adult and a child speaking on the levels that they were.

"Besides, having been curiously looking through our kingdom's records these past few days, as well as being interested in the current affairs of the city, I don't think I am ignorant enough to not recognize the Lily flower of your family's crest when I see it.” And to diffuse a little of the increasing bout of seriousness that had seeped into their conversation, he added lightly for an extra measure, his tone rather childish and more fitting for his physical age, “It's very pretty."

Almost instinctively, Violan's hand reached to touch the cufflink pinned near the hem of her sleeve—a simple metal button with a lily engraved onto its surface.

A short beat of silence made itself known across the room, before the sound of a rather breathless chuckle made itself known.

"... Aren't you rather clever, young master Kim?" Violan chuckled with her hand elegantly raised to her lips, fully displaying the Hirschel Family crest pinned to her sleeve's cuff as she repeated words previously used to describe herself.

Kim merely shrugged. Of course, he also had the advantages that came with harbouring slivers of omniscient knowledge that—considering their nature—would be absurd to bring up. But of course, no one but himself needed to know that.

"It was only natural of me to presume," Kim casually started, parroting back to their earlier exchange, "given the information I was presented with."

"Ho.."

At those familiar words, Violan's eyes further crinkled, the mirth and amusement at seeing a child like Kim speak the way he did, no doubt currying interest and wonder. She couldn't help but muse over how Count Deruth might've raised the boy in front of her, for him to be the way he was.

Looking over to her own son, she felt a bout of fondness at the way he stared at her with wide but curious eyes, adorable with how Basen appeared to be confused over the whole exchange, yet characteristically intrigued with how curious the boy was at his age.

"You have one interesting brother, young master Cale," Violan couldn't help but remark.

"Isn't he the coolest?" Cale, not even missing a single beat, instinctively replied. With a glaze of wonder in his eyes, he quickly turned to his brother, nudging his side with his elbow. "So that's why you were reading that dumb thing in the study. Hmm,... I'll leave all the boring books to you from now on."

"Haven't you already been doing that this whole time, even before now?" Kim huffed. But regardless, such a prospect was completely fine with him. "Then, I'll leave all the sword training to you."

"Haven't I also been doing that for you this whole time, too? Hmph, but you're weak anyway, so it's fine." Cale grinned, the very definition of cheeky. "But you still have to play with me whenever I ask."

"….. fine."

"Oh? No take-backs!! We have witnesses right here!"

".......... Lady Violan," Kim opted to ignore ("OI!!") his brother's annoying expression. Noticing that Kim was going to swerve the direction of their conversation back into its more formal route, Cale huffed, plopping himself back against the couch with his arms crossed, opting to wait until all the boring heaviness was over with.

"I'll have you know that I didn't become aware of you solely because of curiosity and coincidence."

Interest piqued, Violan held her silence as a sign to continue. Noticing that, Kim only naturally followed his cue.

"You see, our family's estate has yet to finalize our preparations for winter."

Ignoring the sense of both anticipation, hesitation and weariness settling themselves like an ill-mixed concoction in the pit of his stomach, Kim resolved his mind and pressed through his lingering webs of hesitation.

"A while back, I brought the issue up with Sir Billos and the name of Lady Hirschel's guild naturally came up during our exchange. And since the opportunity has presented itself, I would like to take advantage of our official meeting to invite you to our estate to settle such affairs."

Violan remained silent for a short moment, but not too long after, she curiously inquired, "I was of the assumption that the Henituse estate was affiliated with the Flynn Merchant Guild. Why would you suddenly decide to change such a convenient and already long-established relationship?"

As expected of a person such as Violan Hirschel was, she didn't fail to consider the reasons behind such an unexpected choice and opportunity that seemed to arrive at her doorstep a little too easily.

"Of course, do not get me wrong, young master Kim—it would be a great honour to deal with a patron as big as your family's, and while small, my guild's services are in no means lacking. I am simply curious."

Kim appeared to ponder for a second before he eventually let slip a smile—a childish, innocent little expression that spoke nothing of what lied beneath.

"Would you believe me if I said it was merely decided on a whim?"

An amused look was subtly present across Violan's expression. "I haven't known the young master for long, but even so, I believe I know enough for me to assume you aren't such a simple person."

"Think what you will." It was with a shrug that Kim casually responded to her curious words. "But if you really want to know, well.. You're well aware that I am rather close with Sir Billos, aren't you? I don't doubt that you're wondering why my family would ever consider choosing your small guild over his family's largely renowned and resourceful one."

At the silence that ensued, Kim only naturally took it as a confirmation, continuing,

"That's because he's a bastard."

"Ho."

Violan quirked a brow, a sliver of astonishment being expressed in regards to Kim's rather blunt manner of speech. In contrast, however, a small frown crossed Basen's face, though it looked more cute than reprimanding, considering how the look only served to bring attention to his round cheeks.

"Of course, I'm saying that as a statement, not an insult," Kim reiterated, being mindful of the innocent ears of children around them. "As a bastard, Sir Billos has no rights whatsoever in the Flynn Family's game of inheritance, though many outsiders would think otherwise. But of course, if the man were to, say, one day, become the head of the guild despite all the forces playing against him, then I'm afraid our Henituse Family would have to end trade with your Hirschel's and naturally support Sir Billos."

"You seem to believe Sir Billos has a chance."

"I'm sure that as mutual acquaintances of Sir Billos, you'd be able to understand my faith and confidence. Besides," Kim smiled, flowery in all the simplest terms. "I consider myself a very supportive friend."

A snort came from his side, though Kim made sure to ignore the knowing look on his brother's face, very much aware that the number of friends they both had in total could be counted on a single one of their hands. It wasn't as if Violan knew that, however, so he paid it no heed.

"... You're doing this all without the count's knowledge?"

"Of course not. Father is very much aware of this."

Cale looked as if he wanted to add in his own two cents in the exchange he had no part to play in, but decidedly kept his mouth shut after feeling his brother lightly tap his foot under the coffee table. It was yet another thing Violan didn't need to know, but Kim was certain without fault that should he ask Deruth, the man would immediately relent, especially after their last talk. A small little white lie like this was virtually nothing in the long run.

A silently contemplative look swept over Violan's face as she pondered over the words being relayed to her, before her shoulders finally dipped with the faint release of a sigh.

"Then, I will pay a visit to your estate as Merchant Representative."

"Naturally," Kim waved. "There is no one but you that would be more fitting to step into the halls of our estate."

"... Of course, young master Kim, I'll have you know that's not the only reason why I've decided to visit personally, instead of choosing a subordinate to go in my stead."

Kim stilled, curiosity settling itself snuggly into the pit of his mind at those words. With only a subtle amount of hesitancy, he dared to question, frowning lightly, "If not for discussing my estate's needs for this upcoming winter, then what else are you planning on bringing up to my father?"

The smile that Violan sent him was different than those she had previously shown—either amused or politely exasperated in reaction to the behaviour displayed before her during this whole exchange. This time, Kim noticed, it looked way more determined than any expression she's shown so far.

"Your territory has impressive amounts of marble, and people that are just as talented in handling it."

Threads began spinning in Kim's mind. Just as a fraction of his eyes began to widen in realization of what might possibly be coming out of this woman's mouth next, Violan herself came to confirm his thoughts.

"Your Henituse territory makes its fortune from the marble and wine it sells and exports, but frankly, I believe that isn't all it has to offer. Wouldn't it be nice to do something big with this territory's surprisingly large amount of talent?"

Kim Rok Soo recalled reading something from a past life.

... Violan Hirschel came to this territory and fell in love with the art of sculpture.

Knowing that, wouldn't the affair she was hoping to discuss with the lord of the territory be— 

"A gallery."

A bright, passionate glint slowly began making itself known amidst the winter grey skies of Violan's stoic expression.

"There are many small ateliers and artists galleries throughout this territory—but wouldn't it be nice to have a grand gallery for this territory to proudly recognize itself as a region of artistic talent and creativity, and acknowledge the hands of all our artists?"

Kim's eyes quivered faintly.

He remembered as well—

This was the person that would eventually become the director of the Henituse territory's cultural business operations in the future.

A short laugh helplessly escaped him.

"... My father will send you an official invite in the near future."

Violan smiled, opening her bag as she handed Kim a card.

"Then, I'll be waiting for his call."

A knock on the door diffused the light tension in the air. Poking his head in, Billos made himself known.

"You've been in here for quite a while. Is everything alright?"

"Everything is just fine, Sir Billos," Violan confirmed, patting the skirt of her dress as she stood up, organizing her bag before letting it fall back against the hip. "The young masters and their friend have all been treated. Thank you again for allowing us to use your private backroom."

"It is of no issue, Madam," Billos smiled. "Shall I see you out?"

"There is no need." Turning to her son, she lightly beckoned him. "Basen, let us go now. Edro is cooking for us, remember? We don’t want the food to go cold."

Basen's eyes flickered away from the eye-catching hues of the twins' hair before him, a small fluster in his features as he bowed curtly in their direction before trailing after his mother. Latching onto her skirt, he timidly looked back, and upon catching Kim's eye, he hesitantly waved.

"Bye-bye.."

Kim paused, before slowly raising his hand as well. "... Yeah. See you later."

Cale, too, sent a wave to the younger boy, watching as his brown eyes shone upon seeing his greeting be returned, his mood appearing rather bright until they eventually exited the shop.

"... His face is stoic like his mother's but also really chubby."

"It wouldn't hurt you to just say he looks cute."

Cale laughed. "Well. That too."

"I'm sure young Basen would be flattered to hear that," Billos added his input, before his expression changed to swerve the topic. "So, I believe the young masters and their friend will be departing now?"

Kim resisted the urge to touch the bandage on his cheek and thought back to the possible reactions he might be faced with upon returning home with such an injury for all to see. Holding back his dread, he merely sent Billos a smile, showing barely a sliver of the agony he was internally facing.

"We will. Sorry for disturbing you during work hours again."

"No worries, young master Kim. It's good that you got treated quickly."

Oddly enough, Billos' eyes were.. softer, should Kim say, than he expected. Perhaps the man really was worried when they barged in here asking for healing potions, though Kim would've thought the man to be more annoyed, honestly, considering the small scuffle he had with Cale upon their arrival.

But it was nice, perhaps, to know that on the one hand he and Cale's combined number of friends amounted to, one finger could safely be raised for Billos.

With a huff, feeling his mood to be rather good for some reason, Kim couldn't help but jokingly quip, "Even when we smell like trash?"

"I don't know how Lady Violan and her son were able to stomach your smell," Billos grinned without missing a beat.

"Oi. Say we smell bad one more time."

This time, Billos didn't even hold back his laugh after hearing his brother's peeved voice. With his significantly larger hand, he reached out to ruffle Cale's head, not even appearing to care if Cale crumbled under the man's strength and looked seconds away to growling.

"Alright," Kim raised his voice, breaking the two apart. "We should leave now. I want a bath. And he needs one too," he frowned, nudging his head in Hans' direction.

After they took care of Hans a bit.. They could always figure that out later. Kim already had an inkling of what he could possibly have the boy do after they dealt with everything, but if he were to honestly speak, Kim didn't feel like assuming responsibility for the boy's fate in the slightest. Though it wasn't as if they could send him back to where he came from—such a thought was clear to Kim the second that uncle of his appeared with all those bottles, and had no intention whatsoever to send a child back to such an environment.

With nothing short of a pained sigh, Kim began his walk towards the entrance, with Cale immediately moving to sync their steps, and Hans scrambling to quickly follow in tow.

Right. They'll eat, take a bath, get their bandages and injuries checked out by someone more qualified, and then—

The bells hanging over the door to the teahouse chimed.

"—Young master."

Kim slammed the door shut.

Fuck me.

"Kim?" Cale peaked over his shoulder with a frown. "What happened, who was that? I know that voice, was that—"

"Backdoor. Right now."

Cale blinked widely. "What? But wasn't that—"

Kim felt his heartbeat accelerate to a near thunderous level, pounding loudly against his ears.

Before he could even turn around and call for Billos to point him towards the next best exit, the front door to the teahouse slowly opened, the gentle chiming of the overhanging bells signalling the entrance of—not a customer, this time—but—

"R- Ron.."

Ron Molan stood in front of Kim with a gentle smile.

"Young master Kim," he softly greeted, voice reflecting nothing of the utterly frozen glint condensed in his expression. The light from outside, as dull and white as the near-winter skies, encased his backside in a cold light, shadowing the front of his face in darkness despite the warmer lighting of the teahouse's interior.

Sharp eyes with faint lines of wrinkles slowly washed over the young boys before him, only intensifying upon noticing the bandages around Kim's hands and the plaster over his cheek.

"My.." he sighed, a slow and deep sound after making his round all the way to Hans. "It seems our puppy and kitten young masters have picked up a stray."

Noticeably less vocal than he usually was, Cale quickly stepped himself in front of Kim, drawing Ron's attention away from his frozen brother.

As expected of his brother, Kim nearly hysterically laughed. Being surrounded by knights for a majority of his schedule and free time, he would obviously know how to recognize murderous intent when it oozed.

"That's Hans," Cale quickly introduced, a wide smile on his face. Despite his attempt to play innocent and casual, however, it was easy to see his face lightly twitch and crumble over the invisible sense of pressure the man in front of them was exerting. He pushed through, however, quickly piecing himself back together. "He's- our friend!"

"A friend, I see.." Ron indulgently repeated, not unlike a grandfather listening to the nonsense rambling of a child near the living room fireplace. "Then, I suppose both of you going out today was done with the purpose of meeting him to play?"

"Y—" Cale's voice caught itself for a second. Hurriedly, he turned back to look at Kim. "Yes. Yeah! Right Kim? Kim—??"

Ron laughed warmly.

"Ho. Then may I ask what games you were playing for the young master to have received injuries to such an extent?"

Kim's face paled.

It was only then did he painstakingly gather the willpower to look back in Ron's direction from the floor up. The first thing he noticed upon doing so, however, were the faint speckles of red tinged on the old butler's white cuff, only barely visible underneath the over-sleeve of his black vest.

Averting his gaze to look past Ron's imposing figure at the door, Kim swore he spotted Beacrox roughly hauling a familiar man away into a smaller, separate carriage.

… mh.

Opting to ignore the sight he had just witnessed, he sent a shaky smile in Ron's direction.

".. I tripped and fell."

Ron merely chuckled.

"I see."

Though the tone of his voice was benign and soothing, it was easy to tell he believed none of the bullshit being futilely relayed to him, tinged with a frostiness that made his warmth feel searing.

Defeated, Kim slowly lifted back his gaze and met Ron's eye.

… The old man was no longer smiling.

Chapter Text

TW: Arguments between family, irrational blaming; implications of abuse (not Henituses).

Kim was noticing a trend these days.

Carriage rides, once usually so lively and peaceful, accompanied by the distinct yet faint aroma of Mother’s rose perfume, were now typically spent in silence. And in the hole left behind by that person once so vibrant was the sharpening chill of the steadily approaching winter. Currently, however, it wasn’t the cold weather that was pinning him rigid in his seat— This time, it was the presence of a certain butler, standing near the door to the coach, gloved hand elegantly extended for him to grab.

Kim stared at the faint splotch of red staining the sleeve underneath the man’s coat before nervously sliding his fingers over the other’s, stepping into the carriage to join his brother and Hans.

“I will be outside with the coachman, young master Kim,” Ron gently smiled at him before the door closed. “I will make sure you get home safer than you've ever been so far.”

It was with great reluctance bestowed upon a stiff neck that Kim nodded.

The door shut with a soft click. Ron’s gaze lingered on the three boys for a short second, the cover of gentleness on his expression never once faltering, even as he averted his gaze to gesture for Beacrox to drive the separate carriage away with a wave of his hand.

Once his son was already a decent distance away, Ron turned back briefly to meet Kim’s nervous eyes, smiling curtly as he announced,

“We will now be departing towards the estate, young master.”

And like so, the drive home was spent in tense silence.

The way Hans' eyes shone brightly in both admiration and hesitancy upon stepping out of the carriage and into the intricacies of the Henituse manor's front lawn would've been an endearing sight, had Kim's mind not been heavily preoccupied elsewhere and thus unable to properly see it.

On the other hand, of course, Cale didn't hesitate to let out his own snicker, but unlike his brother, Kim was very much anticipating—or perhaps 'dreading' would be more accurate—the not-so-distant future in which he was nearly certain wouldn't be a snickering matter.

"Welcome back, young masters."

A small number of attendants lined up on both sides of the foyer. A rather humble amount, but considering the somewhat stealthy nature of their arrival—fitting. Beacrox must've given them a quick heads up in advance upon his quicker arrival, since they didn't look all that rushed or frantic in the slightest, scrambling to prepare for an unexpected return.

Though undoubtedly, Kim liked it better this way.

The lesser commotion meant that there was a lesser chance of his father not noticing them. He wished he was naive enough, however, to believe that an attendant hadn't informed the man upon hearing of Beacrox's notice of their arrival.

"Ron."

"Yes, young master Kim?"

"... Prepare the baths. One for Hans, as well. We'll be washing up first before anything."

Cale slightly frowned. "What about food?" 

Without missing a beat, Kim changed the course of his requests, ignoring the piercing stare his brother was giving him from the side.

"Ron, tell them to prepare the table in the meanwhile." And then there was a pause, coupled with visible hesitance. "... Father will be eating in his study, will he not?"

The chuckle that left Ron's gently curled lips was frightening, though before any of Kim's worst nightmares could be confirmed as reality before his very eyes, a steady string of sound resounded from further down the hall.

Footsteps approached in steady intervals, the sound light and calm. One could easily tell at first hearing that this was not the pace of a fuming man ready to reprimand, but rather that of a father entering a warm foyer to welcome home his two wayward sons after a day of sneakily scampering about.

It was unfortunate that such an initial impression was quick to falter the second the father in question stepped into the room.

And so there the man was—in all his demure splendour, neck gently covered by the fur linings of his robes—walking right in their direction.

Kim felt a brief rush of dreaded anticipation rush through him, so quick it stiffened the muscles just as odd tensions coursed through his veins in abundance. An odd pairing to the twinge of fond familiarity that naturally came with his father's presence, surprisingly large for something people often deemed to be rather average.

It was a mistake for him to look up, even more so directly at the person he was currently dreading to see, but the unexpectedness of the closely approaching encounter was leaving him with a careless startle—his head snapping up in the direction of his father, the voice of the attendant announcing their arrival back at the household ringing louder in his head than it was in reality.

Their eyes met for a second.

It was a fleeting one, honestly, perhaps not even long enough to be called a ‘second’.

But it was enough.

Maybe even too much.

Because as short of an interval as it was for not even a blink to have taken place, it was startlingly enough for a myriad of emotions to suddenly flashed across Deruth’s face. Kim could see them staining his father's eyes, weighing his mouth agape, freezing every nerve in his body until he appeared like one of the many statues (small) decorating the grounds of their estate (vast, suddenly way too vast).

Kim found himself hesitating—the reflexive step backwards that he was about to take coming to a halt as his leg stiffened up, his head suddenly tilting downwards to avoid a stunned gaze he knew would be inevitable.

It was odd because Kim wouldn’t consider himself as someone prone to hesitation—yet there he was, standing under the high roof of their foyer, stilling at the sight of his father’s feet entering his range of view, taken off guard despite long having considered the possibility of the man appearing out of the blue without notice.

It was a debate, choosing whether or not Kim should follow his brain's call and direct his muscles to lift his chin from their ground-aimed angle—a deafening tandem of ‘what-if’s and ‘should-I’s alternating in messy in-between obstructing him from proper thoughts.

He knew he might regret it if he chose to do one over the other, a small feeling stinging his chest at the realization of what the bandage on his face might mean to the person just a couple of meters away from him.

And so there Kim was, a fool, realizing within the span of what might’ve been yet another fraction of a second—a short, fleeting tandem snug between a frantic heartbeat, a stifled breath taken before a blink—that there was another person in this world beside his brother that would react explosively to whatever trivial thing that happened to him as if a single scratch meant the end of the universe.

The silence of his head that he had momentarily enveloped himself in then popped, encompassing what were once vague echoes into a plethora of sound— A crescendo of approaching footsteps, subtle exchanges of glances, followed by sharp gasps.

“My lord!!”

“Master Deruth!”

A loud thud landed heavily before Kim, accompanied by what might’ve been a faint crack muffled by the foyer carpet.

"Kim."

Startled, Kim faintly jolted, the sensation of warm hands clambering up to his face.

“Kim— what happened to..”

One palm cupped his cheek, fingers brushing his ear and tugging his hair close to his neck, while the other hovered, trembling, quivering over the white plaster that was patched over pale skin. Though unlike his other, it never once quite touched him, as if afraid of the mere notion.

“Oh, Jour.."

There came a hushed, horrified exhale.

Kim stilled abruptly. Right before him, he heard a breath, not unlike a punched-out wheeze, twinged with a despair that was so familiar to Kim that it hurt listening to it.

“Oh, my Jour— ”

Hazy and unfocused were the pupils before him, yet the heavy feeling of a widespread yet narrowing gaze was not any less sharp, frantic as it weighed on the side of Kim’s face.

Ah, he breathed, the record of an unforgettable autumn day resurfacing its tapes unforgivingly across the strings of his heart.

The rustling of red leaves. The red blush of the setting sun.

Teary red eyes, red stuffy noses, wind-gnawed red cheeks.

Memories dusted in vermilion red hues surrounding them like the wafting fragrance of familiar rose tea.

In the end, Kim knew that he was ultimately very, very weak.

So he looked up. Met his father’s eyes— Quivering. Unfocused.

A foreign yet familiar sensation swarmed and settled in his chest, bitter like the aftertaste of something heavily unpleasant, even more so than the sour teas he was made to drink. Nothing was weighing on Kim's tongue, however, left with naught but his chest that was feeling oddly tight—a persistent itch that could never be scratched, painful and lingering so awfully that it was, in itself, its own form of torture.

“... Father,” he murmured, a breath away from soundless. A little awkward, a little sombre. His small voice was overwhelmingly loud in the deafening silence of the echoing foyer, however, only serving to make it feel smaller in the vastness of the room.

Reaching up, Kim slowly rested his hand over Deruth’s, with his other moving to lower the hand that had avidly refused to even graze the surface of his patched-up injury.

“Father.“

Looking straight at a ghastly face that was sadly familiar, as if to ensure his voice would successfully reach, he called again, surprisingly calm despite the faint tremor quivering beneath his skin.

“It is Kim.”

Hazy brown eyes met his—a little more focused, this time, even if just a tad bit—and Kim ignored whatever emotion that sight spurred in favour of continuing, because should he not, he knew his resolve might've crumbled there and then.

"The person in front of you right now is Kim, Father."

The man kneeling before him was deafeningly silent, staring into a pair of eyes that were a shade more vermilion than his own brown—a mix between his wife's and his. It took a second, or maybe three, before a breath seemed to finally escape Deruth, the shoulders that he kept tightly stiff finally relaxing with that choked exhale.

"..... Kim."

Kim lightly squeezed his father's hand—a small confirmation that was reciprocated almost frantically, despite the frailty of its return.

"Oh … Oh, Kim."

Deruth repeated again, squeezing his hand back.

Weak, shaky. A frail voice unbefitting for a man who was supposed to be their territory's most powerful. And then, like the aftermath of the abrupt retract of water, it came back, a hurricane—more firmly, almost crazed, the rise of Deruth's typically mellow voice unfamiliar to most present in the foyer.

“Who did this?“

"Someone unimportant," Kim calmly replied. His demeanour, however, was quick to shift to a slightly more nervous plight. "... Ron and his son took care of him."

That seemed to not have been the right answer to give, seeing as how his father's eyes darkened in a way Kim's never seen before, a foreign glint simmering beneath the shadows that clouded his sight with unreadable thoughts.

"Ron," he called, voice rough and hoarse, raw in a frankly terrible way.

"Yes, my lord."

As expected, the response of the old man was instantaneous, his voice cutting through the tension prevailing in the foyer—so large, yet suddenly so cramped.

"Is that person alive?"

"If you wish for him not to be, that could be arranged."

Kim all but blinked, somewhat taken aback by the sheer coldness of the scene before him.

Huh.

"—Wh.. Father, wait!"

Despite Kim's own ounce of silent incredulity, it was, in the end, Cale's voice that cut in this time.

The intensity of his voice was so loud it startled Kim, so focused on his trembling father that he nearly forgot about the presence of his brother and their orange-haired guest just a little further back from them.

"Kill him? How are you- You're gonna do it yourself? I mean.. I would've killed him for hurting Kim too, why wouldn't I, that- that piece of trash deserves it, but Father, you're…"

Conflict arose in the young boy's eyes, the enthusiastic ferality that once partook it just over an hour ago now overshadowed by the kind of startling shock that awoke in the face of unfamiliarity.

"You're.. not that kind of..?"

Both brothers watched with bated breaths as a soft scoff of a laugh escaped their father's lips. It was stifled, in a way, stiff unlike his usual gentleness, voice restraining immeasurable amounts of emotion that were either indecipherable or something they'd rather not acknowledge.

"Are you telling me to leave that person alive?"

Half-crazed eyes snapped back towards Cale, red in the corners with pupils that were shaking tremendously. Kim could see his brother flinch at the sight—one so incredibly different than anything he's ever seen, because while they've witnessed Deruth Henituse's grief, anger and tears, the fumes of fury had never directly been intended towards them.

"If someone hurts your younger brother, Cale," Deruth stressed, hands that had previously only been hovering above Kim now clamping down near his forearms. "You don't let them live. You were there, weren't you? Following him whenever he sneaks out?"

Almost instinctively Cale straightened his back, much reminiscent of their territory's knights whenever the captain did their role callings. He blinked, incredulous, lips mouthing aimlessly in their own form of silent stammer. 

"Well- Yes, but Pa- Father, what are..?"

"No," came the sharp interruption. "Of course you were, and of course I've known about it, though I was only ever so lenient about his escapades because I had faith you would help him out of trouble should he get into it. Cale, I didn't let you learn how to wield a sword for you to be useless when it really matters and let your brother get himself killed, too." 

The fury laced into Deruth's frantic rage of a shout was unexpected, though it might've been more shocking to see had Kim's entire attention been focused on the way his brother's face sunk, pale and so very confused, his fingers itching at his side for a loyal wooden sword that was broken and not even there.

Kim couldn't help but tense up at the sight he had never seen once in his current life. Strict as his father may be at times, he had never shouted, never yelled. Kim Rok Soo wouldn't have been surprised to go through another childhood whilst being screamed at, but after growing up with a person like Deruth Henituse, a man whose way of fatherhood was lenient, adoring and indulgent, made him grow comfortable with such a warm notion than he could admit—a kind little bandage to be plastered over what was once his own harsh reality.

And while Kim Rok Soo wasn't a stranger to being yelled at while growing up, Cale Henituse—his brother who grew up pampered and well taken care of—was the complete opposite.

"Why don't you get a damn hold of yourself?"

Steeling his nerves and pushing himself back forward, with his own bite in hand to divert his father's fury-laced attention from Cale onto himself.

"Kim—"

Kim raised his hand, silencing his father with a subtle gesture, his eyes never leaving the older man's face—looking back at him with wide eyes.

Whatever flame left in Deruth's eyes was quickly snuffed out by the sharp hands of Kim's words.

"You are the lord of this territory, Father," Kim calmly began once he was certain his father was listening, tone laced with a twinge of a frown, dipped lightly in disapproval and his own form of speaking fury—the most emotion Cale has ever seen or heard in his brother's face in a long time.

In his peripheral vision, Kim swore he saw Ron make a move after a long while of standing by, calculating whether or not this affair was something a mere butler—an assassin in hiding, of course, but by now the whole family is sure to have suspicions on him—could interfere with. But regardless, Kim stared him down harshly and the message seemed to have quickly been sent and received. Smart man that Ron was, he stood back down, and Kim wouldn't fault him for it. Adults should step in during situations clearly not meant to be handled by children, but Kim couldn’t care less. This was his father, and Kim was his son, and if the man didn’t hear it from his own child, then when will it ever get to his head?

"But before that," he resumed, once he was sure Deruth's attention was on him, and vice versa, his own eyes firmly settled on the other. "You are a father, an adult who shouldn't be blowing things wildly out of proportion like this and—"

"—I am doing EXACTLY what a father should be doing when their son nearly goes and gets himself killed—"

"Cale is your son too, and you are also his father. Why did you talk to him like that?"

"No—" Cale's voice warbled from where he stood, sounding so lost and quiet, the tremor in his hand intensifying, as if trying to grab hold on something that wasn't there. "Kim it's alright, Father has a point, I- I am the older brother, I should've—"

"My twin brother," Kim all but scoffed, turning to look at his brother to firmly implant the notion into the kid's head. "Older than me by only a few minutes."

Cale's jaw closed with a soft click of his teeth, a quivering fist clenching around a sword that wasn't even there.

"Kim, but still I—"

"—My brother who still has yet to start training with an actual metal sword. My brother who is eight-years-old and who shouldn't have to take up any responsibility when it comes to my safety, especially when I was the one to put myself in that situation where he was in turn in just as much danger."

"Kim." His father took in a deep, shuddering breath, voice turning pleading, almost desperate in its own deranged way. "Someone hurt you. And they will get what they deserve at once and you will not defend them any longer—"

"You're misinterpreting me. I'm not defending that piece of garbage. Why should I when he so obviously hurt me? I'm not going to ignore everything that happened, especially when I'm in pain, and for that, I won't ever spare any forgiveness—but look at you, Father."

The tight pain that was slowly making itself known in Kim's chest throughout this whole exchange felt even worse now.

"You are the lord of this territory, the master of our house and the father of our family. You should consider your position and how such an impulsive order could affect your image, but most importantly how your behaviour will be affecting me, and more importantly Cale."

(Breathless.)

He was feeling rather breathless right now. Somehow it felt really hard to breathe.

His light pants were the only thing heard throughout the foyer, the rise and fall of both his shoulders and chest the only visible movement in the room.

No one could move.

Attendants stood stiffly by the sidelines, heads bowed with gazes diverted towards the ground. Ron who was looking at him with something akin to what might've been pity regret, and maybe even a smudge of guilt, yet too aware of his place and orders to intervene. Hans who was at a complete and uncomfortable loss at what to do, a young stranger suddenly thrust into an affair he shouldn't have to witness.

Then there was Cale, tense with his lips bitten sealed, trembling hands wishing for something to grasp at— Deruth who was kneeling on bruised knees before him, his grip on his forearms so right it was becoming painful.

A father and a son stared into each other's eyes, both as stubborn as the other, values standing in the right of the respective justices they bore in mind.

Kim felt dizzy.

His chest really hurt, his breath running short, but he had to continue unless he wanted to have this conversation be dropped, unfinished and unresolved, only to simmer and explode worse than ever another day in the future.

"... The man who hurt me has a nephew."

His outburst from earlier, despite being delivered in his most aggressive form of composure he could muster, was still ringing, even in his own ears. Despite that white noise, he pushed on, tired and heavy, the pain in his chest still growing and not at all helping his growing migraine. He ignored the indecipherable look on his father's face that was brimming with the stubborn explosive urge to interject, yet being accorded none the opportunity.

Kim was Deruth's son, after all, in both blood and name, and was just as stubborn.

"His name is Hans. We brought him with us after it all happened."

The poor kid, Kim couldn't help but think at the moment. He had more than one intention as to why he eventually conceded to bringing Hans along after thinking it through on the way home, of course, but ultimately what they brought him over for—what Hans was under the impression he was invited for, especially—was the food and a bath.

He shouldn't have had to witness any of this, Kim tiredly thought, a migraine beginning to form. He could only imagine how awkward it would be for a guest to suddenly be standing in the middle of an increasingly heated family fight. But once they got this over with, he reassured himself, at least it might then pay off, the memory hopefully wiped with the promise of food.

It took a large portion of his willpower to prevent himself from running his hands across his face.

"If Father really wishes to punish that man, I suggest you go to Hans first and foremost."

Bitterness twinged Kim's face. He thought back to the tall, scrawny teen, and the way the young man curled up as if he was something small. Such a sight shouldn't phase him, really, but Kim thought back to children from an orphanage of several decades back, and then to the lanky inhabitants of a central shelter, and found the way he was so used to such sights so sadly unfortunate.

"Because of all the people that man has wronged," he reiterated slowly, making sure that his father was truly listening. "Hans is the kid who's gotten it far worse than a mere shove and bruise. If anyone deserves justice, it's him, not me."

"Kim—"

"Father," Kim cut in, patience treading just barely on its edges, the pain flaring up in his chest, not unlike a deep-rooted itch. "Didn't you remind me of something just a few days back? That despite the many things I present, I am ultimately still a child."

Slowly, Kim removed the tight grip that had latched itself onto his forearms someway throughout the heated exchange and helped his father back up.

Deruth staggered a bit, his knees stiff from when he had fallen so abruptly to the ground and remained during the whole exchange, surely to leave bruises even despite the softening of the carpet. It was with a silent acknowledgement that Kim felt his father's hands quivering around his own, as if afraid Deruth would bruise him any more than he already was if the man even held him like usual.

With a sigh, Kim squeezed his father's hands. A sign that he wasn't brittle, wasn't fragile— That he was there, and that was enough.

"... Let me remind you of something as well."

Kim looked up, meeting Deruth's gaze at the befitting lines of sight familiar to both a father and his son.

"Hans is a child too."

Thirty-six years of age in a past life. That was a number that belonged to Kim Rok Soo. Though his eight years as Kim Henituse couldn't be disregarded as well, there was someone technically younger than him here that needed more help than he ever did.

"He may not be yours of blood, but he deserves as much retribution as your sense of responsibility as a father demands for me."

There was a pause, a long, tense and heavy one. Though eventually, after what might as well have been a fragment of eternity, Kim felt his father finally squeeze his bandaged hands back, weakly, just barely withholding pressure.

It still hurt a little. Of course it did. Even a papercut felt like hell to him, but these were only mere scraps, bandaged and tended to by his brother's surprisingly skilled hands, and despite all his internal whinings, Kim wasn't so weak that he would break down by a small application of force against such small wounds.

"You know that Mother is gone, right Father?"

The flinching of his father's hands in his was violent—but Kim didn't allow him to escape just yet, pressing on just as steadily as his tone of voice.

"She's gone. She won't come back and I know that. And I know you.. that you miss her, and I do too—we all do. But now you're the only parent Cale and I have left."

Tears began filling his father's eyes. Unsightly, in all honesty, but not a sight Kim was exactly unused to seeing by now.

"We're here for you. And we need you to be here for us too."

"... I.." His father's voice was quiet, almost hesitant, so weak it was almost unconvincing. "Truly, I.."

Deruth fell into a dazed silence once more, contemplation and self-evaluation clouding both thought and words. He was almost unresponsive, as if the sinking feeling of realization had just begun to hit him once more, and Kim could only sigh and wonder why he couldn't just simply be a normal eight-year-old.

".. Father is a smart man."

Gentle was the squeeze between their connected hands, just enough to apply the vaguest of pressure.

"He knows what I mean. And if not now… he will for certain, eventually. I don't doubt it."

Deruth's head dipped, the angle presented before Kim much reminiscent to that of a certain talk they once had, just a few days ago, surrounded by nothing but the silent words of bookshelves as their witnesses in his father's study.

It was so tiring, this thing called 'family.'

If he had to be honest, had Kim been this man's only son, he wouldn't have cared about any of this.

Deruth Henituse could've been a horribly irresponsible, distant and impulsive adult—nothing he hadn't witnessed during distant days in the childhood of his first life where he had grown despite it all into an adult who knew better than to follow the steps of those before him.

But Cale was different. Different from Kim Rok Soo.

Family was tiring, but Kim Rok Soo loved with his entire soul, inadvertently or not, all those he came to see as family, even if he never verbally acknowledged it.

And that was why Cale was going to be different. His brother would grow under the best he could get—and Kim would make sure of it, without fault.

This wasn't [The Birth of a Hero]. Cale Henituse wouldn't have to start growing into the role of human trash by the young age of eight. He will continue to get educated and will grow up without potential backlash to his liver, will be the respected young master of this house and will know how to defend himself should he ever be lynched by some feral doberman.

.. Thinking about everything hurt.

It was so tiring, such a chore, a responsibility, a duty—in the grand scale of thing though, however, maybe, possibly, for certain, perhaps—

Kim's head was hurting.

His chest was hurting, and his stomach wasn't any better.

And as if on cue, a rumble escaped from him, his insides churning in an odd way.

".. Father."

"Yes, of course.. what is it, Kim?"

The response he got was almost instant, as much as it was barely above a murmur.

His father always responded to Cale or his calls as instantaneously as he could. Such a thing never changed over the years, even throughout all their more serious, more conflicting talks, though of course, this time the tone of which he used to respond to him was different, yet the same—as were all the many other times he's ever called for his father and gotten a response.

Soft, tired— weak and guilt-ridden, but still so fond despite the exhaustion.

"Join us for a meal," Kim murmured, tired but soft in his own right. "Don't eat alone in your office again. We have a guest too, you know? You should properly host."

A large hand slowly left his, reaching up to gently brush his hair. Kim could feel the slight tremor in them, but it wasn't anything he needed to comment about.

"... You all smell terrible," Deruth whispered, a small upward quirk to his lips, so incredibly fond.

The one to respond to those words, however, wasn't Kim.

"We really do," Cale spoke up, his voice nearly identical to Kim's, easily integrating himself in the exchange. But his tone was rather quiet, Kim noted, almost going unheard from how distanced he was from his father and brother, though he seemed self-aware of this, clearing his throat to follow up.

"We were in the slums, you know. I.. followed brother there. Frequently."

Kim felt some sort of deadpan settle within him at his brother's words, a confirmation that was solidifying even more than it already was.

Sighing, he turned to their father, feeling some sort of mixture between either sheepiness or guilt.

"I'm assuming you.. knew about that to some extent," came Cale's careful words. He shouldn't be surprised, honestly, with how protective their father has proven himself to be through the years and counting.

"Now that we're bringing it up," Kim added in, "you should really look into a better sewer system, by the way, amongst many other- other changes, perhaps."

And before Deruth could follow through on whatever laid behind the narrowing glint in his eyes, Kim was quick to squeeze the other hand that he was still holding, almost in a scold.

"I'm hungry. I'm sure Brother and our guest are too. We can talk more—or, well.. You and your vassals will, some other day that isn't now, or after we finish eating. But first.." Kim breathed slowly, shuddering and almost choked, before smoothing down somewhat of an uneasy frown off his face. "First you need to have your talk with Hans, if he's ready to—"

Swallowing uneasily, he reached for his mouth, the lump in his throat almost suffocating. It felt heavy, the taste of his saliva almost too salty—too metallic.

"Mh.."

… He was really hungry.

Though wasn't this pain a little too much for something like a little bit of hunger?

• Oh shit, I almost forgot. You're pretty young, aren't you? I don't think this is looking good for you—

The familiar voice of a woman distantly murmured in his head.

"... mn.." He paused, furrowing his brows, head woozy and so incredibly off.

• Kiddo? Hellooooo?

Ears ringing, Kim was only barely able to respond.

"... mother?"

No, it couldn't be.

The voice and intonation were incredibly different—though the state that was suddenly fogging up his head disorientated his recognition, and before he could correct himself, Kim already felt his voice failing him, sinking alongside the heaviness of his saliva.

"Wh.. Kim?"

Vaguely, upon hearing his father's small choke, Kim acknowledged that might've said that aloud. He wasn't.. too sure.

"Kim, what did you sa—"

But before he could even respond, Kim lurched, coughing into his hand while the other clutched at his chest, the pain that had been building up since earlier suddenly hitting him tenfolds, staggering both his form and breath.

As the itch in his chest only slightly lightened, he gingerly drew back his shaking hand to look at his palm.

There was blood.

He blanked, the sharp exhale that left him, rough, staggering.

Was he dying?

• Well- No? Maybe later on, but y'know, not now. Hopefully.

Had he been able to, Kim would've frowned.

Dark spots clouding his vision, Kim tore his eyes away from the sight of dark blood staining his palm, only to stare up and meet the horrified look on his father's face.

"... no," Kim attempted to reassure amidst his own confused terror. "Don't.. Don't panic again. I'm—"

Knees buckling, the weight of the world suddenly seemed to have multiplied over his shoulders, the universe shifting in flips and turns.

His vision was rapidly fading out, dark and light spots flickering near the edges of his vision. 

What the fuck.

What the shit.

Sight now nearly gone, he could only rely on his hearing to let him know that it was Cale's voice calling out to him from what felt like a long distance away, paired with loud echoing footsteps rushing in his direction.

• …. I think I have some explaining to do? When you wake up, of course! So wake up quickly, you'll need to eat. We need a lot of food after this, hm hm!

Oh, they were definitely going to have that talk—not to mention that overdue rain check on food.

Thrown into the sudden throes of unconsciousness, Kim despaired over having to miss out on a good lunch, with the voice of who he finally registered to be the Gluttonous Priestess being the last voice he's heard alongside his brother's—oddly akin to a shriek, though it quickly subsided into a deafened void, enveloping him in its silence.

And then he finally hit the ground, only barely supported by the frantic reach of both his father and brother before his senses were lost to the world.

Chapter Text

It had been three days since the youngest master of the Henituse Household last opened his eyes.

In the silence of an office, a fountain pen steadily scratched at parchment.

In the vast area of the training hall, the metal blade of a sword was swung.

(And in another room, an orange-haired guest sat nervously, wondering what he could do next.)

The manor had flown into a frenzy.

Right after coming back home with visible injuries alongside his brother and a young scruffy teen they knew absolutely nothing about, the youngest son of the count had suddenly coughed up blood.

The worst was that such a sight was familiar—red hair fluttering, a pale body wavered on two feet before finally falling forward.

Such a scene was so different, yet so splitting to the image of their late madam that it was terrifying.

It had only been a few weeks since her passing, after all. The leaves of autumn had all fallen off by now, yet the memories of red still lingered strongly, not so frail to be easily lost to the approaching winter's gradually piling snow.

In the meantime, a father and son never strayed from their youngest's bedside, the flicker of red flames from the fireplace in the room ever so vibrant—the only eccentricity present in the room.

They didn't want to leave. But it had to be done eventually, of course, because Deruth couldn't forget how hard his sons worked to try uplifting his mood during the early aftermath of the funeral, nudging him in subtle yet effective ways to become more productive instead of wandering around aimlessly like a husk. And so after he gently ruffled the hair of both his sons—one tenderly fond pat after the other, one unconscious, one quietly sitting by the other's side—he would stand up to leave Kim's bedroom to resume his work, with Cale sending him off with a smile.

In the face of his father’s decision to finally depart, Cale expressed nothing but understanding, and it meant the world to Deruth that the boy did. But even if he had lashed out and yelled at him for abandoning his brother in favour of something like work, it would've been understandable.

But Cale was so good—so unreasonably understanding— without an apparent hint of scorn or contempt hidden amongst the many little scabs smearing the brightness of his smile that frankly, made the guilt threaded with thankfulness swell plentiful in his chest with the mere sight of it.

And left behind in the silence of his father’s temporary departure, Cale often spent a few minutes reading to his brother, though not without the occasional stutters and mispronunciations in his narration, of course, because even if unconscious, his brother still managed to find a way to be an absolute bitch and make his life hell by choosing novels on the more linguistically complex side of literature to take a fancy to.

Still, it didn't deter him from slowly reading out those difficultly articulated words to his brother. Braving through the dense pages and packed paragraphs, he made sure to slow down on the parts he wasn’t as certain about to relay to his brother with the best of his lesser par abilities.

All little peaceful things had to come to an end at some point, however, and Cale, too, eventually had to leave his brother's bedside, opting to spend their time apart working on his swordsmanship. Not with a wooden blade this time, especially not after what happened, but a new metal sword that his father had conceded to let him have after a rather silent but understanding exchange.

Kim hated it when he was clingy, after all, so he couldn't stay glued to his bedside forever. And just as his brother's annoyed voice made itself known in his head like phantom echoes, Cale was reminded that knew for a fact that Kim was often lying. And just as he was aware of his brother's annoyed pretenses, he also knew that his brother would dislike seeing him sitting around to rot uselessly on a chair near his bedside.

That's my job, Kim would've said, had he been awake and aware—and Cale could hear the mimic of his brother's voice so clearly, from the slight scoff underneath his breath, to the exasperation no doubt laced in between.

There's going to be only one slacker between us, and it's me, Kim would've followed with, as if he and Cale weren't going to be inheriting their father's mantle in the future together, their beloved territory supported by not only one, but two.

Regardless..

With all he says about having zero interest, Cale knew for a fact that his brother would be interested to see whatever progress he'd make with his new sword. Father, too, had smiled at him softly when he told him that, one evening where they were sat together by Kim’s bedside.

The words of his father’s blind fury-driving criticisms of his eldest-by-minutes son on the day they came back home from the slums still rang fresh in both their ears—though Cale, while known to be the lesser smart twin between him and his brother, wasn’t daft to not realize what had truly driven his father to say such words. And from the way he eventually stood up to make himself room by his father’s side in his cramped enough armchair, Deruth knew that his son was well aware too.

Like father and son, they were both somewhat awkward in their exchanged words the following day. Like father and son, they both forgave and understood—the wounds they had were still fresh, still healing— But forget? Perhaps not, maybe not ever—and Cale would be a fool to believe his mind wouldn't be hearing the last of those words ringing in his head for a long, long while despite his father apologizing at his feet, the warmth of his embrace still vivid in his memory.

So he made it part of his drive.

He was the older brother, even if by a few mere minutes. While Kim read his books, Cale wielded the sword—from the second their paths diverged like so, had it not already been decided that Cale should be the one protecting his younger sibling?

Cale swung his sword, steps echoing lightly in the indoor training hall, practiced steps and movements done in repetition until they were all but nearly engraved in his young bones and flesh.

This was all for his brother, he breathed, taking another swing. For his mother that he couldn't protect, for his father who needed strength, for his family for whom he was sure he would do anything for if it meant being their protector.

He knew his father hadn't meant all the harshities he had spilled in an impulsive mess of rage and worry, but he couldn't help but think that part of his father's words—although not meant to reflect any semblance of sincerity in their scolding—were true. Not intentionally, never intentionally, but Cale liked to think he was one to turn negatives into positives.

And with yet another one of his many swings and practiced steps, Cale let out a breath.

His brother should hurry and wake up soon.

But if he needed to take a little bit longer, that was fine too—Kim could take his time.

So long as he was healthy when he woke up, so Cale could have a brother to bother again.

(Three days.)

Hans has spent three days within the luxurious folds of the Henituse manor.

With every breath he took within the walls of the estate, he's lived better than in all his dozen and few years of existing. He was treated as a guest, despite, in a sense, being involved in the incident that he believed led to the youngest master of the house to collapse in a coughing fit of blood. Though it seemed his pessimism and guilt were only one-sided and self-inflicted, only ever treated with kindness by the servants of the estate, despite him might as well being one of the catalysts that led to young master Kim's sudden loss of consciousness.

He tried relaying that guilt to the first young master of the house—though the young boy had looked at him blankly before frowning, as if whatever Hans had told him was such bullshit it made him lose brain cells.

"My brother and I didn't bring you here to have you wallow in useless guilt for something you didn't even play a hand in," young master Cale had lightly scowled—although, surprisingly with less animosity than Hans would've expected from the young boy he thought to be rather fiery at first impression.

Perhaps it was the effect of being seated right at his brother's bedside again, as it seemed to be the new routine these past few days. Hans had noted a significant decrease in intensity in the young boy whenever he came to visit, occasionally with Hans in tow, because for some reason the young master didn't seem to mind his company that much, even allowing him to watch as he practiced with the sword in the training hall.

That was the sum of what he did during his three days at the manor.

And that made him uneasy.

Hans was a person who felt guilty rather easily—perhaps a little too easily. No matter the reassuring words of the people around him, he couldn't find it in himself to feel like he truly had the right to be there at all. That was one of the reasons why he avoided holing himself in his room for long whenever he wasn't invited to join the first young master. Instead, he'd often go outside to join the gardeners and help them trim the bushes, or shovel at the thin layers of snow that were gradually beginning to grow in height. Sometimes, he'd even pay a visit to the maids when they needed an extra hand or so, either brooming the halls, or cleaning the windows, sometimes even aiding with the laundry—though overall it was mostly small errand running, or extending some help in the kitchens.

If Hans was going to be an intruder in this giant manor, he might as well make it so that he became a helpful one. The chef of the second kitchen, though he intimidated Hans with his sharp appearance, did, in the end, seem to appreciate his help, even if only slightly.

Young master Kim and Cale had helped him so much, after all. Being a little helper in their large home was the least he could do in return for their help.

"You are my sons' guest," the count had softly relayed to him on the morning of the fourth day.

He looked so tired these days, Hans couldn't help but think. Even though he had scarcely met the man during his stay, Hans wasn't blind enough to not notice that.

"They brought you over as a friend, there's no reason for you to feel obligated to help around as if indebted."

Hans lightly fidgeted from where he sat, seated on a nice chair conveniently placed right before the count's desk.

"I.. am indebted though, sir, they've truly.."

Deruth merely looked at him with a subtle twinge of softness—exasperation that was rather amused, though not in a berating manner. It was an overwhelming thing to have been directed at him, despite it being something smaller than he made it seem.

"You are the young man my sons invited. I'm sure whatever it was they did to make you feel in their debt was nothing that would be burdened them."

… The count was a kind person.

Hans wasn't that used to kindness. He might've gone a little teary-eyed at some point during one of their very few talks.

If Hans had to use another one of the many words he already had in mind to describe the man, it would be been patient. The light bags hanging beneath his eyes might've contributed to it, the exhaustion from the events of the recent days taking a toll on his weary bones, but even so it was such a strange notion for Hans to have any semblance of positive passive interaction with an adult without having emotions suddenly spike up without notice midway through the interaction.

And for a short while, when he had first stepped through the manor and saw the count in person for the first time—saw his outrage, his hysterics—Hans had a passing thought that this man would be similar to his uncle, whose mood often jumped from one steep low to other absurd highs. But then he heard the concern and worry laced desperately between the loudly exchanged words bouncing off the foyer's walls and Hans understood, finally, when he saw the man quietly brushing his son's hair by his bedside, that the count was already so much different in ways Hans wouldn't be able to fully understand quite yet. He wasn’t in the right to scream at his son—in no world would, or should, that be acceptable—but he cared, and cared so much that Hans had a hard time trying to wrap his head around the notion that was familial love.

"My lord.."

Hesitantly, he mustered both his words and his courage.

His memories of his late parents were vague, practically nonexistent. But he was sure they were kind. His father's brother, not so much.

"About what happened.."

It was with a faint stiffness in his limbs that Hans anticipated a change in demeanour, but even after a fraction of a second had passed, the count didn't show any visible sign of discontent for bringing up the state of the youngest master of the house.

"I'm ready to talk now."

Count Deruth paused for a slight fraction's bit. Setting his fountain pen down, he lightly pushed aside his papers, raising his arms until his hands laid with their fingers interlocked over the wooden surface.

Attention seemed to be solely on him now. Despite there being none other witnesses besides the authors etched onto the books on the numerous shelves, Hans felt nervous. The count, while at first glance seemed rather unassuming, was able to be intense in his own right.

"About my uncle, the man who hurt young master Kim," Hans spoke up, doing his best to keep his voice steady. "I would like to tell you about him, and… and maybe come to a decision as to what should happen to him once I'm done. Because he.. Hurt me as well and despite everything, I—” Hans swallowed thickly. “I know that he isn’t exactly a good person.”

A fire of vengeance and animosity lit up the man's weary gaze at the mention of his uncle. It was subtle, Hans remarked, no doubt having simmered into somewhat of a dormant rage after three quiet days of work and worry.

But regardless of whether it was simmered or not, it was still plenty abundant, a blow that was both permanent and personal to the Henituse name, and Hans didn't doubt that whatever he had to say next would be intently listened to by the Count.

He was glad that was the case.

(And when he was done, perhaps an hour or more later, Hans found himself with a vaguely blurred sight, and the tired weight he had been holding in his gaze for a long time finally spilled once he felt the warm hand of the count softly fall on his shoulder.)

Other than patient, he supposed the lord was truly kind.

"You're welcome to stay here, you know."

"... Can I truly?"

“We are the wealthiest family in the northeast,” Count Deruth smiled. "We’re capable enough to take care of one additional young man. Besides, I'm sure my son would enjoy the presence of a friend other than his brother when he wakes up."

Hans cracked a tiny smile. "I'll be sure to prevent young master Cale from overwhelming his brother once he wakes up."

At that, the count let out a laugh—a joyous thing that was nice to hear, even if it wasn't exactly boisterous. Hans hadn't heard such a sound that often when his uncle would come back from whatever business he did, mostly too intoxicated to even properly conduct his basic motor skills.

"... Young master Kim will wake up soon, sir," Hans muttered, a little quiet, but genuine in intonation.

"We still don't know what happened," Deruth smiled bitterly. "... But I don't doubt he will. Stubbornness is a defining trait in our family after all, and Kim has it just as much as Cale or I do."

'Stubborn.'

Hans hadn't much opportunity in life to be stubborn. He'd like to see how stubborn the youngest master of this household could be.

That's why he should wake up soon, Hans thought to himself after leaving the count's study, already trotting back to the kitchens in hopes of finding someplace in need of help. And after he woke up, Hans hoped the young master would listen to his story.

He wondered what he might think about what Hans decided would be the best course of action to take when deciding the fate of his uncle. He wondered if the young boy would look at him with his eyes strangely aged years more than it should, and judge his choice. He wondered if the young master would ask him if he thought it was the best decision he could make—that would make him at ease, make him forgive, but not necessarily forget—and Hans, despite knowing he could've decided much worse, much more punishing, would crack a wistful smile and say 'yes', because above all else, this was for his peace of mind.

And without a doubt, young master Cale would surely ask him about it sooner or later, once he caught wind about the discussion that just took place. The redhead had ears everywhere, it seemed, and Hans hadn't yet figured out how the boy seemed to know nearly every single news that transpired throughout the manor—from the most recent gossip amongst the maids to the latest trivial skirmish between the knights—but perhaps, one day, if he were to let himself hope and dream, he'd grow to know this manor like the back of his hand just as well, if he would be permitted to.

"Oh? There you are, you weren't in your room."

Speak of the devil and he shall appear—though Hans didn't think it was quite fitting of a saying, with how different he knew the young boy and how he imagined the devil would be.

"Ah," Hans turned his head in a slight startle. "Hello, young master Cale," he smiled.

The boy didn't match his greeting right away, eyes much more focused on the surroundings of the hall they were currently in, before his brown eyes smoothly slid back towards Hans, a slight inquisitive look in his prodding.

"You came from Father's study?"

"Ah- Yes, I did." Hans paused, waiting for a response to come, before he continued, only to fill the silence. "We had a good talk."

"Hm.. I see." A rather lacklustre, disinterested response on the surface, though for some reason, Hans felt the boy already had an idea of what sort of conversation might've happened between the lord and himself.

"Come train with me."

And yet he asked none of the questions Hans supposed a curious young child would have. He wondered if it was disinterest, or if he wanted to hear none of his family drama—but with the way young master Cale's steps slowed down in pace until he was walking side by side with Hans instead of letting him trail behind like usual, Hans understood—if only a little bit—that Cale was perhaps trying to comfort him in his own way.

A little choked, chest lurching yet warm in an odd, subtle way, Hans cracked a smile, walking just a little closer to the young master he wasn't quite sure if he could call a friend yet.

"Wooden swords?" he asked.

The young master nodded. "I can't let you get hurt with the actual ones. Kim would chew me out about it when he wakes up."

At that, Hans let out a laugh— And though his smile was quick to disappear upon hitting the ground by a particularly strong parry on Cale's part, Hans quickly regained it, laughing amidst the dust and his exhaustion while the young master nagged about his poor footing and lack of arm strength.

Their sparring went on for quite a while, exchanging continuous and alternating blows despite their gap in skill. It went on for quite a long while, with Cale being rather patient in his own semi-aggressive way in showing Hans the proper ropes, and in turn, Hans being patient and attentive as he listened, taking in the whole new realm of knowledge and technique.

They went on like that for hours, especially after they discovered that Hans had quite a near potential for weapons wielding—only stopping when Ron came by to call them for supper.

The dining table felt rather empty, with the chair by Deruth's right remaining empty, and the one beside Cale, unoccupied—but the small chatter shared between the three wasn't all too bad.

(Then the tenth day came, and Kim finally woke up.)

And beneath his ribcage, the Indestructible Shield lightly thrummed.

Chapter Text

Young master Kim,

     It is with great joy that I catch wind of your recovery. Had I realized the state of your well-being earlier, perhaps I might've been able to more adequately ensure your comfort during your brief stay at the tea house.

     To express my deepest regrets for this personal failure, I've sent along with this letter a few novels I am sure you would appreciate during your bedrest, as well as a renowned brew of rose tea specially imported from the south. I heard you were quite fond of the rose tea's fragrance, and it supposedly just so happened that they help boost the immune system. I've also included a few other caddies that I've heard do well for one's health. I do hope you indulge yourself as you please.

     Alas, young master, I must return to my duties. The Fragrance of Tea and Poetry will always be here to welcome you with open arms, should you ever visit again upon regaining better health.

With all the best regards,

Your friend, Billos.

Sir Billos,

     You write so formally despite being so rude in person.

     I'll be putting trust in your tastes in novels to keep me entertained for now. I've also received your tea caddies. Some of the ones you sent are way too bitter. The rosehips were decent. I guess I should thank you for giving me that convenient networking opportunity during my last visit—don't think I didn't notice you taking your time returning to your backroom.

     It's pitiful that one of the only people you can consider a friend is a literal child. I'll pass by and visit at a later date.

– Kim H.

—————

(And somewhere in the city, Billos read through the blunt sentences of a plain letter that hadn't even bothered to be decorated by its sender, and laughed.)

There were instances in this new life where Kim would find himself staring at the ceiling or the wall. Not doing anything, not sleeping, not resting… Just existing in a constant state of being, muddled with thoughts he found more bothersome than anything else.

He'd ask himself—not explicitly, not ever quite consciously—why was he here? Why was he Kim Henituse and not Kim Rok Soo?

It was a question he didn't think about often—mostly only ever during his first few days in the crib before those thoughts eventually died out—yet it remained immovably engraved into the depths of his very being throughout this entire time. A loop he would find himself running, like a clueless little hamster on its spinning wheel, always crawling the distance towards a destination—a conclusion—that didn’t exist. But if he really thought about it, it wasn't all that surprising considering the fact that his existence might as well be an anomaly in the eyes of all the laws of the universe, with his reincarnation retaining all the memories of a life once lived. The rules surrounding him might as well be different, ripples around what is supposed to be a fixed reality, and there was no way to prove or disprove that theory, because how many records were there in the world detailing the specifics of people like him? He couldn't imagine there were many, even less that there'd be any at all.

He wasn't usually the type to think too deeply on matters he found too troublesome. But laying in bed without much to do inevitably left him with nothing but those very thoughts.

It was hilarious, in a sense. This was everything he ever wanted—to lay in bed covered with layers of duvet, left alone in a warm room he found comfort in, doing nothing but slacking off and being alive. And yet there was this damn mind of his, this notion that will perhaps forever go unanswered that was bugging him relentlessly without mercy—even if it was just a mere afterthought. Though an afterthought it may be, it was a persistent one. Always lingering beneath the every beating of his heart, sewn into his being through his veins and vessels, carved into his very existence.

An anomaly.

That's what he was.

And that was why the Indestructible Shield—despite all its protective purposes—was dangerous for him.

The strong natural forces belonging to this world, clashing with the unique nature of which his entire being consisted. That was probably why his plate was so weak, so brittle, and why the Gluttonous Priestess' voice seemed to become too overwhelmingly loud whenever she talked for too long, the cadence of her words growing larger and larger until he was finally hit with a migraine. When he had first woken up and was well enough to have a proper conversation with the Ancient Power, they decided it would be best for her to quiet down at the back of his mind when they noticed her occasional reassurances were only causing him more pain than help—the reaction of a problematic root that didn't quite belong in this soil, messing with his entire system.

Kim briefly wondered if he was feeling even a fraction of what his mother had experienced.

He wondered how she felt—weak in most, if not all, her limbs, body collapsing under her already thinning weight, only able to walk on the days her body decided to give her a break.

Kim wanted to ask her how she managed to keep telling them to smile, when she was probably spending a grand portion of her energy on trying to maintain her own.

It didn't feel fair.

Kim was only feeling a small sliver of what his mother had likely to go through. She had it much worse, he naturally presumed—it was an illness that ended up being deadly, after all, and all Kim merely had was the inconvenience of a young body that couldn't bear more than its plate was able to yet hold. Unlike his mother, he could still walk, still breathe with ease, still feel healthy to a certain extent, so long as he was careful with the double-edged sword that was his Ancient Power.

• Only use me in extreme emergencies, alright?

That was what the Glutton had whispered before she quieted down at the back of his mind to avoid further aggravating the landmines that was his fragile plate. The conversation still played in his head like a bouncing echo, coming back to him every so now and then when his mind wandered far off.

He couldn't believe the small, almost frantic attempt of a summon he had pulled about a week earlier led to his entire being collapsing for a full five days. He could only imagine the severity of what would've occurred, had Cale not jumped in and made him retract the shield in his shock. It was a miracle he hadn't hacked out a lung there and then, the backlash only hitting him a little later. Somehow he doubted the next time would be the same.

But perhaps the first time was the worst of it, he dared to hope. Maybe as he'd grow older, body and immune system strengthening, his pitiful body would be able to support using the shield more than it already didn't.

"This sucks."

Five mornings had already passed since he woke up. He felt tired nearly every hour of the day, and not in the pleasant, drowsy kind of way. He was tired in the way his muscles would feel limp with exhaustion, nerves in his hands occasionally quivering through his fingers whenever he either wanted to flip a page of Billos' novels or even hold up his teacup. It was an almost miserable kind of weariness.

"... Do you want to go outside?"

Near the bedside where he was working on the paper their language teacher had assigned him to do, Cale had carefully raised the suggestion to his brother.

"Hm… Maybe?"

His response was met with a short silence at first, before Cale spoke back up in a mutter.

"Can you even walk?" Cale let out a humourless, sad huff of a laugh, so quiet in his presence these days, as if afraid that him being too loud would rattle Kim back into unconsciousness.

"Do you want to check?"

A visible pang of hesitance flashed through his brother's eyes, though it was rather quickly resolved by an almost curious glint of contemplation.

"I read in a book that getting some sun could be beneficial to poor health."

"I wouldn't exactly say I have poor health," Kim hummed. "Only got knocked out for a few days. It's natural to be this weak after all that. I'll be back to usual in a few more."

"That's still poor health."

"Temporary poor health."

Cale cracked a wavering grin, a small huff of a laugh leaving him. "Of course it's temporary, stupid. You'll be fine in no time."

"Naturally," he scoffed back.

"By the way... You do know it's snowing outside, right? It's too cold for you to be outside right now. You got sick easily before all this, imagine how much worse it'll be if you went out now."

"Well. Guess I'm staying here as usual then." And so Kim plopped himself backwards, his white duvet pillow sinking softly underneath the weight of his head. Back to square one.

"If you want to feel the sun we can open the curtains."

"Hm… sure."

Cale stood up to pry the curtains apart. There wasn't that much sun, they soon figured, looking out into the grey clouds swarming the sky, basking the room in a cold light, only contrasted by the warm flames of the fireplace.

A short silence filled the air between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, not in the slightest. They had long passed that milestone, perhaps even all the way back since their birth, ever since memories flooded into his infant head and Kim woke up in a crib beside the boy he learnt was his brother.

And just as Cale naturally found comfort in Kim, Kim found it in his brother just the same.

Even when he had first woken up after his five days of unconsciousness, sight still blurry and eyes so heavy he almost considered just keeping them shut, he felt comfort when his brother had come near, a warmth that he subconsciously sought out, his brother's voice louder than the door he had slammed open, louder than the relieved cries of the servants around them, louder than his own thrumming heartbeat. And when Kim had weakly stretched his fingers towards him, Cale naturally did the same—meeting in the middle, a natural force that drew two halves back together.

His brother was a natural constant in his life. Something that couldn't be questioned, inexplicable, since it was something that just was.

"You can watch me in the training hall," Cale considered. "I'll call Ron to come help. Do you want to use the cane or the crutches? Or maybe the wheelchair would be better? Father got them all out again in case you needed it. We'll have to adjust them to fit you since they're still accommodated to mother's size, but—"

"We haven't even checked if I can walk or not yet," Kim sighed, only a tiny bit exasperated.

"Then I'll help you!"

And without even asking, Cale immediately jumped out of his chair, his assignment on the Mogoru Empire's language quickly abandoned without a second thought as he approached the bedside to offer his arm. Kim stared for a second, before reaching out to grab hold, slowly sliding his legs over to the side of the bed. Before he could put his feet on the ground, Cale had already kicked over his slippers—a new pair, he noticed in slight awe, slightly shifting his toes around to get a better feel of the no doubt expensive high-quality fur and velvet the slippers were made out of. It was evident that they were much more comfortable than the last pair he owned, obviously bought with that intention.

With a short inhale, Kim steadied himself on his brother's arm, bringing himself up to his feet. Immediately, he could feel his own weight falling over his weakened knees, sending a faint tremor through his legs. But after a short moment of Cale's stiffly supporting him up with bated breath, Kim felt himself adjust.

"... It's not too bad," he muttered, tentatively moving, the bottom of his slipper barely leaving the ground as he took a small, shuffled step forward. "We can work with this."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I'll have to build my strength back up anyway. Might as well start now."

Looking back up from his legs, Kim met his brother's anxiously blown eyes. He was so tense, almost laughably so. It was almost as if Cale was more affected by this than Kim himself.

"Let's go," Kim couldn't help but let out a tiny huff, his laugh barely distinguishable, as his hand lightly squeezed the arm that was supporting him. "You've told me a lot about your improvement with your new sword. I want to see it for myself."

A small light slowly twinkled back in Cale's brown eyes, ever enthusiastic to showcase his skills, especially if it was for his brother. And while he didn't seem to take his attention off the fact that Kim's knees wobbled every few seconds on their way to the underground training hall, the change in subject was enough to lighten their talk on the way there.

"Wait," Kim lightly tugged at his brother's sleeve. When he was sure he got the other's attention, he pointed down the hall, just near the foyer where the door had recently been opened, the chilly air of early winter swarming the warm halls of the manor.

"Is that Hans?"

Cale lightly squinted his eyes, gaze passing over the small huddle of maids currently sweeping at the hallway floors a little distance away. A little more to the side, away from the uniform-clad women, there was a notably smaller figure standing at the entrance to the foyer, clothed in warm early winter clothes, most distinct from the others with his orange hair.

"Oh yeah, that's him."

"I haven't seen him since I woke up," Kim mused, before eyeing the boy's attire, most obviously meant for outdoor travels. "He went somewhere? … why... is he brooming the foyer?"

"Do you want him to stop..?" And before Kim could even respond, Cale tilted his head, cupping the side of his mouth with one hand. "HANS!!"

A few meters away, Hans jumped so suddenly he nearly dropped his broom in a startle. Frantically looking around, he spun his head with wide eyes before they finally landed in their direction, and visibly you could've seen how his shoulders sagged in both relief and recognition upon recognizing who had called him.

"Come with us to the training hall! Let's play!"

"Ah—" Hans stuttered, hesitating as he looked at his broom, though the small glint of excitement at the notion didn't go unnoticed by the maids. In exasperation that was lightly tinged with fondness, one of the maids took the broom from his hands and lightly nudged him forward, ignoring what might've been a small resigned pout from the orange-haired duckling that seemed to have imprinted on their work.

"Al-Alright! I'll be there!"

"There you go," Cale lightly snickered to his brother, lightly nudging him with the arm he was using to support his brother. "Now he stopped cleaning~"

Kim sent him an unimpressed, almost exasperated look, though he was interrupted before he could quip anything back.

"Young master Kim, do you need extra support?" In a fashion very true to himself, Hans' immediate reaction upon catching up to them was to offer his assistance.

"I'm only a little weak because I've been bedridden for so long, I'm fine. We're almost at the hall, anyway." Kim shrugged. "I haven't seen much of you since I woke up. Have you been doing well?"

Hans's face—less gaunt now, face a more healthy round, his cheeks slowly growing into the shape befitting of his youth—lit up, a clumsy little smile gracing his visage, genuine and filled with gleeful warmth.

"The maids take good care of me. I help around a lot, so I made some friends hehe."

"Oh? That's good,” Kim hummed, approving. Though he couldn’t help but pause for a second after, slowly questioning, “What about Cale?" His almost judging tone was clearly felt as they descended the last of the stairs leading them to the basement, as if trying to see if Cale hadn’t been a small menace to the older boy while he wasn’t there. "He hasn't been bullying you, has he?”

Ignoring the almost offended look Cale sent him at the implied notion that he might've been a nuisance to Hans during their time together without Kim, Hans' smile turned a little more bashful. "Young master Cale has been teaching me a lot about swordsmanship. He is a good teacher even though he's so young."

Kim didn't have to see his brother's face to know the kid was wagging his tail, pleased.

"The praise is unnecessary," Cale huffed as he pulled a chair for Kim to sit on, his ego inflating so much it practically manifested into existence and became physical. "But I will accept it."

Hans laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. Kim could help but stare a bit and find it a nice change from the teen he last remembered to be skittish and fidgety.

"Sit with me for a bit, Hans," he pointed to his side. "Let's catch up, if you want."

"Ah—" Hans glanced at Cale, who merely shrugged, pulling another chair close for Hans to use. "Oh- Alright."

"I'll prepare and warm myself up," Cale grinned, boyish and not unlike a gremlin. Walking over to the center of the hall, he rearranged some of the dummies, wooden instead of hay now, momentarily discarding his sword to the side for now before he began doing some stretches.

A little awkwardly, Hans took a seat near Kim. They sat in relative silence for a few seconds, watching as Cale stretched and jumped around. Glancing every few seconds at the youngest master of the house through his peripheral vision, Hans soon came to realize that the younger boy had no intention of starting this conversation himself, posture lax in his chair, expression neutral—not expecting, not impatient.

The young master had invited him to sit with him, and that wasn't something Kim would be averse to just doing—sitting. Thinking back to his words, Hans slowly came to realize the whole thing was optional, something for him to decide himself if he felt comfortable enough for.

… It made Hans relax a bit, somehow.

Kim Henituse was someone that would make something as mundane as sitting together in silence feel comfortable, almost, in the way that he didn't seem to expect anything from anyone in a silence that might as well be awkward and in need of something to fill it in.

There was no pressure, and that, in itself, was really nice—reassuring. 

"... You said something before," Hans quietly started. "About whatever should happen to my uncle, it should be me who decides the verdict?"

Kim hummed. "I did say something similar."

Silence resumed after those spoken words, and Hans realized during those few seconds that he had been expecting some prodding, a little sign for him to continue. But Kim merely continued watching his brother warm up, done with all his stretches and now picking up his sword to practice some swings, dancing around the small crown of wooden dummies he had scattered around.

"... I asked the count to send him to a temple first, far away at the capital."

"A temple, I see."

Hans followed Kim's curious hum without falter.

"He's going to stay there and rehabilitate for a while," Hans told him, voice level and steady. "And before I left, I asked the count if it would be possible to have someone be there with me when we make a vow to the God of Death, since, well.. I'm not the best with words," he admittedly, only a little embarrassed by his faults. "But I wanted it so that he would, maybe, never be able to touch me or anyone undeserving with ill intent ever again."

"... That man agreed to make such a vow?"

Hans let out a soft laugh.

"He was really drunk."

It was a helpless, little sound, though despite the look on Hans' face that proclaimed he hadn't been a single bit surprised about such a fact, it was clear in his eyes that he held no regrets—perhaps, even, they were a little mocking.

"When he sobered up enough to realize that he just agreed to, well.."

Kim didn't need to hear an elaboration to know that the revelation hadn't been taken all too well.

What a moron, Kim couldn’t help but think, during the time they both had fallen silent once more. A little further away, Cale was now jumping on his toes, the motion repetitive and tiring for Kim to look at, unfit as he was.

"... My father's relative wasn't always like that, you know?" Hans spoke again, after they had relished a bit in their silence. "He was a decent person who took me in when I was younger after my parents died. My mother didn't have any other family, so he was the only one around."

… Ha.

It was almost startling, hearing that sort of story that felt more familiar to Kim than it should've. The words hopped through one ear and left through his other, the memories of a long distant past that he had opted to forget about, suddenly making a flash before his very eyes. It was a story he didn't feel the need to remember once he had grown older, deeming it irrelevant because why should it matter?

And yet, as he looked at the person before him who went through a situation perhaps a little more similar than he would've liked, suddenly he felt that it was something that did matter, so very much.

"He got addicted to drinking and gambling," Hans laughed softly, and for a moment the teen could still smell the alcohol clogging his nose. For a second, Kim Rok Soo might’ve had, too. "He used to be a good person, but he isn't, now, and I know that. I’m not.. gonna pretend I don’t know good people can’t become bad."

Kim hummed, silent for the most part, before finally, he moved—his head lightly tilting in his contemplation, eyes still never quite leaving his brother's practiced dance.

"You will feel it, you know. Should he ever break the vow or not."

And Hans ducked his head slightly, eyes slightly downcast. Pressing a palm over his heart where the life of one man lay witnessed, the words he followed with were the clearest, most steady that Kim has ever heard from him.

"Whatever is the outcome,” he murmured, and he knew there were only two, “I know I will be happy with it."

And finally, once the realization of the subtle brutality of such a condemnation finally sunk into them, did Kim break the silence and finally turned to look at him with that gaze that spoke more than the boy himself would ever say—a gaze Hans was sure he would never forget in his life.

"Are you satisfied with that decision?" Kim asked, without incredulity, without criticism.

And Hans—Hans who was a little clumsy, a little too naive, a little too unsure of anything and everything, really, if he had to be honest—smiled in relief, shrouded in tranquillity, and without falter or hesitation, proclaimed with all the satisfaction the universe could ever muster,

"I am."

And under the light of the hall, Kim appeared to have smiled back, a pinch of what might've been glad on his typically stoic expression.

"That's all that matters."

Hans' gaze went soft, perhaps even a bit teary-eyed, the sudden tightness in his chest prominent yet warm. It was almost laughable how emotional he was, though Hans knew he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Hans was Hans, and he was emotional in nature, several years of repressing that now prompted into an overflow.

"... Thank you, young master Kim."

His voice was slightly raw, a little coarse—emotions still clogged in his throat, pent up from years of holding them back.

And Hans knew he could’ve asked for a more brutal punishment, a more rebuking end to the man who caused him many grievances, something excruciating and cruel, and with how the lord of the manor reacted upon realizing his son had been injured, Hans was sure that the count would’ve allowed anything he could’ve asked for. But Hans was Hans, and he wasn’t a viciously spiteful person by nature—something he was more tired out by, rather than fuelled. Anger was a complicated thing, an emotion he was familiar with in others, but having seen how the flames of fury had affected those around him, in the end, it only served to make his own wear out, too fatigued by how destructive vehemence could be.

Standing up, Hans lightly dusted his pants, discarding the warm hat and coat he had been wearing the whole time, and carefully folded them over his chair.

"Don't hurt yourself," Kim casually waved him off.

"It wouldn't be the worse I've had to deal with." Hans cracked a smile. "I can handle our little young master."

"I'll root for you, then,” Kim shrugged, almost indulging. “Beat him for me."

"I will try my best!"

At the cry of outrage that ensued after those blasphemous words were breezily picked up by Cale's sharp ears, Hans let out a laugh, and Kim, unable to help himself, huffed out a small chuckle of his own.

From the sideline, he watched and Hans lightly warmed himself up, a slightly more clumsy replica of Cale's own routine, no doubt taught to the other to avoid any strained injuries during their exchanges.

"Are you ready?" Cale had asked the older boy once they finally stood facing each other.

"As I'll ever be," Hans replied in turn, feeling the most sure he's ever been, perhaps ever.

"Good," Cale grinned in his distinctively boyish way, already brandishing his sword, legs falling into a well-practiced stance. "I have a brother to show off to, so I won't be going easy on you."

"I'll do my best to endure!"

Cale seemed satisfied with such an answer, because not even three seconds later did he begin to land his first blows, swift-footed and heavy-hitting. Hans, in all his novice skills, did his best to counter, running more than he did fighting, but he held his own ground well for someone of his calibre.

And if Hans felt a thread connecting his heart snap in the midst of his sparring, hours later when the sky had been coloured sunset—

He couldn't find it in himself to stop for a second to mourn or cry.

He hadn't a reason to at all. Overwhelmed with emotion, too happy, too exhilarated. He had been knocked down to his ass far too many times, even with the young master Kim's blessings and backing. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins as he stood right back up each and every time, previously thin limbs stronger than they've ever been in his life in the face of such a newfound sensation, emptying in his chest yet all the while filling it with so, so much.

He laughed, ignoring the confused, yet reciprocating grin Cale shot him mid-parry, before yet again, the young master had disarmed him, kicking at his legs with a fell swoop, dropping him to the ground with a loud thud.

He was sweaty, lungs almost painfully gasping for air, chest so incredibly tight and oddly empty, despite feeling so full. His muscles hurt immensely after hours of sparring with someone on a completely different level, a similar sensation to the pain he once felt in different bruises, yet the ones he was sure to see forming within the next few hours, he knew he'd wear with pride and laughter instead of shame and defeat.

And when Cale outstretched his hand to pull him back up, with a crooked little grin that was deviously smug about all his easy wins—Hans knew this was the most alive he had ever felt in his entire life.

He laughed again, unable to help himself. The string that once connected to his heart flailed, limp. Disconnected in a simple yet staggering snap.

(Perhaps, Hans thought, feeling the tired embers within him stir for the first time in a long while,  he was capable of being vicious in his own little way, after all.)

He had known that old man's antics better than anyone else.

Hans hoped the God of Death would greet that man wearing a smile similar to Hans' own upon coming to reap his soul.

"Father."

A head of brown hair snapped up, and Deruth was immediately greeted with the sight of red hair and brown eyes—a tint less red than his youngest's.

"Cale," he blinked, quickly setting down his pen. "I'm very sorry, I didn't hear you knock—"

"That's because I didn't," his son cheekily replied, sauntering over to the coffee table off to the side, plopping himself casually right onto the couch as if he owned the place—and Deruth chuckled a bit, because he knew that could make that reality and relegate this place to his son in a heartbeat, should he ever ask for it. "I want something."

"Anything," Deruth only naturally replied back, because that was what his son deserved. Cale's forehead was a little sweaty, he noticed upon dropping all his work, with strands of his hair clinging to his skin, and Deruth hadn't a doubt that the young boy had made his way here, right after a session in the indoor halls. It was only right for him to spoil the boy for his hard work no doubt well done.

"I want Hans to permanently stay." Cale didn't hesitate to get straight to his point. "Have him train as a butler if he needs to earn his keep—or a knight. Whatever he wants."

And who was Deruth to say no?

But still, Deruth couldn't help but chuckle in exasperation, standing up from his desk to sit beside his son on the same side of the table, the white side of the chessboard facing them both. The black pieces that Jour loved to play remained untouched as always on their opposite.

"You have to make sure Hans gives his consent first," he chastised without severity, lightly wiping his son's face with a handkerchief he took from his pocket. "Don't sign him up for positions he isn't sure of taking up."

Cale hummed, picking up one of the black pawns and fiddling with it in his fingers. "Hans doesn't say it outright, but it's clear as day that he wants to stay—he's just too shy to ask. He's already trying to make up for his 'freeloading' by helping out the other servants. Besides," Cale lightly drummed his fingers across the hilt of his sword. "He's already sparring with me. Doesn't the entirety of our staff have to be proficient in martial arts and handling blades? He has so much potential, Father, and he's more fun to play with than Ron, too!"

Deruth let out an exasperated chuckle. Somehow the scenario of this conversation felt familiar— The image of sons trying to persuade him into letting them have their way, bargaining for something they desired, either large-scale or something smaller like wanting the permanent company of a friend.

Despite all their differences, his boys were truly similar, Deruth couldn't help but fondly think, eyeing the pieces of the chessboard, at the dark knight and rook that were close together.

"Ron has been your caretaker since birth," Deruth played along. "You don't enjoy his company?"

"Ron is impossible to bully," Cale huffed, thinking back to the man's unshakable facade. "Hans, on the other hand, is."

"Aigoo.. You shouldn't be mean to your friends."

"I am being mean out of love."

And Cale had grinned, wide and lopsided, a cheeky little thing that dusted over his face so naturally you could say the expression belonged there. It was with nothing but mischief in his brown eyes that he looked up at Deruth, a gremlin through and through. He was so similar to Jour in this aspect, and Deruth couldn't help but feel warm and overwhelmingly fond inside, affection flowing in gentle, crashing waves.

Shifting in his seat, Deruth angled his legs towards Cale. Gently, he brought their foreheads together, a soft bump that spoke volumes despite it being such a simple act on the surface—and it was evident that Cale knew this when he reciprocated, pressing his forehead back, eyes closed to relish in the warmth and moment.

Words didn't need to be exchanged to prove to the other their affection. It was something expressed naturally, something they could feel subconsciously.

"... I'm sorry, Cale."

At the quiet murmur, Cale bumped his forehead a little harder on Deruth, making the man wince in exasperation as their heads finally parted.

"What are you even apologizing for?" Cale muttered, the '-stupid' he typically would've added near the end going unsaid as he fiddled with the black pawn he still had in hand.

The gaze that Deruth sent him was more than telling.

You know very well what I'm apologizing for, it said, and in return, Cale looked back, meeting his gaze without falter, without hesitation—just as clear as Deruth in his own message.

I do know.

And he will not forget.

Pledged upon his sword, his creed, he would remember.

His father hadn't meant it—and one day, one day perhaps, without fail—there would come a time where such words would never have to be said again, accidentally or not, because Cale wasn't going to allow that opportunity to happen; was going to work so hard to become the best that he could and more so than such a notion would become so absurd it'd be unthinkable.

But regardless of it all—forgetting, not forgetting—in the end, Cale couldn't help but smile softly, something so small, the act rather clumsy on his face that was mostly used to wide, cracking grins, before he reached out, almost gingerly, to pull his father into a hug.

"If you really wanna make it up to me, then consider letting Hans stay as more than a guest," he muttered, words just slightly muffled from where his cheek was pressed against the crook of his father's shoulder and neck. "If you say no, I'll throw a tantrum."

And what could Deruth do in that situation besides chuckle, guilty and grateful and so full of helpless affection? With his hand reaching up to gently ruffle the back of Cale's head, he conceded, relenting with a smile.

And when they parted, before Cale got up from the couch to leave his father's office, he hummed, looking at the white pawn he still had in his hand before advancing it diagonally forward by one. A really small move, almost insignificant in the grand scale of things with how far it was from the opposing black king—but it captured another pawn for itself, and Cale grinned.

Chapter Text

Kim's health has been better these days.

After a lot of rest and fretting on the part of nearly everyone in the confines of the manor, Kim could safely say that he was able to walk without the world spinning and inertia crashing down on him like tidal waves.

It was nice, being able to walk by himself. He had to stay close to the walls, however, in case he toppled over and had to quickly catch himself upright. It didn't happen much nowadays, but for the peace of mind of the servants he crossed paths with while they did their rounds across the halls, he made sure to be within a safe and reasonable distance from them just in case. He barely managed to convince both his father and brother to not install railings in hallways, actually—something Mother, too, had also once exasperatedly turned down, though not without fondly laughing at her husband's antics.

But today, he was determined to appear as healthy as possible.

A particular visitor was arriving sometime soon and it wouldn't hurt if he were to show up. Someone had to greet them, after all. Deruth had sent a letter detailing their availability, and just yesterday morning the Hirschel's Merchant Guild responded with advanced heeding of their upcoming visit. It would've been a perfectly set schedule, had one of the knights not frantically arrived at the manor to deliver a report right before. Kim just so happened to have overheard the conversation his father had with his subordinate, and heard enough to know that something had happened to one of their walls—whether it was city one or, even more worrisome, one of their further outer walls near the Forest of Darkness, he would maybe have to do some digging himself to find out.

Regardless, because of that impromptu visit, it was most likely that their merchants would be sent to wait for a short while until the count was done with the sudden urgent business.

Kim was pretty sure he could make just as good a substitute for his father—if he made enough of an effort, of course.

Typically the task would be delegated to the lady of the house since the count would be busy with elsewhere affairs, he thought quietly—but evidently, there was no one to fill that spot. Deruth could've appointed the job to someone else, but the idea of someone doing his wife's task in his stead didn't sit right with him just yet, only barely allowing his aids to help him to lessen his workload. Perhaps in the future, it would be inevitable for someone else to have to fill in that gap, but not now.

Not yet.

"Ron."

Upon approaching the foyer, Kim quickly spotted a familiar figure holding a backboard with a few papers slipped onto it. At the sound of his youngest master's voice, the old man quickly spotted him, not even needing to look around before his gaze easily found Kim's.

"Young master Kim," Ron greeted with a smile, though just barely tainted with surprise upon seeing his unexpected appearance. "Are you well enough to be up and walking about, now?"

"I am," Kim honestly nodded. He felt rather decent and was only the normal amount of tired that he usually was, even before being knocked out of commission for several days.

"Are you sure?" Ron inquisitively pressed again. You'd have to be blind to not see the fog of doubt glazing across his eyes, and Kim wasn't so daft to not have noticed it.

"Yes, Ron," he nearly groaned out in exasperation, only holding back once he remembered who exactly he was talking to before remembering to keep his calm. He very much valued his life, thank you very much.

The old man stared at him quietly for what might've been a few, tense seconds. And before Kim could even begin to start uneasily shifting between his two feet in the sudden discomfort that was growing in the air, Ron finally spoke back up again.

"I'll have you know, young master," he slowly started, tone not unlike that of a predator observing the subtlety of actions of its prey—as if waiting for a specific reaction, a twitch, anything.

"It isn't good to force too much on your plate; I'm sure you've heard of the idiom. The stress won't be good for your body."

Kim's breath halted itself before he could let out even the slightest breath.

"...... I see."

Ron's voice was incredibly soft, and yet his tone couldn’t have been any more terrifying.

"Do you really?" 

Kim couldn't quite answer.

Does he know?

Scanning the man's face he wondered if the old butler knew more than he needed to, and how. Did the old man see him at the Man-Eating Tree? That couldn't be, since there was a rather large empty radius surrounding those closed-off fences, and weak as Kim might be, he had rather good intuition when it came to feeling whether or not he was being watched from afar or behind his back.

It had to be after his collapse, he reasoned, the low buzz of the world filtering out of his ears in his muffled concentration.

His father hadn't noticed, neither did it seem that his brother did. What could Ron have done to see that neither his father nor brother could have? Followed him? He had duties in the manor, he couldn’t have left—or could he?

As noise filtered back through his ears, Kim felt the low trimming of his heart, the sound of it resonating through his blood flow, and suddenly, he had a feeling he knew exactly how.

Tch.

Ron was a servant with duties towards his masters—not excluding an unconscious Kim. It wouldn't have been strange for Ron to have been the one changing or cleaning his body while he was out of commission.

But if he saw it, why didn't he report it to his father?

Kim resisted the urge to grip the cloth over his heart, knowing exactly just what laid there. Though in the end, he couldn't help but decide to shelve the matter for later, less he wanted his jittery nerves to take over and have him collapse for real in the hallways, this time. He didn't want to think about this any more than he needed to at the moment.

"... I see the merchants have arrived."

It was a reasonable observation instead of a question, considering how obvious it was that the Hirschel Guild had started settling with their boxes into the foyer, the proud yet humble Lily flower of their crest burnt as a pattern into each crate’s surface.

—And yet, it was clear what Kim's intentions were, with such a rather out-of-nowhere comment.

Deflection.

Something that Ron no doubt knew as well, though the old man had never been one to pry too deeply into things, especially when he was all the more capable of digging into them on his own—annoying as he was. They hadn't even a need to discuss how this conversation would be pushed back at a later date, though momentarily, Kim wished the man was already at the age to be senile enough to gain spotty memory, if only it meant he’d be spared of having to go engage in yet another tense conversation with the old man before him.

But it didn't matter now. There were more important affairs, such as the light commotion that was currently taking place in the manor.

Running his eyes around the room, it didn't take long for him to find who he was looking for.

Smiling—this time, much more fabricated and light than the tense expression he had earlier been sporting—he angled his body towards their guest and raised his voice enough to have it decently carry throughout the foyer.

"Madam Violan," he greeted curtly from where he stood, not forgetting to add, "And her son, young sir Basen."

"Young master Kim," Violan responded with a polite nod. By her side, Basen lightly waved at him from behind his mother's dress, to which Kim merely nodded back in return. "It is a pleasure to see you once again, especially now that you appear to be in good health."

"You've heard rumours then, of my collapsing?"

"I have," Violan confirmed calmly, her gaze never leaving Kim's, before slowly, almost tentatively leading the conversation further on, "If it isn't impudent of me to say— if it were meant to be a secret, you have some rather loose-lip servants."

"Perhaps we might've had in the past," Kim shrugged, a subtle curl to his lips that would’ve appeared almost innocent and demure, had the tiny smile playing on his face not been a little devious. "Though you can rest assured, our household hasn't had a single pair of loose lips in our folds since a few days ago. But we thank you for your concerns nonetheless."

The underlying meaning was clear in his words alone, but even then, Violan could feel the weight of those words in the way the servants straightened their backs, faces stern and almost as smug as their youngest master. Their loyalty evoked scorn in the face of the mole that was no longer present—incredulity manifesting at the notion that someone had dared leak information their house was supposed to be kept confidential.

Violan had no doubt that this manor's roster had already been changed and modified after disposing of a liability.

"Your household works swiftly."

"Naturally," Kim shrugged, as if otherwise was a notion foreign to him.

And as Kim walked towards her—strides rather well-paced for someone who was rumoured to have been bedridden for several days—you could see the refraction of the light from the chandelier above catching on the cufflinks at his sleeves, the delicately engraved gold turtle crests much grander in comparison to the humble copper carvings of the lily flower of her son's own.

When the young boy finally stood before her, posture lax and confident for someone so young and small—only slightly taller than her own son—Violan Hirschel couldn't help but let out a huff of a laugh, barely discernible.

"I've missed this unique attitude of yours, young master Kim," she sincerely relayed, finding amusement in the blink of confusion that overtook the young boy’s face, as if surprised anyone could find his company pleasant. "It truly is a relief to see you again in better health."

"You flatter," Kim shrugged, swiftly recovering from such an odd remark. A smile had been fixed on his face as he began to walk over to the side of the hall, making a curt gesture for Violan to follow, quick to get the conversation going.

"I'll be accompanying you to the drawing-room while we wait."

"Of course. Did the lord have some last-minute business?" Quick woman she was, Violan wasn't slow to pick up that it wasn't quite a typical thing for someone of her status to be welcomed by the youngest son of the household she would be visiting.

"He did.” Kim looked at the clock. “But he should be here soon enough."

Pausing in front of the door to the waiting room, Kim waited as Ron held it open. Violan soon followed after him, with Basen in tow, sticking so close to his mother he almost appeared invisible amidst the earthy coloured folds of her dress skirt. But despite his skittish demeanour, his eyes were trailing everywhere, curious and amazed, not any different than how Hans was when he first arrived at the estate. Kim wasn't surprised by Basen's reaction since the Hirschel's were fallen nobles. He knew for certain the five-year-old boy hadn't seen much extravagance in his life as Kim had during his eight years of life in the manor with their different statuses.

"By the way.."

Kim pointed to the older man standing just slightly behind Violan, silent since the beginning as they followed them around. Kim wouldn't have noticed the looming figure, had the man's presence not been a distinct and curious thing.

"Who's this?"

"Ah—" Violan stepped to the side to further reveal the third person of the Hirschel party. "My apologies, young master. This man is Edro. He is the former captain of my family's knights brigade, as well as my old sword arts instructor. Currently, he acts as our guild's bodyguard whenever we travel and conduct our business."

With keen eyes, Kim silently observed the man who appeared to be even older than Ron. Trailing his gaze from the man's adequate gear to his large figure, it was obvious that the man was still well fit despite the years' toll on him, made apparent from the grey streaks he had on his beard and the side of his head, as well as the crow’s feet around his sharp eyes. He was broad-shouldered and looked sturdy, fitting for the former captain of a knights' brigade, though his biceps, in particular, were perhaps the most impressive in terms of muscular capacity.

Eventually, Kim ended his observations at the long sword hanging over the man's shoulder.

He hummed, slow and rather curious.

"I hope you know that there will be no threats to you and your people during your stay in our manor." And before Violan could make a hasty retort to dissolve any possible misunderstandings, Kim waved his hand dismissively. "Of course, it would be unreasonable of me to deprive you of having your own ensured sense of security. Do as you please. Our halls are wide and accommodating to our guests."

And finally, Kim turned his attention from Violan to the older man, extending his hand in standard courtesy.

"Nice to meet you, Sir Edro. I must thank you for taking care of my estate's newest business partner."

It would be a blatant lie if Kim were to say he didn't notice the wariness subtly emitting from the man's figure. He couldn't blame the man, after all. A rich noble family dealing with a humble merchant's guild when there were better ones elsewhere? Kim wouldn't be surprised if the old knight thought they might be planning something sketchy, perhaps intending to take advantage of their somewhat fresh and humble status in the field to scam them.

Of course, not that Kim had any qualms against the prospect of committing some scams every so often. Today was not one of those days, however, so he reserved the right to feel offended on behalf of whatever slander was being done to his image in the old man's head.

But still, regardless of all suspicions, a small glint of both surprise and approval hit the man's eyes upon hearing Kim call him by a respectful title, far from the jovial tone many nobles would coat atop condescending sneers and sentiments. That wasn't to say Kim was being genuine, of course. As a child of nobility, it was only natural for Kim to have his own constructed friendly facade, though it wasn’t quite comparable to the scorn others would adorn upon realizing the fallen ranking of the Hirschels.

After a short while, Edro eventually lifted his large hand to clasped back at Kim's, shaking it firmly at first, before holding him almost carefully upon realizing the differences in their constitution, made much more evident by their brief touch.

Strong and firm, Kim noted on the man's grip. Full of calluses much more prominent than anything Cale had on his own, and much different from the single writer's bump Kim had on the finger of his right hand—the only mark on his unmarred finger. Edro’s hands were that of a warrior, scabs, calluses and scars marring each pad, surface and curve, and yet the few burn marks were also reminiscent to that of Beacrox’s kitchen-worn hands.

"Miss Violan is the closest I have to a daughter," Edro said in lieu of an introduction, his eyes firmly planted in Kim's, almost challenging, in a way. From the outdated title he still used to refer to the Madam, much more fitting for the young daughter of a household, it was clear that he had long known her, enough to have formed unbreakable habits in their terms of addressing. "I abandoned my formal knighthood for my liege and her son, and trust that I would do it again."

Kim tilted his head, an impressed hum underneath his breath to couple with his smile. "I think it's admirable," he praised, his expression nothing less than respectful despite the very obvious underlying threat. "Despite no longer officially being a knight, you have all the noble values of one, if not embodying them even more."

Edro was silent for a second, old yet sharp eyes scanning over the young face before him. Had Kim not been exposed to such a stare since birth from a certain old butler that was ten times as scary who he knew all too dearly, Kim perhaps might have been more off-put. Though when Kim showed no sign of wavering from his kind, sincere-looking expression, almost innocent in the way he peered up at the old knight, Edro let his gruff face erupt in a curious sort of chuckle.

… Somehow, Kim felt a little seen through.

Releasing their grips, the older man was quick to reach back up to ruffle Kim's hair, only to the younger's mild deadpan irk upon feeling the force of it nearly knocking him off his knees.

"Are all aristocratic children like you?" Edro scoffed, not without a hint of laughter, the glint in his eye a little too knowing. "So glib-tongued?"

"—If you don't like my brother's glib," a voice came before Kim could crack yet another fabricated smile. "Then how about my sword?!"

Ah, Kim all but deadpanned as he saw a silver glint flash in the corner of his eye, before the sudden clashing of swords rang sharply in the air.

Having swiftly turned around at what might've been the mere sound of the blade-split air, Edro had drawn his sword so quickly that Kim hadn't even been able to perceive the in-between frames that led to two men—or rather, one middle-aged man and an actual child—parrying blades in the middle of the guests' waiting room.

"Don't touch my brother with your brutish hand," came a frantic snarl, followed by another clashing of blades, sharp and grating to the ears.

And there in all his Cale-like glory was the first young master of the house, already baring his fangs so early in the morning and for literally no reason at all.

Nervously standing by the doorway was Hans, who had most likely followed Cale here upon hearing they had a visitor. The ginger quickly met Kim's dead eyes before frantically rushing over to meet him, though not before carefully side-stepping around the two sword-wielding idiots in the room, face pale as if fearing for his life.

"—My brother is fragile!! You can't touch him like that! You could have sent him flying!!?!"

"Aigoo, the kid looks fine? What is this tiny child trying to accomplish with a toy sword?"

"BUT IT'S A REAL SWORD???? Are you really that old?? My family is rich, we can pay for your appointment with the optometrist to get some damn glasses!! "

Hans nervously laughed, slowly inching himself further away from the two swordsmen, making sure to pull Kim with him as well. "Young master, are you alright?" he fretted in his worries.

"I'm not a brittle leaf left outdoors to brave the harsh winds of winter," Kim deadpanned, waving off the teen's gentle concerns. By his side, Violan looked incredibly pained. Her normally composed expression displayed nothing but exasperated shame and incredulity on behalf of the older man, and it wasn’t an exaggeration to admit that she looked one second away from pulling her hands to her face. And Basen, on the other hand, appeared both fascinated by the exchange that happened before him, and yet just as judging and unimpressed as his mother, his expression almost a carbon copy of Violan's.

"Edro," Violan sighed, her headache visible in her expression and tone of voice alone. "The children..."

"I was attacked first. Is it not natural of me to defend?"

"Defend all you want," Kim clicked his tongue. He ignored the startled look that Hans sent him, too tired to deal with this any further than he needed to. "Knock him out while you're at it."

Cale swivelled his head, deep betrayal in both his eyes and voice. "Hey!??"

Stepping forward, brushing off Hans' attempt to pull him back, Kim tugged at his brother's arm, in turn lowering the sword he had been holding up against the elder. Cale didn't resist, though the expression on his face displayed his hesitation—petulance and stubbornness painting him like a feral puppy that wanted so badly to lynch something yet was being told against doing so.

"These are important visitors," Kim sighed. "Don't be like this."

"He could've hurt you!"

"I'm not as fragile as you think of me."

"Well—" Hans awkwardly inputted, and from the mere expression on his face, it was clear that he was siding with Cale on this matter. "You kind of are.."

For a brief, spiteful second, Kim had to wonder if it was a bad decision on his part to have left the two together alone for so often as he did. It seemed that his brother was starting to corrupt the teen with crazy ideas the longer they spent in each other's company, and Kim wouldn’t know what kind of person he would become should he find himself surrounded by two Cales when already one of them was a handful.

And before Kim could even let out a sigh and further defend his case against the pair of dumbasses before him, a figure appeared near the doorway, causing most of the chatter to subside with the addition of the new presence.

Cale's head immediately snapped up in its direction.

"Father!"

"Cale?" Deruth blinked, instinctively searching the room for the voice of his son. "Why do you have your sword out..?"

"This old man nearly toppled over Kim! Jail him!!"

Suddenly, the confusion that had been overlaid over the count's face turned a little frosty as he turned his head to look at the older knight. Kim could see both Edro and Violan slowly tense up at the look being directed at them, the reality that they were in a household where they held no authority becoming all the more clear.

"Don't start, Father." Kim clicked his tongue, firmly putting his foot down to avoid sprouting drama. "Brother is exaggerating. We were just exchanging greetings."

Guilty brown eyes soon meet him, a little sheepish as they hesitantly snapped back to reason.

"Alright," Deruth sighed, walking further into the room. "Okay. I'm sorry Kim," he gently mumbled, a faint tremor in his hand as he rubbed it over his face, worry and mindless fury soon seeping out of him. "Settle down now," he then directed towards Cale, lightly setting his hand on his son's shoulder, sending him a gently pointed look—an expression the two brothers knew well. Just barely holding back his stubborn streak, Cale finally dropped the tension from his shoulders, sword falling slack by his side—though, he didn't forget to send Edro a small glare of warning before he did so. In response, Edro merely looked unaffected, perhaps even a little amused, but said nothing out of courtesy as he turned to bow to the lord of the territory.

"Count Henituse," Violan greeted formally as she bowed. "Thank you for having us."

"Madam Violan," Deruth politely smiled back. "I've heard good things about you from my son," he confirmed. "He said you were also personally recommended to him by Sir Billos. His eye and judgement in the merchant world are not to be doubted, bastard he may be."

At his rather crude words, Violan couldn't help but think back to when she first met the youngest master of the house—not in the marketplace when they weren't even acquainted—but in the tea house where they had their first proper discussion.

("That's because he's a bastard,") Kim Henituse had told her casually back then, and Violan only remembered it so clearly because the bluntness had amused her so greatly.

"—Of course, I'm saying that as an insult, not a statement," and then Deruth relayed nearly the very same words his son had followed with on that day, only inverted in a way that made her want to crack a small chuckle at the irony. "I hardly think his blood status matters, given his abilities. I just think he steals my youngest's attention a little too much when he goes out into the city."

And finally, Violan couldn't help but smile a little at that, unable to hold back her amusement towards how the similarity between a father and his son became a little more apparent, the same thing going for the love and the surprising pettiness being shown before her very eyes. Though, by her side, she was sure she saw the youngest master of the Henituse household roll his eyes upon hearing his father's words.

"You are well informed," Violan commented back, opting for a polite conversation.

"Naturally," Deruth all but smiled. "Isn't this my family's territory?"

"It is, indeed."

The smile on Deruth's face was approving of her indulgence, though it didn't last long, as soon enough, he briefly fixed the lapels of his attire, making it apparent that the following topic would be less politely casual, and more business-like.

"Now then, shall we begin our business? Winter approaches with every passing day."

"Of course, my lord."

"Wonderful." Deruth smiled politely at her, before he turned to look at Kim and Cale. "Boys, why don't you show Madam Hirschel's son around?"

The young boy who had not once strayed from his mother's side during this whole exchange stilled for a moment, small fingers clutching at his mother's dress in his shock. Though despite his slight disbelief at actually being accorded the permission to do something like walk around the grand estate, Basen was quite obviously very interested in that idea.

"I want the old guy to come with us too," Cale immediately cut in, in response to his father's suggestion, ignoring the tired look his brother sent him. "I want to fight him."

"Uh." Deruth paused, looking at his son who didn't even reach the height of his waist yet, and to the old yet imposing figure of the old knight a little further away, much taller than Deruth himself. "Well. Cale, you see.."

Deruth slowly turned to Violan, who merely chuckled as she turned, regarding the young boy whose eyes were quite literally flaming.

"Feel free, young master Cale," she smiled. "Word is out that the eldest son of the Henituse household has recently been greatly interested in the art of the sword. Edro is a rather high-grade swordsman, I'm sure he wouldn't mind teaching you some things during our stay."

It was evident by the look on Cale's face that he initially hadn't any intention of learning anything from the older man that he was hellbent on supplexing to the ground in his brother's honour, though upon hearing praise regarding the man's skills, his thoughts quickly turned on themselves. Cale had felt it, of course, upon approaching the guests' waiting room and seeing that broad figure with a large sword on his back. It was an almost scentless smell, somewhat, that Cale was able to feel in the air. This man was strong, though Cale couldn't tell the full extent, especially not after he saw the man ruffle his brother's hair with more strength than necessary and all rational reason flew out the window, rendering all thought process blank.

His awareness of Edro's strength didn't change his wariness towards the man, of course, but it was much more tolerant now than it was before. And on his part, Edro actually looked rather apprehensive to that notion of following along with the children, instead of expressing the hesitance that Kim believed he'd have at the prospect of having to leave the side of the young woman he'd sworn to protect.

"He has some talent," Edro mused, and both Kim and Cale's ears and eyes narrowed onto his following words. "Not bad at all with his kid sword."

"It's not a toy."

"With his sword that belongs to a kid," Edro reiterated, relenting, almost with an invisible sigh. Though this exasperation was quick to shift once he turned to Cale, eyes contemplative and rather... sincere.

"You've got potential."

Following those words, Kim was able to accurately pinpoint the exact moment his brother's entire worldview on Edro began to shift in a slightly more favourable light. A former knight captain complimenting a child who was only eight years of age was undoubtedly something Cale wouldn't be brushing off all that easily. How simple of a boy, this brother of Kim's was. A spark of fondness tinged those thoughts as quickly as they came and went.

And so, with all things resolved, that was how they split—Edro and Basen following the lead of the two twins and their orange-haired companion, while Deruth and Violan stayed behind in the foyer.

Just before they left out of sight, however, Kim couldn't help but throw one last look back at the two adults, mind swarming with something to say—stuck on the tip of his tongue, clogging his larynx—before he smothered it down, carefully watching before he turned away to follow his brother.

Not too long after they left did Deruth and Violan start their business, with Ron walking over to hand Deruth a few papers being the starting point of their formal exchange.

Soon enough they were going over the different types of curtain fabric Violan had prepared to showcase, discussing the pros and cons of each material and how they could benefit in ensuring the cold didn't seep through the windows of their manors, or how they could insulate certain rooms, and so on. At some point, they even shifted the subject over to clothing, and all the different manners they could do to modify the uniform for warmer winter outfits for the servants. In a bout of curiosity, Deruth had asked if the Hirschel's guild also dealt in clothing design, though Violan was quick to debunk that thought, clarifying that they would only be able to serve as the middleman between the Henituse Estate and the tailors, and that she had been nothing more than coincidentally fortunate to have struck up nice impressions with the other businesses in the area. And all while she had briefly mentioned in passing the benefits of a new uniform, for a second Deruth couldn't help but remember his wife, and how she had once commented on the uniforms of her handmaids, asking them if they were comfortable or not in a sudden bout of curiosity that was not unfamiliar of her to have.

Jokingly, one of her closest maids had asked if she wanted to try it on. Jour didn't hesitate to say yes, surprising Deruth one day when he had asked for tea, too distracted by the papers on his desk to even notice that the person serving him was his wife with a cheeky grin on her face.

It was fun while it lasted, but once she had taken the uniform off, she had briefly commented on the feel of the fabric. At the time, however, Deruth hadn't paid it much attention, much too busy covering his face and holding back the delighted laughter that came with his dumb startle of seeing his wife during his engrossing work.

"That uniform has been the same in our household for several generations," Deruth hummed pensively.

Violan lightly tilted her head. "Would you consider yourself someone averse to change?"

"Perhaps not so much, no," Deruth smiled, quick to dismiss that image. "And certainly not when it concerns the uniforms of our staff, at least. They're long overdue for more recent wear."

"Then, I shall place an order. Of course, the tailor will send you their vision beforehand—I'm sure you will both come to a mutual agreement over what would look nice. The tailors of your territory are very talented, I'm sure you will be satisfied with whatever they present you."

"No need," Deruth dismissed easily with a shake of his head, then adding on a lighter note, "I'll follow your decision, Madam Violan. I trust the boutique you have in mind won't make my estate's people look like farces in the end."

Violan was silent for a second, before she merely shrugged, the subject changing so quickly it was clear she wasn't quite here for small talk, but business. "May I inquire about the number of people in your staff?"

"Would you also require everyone's measurements?"

"Most preferably, if you want your staff to have uniforms that are practical and comfortably well-fitted."

"Then that is of no issue," Deruth sent a glance to the head maid standing just a little further away near the wall. Their exchange was wordless and swift—as expected from a lord and one of his oldest subordinates, they knew each other well enough to dismiss the need for words. The older woman was sharp and knew exactly what to do without having to be told again, already walking down the hall towards the wing of the servants' quarters.

"Hm.. How about we make it so that they not only get new winter uniforms, but some more pairs in general? The ones they currently wear are several generations old, after all. I'm sure they'll appreciate an upgrade, especially when some of them are still wearing hand-downs from predecessors."

"Of course, my lord. But before we proceed, might I ask for your budget?"

Deruth quirked a smile, an almost amused look crossing his face, though his withheld laughter wasn't mocking in any way—mostly just a mixture of… pride, perhaps, or arrogance, though that felt too strong of a word for what was an almost cheeky expression.

"My household doesn't need to limit its budget. I pray the Madam hasn't forgotten who we are?"

Violan paused, though it didn't take long for a huff of a smile to pass her lips, understanding quickly washing over her.

"I'm assuming the Henituse Estate will only be asking for the highest quality of fabric available."

"Naturally," Deruth smiled, and oh, there it was. Violan knew, even without having to think too deeply about it, that this man and his youngest son were truly similar in certain distinct aspects. Confident in their wealth and comfortable in spending it, their demeanours were reminiscent of the other's in a way that was distinct between close members of a family.

"I've also assembled a list of what else we might need, if you'd like to see," he added, pulling Violan from her thoughts as he unfolded one of the papers he had earlier been handed to by Ron. 

It wasn't a question for Violan that she accepted the list, such was the duty of a merchant businessman. Eyes quick, she easily scanned through the lines detailing the demands the different parts of the manor would require, as well as an estimation as to how much they'll need overall to last them the winter. The needs for the stable were particularly high, with how demanding the caring for horses they kept were.

"Is it manageable?" Deruth questioned after a short moment, as he left Violan alone in silence to give her the opportunity to take in the entirety of the list.

From her demeanour alone, it was fairly easy to tell she wasn't worried in the slightest. "It is of no problem. Everything will be processed in no time. Our guild might not be largely renowned or reputable, but we aren't incompetent."

"Of course," Deruth chuckled, appeased. "I hadn't a single doubt on you and your guild's abilities from the start."

The flattery and trust were appreciated, though Violan hadn't exactly a need for it.

"I've made acquaintance with some of your territory's local businesses as well, ever since I settled in your territory. I'm sure the people would be glad to be shown support by their lord."

Deruth raised a brow at this, though his expression was smoothened out, the implications of bringing up the local business in Rain City very much clear to him even after the shortest of consideration. It was a smart decision, and would no doubt help to inspire a sense of pride and belonging both within and outside of the estate when wearing the comfortable products of their own territory.

Incredibly pleased, Deruth flashed out a casual smile.

"I'm always happy to support the many talents of our territory."

The silence that followed was brief—though, clearly felt.

"... So you say?"

A little taken aback by the subtle yet surprisingly obvious change of tone on the voice of the woman he initially thought to be rather reserved and collected, Deruth turned his gaze from the many crates filling the hall to finally look back at Violan.

Immediately, he was met with a gaze much less reserved than that of which had been presented to him during this whole professional ordeal.

Perhaps just as vibrant as the red flickering flames of the candles and fireplace, they were intense, driven by a passion he wasn't quite sure he understood, not until she finally spoke again—the first of many forces, perhaps, that would lead to a chain of dominoes to topple over in the far future, one after the other to connect them at their feet.

"My lord, if I may," she started, and this time, Deruth was near-certain what would follow hadn't a thing to do with straw hay for a barn, thick curtains, or uniforms specifically tailored for the winter. "Amidst a few other unrelated matters, I have a proposal I'd like to suggest if you would permit me to."

And Deruth—curious as to what could provoke a shift in demeanour as subtly powerful as the one shown to him in a person who had proven themselves to have been nothing but reserved so far—couldn't help but blink, once, then twice, thinking of his schedule before he finally relented, accepting.

As per the etiquette, he tucked in his hand near his chest and offered his arm, and Violan, after a short pause, accepted, sliding her own into his. She let Deruth lead the way, the duo silent for the most part, but on the few occasions where they did speak up, it was casual despite their status and formalities, and perhaps not that unpleasant if you put aside the slight awkwardness that naturally occurred on the first interaction between two strangers.

"Would you like some tea?"

"That would be nice, thank you."

Signalling a hand to one of the maids following them from behind, Deruth's message was quickly received, the young woman shortly bowing as she turned the other way to prepare a trolley for their lord and his visitor, leaving the silence between strangers behind.

"Oh—"

Violan suddenly paused, stopping right in the middle of the hall.

It was easy to tell what exactly had caught her eye.

A large frame hanging on the wall, dark silk curtains parted just enough to reveal the painting of a woman underneath. Long fiery locks of red that appeared to curl in gentle waves, with eyes a brilliant crimson, squinted faintly in mirth, and a smile that exhibited both refinement and a subtle air of cheekiness—a lovely expression, forever immortalized in the pigments of a delicately painted portrait.

Beautiful, Violan's heart thrummed for a second, almost frozen in surprise at the display of such ethereal charm before her.

"Isn't she?" a voice beside her chimed in softly, and Violan hadn't even realized that she had spoken aloud—nor that they'd stopped right before the large painting hanging in the middle of the hallway.

"Incredibly so," Violan murmured back, still entranced by the woman in the painting, feeling that if she didn't agree, it wouldn't have been anything less than a crime. She had thought the count himself to be a rather handsome man himself when they first met, but in comparison to the woman before them, had the two been standing together, Violan would've thought the count to be nothing but average.

And by her side, Deruth cracked a grin, as if reading her very thoughts.

"Have you fallen for my wife?" he asked, a glint of understanding and tease in his brown eyes.

Violan tore her gaze away from the portrait, regaining her composure with a small cough.

"Nonsense."

And to her credit, Violan was only slightly visibly flustered, though as always she kept a tight lid on her demeanour, making sure to keep herself just as reserved as she appeared when they first met. Such a thing didn't seem to escape Deruth, however, his brown eyes soon gaining a pleased crinkle as a chuckle once more left his lips.

"I wouldn't fault you," he grinned, the faint lines and signs of tiredness momentarily smoothing from his face. "Jour's beauty has always been one to enrapture the heart. When we were younger, my competition had been vast with how many had been stunned by her."

His tone, however, though still so deeply enamoured, so obviously apparent in its fondness, was quick to dampen into something a little dimmer—as if a small flickering flame had quietly been snuffed out by a toppling breeze of wind; a window left open to reap in a fell, chilling, silent swoop.

"You would've loved her even more," he murmured, the crinkle nears his eyes no longer joyful, but grievous. "Had you had the chance to meet her."

Ah.

And there it was.

Violan turned her gaze to Deruth, and faced with such a resigned longing, still tinged in the aftermath of deep loss, what else was she to do but agree?

"I don't doubt it," she quietly added. The courteous arm in which she was still holding on Deruth's was gentle, a reassuring grip. And as her eyes once again found themselves back at the painting that portrayed such life, and it was almost strange, standing there, knowing that nothing could ever amount to the splendour it surely must've been in a different time, when the woman inside the portrait had been more than just that—a portrait, a memorial. There was a sense of sadness, of regret, perhaps, knowing that this was the last Violan would ever see of her in this life.

Perhaps in another world, Violan mused quietly as both she and Deruth resumed their walk down the hall. She had heard that the late madam of the house was fond of her flower gardens and enjoyed good and peaceful company. Violan didn't doubt that—had they had a chance to meet—they would've had nice conversations over a warm cup of tea brewed from the sweet roses she was rumoured to have taken a great liking to.

That thought strengthened tenfolds upon arriving at the office, a maid soon rolling in a trolley with faintly steaming porcelain cups, filled with tea of the very same fragrance Violan had imagined the count's wife would've loved. And once the scent of roses soon overtook the office, wafting towards each nook and cranny of the many bookshelves in the room, it didn't escape Violan's eye to see how the man seated opposite to her visibly relaxed in the presence of the aroma, like a blanket of comfort an outsider like herself wouldn’t be able to quite understand.

They sat like so in silence for a few seconds, basking themselves in that lovely scent. Between them curiously laid a chessboard missing several pieces, and after comparing the white pieces to the black pieces of the side she was seated on, Violan was quick to remark the disadvantage the white pieces had—a rook and a knight closely placed together, though very evidently missing a queen to the knight-protected king.

"So," Deruth's gentle voice pulled her from her mindless observations. "What is it that you wished to talk to me about?"

Right, Violan shook herself out of it. There were other things to concern herself about at the moment.

"Earlier before," she started without wasting any more time, right after setting down her cup back into its saucer. "You mentioned supporting the many talents of your territory."

"I have, indeed," Deruth confirmed, curiously, as if wondering where she could possibly be going with this.

"How genuine would you say that statement of yours is?"

Deruth hummed, gazing silently into the reddish-pink pools of his cup. His spoon stirred it for a few seconds, before his voice soon followed after the light clanging of metal against porcelain.

"You have a proposal in line with what I said.” A statement, not a question.

"A gallery," Violan confirmed, glad that she didn't have to beat around the bush. Such a thing wasn't much of her style, after all. "I've noticed this during my time in your territory— So many small artist galleries spread throughout the city, and yet not a single establishment to unite them all."

"But aren’t there already plenty of galleries?"

"That is the case, yes," Violan nodded. "But think about it, how many of these artists do you think get the exposure and attention they deserve? Surely, only a select few must be placed in conveniently public spaces, where visitors or perhaps even tourists can easily spot and frequent."

Deruth pondered a bit over her words, picking at the hidden and implicated meaning amidst her sentences.

"We don't have many tourist attractions here, besides perhaps our vineyards and quarries."

"Not the most typical sites, I'd say," Violan added her honest input. "—for attracting tourists."

Deruth had to chuckle at that, fingers lacing together to support his chin over the desk as he sent the woman before him a knowing gaze.

"Unlike the artists," he said.

"Unlike the artists," Violan agreed, a satisfied expression crossing her face upon realizing the man seated opposite to her was quick in understanding where she was getting at, pleased with how quick he was to grasp onto her impending point.

"If you didn't know already, Madam Violan, the artists of the city have established small groups and associations, and oftentimes those formed connections occasionally come together to organize their own exhibitions with collaborative funding," Deruth began musing, his pensive expression reflecting faintly in the pool of tea of his cup. "But never anything… official, shall we say. The lords before me had interests in other things, so my predecessors never really, well, paid attention to the artistic talents of the territory. It has always been the exportation of marble, developments of our vineyards, the wineries…"

"There's no reason for that to remain the same," Violan hummed, before adding on with perhaps an almost joking smile, "Just like the uniforms of your household's staff."

Blinking once, a huff of a laugh soon escaped Deruth.

"Just like the uniforms of my household's staff," he echoed back with a slight grin, as if he found a bit of hilarity in all of their callbacks and exchanges. "So you propose the Henituse Family invest in a gallery?"

"Not just any gallery," Violan reiterated. "A grand one, made by the finest architects and engineers your territory can provide, enough to host many pieces of artwork and welcome dozens of times many people."

"What you bring up is undoubtedly interesting, Madam Violan," Deruth politely cut in, making sure to proceed only after Violan gave him sign of an okay. "Though I do hope you are aware that the territory's lack of landmark attractions isn't the only thing keeping it from outside visitors."

"Of course.” Violan cocked her head lightly. “I am very well aware of the Henituse territory's lovely mountain range."

If Deruth was holding back a grimace, it didn't show. Almost sheepishly, however, he tilted his head expressing perhaps a small acknowledgement of the possible troubles Violan might've encountered during her travels to the Henituse territory, very much aware that the roads outside of their borders weren’t exactly something that could be described as 'lovely'.

"I've been doing my best to get rid of any lingering bandit groups that might be loitering around the area," Deruth sighed, almost tiredly. "My sons are approaching the age where they might begin to receive invites to attend crown summons, after all, and when that time comes, I'd like for their travels to be as safe as possible. But so far.. It is rather difficult overseeing the rockier sides of the territory, especially when trouble only seems to come and grow."

With a sheepish, almost guilty smile, Deruth regarded Violan again. "I hope you had a safe enough journey here."

"Of course. Our bodyguard, Sir Edro, made sure of it."

It was rather odd for someone with the title of a mere bodyguard to be called with a title typically reserved for knights, though Deruth quickly remembered the current status of the Hirschel family and easily drew his own conclusions.

"I thank Sir Edro, then, for ensuring both you and your people’s safety.”

“I’ll be sure to relay your kind words to him.”

That kind moment of exchange left room for them to take a comforting sip of their tea. It lasted for a short while until the sound of Deruth lowering his cup back on its saucer broke the silence between them.

“Oh, but do pray tell, would it be invasive of me to ask why you’ve come to the territory? I assume it isn’t only to do some trade—after all, no mere travelling merchant would go out of their way to suggest something to the lord of a territory they’re only momentarily visiting in the passing.”

It seemed to surprise Violan to no end how quick Deruth was to pick up on her intentions. She couldn’t be truly shocked, however, having met the man’s youngest son who was perhaps even wittier than his father, the resemblances between the two growing clearer with every exchange.

Violan let out a soft huff. “You’re right. I’m not only here to suggest potential cultural attraction value to your territory.” And at those confirming words, Deruth appeared to be pleased with his correct deduction, and Violan, not at all blind to that small triumphant twinkle in his gaze, held back a small roll of her eyes. “I’m also here to ask for permanent residency.”

Deruth carefully registered those words.

“Permanent residency?” He blinked, once, then twice, before his back straightened. Coughing once into the palm of his hand, he regained a more formal composure to fit what might be a whole new discussion. “Oh- why yes, of course. I’m glad to know you like the territory enough to want to settle here, Madam Violan.”

“It is a lovely place,” Violan honestly complimented.

"But what of your guild..? You are the head, aren't you?"

"I've had many dreams when I was younger, my lord," Violan started. "One of them was to become a swordsman like my instructor. Another was to become an artist."

Her smile turned a little nostalgic then, perhaps even sad.

"Then our family's trading ships sank overseas and my family didn't have enough money to keep itself running. We're not like the Henituse who have been around since the beginning —the Hirschel's haven't even known nobility for half as long as your lineage has. So when we were met with debt… there wasn't much left other than to sell our house, our estate… And my son had to have a life somehow, so what else was I to do other than band myself together with what little was left of my late husband's business and make my own to support us both?"

And for a second again, it appeared as if her reserved demeanour softened, just a bit, a tinge of fond warmth overtaking her breath and gaze. “And just like you, I, too, have a son I wish to see grow up safely. Travelling so often without ever giving him a proper home to call his own…”

Her eyes crinkled alongside her soft, almost wistful smile.

“How could I deprive him of that for any longer than I already have? He was so young when we had to sell our titles and estate, I doubt he even remembers our manor, or even his father.”

Those words worked quickly to plant seeds of sympathy in Deruth, a feeling of understanding overcoming him upon hearing the other’s words.

He, too, had lost a spouse.

He, too, wished for his sons to grow up safe and well.

He could empathize with the madam's situation, despite their respective differences, and in the end, he couldn’t help the sense of camaraderie that befell them.

“And what of your guild, Madam?” he asked softly. Privately, he wondered how far ahead she had planned for things to go. In a way, it somewhat reminded him of his youngest son, always seeming to plan a few steps ahead than anyone would expect. “Will you have it be established here?”

“I will leave it in the hands of my closest subordinate; a longtime friend and cousin, who stuck by me even when I no longer held the prestige I formerly had under my late husband’s name.” Violan looked certain as she spoke the next words: “She is a formidable businesswoman, who I know and trust will take good care of the Hirschel Guild, even after I am gone.”

“I’m glad you found someone to be your successor,” Deruth honestly relayed, glad and relieved on the other’s behalf. “And I'm happy to welcome both you and your son in the territory. Our territory is peaceful, and I’m sure he will only grow up safe within the city.”

A quiet sort of relief swam in Violan’s eyes. “Thank you, my lord.”

“There’s no need for thanks,” Deruth almost sheepishly waved his hands. “You are just as much a new citizen of my territory as you are a future valuable contributor to our cultural sector’s prosperity.”

Violan paused, her mouth freezing slightly open as if she were about to reply something without thinking, until the words finally seemed to register in her head and her chin quickly lifted from where it had been hidden behind her cup.

Eyes slightly wide, she cleared her throat. “So you’re interested in my proposal.”

“I am considering it,” Deruth confirmed. “Taking into account all the inner and outer factors of the territory’s current situation.. I believe it is near safe to say that our artist community won’t let the opportunity presented by this project to go down, even if it doesn’t work out as a cultural touristic exhibition. And in the due time that it would take for the roads surrounding our territory to be scouted out and rendered safer for travel, should we, in the end, choose to follow through with the construction of your proposed gallery, I estimate their construction would be completed conveniently around the same time, more or less.”

Breaking from his pondering look, he sent Violan a smile.

“Rather convenient timing, don’t you think?”

A short moment of silence hung between them, but it was broken fairly soon enough with the soft exhale of Violan’s huff of a smile.

“Indeed. I do very much agree, Lord Henituse.”

And after more quiet exchanges, ideas and suggestions being handed back and forth to take future note of for a possible next meeting, it was like so that the two finally stood up from their respective seats, satisfied on both ends after a rather fruitful discussion.

Finally, Deruth was the one to raise his hand first, stretched out above the chessboard that still held proof of an unfinished game. Violan didn’t leave him waiting long, already sliding her palm into his own, slender yet calloused fingers of a sword-familiar merchant wrapping around his to settle into a firm shake—the beginning mark to something new.

“I look forward to working with you on this project in the future, Madam Violan.”

“I’m honoured you even considered me worth your time, my lord.”

“Next time you visit,” Deruth smiled. “Please be free to bring young Basen along as well. After, well.. their mother’s funeral, my boys haven’t had much opportunity to make friends, besides Hans and,” Deruth made somewhat of a sour, begrudging face. “... Sir Billos, I suppose, in Kim’s case. But he would be much better off mingling with someone closer to him and his brother’s age. At least then he could invite them over to the estate and he wouldn’t have to leave so much, tsk. ”

“I’m sure they would all get along quite well,” Violan agreed, holding back the soft chuckle that prompted within her in the face of Deruth’s slight slight annoyance towards the owner of the tea house.

Finally, their hands parted, sealing in stone both their partnership and small promises.

And just before Deruth could escort her back to the main foyer where matters of the guild were being finalized through the estate’s competent head butler, Violan paused, looking down at the table that held the chessboard where their hands just previously held locked in a firm handshake, and slightly hovered over one of the pieces that belonged to Deruth.

“May I?” she asked, just before she could make any move in the game that had long been left unfinished.

Deruth remained silent for a short while, staring at the white piece that he used to play in opposition to Jour’s favoured black set, the surfaces of all the little soldiers already faintly sprinkled with the lightest specks of freshly accumulating dust. For a second, it stunned him, seeing it still remain where it was after all this time, even though it had often been the subject of many of his quiet stares on the days where the sun didn’t feel as warm as it should’ve. How long had this game been in play? How much longer will it remain as it was, frozen mid-acting and barely ever advancing?

He hesitated. He hesitated, hesitated, hesitated, the image of Jour still wavering before his eyes on the opposite seat where Violan’s figure was currently obstructing, and—

“... Go ahead,” Deruth softly prompted.

Quietly, he watched as Violan moved a white pawn up into the seventh rank, one move short of advancing into the eighth.

Chapter Text

(December 31st, Year 771 of the Felix Calendar.)

"Ah— Young master."

There, as usual, Hans found Cale sitting by his brother's bedside.

He had been reading yet another one of the many books his twin kept on the shelves of their studies. And even though they were the types of thick novels Cale wouldn't ever touch of his own free will, there wasn't a doubt that his disliking did nothing to damper his dedication towards his current task.

"Hans," Cale curtly greeted, no more than a hum in contrast to the steady flow of the novel's words that had been pouring out of his lips.

It was as if any other sentence besides those that were destined for his bedridden brother wasn't worth his extra energy. And yet, it seemed that Hans must've held some importance in Cale's eyes, because the younger boy quietly looked up instead of ignoring him outright. But still, he felt his presence was a little.. intrusive.

"Please don't mind me, young master," he sheepishly waved his hands. "You can continue reading to your brother, don't mind me. Or- Or I can leave, of course! If I'm disturbing..?"

"You can stay," Cale mumbled. "... Kim is probably tired of my voice by now."

"Oh- I'm sure he isn't," Hans appeased.

Cale let out a laugh at those words, sincere in his amusement, though not even a sliver as boisterous as it would have been in any other situation—soft as if he didn't want to wake his brother, as if Kim were merely someone in light rest, and not in an unconscious state.

"You have a much nicer voice than mine, y'know."

Hans flushed at the unexpected praise. "Ah- um. Thank you?—young master."

It was a bit embarrassing. Hans had only ever heard his uncle say his voice was annoying.

Unsure of what to say next, Hans merely retained his silence, fidgeting only once in a while. The young master didn't seem to mind his awkwardness, however, so the silence made him relax the more it stretched.

"You haven't gotten them much?"

Hans blinked.

"W- What?"

Cale pulled his knees up to his chest, the balls of his feet resting on the edge of his seat. It made him look smaller than he already was—a boy painted into the image of an even smaller boy.

"Compliments."

"Ah." Hans looked down. He stared at his fingers, still a little bony at the joints despite the care he had received during the past few days in regards to his poor health.

Sometimes, he woke up thinking the vow and thread that connected them had already snapped.

Sometimes, he feared that it would never— but really, he knew deep down how it would go—because despite how their relationship soured, Hans had known his uncle best.

"... Oh. No, the young master is.. the first in a long while. Haha.."

Cale was silent for a second. For a moment, something dark flickered over his brown eyes, the gears of his mind having turned and grinded, before a scowl formed across his face. "Your shitty uncle's shittiness shows no bounds, huh."

The sudden use of profanities coming from a young child startled Hans for a second, but in the end, he was unable to help his chuckle. Hans still hadn't forgotten that day in the slums, and how fierce of a tongue the boy had proven himself capable of. It almost seemed like an eternity ago, despite it happening only a few days ago—it was hard to forget anything from a moment so pivotable in his life, after all.

"I could protect you."

"Wh- Yes?"

The tiny smile Hans hadn't even noticed had slipped onto his face clumsily fluttered into one of taken-aback confusion. It was such a short sentence, and yet its delivery was so sudden it was almost out of place, though not even that could compare to the true weight that those few words carried.

A bit at a loss, Hans watched as Cale's fingers tightened around the book in his hands, still way too thick for someone his age to be reading.

"If you choose to stay here," he said, firm, and yet with its own quivering tremor—fragile, as if this child, too, was trying to convince himself his words would ring nothing but true. "I'll protect you."

Lifting his head from where they were almost resting on his knees, Cale finally met his gaze.

"You would be part of our Henituse household, and I am the son of its lord."

It was only at that moment that Hans realized they haven't once crossed eyes in the entire duration they've been together, until now.

"Young master…?"

Cale Henituse's eyes were brown, Hans fleetingly remarked just then. An earthy, deep, chocolate brown, so similar yet so different to his brother's who had tints of their mother's distinct red.

But in no way did it mean that Cale's were any less vivid. The way they burnt with a resolve so startlingly bright for someone so young—it was as if the red flames had always been there, right from the very start.

"I'll protect you like I failed to protect my mother and brother. I'll protect this household, my family— everyone."

Protect, protect, protect.

Like a record, those words echoed into the depths of his chest—there wasn't a doubt that they would be remembered and revered through each living beat of his heart, etched into its every corner, crook, and cranny.

They were such large words harbouring large promises, way too much for any child to be muttering.

And yet, despite the quiet tears that rolled down Cale's cheeks even as he picked back up the book way too large for someone his age, Hans wanted to believe him—this child who looked as if he so badly wanted to grow up.

Even as Cale stuttered over the words of a novel too large for both of them to even understand the meaning of, Hans—

Perhaps a little foolishly,

Perhaps a little blindly,

Decided that he could.

(—CLANG)

"—DIE, YOU FUCKER!!!"

(Presently: January 15th, Year 772 of the Felix Calendar.)

The clashing of swords was distinct amongst the hall's air.

"Aish, such crude words for the son of a count."

"Crude words or not, aren't I beating your sorry—" A snarl. "ASS—?!"

Without even breaking a sweat, Edro parried. "You truly are, young master."

(Cale, decidedly, was not.)

Unable to help himself, Hans let out a laugh. By his side, the second young master of the household looked only slightly exasperated, but by now appeared mostly resigned to accept the fact that his brother's manners were perhaps never going to be as refined as whatever etiquette teacher would've wished of him.

"It's the young master's preferred go-to battle cry these days," Hans grinned over at Kim, as if those words would do anything to appease the slight irk on the youngest master's face.

"He seems to have forgotten we have a young child here with us," Kim clicked his tongue in response (as if he, himself, wasn't also a young child), and only then did Hans remember the additional young guest they had with them in the training hall, this time.

But to his credit, Basen barely looked disturbed.

"I won't follow his example, if you're worried about that," Basen muttered, his short legs lightly swinging from his chair, too high to let even the soles of his feet touch the ground.

Kim nodded in approval at those words, just about to launch into his own little tangent before Basen spoke again, cutting him off before he could even say a thing.

"—Whenever Mama goes on a rant and drops some bad words, she immediately tells me that bad words aren't good and shouldn't be said." The younger boy nodded resolutely, mostly to himself. "So I.. won't say any."

The approving face that Kim had just been wearing promptly turned complicated. Hans, as well, hadn't forgotten how surprisingly sharp the madam's tongue was during their last encounter at the tea house—a rather unforgettable experience, honestly, with how startling it had been.

The hypocrisy was laughable, but remembering how composed Violan's demeanour was in general, well, it was easy to let such a thing slide, when she otherwise appeared to be an impeccable role model for good conduct and behaviour.

“Well.” Kim's brow was slightly furrowed. “..... Follow your mother’s.. wise words then, I guess..”

“I will! Um, y—" Basen hesitated, before remembering to add, "—young master-nim,” obviously not used to talking to people of higher status than he was.

Kim stared at the young boy for a second, before he let out a small huff. "Good, then."

The flow of their conversation was nice, if not a bit formal, but that was to be expected between the son of a count who had been tutored into formalities since he could begin walking, and a child who was raised by a mother whose demeanour was admirably poised.

Hans himself was quite reserved as well, not used to talking as freely and openly as the oldest young master of the house was. But regardless, Cale Henituse, despite his status, didn't speak as elegantly as his twin brother did, and suffice to say, Hans didn't need to feel ashamed of his own lack of poise—and neither did anyone in the household. Both the main family and the staff, neither ever shamed him for it.

"FUCK—!!"

Speak of the devil , Hans chuckled, his mirth only furthering upon seeing the small grimace slip across Kim's face.

Before them, at the centre of the hall, Cale had fallen for the XXth time by the hands of Edro's blade. Hans didn't even bother to hide his stupor and amazement—it was only a while ago, after all, that he had been the one fallen to the young master's feet after plenty of not-so-graceful defeats.

"This is unfair," Cale whined, his voice petulant yet gritty in genuine frustration. "You're way too—" Rolling over, Cale made it so that he would not be on his stomach, but on his back, this time—though it did nothing to make him look less than a battered and sulking puppy. "Too—!!"

"Too out of your league?" Edro suggested, passively staring down at the young boy from where he was standing, his form upright and without a single bead of sweat on his faintly wrinkled skin. He hardly looked the part of an old man who had been exchanging heavy blows with a child for several minutes straight.

Cale scowled. His face was tinged red with both embarrassment and exhaustion, yet the hue of his face paled in comparison to the fire in his eyes, brindling with considerable frustration.

Edro himself had not been privy to the sight of those flickering flames.

"Up." He tapped the boy's leg with the tip of his boot. "Get up. We both know you're not satisfied with whatever's happening here."

Brown eyes flickered upwards, a gritted scowl easily settling on Cale's face.

"You won't stop until you achieve whatever it is you want," Edro remarked. "So get up. That look on yer lil’ grubby face is annoying."

Kim couldn't understand this type of conversation—the kind that could only be shared between two swordsmen. And he didn't want to, either.

It was hard for him to understand why anyone would ever want to get back up after getting beaten, only to get beaten back down again, and so painfully at that, during what was supposed to be a light spar. Had it been Kim Rok Soo in this voluntary hellish situation, he would've been sane of mind and called it quits after the first knock over, and wondered why he'd even be willing to offer himself to be subjected to it in the first place.

What was there to lose, after all? It was only a simple spar.

He let out a sigh. Honestly... At this rate, his brother was going to get beat up until he was bedridden with bruises and sore muscles before he even met Choi Han.

But Cale was different from Kim in this aspect.

Time and time again, he stood up, got beat down, stood up, and got beaten down—over and over and over again. It wasn't a matter of life or death. There was no reason to act as if any second the world might take you by surprise and swallow you whole. Giving up wouldn't have led to permanent consequences at all, and would at best lead to a happier lifestyle in general, and way fewer bruises and sore muscle pain.

But Cale's mind, while many would naturally presume him to be simple, was actually rather complicated. And Kim knew Cale best, and that meant he was perfectly aware of how he would never be able to fully understand what his brother might've been thinking about—as much as he did—each time his small form smacked loudly across the ground, and all the other instances where he jumped right back up.

It should've been a pitiful sight to witness, but somehow, with each brutal passing cycle…

Somehow, one couldn't help but feel impressed with the resilience of this stubborn young master.

"Kneel over—"

Cale panted heavily, sword swung back as he prepared to lunge once more,

"—And DIE ALREADY—!!!"

It was a swing powerful enough to send a small gush of wind over to where Kim, Hans and Basen were all seated on the sidelines.

And yet, it took nothing but a small parry, the shifting of feet, and a clever twirl of the sword for Edro to finally disarm Cale, sending his sword spiralling into the air and planting into the ground behind Cale. The old knight made it look so effortless—only serving to further prove that their entire exchange up until this point had consisted of Edro holding back abilities that were more than capable of ending each of their exchanges in less than a few seconds.

Cale didn't let that stop him, however.

Because in the instance where Edro had slightly leaned forward in his disarming parry, Cale took advantage of their proximity to lunge himself directly into Edro's body, hanging onto the man's sword-dominant arm. His stature was still too small, however, to do anything to actually affect Edro's balance, but with a fierce cry, Cale gripped tight onto the other's clothes, tilted his head back, and clamped down hard onto the man's arm with his teeth.

Edro let out what might've been a shriek.

"OW—?!!? FUCKIN'—?!"

"—HA..!! HAHHAHAHAJJFAJHSAHA!!!"

Teeth slightly bloodied, Cale let out a cackle that was so incredibly, distinctly his.

Horrified, Kim could only watch as Edro dropped his sword and tried to pry the gremlin that was his brother off of his arm. With a small sense of dread, he wondered if Madam Violan would be alright with her own son watching whatever freak show was happening before their very eyes. And from the odd mix of either disgust or amusement on the young Basen's face, Kim couldn't say he was quite sure.

"This little brat—?!!"

The sound Edro made just then could in all honestly be described as pitiful. The sound of it prompted laughter from both Cale—who was still tightly clinging onto the older man—and surprisingly, even Basen, who let out what seemed to be an amused huff of a laugh that mistakenly escaped alongside his gasp of either affront or awe. He seemed to have realized his slip up, however, considering how quick he was to cover his mouth with the palms of his hand.

"Alright," Kim spoke up, barely managing to reel in his headache. "Brother, get off of Sir Edro."

"I— HAVEN'T—"

By now, Cale was speaking between pants and near-hysterical laughter, his voice occasionally muffling from where Edro was pushing at his face with gruff palms.

"—WON YET!!!!"

"My god..." Kim gritted his teeth. "Hyung-nim—"

With one final cry, Cale manoeuvred his body so that his leg stretched out, feet kicking at the back of Edro's knee. It was a surprise to everyone to know that whatever he might've been planning actually worked, because not too long after did Edro's leg give in, forcing him to bend his knee after one last, particularly hard kick from Cale.

Both men, older and young, fell to the ground into a cloud of their own dust.

"Cale—!!?"

Kim's vision went black for a second from how quickly he stood from his chair, his range of view filled with the dark static of visual snow dangling beneath his lids.

With an alarmed sound, Hans swiftly moved to steady his staggering, though, thankfully, it wasn't enough to make Kim collapse. Kim couldn't discern whether the racing of his heart had been caused by his near fall or…

Squeezing his eyes, Kim clicked his tongue once before looking back to properly see the two crumpled forms. Upon noticing the way Edro seemed to have manoeuvred their figures during the fall, Kim quickly realized that Cale had been protected from whatever possible injury he could have suffered, safely tucked into Edro's chest. A breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding soon escaped him at the revelation, and Kim nearly slumped back down to his seat, his headache now back to taunt his temples in throbbing intervals, tenfolds the intensity than before.

A silence filled the training hall, riddled with nothing but the breathy panting of the two figures who had previously been sparring right at its centre. It didn't last long, however, soon broken by a cough, a chuckle followed by a giggle, and then full-on cackling; the boisterous kind of laughter that left both bodies on the ground shaking with whatever post-adrenaline glee they were left to simmer in.

Edro groaned mid-laugh, a twinge in his shoulder hitting him whilst, and with muttered profanities, roughly pushed Cale's body off of him, allowing the boy to roughly hit the ground.

"... ow..." Cale grumbled, almost in offence, but was too tired to do anything to really fight back.

"That's the last and only time I'll take the brunt of a fall for ya'," Edro all but deadpanned, a grumble to his voice.

"... How rude? What if I ordered you to do it again the next time?"

"Unfortunately for you, young master Cale," Edro drawled, almost teasingly, "The only orders I take are from Young miss Violan, and her son."

Cale reached his leg over to kick the man in the side for his blatant disrespect. All it really did was draw a small 'oof' from the other.

"Tsk, you're so old! Madam Violan has already long grown from the title of young miss, and you're still calling her like that.."

A glimmer of glee made itself apparent on Edro's visage.

"No matter how many years pass," a smile spread across the knight's face, so gentle in contrast to his otherwise gruff demeanour, "she'll forever be a young miss to this old man."

The fondness he held for the madam was apparent in both his words and his expression, and it almost startled Cale to see it—a picture similar to the one he'd see on his own father's face. An expression that, occasionally in the past, he'd notice lingering whenever he and Kim (and.. Mother, as well) would be talking, all in their own little bubble while Father sat on the side, pausing in his paperwork to glance at them from time to time.

It was a fascinating thing, to witness that kind of affection on another person's face, to see it, and realize, with a tight chest and with near breathtaking fascination—

Father looks at me and my brother in that same manner, too.

Amidst the remnants of lingering, dwindling adrenaline, Cale felt something spark within his chest—a small, hot little buzz that set his insides aflame in the most astonishingly gentle, all-encompassing way.

Cale's gaze turned to face the hall's ceiling,

Closed his eyes,

Racing heart still beating in his ears,

And remembered.

The instances in his life where he'd seen similar affection on his father's face;

The adoration of his mother when she ran her fingers through his short hair;

The song they would hum as they sat at the foot of a tree beneath the sun—

(A foot nudged his leg.)

Opening his eyes, Cale found himself staring at a face nearly identical to his own.

"... You look disgusting."

Cale cracked a grin.

(—and the annoyance of his brother, yet the undeniable twinge of fond exasperation that Kim himself probably hadn't even noticed he so often held.)

The bubbling feeling in his chest never ceased to grow. So abundant it might as well transcend universes.

Cale jumped to his feet in an instant.

"Sir Edro!! Let's fight again!"

"Wha..?"

The perplexed expression on Kim's face that switched in a whiplash didn't go unnoticed by Cale. But Cale didn't care if his brother thought of him as insane, as crazy, as out of his mind, or whatever synonym he knew for certain his brother's brain was full of.

But he didn't care, because Cale was Cale, and he wasn't a dictionary or a the-sau-rus like his brother was.

His brother had his own strength, and Cale had his. Two complimenting halves of one whole.

And Edro was a strong man—a strong man who loved his liege and her son like family, even despite an obvious lack of blood relation, and had both will and power to protect them if need be.

How amazing was that?

Wasn't it incredible?

How great would it be,

If I….

One day —

Cale watched, eyes burning with a certain need, as Edro slowly regarded him from where he was still lying lazily on the ground.

"... You want me to fight a brat who only knows how to fight dirty underneath all those fancy little sword swings?"

A frown. "Does it matter if I fight dirty when it comes to life and death?"

"But this wasn't life and death, was it?"

"No," Cale's fists clenched by his sides, fingers itching as they so often did. "But it could've been."

Edro was silent for a second.

"Young master Cale," he drawled, the title said almost mockingly—as if Edro didn't truly have a reason to give him respect, other than the fact that Cale had merely been born into the title, even if they've been sparring for the past few hours by now. A young boy that still hadn't done anything to build up his name and garner true respect. "You are the wealthy son of a wealthy count who pampers you, and who has several servants and knights who would no doubt do anything for your protection and bend to your every need should you ever ask for it."

With every word, Cale grew a little irritated, at a loss of where the old knight might be going with the obvious. "Yeah, well—"

"Why would a person like you ever have to find themselves in a situation as dire as 'life and death'?"

Cale fell silent at that.

Kim, as well, found himself not uttering a single word.

… He knew his brother best, after all.

Eight— No.

Nine whole years of living.

They were nine years old, now.

They didn't have their birthday this year—the occasion wasn't fit to host one. And even when their tired father quietly snuck into their room the very night of the birthday, clock striking twelve, with two cupcakes in hand with lit candles gently propped on top before he apologized, through tears and warbled words—the first he had spoken to them in a while, ever since he had locked himself up in his office—both Kim and Cale, down to their very bone, couldn’t find it in themselves to get mad.

Kim Rok Soo, because he had long been used to not celebrating a birthday, way before becoming Kim Henituse, and didn’t place much of an importance on the date in the first place anyway. The seaweed soup was nice, but it was only special because it reminded him that he was alive, and that was enough.

Cale, because he was an anomaly of a child who was way too understanding, who had only lived one life but felt as if he were constantly trying to make up for not having experienced several more. Birthdays were special for him because they were celebrated with family—the time and date never truly mattered.

But a celebration or not, nothing changed the fact that they were now, and still just nine.

And Kim had watched Cale spend days swinging his sword on the training grounds or in the indoor practice halls—rigorous activity that seemed more tiresome than the homework they were assigned by their tutors.

A small kid that didn't even know what awaited in his own future—the encounter he'd have that would mark a much significant beginning to wars between kingdoms, empires and continents.

"... I don't know."

Edro's passive face didn't change at Cale's response.

"You don't know?"

"Yes," Cale repeated, fists clenched by his sides. "I don't know, so I— I'll make sure that if ever it happens, I'll be able to face it."

Cale was only nine years old, but with the way his face was painted in his glaze of heavy conviction, one could have mistaken him for a man who, in another universe, perhaps, would've spent 20 years of war fighting on a drive none other than that man himself would know of.

A tired, depleting candlewick whose flame could only barely manage to keep itself burning—determined until the last drop of wax melted off.

Edro had seen a lot of young knights when he was still the captain of his young miss' brigade. He has seen that same expression, flame-licked and starry-eyed and dreamy, aspirations afloat with goals they all wanted to reach despite knowing nothing of the roads that would lead them there.

Sitting up from his lazing position on the ground, he observed the two boys before him.

… It was a bit funny, seeing the gaze of someone who would gladly throw themselves blind into preparing for an unknown future—all while, on the other similar face, contained nothing but an unwavering narrow-eyed gaze, looking as if he could see through all, and yet revealing none.

Edro crossed gazes with the several-mile stare of the younger Henituse brother standing a little further back from Cale, and watched as the boy's expression flickered minutely—the reddish-brown of his calm, whispering gaze a direct contrast to the flames his brother seemed to have in abundance.

Edro had only met this child for a few hours, and talked to him directly for only a few minutes, but every time he saw the boy, it appeared as if a million thoughts were running through his mind at a time.

What do you think?

The Henituse household hadn't been known for their martial prowess in a long, long time. His young miss had told him that when she had been doing some research on the family after her encounter with the youngest master of the name of whom she had deemed to be rather peculiar.

What would that sort of person think about his brother attempting to step up to adorn that long-discarded mantle? He had heard whispers about the new Sword and Pen of the Henituse household, but how true would those words ring in, say, a decade of years to come?

What do you think of your brother's aspiration, Kim Henituse?

And if he had gotten the message—and Edro had a hunch that he had, with what he's heard of the youngest heir's sharp thinking—regardless, Kim Henituse didn't reply, gaze still unflickeringly steady, but never once acknowledging Edro's own.

And well, Edro couldn't fault him for not answering.

This was between Edro and Cale Henituse, after all.

Whatever the youngest master had to say would weigh nothing in comparison to the little brat of an older twin brother who had enough audacity to bite him until he broke his skin.

With a sigh, Edro stretched, finally standing up before making his way to the young boy who was still standing firm before him.

"Fine."

Cale startled. "Fine?"

"I can teach you some things."

The tremor of the boy's hands didn't go unnoticed by him. A buzz of excitement and desperation, rushing from each extremity of his small body to the other. It was as if he was harbouring energy much larger than his shell could harbour, whispers of it speeding around and bouncing on each wall, as if it would help accommodate the body of the young boy that contained it.

A desperation that surpassed life itself.

Edro wondered if Cale understood where whatever sentiment he was feeling came from.

But it was fine if he didn’t.

Edro knew many people who eventually came to understand themselves through the dedicated practice of swordsmanship—a tiresome, energy-consuming task that in reality was actually unexpectedly calming. An alternative means to meditation, self-reflection and discovery.

The boy standing before him, who looked as if he could explode in bursts of sun-licked flames at any moment—Edro was sure such a child could find benefits in this practice he himself had used to steady his mind and conviction in the past.

Unable to help himself, he lifted his hand and gruffly rested it over the boy’s head. Cale nearly staggered from the weight of it, clearly not having expected such a thing, but he was quick to plant his footing, a small, startled flush lingering on the tips of his ears when he noticed the act wasn’t another surprise attack, but just….. a head pat.

Promptly, several dagger-like stares were directed their way.

In the distance, Edro could see the young Basen peering at the hand he had over Cale’s head, and he nearly chuckled at the antics of the young boy who, upon crossing gazes, quickly averted it back to his lap, where his book rested in place.

Silly boy, he thought, much too fondly. Even if Basen turned out to be incompetent with the sword, he wouldn't think of that kid any differently. From the moment of his birth, that child had become someone as equally precious to him as his young miss was.

And the other stare…..

Edro turned his gaze to look at Kim Henituse, who was standing a little further away.

He let out a huff of a laugh.

….. Seriously. He was much too different than his twin brother, but also not that different at all.

Edro removed his hand before the icy stare of the younger Henituse twin could give the tips of his fingers blackened frostbite. And before he even could jokingly quip if the boy was jealous of him for stealing his brother’s attention, Kim’s heavy gaze quickly shifted to the entrance of the training hall, where Deruth Henituse and Violan Hirschel finally made themselves known.

Chapter Text

“... Oh my.”

Violan let out a rather surprised huff upon seeing the ruffled forms of her knight and the oldest young master of the Henituse estate.

It had only been a few hours since she left with the territory lord to his office to discuss their affairs, and the two figures before her looked so incredibly battered.

“Papa!!” Cale greeted happily, seeing Deruth appear after quite some while. “Father, the old man said he would be teaching me!!”

“Teaching—?” Deruth looked as if his head was spinning, trying to gather all the strings of information he could, but ultimately being unable to knot them together.  “Teaching, what now? Who?”

Violan met Edro’s gaze, and the older man merely shrugged, a small grin on his face that looked casually resigned. She knew her knight well, however, and Violan didn’t miss the veil of honest interest in Edro's gaze, the same one she remembered seeing back when he had been in charge of training the newer knights of their brigade, and he found a rookie he would particularly like to bully into achieving their full potential.

“Hilsman keeps getting injured when we fight!! There’s no one to teach me right now, so—”

Cale grabbed Edro’s sleeve and dragged him towards his father. Violan couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, seeing the sight before her.

“—I want this one!!”

“'This one,’” a second voice chimed in, almost mocking Cale’s tone.

Exasperated, Kim clicked his tongue.

“You sound as if you’re at the stables picking a new favourite horse to go on an excursion with.”

At that, the two brothers simultaneously looked up at Edro’s broad figure, still impressively sturdy-looking despite his age. Cale, particularly, at his height; and Kim, slowly, at his muscles.

"....." Nudging his brother’s side, Cale mumbled, “If I ask him to carry me on his back, do you think he’d say yes? ”

"Well," Kim smirked. But before he could say anything, a foot kicked him on the back of his knee, staggering him lightly.

“I will take my offer away right this instant if you say whatever it was you were planning on saying,” Edro stared at him pointedly.

Kim merely clicked his tongue.

"I think," Violan cut in just then, and from the look in her eye that had been going back and forth between her knight and the boys before her, it was clear she had been considering many things. "It would be a wonderful thing."

She smiled then, a rather rare thing for her frosty demeanour, and turning her head, she called for her son who was still sitting a little further away on the sidelines, Hans accompanying him in their little spectator's corner.

"Lord Deruth and I have struck a deal," she smiled softly at her son, once he had trotted his way over to latch back onto her skirt. "We still have many things to discuss and plan alongside his vassals, so I would frequently be visiting. I believe it would be convenient for Basen and Sir Edro to accompany me to the Lord's Castle for our business before they could head off to the Henituse Estate where they can meet with the young masters."

"With the young master," Kim hurriedly corrected. "I will not be subjecting myself to any of that... torture."

Cale stared at him with a truly pitying gaze.

"Not that you would be able to stand a minute of it anyway..."

And before he knew it, Kim could see similar expressions be directed his way. He opted to ignore them, however, mostly for the sake of his own pride, though he ultimately found himself unable to deny his poor excuse of health—especially when his father and Cale's gaze were dangerously close to going crazed at the prospect of him pushing his body to do anything too strenuous. He has only just recently been able to walk for more than a mere minute, after all.

A silent chuckle made itself present in the faint mirth of Violan's blue eyes.

"Then I believe you would get along splendidly with my dear Basen, young master." She quirked a minuscule smile. "He once told me that you've previously encountered each other at Sir Billos' tea house, once, on one of the top floors with all those books."

Deruth made a displeased face upon hearing Billos' name be brought up again, but it quickly dissipated upon catching on to what Violan was about to imply.

"You can become friends," Deruth said, a small mutter at first, before his voice filtered out in a way that sounded particularly, breathlessly excited and—

Relieved.

Kim's chest itched unexpectedly at the sound of his father's voice taking on that tone.

"My boys don't have many friends, Madam Violan," Deruth smiled, a gentle wisp of happiness cloaking his every word and action. "Our family is close to a few other noble households in the Northeast's Neutral Faction, but since Kim and Cale had been born twins, we didn't necessarily push for them to form especially strong friendships with the other children when they appeared so content with each other, although… ever since..."

Deruth paused slightly, there. His smile dropped just a fraction's bit, but it quickly washed over with a sheepish, more reserved expression.

"I… Sometimes I wonder if my boys might be lonely.."

He gently placed his hand over Cale's head before the boy could stubbornly refute, gently running his fingers over the boy's red hair.

"They meet the other Northeastern children from time to time when they invite us over for birthday celebrations or social gatherings, though often than not, it's better to not attend parties with households from the other political factions—especially considering how wealthy our family is. It would be best to avoid allowing other houses the opportunity to try and..." He smiled, then. "Suck up, if you would pardon my more crass language."

Violan smiled. She may have been a noble in title, once, but she had spent years in the merchant world since then and formalities didn't exactly mean much to her.

"But, still.." Deruth's brown eyes shifted over to Hans, who immediately straightened his back at the attention—though he eased up with a small fluster when Deruth sent him a warm, rather grateful smile. "Thankfully, Hans is here to accompany them from now on. Though I believe," and he looked at Basen this time, smiling softly when the boy subtly inched back behind his mother's skirt, "young Basen would get along rather well with my boys. I heard he likes reading?"

"When we saw each other at the tea house," Kim slowly spoke up. "He was reading a book."

Records of that day flickered before his eyes.

"....." He looked at the young boy. "..... I've read it."

Basen's stoic face lit up minutely.

"You've.. read De statua?"

"..... De pictura and De re aedificatoria, too."

If the boy looked pleased before, he was positively glowing now. Just like his mother, he didn't make a show of smiling that often—or perhaps that was just the way his facial features were constructed—but from the sparkle of his eyes and the flush on his cheeks, it would be hard to not see his growing excitement.

"You've read Elbarti's three treatises on art..!"

"... He's an interesting enough guy." Kim looked at Basen, before slowly mentioning, "Besari's Le vite de' più eccellenti pittori, scultori, e architettori, has a biography section on him and other artists from the Eastern Continent, though I would recommend his second revised edition. If you're interested."

"I am! In De re aedificatoria, his concept of con— connicit— intas—"

"Concinnitas," Kim corrected, not unkindly. Basen seemed to flush at his being unable to properly enunciate what sounded to be a pretty simple word now that he was hearing it, but Kim merely huffed, dismissing the boy's embarrassment that looked as if it was nearly about to overtake him. "Don't worry about not being able to pronounce a single Eastern word when the fact that you're able to comprehend such advanced subjects and even be genuinely interested in them is a much more impressive feat."

Isn't he just 6 years old? Kim's eyebrow faintly twitched. Crazy bastard…

"I- I, well…" Basen was stammering rather heavily over his words now, but the light in which he regarded Kim never once faded. "I don't understand everything… but, it. It's fun.. One day, I wish to be able to read it in the original language..."

Kim merely hummed at that, unperturbed, because while the prospect of such a young willingly reading what some would typically consider boring books was impressive, it also didn't surprise him for that very same child to still have some difficulties in reading them.

It was only through a stroke of luck that Kim just so happened to look up and catch the gaze his father was sending him—eyes soft and squinted with pride and mirth as he watched the exchange of the two young boys before him.

Kim couldn't help but wonder what sort of absurd thoughts were swimming around his father's head at the moment, but at the revelation— pride, he knew, and fondness, and he was only able to recognize it because his foolish father was always so transparent in his emotions—he couldn't help but flush, feeling a small fluster overtake his actions.

"I can help you understand," he nearly stammered, just barely able to keep his voice without wavering. He felt like he was out of his mind, doing this. "—the next time you visit."

Both Deruth and Basen's faces brightened even further, and Kim was suddenly overwhelmed with the oddest sensation of embarrassment he had ever felt in his entire life so far. He didn't understand why he was feeling this. Father knew he often read all sorts of various books, and Basen was but a mere child who probably hadn't had anyone to share common interests in, in a very long time. Their reactions shouldn't be surprising, and yet—

Kim's gaze fell to the ground, and unable to help himself, he gripped tightly at the back of his neck, clicking his tongue to redirect his attention away from the small burst of heat flocking his cheeks.

He hated his body. His feelings. Emotions were so, so very strange.

"... I didn't know the young master was interested in such subjects."

It was Violan who spoke up, this time, staring curiously at Kim.

"... When your territory happens to be the closest to what there is of an artistic center point for the Northeastern Territories, I believe it becomes inevitable for one to become interested in such affairs." He cleared his throat quietly, immediately ridding himself of his cluster to take on a more casual demeanour. "Sculpture, in particular, is rather popular in our territory, after all, Madam Violan."

"I am very well aware of that," Violan grinned, a particular glint in her eyes. "Young master Kim, if I may… Have you ever held an interest in the practice of sculpture—personal interest, rather than just that of merely getting to know the territory you and your brother are to inherit?"

"... I haven't."

But still, his fingers lightly twitched, and memories quietly filtered through his head, of himself as Kim Rok Soo who once had a few quiet passions in life before reality struck him with the realization that fleeting interests wouldn't get a mere orphan far in society, in terms of financially rewarding and secure careers paths.

Survival has always been Kim Rok Soo's main goal in life, after all.

His plan had always been to work hard and study hard, get a well-paying job and then retire with a hefty pension. It didn't matter if the job sucked, so long as it guaranteed his ideal retirement plan at the very end and he could wither the rest of his days in peace. He was going to enter university and pursue civil engineering after getting in on a scholarship—one that he had worked his entire academic life in between part-time jobs to obtain, especially when he had no family to rely on for financial support.

Of course, the second he started his twenties, the world had flipped over and life only became more difficult, but..

"Sir Edro, Basen and I are parting ways with the Hirschel Merchant Guild and caravan that I left under the care of my close cousin. For now, we are staying at an inn until we can get proper citizenship for permanent residence, but the place we have in mind has an adjacent room that will double as a studio for my own personal art projects. Currently, I've only placed a purchase offer for now, but I don't doubt I will lose to other buyers."

Violan's confidence was an admirable thing, truly, and Kim was quick to catch on as to why. For a second, he truly couldn't help but praise how true the phrase 'money is power' rang.

"It also has a decently-sized courtyard where Sir Edro would be able to practise his sword," she continued. "Once it officially becomes ours, if ever young master Cale wishes to have a change in scenery for his training, young master Kim could also tag along and visit my studio if ever he's interested or just wants to watch the craft at work."

Violan's smile was warm.

"I would truly be glad to have you there, even if it's just to watch. Sculpture is an artistic practice meant to be admired."

… And it startled him, reverberating until it scratched his core.

Kim didn't really know what to say.

It sounded troublesome, to have to leave his home and go all the way to the city for something like this, but a tiny, minuscule part of him found his resolve quivering.

Kim Rok Soo had never felt this. These emotions of wanting to pursue and explore such… small interests. He never had the time, energy, or desire to—but he wasn't truly Kim Rok Soo, either, was he now? The thin line of interests that they were made up of…

Until what point did they blur, coincide, or become distinctively, uniquely Kim's?

That person who spent his entire life trying to survive—it was natural for Kim Henituse to continue in the same antics. And he couldn't fault himself for it either, not when every time he closed his eyes, he could remember word for word, five volumes of a novel that dictated the ways of the world in the far future.

Tentatively, he opened his mouth—then closed it not a second after, before he took in a small breath, more steadily this time.

"I wouldn't mind."

The short answer seemed to be enough for Violan, because she looked delighted in the softest of ways.

"I think it's very admirable for the youngest master to be interested in the artistic affairs that are so deeply embedded into the culture of your Henituse Territory." She lightly bowed her head. "Do visit whenever you wish along with young master Cale. It would be an honour, and I'm sure Basen will enjoy the young lords' presence. I truly do hope you get along."

"... You are the person my father will be working with in the future." Slowly, Kim raised his hand in her direction. "It only makes sense for me to be on good terms with the people closely tied to you."

Violan stared back at him with her blue eyes, almost as if she was searching for any other deeper meaning behind his words before she finally let out a light huff of a laugh.

And as they shook hands, Violan's calloused palm large in his smaller one, Kim couldn't help but wonder if, in the end, she found whatever it was she was hoping to see.

"Every time I meet you, young master Kim, I find myself liking you more and more." Violan shook her head, sending Deruth the faintest of approving smiles. "Your boys are interesting, Lord Henituse. One appears to read art treatises in his free time that are far more advanced than typically expected for his age group, and the other appears so enthused about martial arts he even goes so far as to bite my old sword instructor."

At those words, Edro scowled, no doubt feeling a bit embarrassed at the revelation that his liege had seen the bite mark on his hand and had so quickly pieced the puzzles together.

Cale, on the other hand, merely smiled, eyes squinted from the rise of his cheeks—a perfect picture of fabricated virtue.

On his part, Deruth appeared to experience a bit of whiplash, quickly looking in alarm at his eldest son for answers, only for Cale to respond back at him in what would've appeared to be an innocent expression, if only it weren't for the smile on his face that was distinctively devious in the way only Cale Henituse was capable of. And turning to Kim was no better, because his youngest merely looked at him with the most exhausted gaze he had seen in a long while, practically begging for him to not ask any further question.

"......... I apologize for anything my son might have done out of line, Sir Edro."

The laugh that Edro let out was nearly boisterous. A cackle that was short but no less powerful. "The kid showed me something interesting enough. There is no need for his lordship to apologize for the runty little actions of his brat who knows no better than to fight dirty."

"A brat—!"

Cale's offended gasp was immediately cut off by the sight of Edro's sharp grin.

"I will see you next time we meet, Student-nim. It won't be as easy as it was today."

A wave of conflicted emotions flickered across Cale's face. It was easy to tell that he wanted to either throw curses at the old swordsman, scowl, or beam at the new title he had earned—a direct confirmation that he now had a teacher who professed enough interest in helping him achieve the goal he silently carved into his own heart.

"Shall I escort you to the door?" Deruth smiled amiably.

Violan blinked once, before gratefully accepting. "We've finished up everything that needs to be done for today. I will deliver everything to my cousin and will ensure to regularly send updates for your order."

"Ah, perfect. Thank you, Madam Violan. You can bring me an update the next time we meet at the lord's castle for your project proposal, as well."

Violan paused minutely. "Ah. It's rather convenient, isn't it?"

A small huff of laughter escaped Deruth. "Truly convenient," he agreed, and the situation almost seemed to amuse him for a second before the look dissipated once he turned to his sons. "Boys, I will be sending off our guests now. Why don't you wash up so we can have our meal together?"

Cale, upon looking down at his clothes that were now fully covered in the remnants of dust of the hall's cold flooring, immediately grimaced, though, in a way that was characteristically him, he remained firm and stubborn.

"I'll wait until we send them off," he huffed, arms crossing, and all Deruth could do was send his son an exasperatedly fond stare as he watched the boy send a sharp glare over his pout (though he was sure Cale would deny it ever being a pout) at the old knight standing a little further away.

"Hans?" Deruth called.

"Ah! Yes sir?"

"Please tell our kitchen to prepare a meal. Of course, you can also pass the message over to Ron, as well. That's perfectly alright, too."

Hans brightened, his back straightening. "I- I will be sure to pass the message successfully!"

And as the ginger made his way out of the hall, for the briefest of seconds, Kim couldn't help but sneak a glance in Violan's direction.

Her expression didn't seem to be expecting anything else, merely clouded with the contentment that came after whatever fruitful conversation she must have had with Deruth during the previous hours—and nothing more. She looked ready as ever to call it a day and return back to her new home.

Kim turned to his father, quietly staring at him—waiting for him to make another move.

… Are you not going to..?

Deruth noticed his glance in an instant—ever so perceptive to the antics of his sons—and immediately sent Kim an apologetic look, no doubt misinterpreting the gaze his son had directed at him. Gently, he reached over to run his fingers over Kim's head, the action so familiar it was pretty much instinctive for Kim to lean into the touch.

"Ah, you must be hungry.. It will take a short while for the kitchen to prepare the food, so it would be best to take a bath to distract you from the hunger, hm? Kim-ah, hang in there.."

"Mh. No, that's not it.." 

Kim prepared to open his mouth to speak his thoughts, glancing at Violan again, then at his father, before merely discarding the words at the tip of his tongue. 

"Ah, of course, we can always ask the kitchen for some snacks, if you want?"

"No.. I'm telling you, it's fine."

The exasperation easily brought a smile to Deruth's face, and it quickly became clear to Kim that his father had been teasing him. With a huff, he averted his gaze, though in the end, couldn't help but sneak one last look in Violan's direction.

She easily noticed his stare.

"See you the next time we meet, Young master Kim, Young master Cale," she politely greeted, a short bow to her head in due courtesy. "I hope you enjoy your meal."

"... Mh. Thank you. You, as well."

Mirth swam in her icy blue eyes.

"Sir Edro is a formidable cook. One day, if you feel curious enough, do feel free to visit us and try his cooking."

"My," Deruth blinked, already walking away to lead Violan and her group back towards the entrance. Kim, unable to part from them just yet, followed him right by his side. "A knight and a cook?"

Violan beamed proudly up at her knight and old sword instructor. "Sir Edro is a man of many talents."

"My lady flatters me too much," Edro shook his head, interjecting. "I only started cooking once we frequently began travelling on the road. Our household's head chef was too old to come with us and stayed behind to enjoy retirement, and the rest of the staff went to search for other means of employment."

"Then, if not talented, incredibly admirable to have taken up such a task when no one else would?"

Cale's grin was everything but honestly sincere.

"....... Just like your brother, you're truly a glib-tongued child, aren't you?" Clicking his tongue, Edro shot Cale an exasperated look. "Flattery won't make me go easier on you the next time we meet."

Cale grinned boyishly at those worlds, looking every bit of the gremlin that he was.

Absentmindedly, Kim could only follow his father and brother's steps, walking along the hallways of the manor he was much familiar with. Each corner, door, pillar, painting and wall were well-known to his mind, and everywhere they stepped, there wasn't a doubt that wherever Kim would go in this estate, familiarity would follow him like the aftermath wisps of an invisible cloak.

"Kim?"

The small, fuzzy bubble of comfortability frizzled out with the filtering of Deruth's voice in his ears. Looking up, he vaguely tilted his head, before his father made a nudge to Violan and her family.

"Kim, they're leaving," Cale reminded him with a small nudge to his side.

Only then did Kim notice they were standing outside—the cold January air brushing against his cheeks.

Remembering his manners, Kim waved goodbye to the departing group one last time. Basen especially reciprocated, a small rosy flush on his cheeks as he lifted his small hand, his lips mouthing words of farewell before he went back to clinging near his mother's skirt.

"So, what do you think?"

Kim blinked, his hand finally lowering after their carriage was out of sight.

"Of them?"

His father nodded, warm eyes patiently waiting for his answer.

"..... I think Hyung-nim will learn a lot under Sir Edro. And I don't think Madam Violan's son will be unpleasant to get along with." He shrugged. "And as I said before, it wouldn't hurt to be close to the son of the person you will be doing business with. I'm also interested in what Madam Violan proposed to you. We met previously at the tea house—I think an art gallery would definitely become beneficial for us on the cultural and touristic plan of things in the long run."

"It sounds like you like them," Deruth smiled, appearing to be relieved.

"I like them," Cale immediately interjected, before pausing, a contemplative and conflicting look on his face. "But Sir Edro…" He shook his head, as if to rid himself of his thoughts. He looked as if he were holding back both insults and praises from pouring out simultaneously. Deruth could only huff a laugh at the face his boy was making.

"I don't dislike them." Kim slightly tilted his head. "Why do you ask? Would you be so accommodating of them if we didn't approve of them?"

Not once did Deruth's smile waver at Kim's implying words. Slowly, he knelt before his boys, gently pulling them so that they could stand before him, side by side.

Deliberately, his hands lifted to gently ruffle his sons' hair.

"My sons are sharp boys," he said, with that soft tone of voice of his, the one that brought Kim astonishing amounts of warmth. "If there is anyone in the world you do not like, I will naturally be there to despise them with you."

Kim felt like laughing.

"Then, suppose I said that I don't want them anywhere near here," he spoke just as Cale made a surprised little noise at the back of his throat at the words his father just told them. "—That I don't want you talking to Violan Hirschel and anyone affiliated to her, that you should throw them out. What would you do?"

Kim didn't know why he was suddenly feeling this way. He has a feeling it was due to the novel he read, several years ago in a life he was never sure had truly be his own, but like everything seemed to be in his life, he was both unsure and the most certain he's ever been.

Violan Hirschel was meant to become Violan Henituse.

And yet this world wasn’t a novel, it was reality and Kim was a part of it and he had feelings that they were more than that of just a reader who omnisciently watched a fictional world unfold before his very eyes.

Deruth's answer didn't come with hesitation. 

"I would have them be thrown out," he said, confidently—as if it was the only natural thing for him to do in such a scenario.

"You would listen to the impulsive words of a foolish child at the cost of business relations?"

A chuckle escaped their father's lips. And for all he knew of his son's astonishing intelligence, he knew that his son was also truly just that—a young boy. Rarely did it feel like Kim proved that to be true, and whenever moments he did, Deruth always cherished it.

"As if the Henituses' business opportunities will be lessened with the loss of a single partnership," he reminded, and his words were true. As simple as they appeared to be on the surface, Deruth and his predecessors made sure that they would be independently powerful. "Besides, what Madam Violan is suggesting is just that—a suggestion. It would be beneficial for our territory, yes, but she is not the only person in our lands that could help us follow through with such a project."

Kim observed his father's gaze, unflickering and steady, his stance on the matter so firm Kim found himself believing he could trust it.

Finally, he let his gaze drift to the ground, reigning himself back in.

"..... You know," Kim suddenly started, once he felt he had enough of the short silence that ensued, "I was really joking about wanting to have them be thrown out."

The cackle Deruth bellowed out was nearly enough for Kim himself to allow his lips to quirk upwards as well.

"My son is a softie," he grinned, pinching Kim's cheek—so light he hardly felt it. "I know he would never ask for such a thing without a valid reason."

I'm no softie, Kim scoffed inwardly. But with the way his father was staring at him, Kim hardly found it in himself to refute the image his father had of him in his head.

"... What about you?"

It was Cale who spoke up, this time.

"Hm?"

"Madam Violan. What do you think of her?"

Deruth blinked once, seeming to ponder a second before he shrugged. "She appears to be an intelligent woman who cares deeply for those close to her, as seen with her son and her knight. She also seems to have a deep passion for the arts, which I believe is a driving point to what prompted her to suggest the establishing of a grand gallery in the first place."

"When I was sparring with Sir Edro," Cale titled his head, almost curiously. "Did you have a nice talk?"

"Well.. As nice as business discussion could be," Deruth huffed in amusement, though it was clear that he was slightly tired after the affair. "But once we went over those, I believe we did have a rather friendly talk over tea."

Cale silently stared at their father, before briefly looking back down the road leading to the front entrance of their estate.

"... I think," and Cale took in the tiniest of breaths, though his voice held not a single hesitant quiver. "Mother would've liked meeting her."

The brown eyes of their father which had been unwavering so far had finally begun to shake—but not once did they leave the side of Cale's face.

Kim, as well, felt so absurdly shaken by the words his brother had just spoken.

Between all three of them, he was surprised it was Cale to say such a thing first.

How did his brother feel, saying those words? About mentioning the gaping hole in their chests that had just barely been smoothed over?

Did it hurt? Did it open some wounds that still needed some time before they could be touched again?

Cale was eight— nine years old, now. 

Kim wouldn't know if he could forgive himself if Cale had hurt himself by saying those words that wouldn't have been spoken, had he not misjudged the benefits of proposing an invite to Violan Hirschel so early on in this story.

How long did people mourn? How long were people supposed to mourn?

Kim Rok Soo in his mid-to-late twenties only had a single funeral to mourn for people that were dear to him, before he was forced to pick himself up and pretend everything wasn't going bad, and that everything was alright.

But against nearly everything Kim had been believing this whole entire time, upon looking back up, he found himself stricken in the face of Deruth's smile—a small, sad, melancholic little thing, still soaked in yearning, mourning, and lingering love, from the small cupid's bow of his upper lip to the very edges of his mouth.

Frozen, Kim watched as their father slowly reached his hands towards both Cale and his cheek, gently squeezing as if attempting to grasp for the memories of his wife that was so incredibly prevalent in the existence of his sons who looked so much like her.

A small, tiny breath was let out between the three.

It was hard to tell who it belonged to.

"... she would have," Deruth agreed, and his voice was quiet, but not as weak as it would've been, had such a conversation happened a few months back

And suddenly, unexpectedly, Deruth let out a chuckle— A soft gasp, both amused and elated at a particular revelation that struck his mind.

"Your mother would've kicked me," he wheezed, almost breathlessly in mirth, "had she heard what I just said just earlier, about throwing guests and potential business partners out."

It was such a sudden, out-of-the-blue remark.

At that, Kim was unable to smother down a smile, a rather punched-out cough of a laugh escaping him so abruptly it was startling. He didn't know what overcame him to release such a sound, but something about this particular conversation, this moment, made him feel very happy for a reason unknown to him. He felt as if this was out of character, something he himself didn't know he was quite capable of, but ultimately felt he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Mama would've scolded you for it," Cale grinned, subconsciously nuzzling his father's hand, his smaller palm lifting to rest over the back of his father's. "And only you, even though Kim brought it up first."

"Oh, our Jour…" Deruth grinned, eyes dripping in that sad mix of emotions that was nostalgia, remembrance and yearning. "She always loved picking favourites."

"If you asked her," Cale snickered, a devious little glint in his eyes that was so familiar to see. "She would've said that I was her favourite."

Without even meaning to, Kim let out a scoff.

"You're such a liar, " he said, and his voice, while calm, was slightly rough with an emotion he didn't want to name.

"You know, boys," Deruth started, and suddenly he looked the happiest Kim had ever seen him glow whilst talking about their mother during these past few months. "When I was talking with Madam Hirschel, we crossed your mother's portrait in the hall and for a second I swear I saw the madam fall for her right there and then."

"No," Cale gasped, and puffs of giggles littered the air when Deruth merely sent him a just-as-equally baffled look, only prompting more laughter to fly.

"It was right out of the romance novels Kim occasionally reads," Deruth teased, poking Kim's nose and grinning even wider at the furrow that appeared between his son's brows, not unlike a cat when he went to swipe his father's finger away from him.

"That's a lie," Cale shook his head, shoulders quivering with mirth. He looked every bit a second away from bursting into giggles. "You're lying! Madam didn't even bat an eye at you or- or any of our servants, but you're telling us that only with Mother's portrait, of all things— "

"That's because Mother is much more good-looking," Kim smiled, a soft huff of a laugh escaping him. "Is it really so surprising?"

"Kim—" Deruth sputtered.

"Imagine if they had met in person. In an alternate universe," Kim singled out both his middle finger and his index to show to his brother. "We could've had two mothers."

"Ah.." A forlorn sigh escaped Cale. "It's a wonder how Mama managed to fall for him... He's a bit plain..?"

"—Cale??????"

The look Deruth was sending them both was betrayal at its a finest, but with a helplessly fond sigh, he shook his head, his hands leaving their faces with a light pinch—a reprimand, though it hardly felt like one at all when the defeat on his face was comical theatrics at most.

"Aigoo… my sons… they truly take after their mother with how much they bully me…"

"I'm very glad we take after her? She's much prettier."

"AHH!!!" Deruth cried, reaching out to ruthlessly tickle Cale's sides after his ruthless comment—though despite his grievances, it was impossible to ignore the pure happiness that had smeared over his expression in vibrant colours. Still, keeping true to his act as a slandered father, he whined over the sound of his unlawful son's peals of tortured laughter. "I know!! I know, ah, I know she's beautiful!! Do you know how anxious I was when we were younger??"

".. Anxious," Kim huffed another laugh, a little exasperated, a little amused, as he watched his brother wheezing to death beside him.

"It's true," Deruth smiled, his wide grin turning much softer this time. With a click of his tongue, he finally spared Cale's ticklish sides of his faux reprimand before his face was quickly overtaken with nostalgia dating back over a dozen years back.

"Have I ever told you about how popular your mother was during our Academy days?"

Kim and Cale shared a look.

It was a story amongst many others that their father had frequently told them in the past. Mother herself also had her extensive share of anecdotes to tell them. More often than not, the stories were so lovey-dovey that Kim—who found romance uninteresting and hard to particularly relate to because he honestly thought it to be a tiring thing for one to experience—began dozing off during many of them once they started retelling more than was necessary, especially when it became clear that couple seemed they were never going to tire themselves of reminiscing over the peak of their academy romance days.

Cale, on the other hand, was a child who, while he never really liked reading, always adored the eccentric retellings of their parents' love story back in their prime. Despite this, however, he also eventually got a bit exhausted over them, not being one to exactly understand how and why people felt attraction in the first place, though he supposed it sounded pleasant with how their parents made it out to be.

But still, in response to their father's words, one brother shook his head, feigning both interest and ignorance, whilst the other merely hid a huff.

"I don't remember," said the brother who could never in his life forget.

"So…"

Records flickered briefly before his eyes.

"... Tell us again."

And Deruth, whether he eventually figured out his sons were very much aware of the story he was about to (re)tell them or not, still swept both boys into each of his arms, and recalled a fun little tale of romance and teenage eccentricities that he, too, would never be able to forget.

Throughout it all, Kim's eyes rarely ever blinked—as if wanting to perfectly, without interruption, immortalize the entire memory until he no longer couldn't.

The faux fever he got at the end was worth it—even if it ended with both his father and brother fretting their lives over the possibility of him having caught a cold whilst they were standing outside laughing over old memories.

Kim endlessly cursed his weak body.

Though in the end, he managed to get them to calm down, though not without Cale promising he was going to find a way to kill the season of winter one way or another.

Frankly, Kim thought his brother was stupid.

(He wouldn't have it any other way.)