Chapter 154: [Side Story] Hello
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 154: [Side Story] Hello
When the things we take for granted are suddenly gone, people tend to get angry, cry, or laugh.
Or they run away.
And the boy was one of those who ran away.
* * *
—Why… do I… have to learn… this?
When he asked, his mother smiled with an expression he could never again bear to recall. And so, the boy never asked that question again.
A long time later, when he had fully learned how to speak with his fingertips, the boy was led by his mother's hand to a certain part of the mansion. For the rest of his life, he would not forget the warmth and the trembling of his mother's hand as she held his.
It was the room at the very right end of the mansion's second floor.
A room no one had ever forbidden him from entering, yet one he had never approached out of a childish, groundless fear. With a heavy groan—the kind of sound one might expect if wood could rust—the door that had always been tightly shut finally opened.
The boy stepped inside with his mother.
And there, he finally met someone who greeted him with a smile on a pale face.
At the sight of that face, the boy unconsciously let go of his mother's hand. Then, he formed the words he had practiced so diligently until that very morning.
—Hel… lo.
With clumsy gestures, he offered his first greeting to his older brother.
—I… am… Shi… ro… i… an. Nice… to… meet… you.
It was a clumsy greeting, but his brother did not blame him. Sitting on the bed, he opened his arms wide with a delighted expression.
That was a gesture that required no sign language to understand. Still, the boy looked up at his mother cautiously. It was a silent question asking if it was really okay, and she nodded with a gentle smile.
Beaming, the boy scurried over and climbed onto the bed. He tightly embraced the other boy—who had the same blonde hair and blue-gray eyes as him, looking so much like him, yet just a little bigger.
The embrace felt unfamiliar—skeletal and cold, like a withered branch—but the boy loved it all the same.
"Hello, Brother."
He knew his brother couldn't hear him, but he had so desperately wanted to call out to him.
In their very first meeting, the boy spoke the short words he had longed to say.
Hello, Brother.
I'm Shiroian.
* * *
The air in that room always felt thick.
It was so heavy that he had to consciously think about inhaling and exhaling.
But he thought it was fine.
As long as his brother was there, smiling in that heavy air, it was fine.
The boy's brother was sick, and the cause was unknown.
That was why the boy's younger sister rarely visited the room. They feared that whatever illness his brother suffered from might spread to the young girl. So, they had agreed that she would start visiting once she grew as big as the boy.
—Today… the cicadas… cried.
—Cicadas?
—Yes, cicadas. It's strange how they cry. One day, out of nowhere, they go 'meem, meem'. No one knows when they start. They just suddenly go 'meem, meem' like that.
The boy's brother had rarely stepped outside the mansion. It wasn't that he couldn't walk, but whenever he went outside, he grew sicker. He would cough and run a fever. So, the boy went outside every single day on his brother's behalf. He wandered around diligently, eager to see new things.
And every day, he would visit the room at the far right end of the second floor to tell him stories.
—When summer comes, this big, black, ugly thing suddenly starts crying really loudly out of nowhere. It goes 'meem, meem'.
—Black and ugly?
—Yes. It has wings, and it's black. It makes sound from its stomach.
—What is that? Sounds like a monster.
—No. It's ugly, but it's not a monster.
A black, ugly, winged thing that cried "meem, meem" and made sounds from its stomach—he had to admit, it sounded like a monster. He hadn't considered that.
Maybe I should catch one and bring it tomorrow, the boy thought.
—If you want to see it, I'll catch one and bring it tomorrow.
Would his brother be startled if he saw a cicada?
Would he find it interesting?
Would it make him want to go outside?
Would thinking like that help his brother?
Or...
—I don't want to see it. I bet it looks like a monster. Just play the violin for me.
That was what his brother said.
Instead of arguing that cicadas weren't monsters, the boy simply agreed. And then, he played the violin with all his heart for his brother, who couldn't even hear it.
Because there was no need to force him to see what he didn't want to see.
Because his brother was someone who couldn't even freely enjoy the things he wanted to see and hear.
* * *
Thus, the boy visited his brother every single day.
And day by day, his brother slowly crumbled.
Like violin strings wearing thin, like the hairs of a bow snapping one by one—slowly, but surely, he crumbled.
The boy did not know.
He didn't know that his brother had come to hate himself for comparing his own frail body to his healthy younger brother's. He didn't know that this hatred had become another sickness, a truth he would only learn far too late.
Only much later would he realize that the sense of loss born from envy could fester into a disease. He understood this only when it was far too late.
How foolish.
* * *
"His condition worsens by the day. I hear Sir Manasil's son is skilled with medicine. In my opinion, we should once again ask Sir Manasil..."
"He says he has other matters to attend to. I cannot hold him back."
At first, he didn't understand what those words meant.
"But, My Lord..."
"Just because my son is ill, how can I block his path?"
What it meant for a condition to worsen, what it meant to be skilled with medicine, and what his father was choosing to give up—the boy understood none of it.
And so, a little more time passed.
—Brother.
The boy visited the room at the far right end of the second floor, just as he always did.
—Brother. I brought Lea…
His younger sister was now quite good at sign language, too. They had assured their mother that his illness wouldn't spread to her. Having received permission, they had come together.
It was the first time the three of them were gathering.
That was why his sister had put a pretty flower in her hair. She had even worn a flowing skirt she rarely ever put on.
—Get out.
That was what his brother said.
Feeling sorry for his sister, who had dressed up so beautifully, the boy tried to speak again.
—Brother. Are you very tired? Just for a moment, Lea…
His brother made a face he had never seen before. It was an expression that was neither a smile nor a sob. It was a terrifying face.
—Do I… look… tired to you?
The boy could not answer.
He just stood there, tightly holding his young sister's hand, watching his brother's hands form the words.
—Look straight at me. Don't look away. Look at me properly.
The boy covered his sister's eyes.
Because he felt he had to.
—Don't turn away from the fact that I am dying.
Without fully understanding what those words meant, he couldn't close his own eyes, only cover his sister's.
—Yes. Watch me like that. It's time you knew the truth, too.
So, he watched his brother's words in their entirety.
He couldn't say a single thing; he just watched.
He only cried.
—Why are you crying? Isn't it better for you if I die?
He should have said no, that it wasn't true.
How foolish.
* * *
Then, one day, the boy had a nightmare.
He dreamed of wandering alone in a pitch-black forest where nothing could be seen.
The sounds of violins and cicadas buzzed from all directions. In a place where he didn't know whether to go forward or backward, surrounded by the deafening noise, he lost his way.
"Young Master! Young Master!"
Because of the dream, it took him a long time to open his eyes.
It was Knight Yuran.
Seeing that the boy was awake, Yuran embraced him without a word. He wrapped the boy's body in a small blanket and dashed out of the room.
"What's wrong?" the boy asked.
Yuran replied after a brief pause, "There was a small fire. You do not need to worry."
"Then why are we going outside?"
Yuran did not answer.
He pulled the blanket over the boy's head and held him close. He clutched the boy with one arm while trying to cover both of his ears with his other hand.
Though he could feel the boy struggling to breathe, Yuran did not loosen his grip.
His mute brother, knowing his time was short, had set his own room ablaze to erase every trace of his existence. Only much later would the boy realize why Yuran had held him so tightly: to shield him from the sound of his brother's screams—agonizing, terrible sounds of pain.
How foolish.
* * *
A few more days passed in absolute silence.
And then.
"Yan."
Don't be startled.
Don't be too sad.
His father's words followed.
They were like the sound of cicadas that suddenly filled the air the moment he opened his eyes.
"Your brother... yesterday..."
Like the cry of cicadas that arrived without warning, selfishly declaring that summer had come.
* * *
The cicadas cried.
Meem, meem, they went, as if refusing to let summer end.
The boy cried too.
In the room at the far right end of the second floor, where everything had burned to ash and nothing remained—in that room whose owner was now gone—he wept bitterly every single day. He cried day after day, whispering the words he had never been able to say to his brother.
Summer passed, autumn came, and then winter.
Then spring came and went.
Until the sound of meem, meem could be heard once more.
In the end, the boy's father forced him out of the house. Holding the screaming boy, who wailed that he didn't want to leave, his father carried him out of the castle and out of the duchy.
He showed him the stars, the sky, and the river.
He forced all these sights into the eyes of the stubborn boy, who had refused to look at anything because his brother had never been able to see them.
Sometime later.
Just like the day he had been led by his mother's hand to the room at the far right of the second floor, the boy stepped into a place with his father—a place that was grand and beautiful, yet utterly desolate.
And in that desolate place, he saw a child who should have been more splendid than anyone, but was not.
Yes.
Like a withered branch.
"Who is that child?" he asked.
It was the first time in a year.
For the first time in a year, the boy had looked at something of his own accord and asked a question.
"He is the Third Prince of this kingdom."
Instead of showing how deeply moved he was, his father replied quickly.
The boy didn't even listen to the answer.
As if possessed, he walked toward the child.
"......Hello."
And just like that, he offered his greeting.