Chain of Events
"How could you... how could you do this to me?"
"You should be asking yourself that. You think the house would just stay fine while you crawl back home once every few years? I'm sick of it too! I hate it!"
She was the one clearly in the wrong, yet her brazen attitude left Hendrick speechless.
"...Fine. I won't ask about your affair anymore. So where's the child?"
"Ha, look at you pretending to care about your kid. You show up once every few years—that's all you do, but now you wanna play daddy?"
What the hell is she saying? Her sarcasm pissed him off, but Hendrick didn't want to waste more emotions. He just wanted to get his business done and leave.
"I asked where Lisbet is."
"Heh, no wonder she only says what she wants, ignoring everyone else. Guess she takes after her father."
Crunch. For a split second, he imagined choking her right there.
He could tolerate insults to himself, but not to his child. More than that, he couldn't understand her attitude at all.
"Where. Is. Lisbet?!"
Finally losing his temper, he roared at her. Only then did she flinch slightly, her mocking tone dying down a bit.
"...She's not here."
She finally confessed the truth.
"Not here? What the hell does that mean?"
"She kept crying about wanting her daddy, so I dumped her at the convent. Worked out fine— one less annoyance."
She was his daughter too, no question. What kind of attitude was this?
Thwack! Hendrick's reason snapped past his boiling point, and he backhanded his ex-wife across the face.
"Agh! What the fuck?!"
He'd held back as much as he could, but she flew back ten yards anyway. Somehow, even after that punch, she kept spewing her venom—her mouth still worked.
"You know who my new man is, right? Hidalgo of Seville himself! You dare hit me? You'd better prepare yourself. Come dawn..."
Whatever. Hendrick ignored her yammering and rushed out the door.
Not caring about the brewing rain.
—Rain poured down that evening. Hendrick sprinted through Seville's deserted alleys until his breath grew ragged.
He wiped the beaded rain from his forehead blurring his vision and stared at the cross atop the convent at the narrow street's end.
—Saint Clara Orphanage. It was the only religious building in Seville with childcare facilities.
When Hendrick pounded on the door, a lantern flickered inside.
An elderly nun cracked the door open, eyeing the late-night visitor warily.
"It's late. Unless you have urgent business—"
"Urgent business? I'm here to pick up the child I left in your care."
Hendrick gasped for breath.
"Lisbet. Lisbet van Demer. My daughter."
The nun's eyes wavered. That child had been abandoned by her parents, or so she'd heard.
After hesitating, she shook her head.
"It's been half a year since her mother left her. She's been entrusted to the Lord now. A man like you—"
"A man like me?"
Hendrick's trembling hand gripped the doorframe hard. Rain dripped from his soaked fingers.
"I am her father."
The nun stared at the resolute man's face for a long moment before turning and vanishing into the dark corridor.
Soon after, a small child in ragged cloth emerged into the light.
Golden curls, blue eyes—just like her father. But freshly woken, her dazed mind didn't recognize him, her face blank.
"Lisbet..."
He dropped to his knees.
"Daddy was at sea too long. I'm sorry I'm late... but I'm here to take you home now."
The man who once held his head high even before the captain after botching a sea job now looked utterly ashamed.
The girl moved her lips.
"Mommy... didn't come get me."
Hendrick's throat tightened.
He let out a sound between a laugh and a sob.
"That's why Daddy's here."
He pulled a small hat and cloak from his pocket and draped them over her.
She'd catch a cold in the rain—no way he'd let that happen.
"Let's go home. To our nest."
"I'm done with ships now."
"Come on, this is a once-in-a-lifetime shot! Why kick it away yourself?"
As he scoured the market for odd jobs to build a simple, happy life with his daughter, an old acquaintance approached.
With a handshake came fine stationery reeking of perfume, emblazoned in ornate script: Casa de Contratación.
CDC—the Spanish Royal Trade Authority.
The nation's top agency overseeing all merchants sailing the oceans. His friend, newly appointed there, had come personally to recruit him.
He hated to brag, but objectively, Hendrick knew he was a damn good navigator.
That must be why the guy showed up in person.
"All your tech buddies I know signed on. You know Rick? He's in. And that navigator pal—what's his name—he's waiting for you to join too."
It felt good to be recognized. But he'd decided to live for his daughter now, so he planned to decline.
"We sail from Seville, hit the Yucatán, then Manila. The golden land of Manila—if we nail the gold trade, we'll all be rolling in cash. Enough to stick it to your ex and that low-rent hidalgo hubby of hers, eh?"
Tempting. Revenge? Hell yeah. But he'd chosen reality over pointless thrills.
Someday, maybe. But his daughter's happiness came first.
"If you change your mind, let me know. We could use more ace techs—door's always open."
"Thanks for coming personally."
Not that I will. That's what he thought then.
With his skills, he could rebuild without rough sea work.
—No... no way.
"D-Dad."
Returning from market errands, Hendrick saw his home ransacked like burglars had hit.
It wasn't rich, but not empty either—yet papers, cash, everything was gone.
"S-Sorry... I... I opened the door."
He'd half-expected it, but not this.
Exploiting the kid's innocent wish to see her parents? Then stripping the place bare? That bitch had hit rock bottom.
"No, it's not your fault. I should've been more careful."
His rage boiled, but he forced calm for his daughter.
Yeah, he should've kept trying. Human hearts don't bend to will.
He had to get revenge, somehow.
'Nail the gold trade, and we'll all be rich. Enough to dunk on your ex—that bitch—and her hidalgo hubby.'
That sweet offer resurfaced.
One success—just one—and he could flip everything.
He shouldn't have yielded to desire. He'd regret it big-time later, but he couldn't know then.
That night, by the oil lamp bought with scraped coins amid the empty home, Hendrick penned a letter to his acquaintance.
Dear Matteo,
It's Hendrick. I've given much thought to the conditions you proposed.
If I join this voyage, I know you'll treat me fairly—but I'd like to add one condition.
Please let me personally select a 'boy' for cleaning and odd jobs. There's a needy kid nearby.
Otherwise, suitable tools would be ideal. I'd appreciate your positive reply if possible. Have a fine day.
Your friend,
Hendrick van Demer.
His past flashed by in a brilliant burst, projected in his mind.
Now it made sense why Hendrick had reacted strangely to me.
"...Guess I mumbled about Namgung Yeona in my sleep."
That explained the pitying looks and rising favor whenever I woke. Classic NTR game—victims bonding in misery. What a fucked-up world.
Even without living it, irritation surged.
Hendrick's shock must've dwarfed mine in the Central Plains.
Just recalling Namgung Yeona made my teeth grind and sleep impossible. How much worse for him?
Chewing on that trauma alone on an island for decades... damn, what mental steel.
"So what happened after the shipwreck?"
The story flowed naturally into the question.
...Shit, right around now I should've learned the pattern.
Crash! Whoops.
Like some voice-activated trap, one word and bam—rolling in the corroded hull, seawater dumping on my head.
"Fuck, seriously."
Why's this game so hellbent on drowning me? Double meaning intended.
When I snapped back, I stood on the familiar beach amid a crowd of rugged sailors.