Rebellious Phase (3)
Beatrice had been inwardly tense at Kyle's ominous aura, but perhaps it was just her imagination.
"How's the wound?"
"...Uh, yeah?"
Kyle, who had silently led her outside, simply strolled through the shopping district as if it were any other day. Just like he used to do every weekend a year ago, dragged along by Beatrice's whims. If she showed interest in clothes at a shop, he'd buy them and have her try them on. If they passed a street vendor with appetizing food, he'd grab some and hand it to her. It was an utterly ordinary outing.
While having lunch with Kyle at a cozy restaurant, Beatrice awkwardly nodded as he glanced at her cheek and asked about it.
"...Well, it's fine. It wasn't a big wound, and a bit of ointment was all it took to heal right up."
"I see."
Maybe she'd been overthinking it and gotten scared for no reason. With that thought, Beatrice smoothly pulled out the excuse she'd prepared.
In truth, the scratch on her cheek from Sina's claws had already healed on its own thanks to the enhanced regeneration from awakening her Blood Love powers. But from Beatrice's perspective, who didn't want Kyle knowing about her newfound strength just yet, that wasn't a truth she could share outright. Fortunately, Kyle seemed to accept her story about applying ointment without suspicion.
'...Ah.'
Beatrice paused mid-bite as an old memory surfaced, lost in reminiscence for a moment. Come to think of it, back in the day, whenever she got hurt like this, Kyle would always cast a healing spell on her. The realization that she no longer needed that brought a strange pang of regret tickling her heart.
"Riche."
But the moment passed quickly. Kyle called her name, and Beatrice flinched, quickly schooling her expression to cool indifference before looking up.
"...What?"
Over the past year, maintaining her 'rebellious daughter' attitude had become second nature. At this point, even she couldn't tell if it was an act or genuine. Still, unflinching, Beatrice met Kyle's gray gaze steadily. She couldn't show any weakness, or it was over. Though today's Kyle felt oddly off-putting and worrisome.
If she were to bend first to that subtle change, it wouldn't even qualify as puberty. Beatrice stared at him with narrowed ruby eyes, and soon he spoke.
"Do you have no intention of getting along with Sina from now on? Blood or no blood, do you plan to keep snarling at each other like that?"
"...".
It was a topic she could have predicted. So that's why he'd built up the tension—he wanted to talk about Sina after all. Feeling her mood sink further, Beatrice replied with a cynical sneer.
"Who knows. Like you said, we're not blood-related, so why should I get along with her? She doesn't even treat me like a big sister, that second-born brat."
It was a blunt rejection of Kyle's mediation, once again. Of course, Beatrice knew a fair bit about Sina by now. She wasn't as young and innocent as she appeared, and the power she wielded was just as dangerous as Beatrice's own Blood Love. Beatrice didn't know her exact identity, but that uniqueness was probably why Kyle had adopted her. She had no intention of digging deeper. She wasn't particularly interested anyway. She simply had no desire to play nice like ordinary sisters.
A cold smirk curled Beatrice's lips.
"On top of that, she's the second daughter Dad brought home without even asking my opinion. Not that it's my place to interfere, so I didn't complain...".
"...".
"There's no reason for me to get close to her. She's a little sister I don't like much."
Best to drive the nail in firmly now. Then Kyle wouldn't try forcing them together anymore. They could just keep eyeing each other like fighting dogs, as they always had. That should avoid most problems. Sure, unexpected clashes like yesterday might happen occasionally, but still.
Beatrice's tone was unwavering, laced with firm resolve. Did Kyle finally realize she truly had no intention of getting along with Sina?
"...If you're that set on it, I understand. I won't bring it up again. It was a sisterly bond forced by me from the start, after all."
Kyle's expression held a tinge of bitterness, but he seemed to respect her will. It also meant he wouldn't meddle between the two girls anymore.
With her wish granted, Beatrice finally felt a bit satisfied. She shot Kyle a triumphant, mocking glance.
"Hmph... About time you said that. What a hopeless dad. You never even bothered to see how hard it's been for me all this time."
"...".
"Let me make it clear: I've been putting up with a lot for your sake up till now? Every time you meddled in my business, it was so annoying. Wonder if you even get it."
She probably didn't need to say it. It would just ruin the mood. What was the point of hurling half-hearted insults at Kyle? At best, a petty thrill from venting wildly at 'Dad'? Even that was childish and arrogant. Considering all Kyle had done for her, she had no right to utter such words.
But as someone in the throes of puberty, unable to face Kyle honestly anymore, Beatrice couldn't even recognize that issue.
"...Is that so?"
Even when Kyle looked at her with an unusually cold, sunken gaze, she didn't snap out of it. Beaming with pride at what seemed like his agreement, she shot back.
"Yeah, exactly. Time you realized what a great daughter I am. Just the things I've yielded so far are already...".
Thud!
"...Hic!"
But her crowning line couldn't finish. Before she could wound her father further as a daughter, a bag landed on the table. A rectangular leather case, angular and exuding subtle luxury at a glance.
Beatrice cautiously looked up at Kyle, who had placed it there so suddenly. The atmosphere shifted again.
The foal-like defiance drained from her, and she clamped her mouth shut, peeking nervously at Kyle's face. And Kyle... stared at her chillingly, gripping the case as he stood.
"On your feet, Beatrice. Time to head to our real destination."
"...Wh-what?"
Not 'Riche'. 'Beatrice'. Hearing that formal name after so long made her shoulders hunch involuntarily. But Kyle showed no sign of waiting. With an emotionless sidelong glance, he turned away.
Beatrice sat there dazed as he paid at the counter, then snapped to her senses belatedly.
"W-wait, Dad...?"
Fearful he might leave her behind, she jumped up in a panic, abandoning her half-eaten meal. Who cared about that now? She hurried after Kyle with quick steps. But he strode ahead with his wider gait, out to the main street.
It was unimaginable from the usual Kyle, who always matched her pace no matter what. Something was off. No, it had changed.
"D-Dad, where are we...".
Beatrice finally pinned down that elusive wrongness. The mood had flipped, positions reversed. The one who'd been domineering toward Kyle all day now trailed anxiously after his heels, fidgeting restlessly.
Overwhelmed by the pressure, she considered grabbing his hand but hesitated, hand twitching without reaching. Unable to close the unusually vast distance today, she struggled just to keep up.
"...Dad, this place...?"
"...".
By the time they reached the city's outskirts, beyond the shopping district, Beatrice tore her eyes from Kyle's still back and looked up uneasily.
[Fairy's Shelter]
The sign read that. Fairy's Shelter. It surely wasn't the real haven for elves or fairies rumored in the continent's south. Such places were usually taverns doubling as inns, especially in big cities.
Why an inn all of a sudden? Beatrice couldn't make sense of this abrupt turn. Maybe this was a mistake, and the real destination was elsewhere...?
Ding-a-ling!
But no—Kyle opened the door to the Fairy's Shelter exactly. As the bell announced a customer, Beatrice stood stunned for a moment.
"...Ah, w-wait."
Her composure crumbling, eyes fluttering, she followed him inside. He ignored her completely, whether she struggled behind or not.
Kyle took a key from the innkeeper and climbed to the second floor without a word. Beatrice shuddered under the curious stares of the other guests.
"Eek...".
Fearful of being stopped, she scurried up the stairs. "Daddyyy...!" Spotting him enter a room at the hall's end, tears welling, she rushed in after.
Then.
Click!
"...Hic?!"
The door locked. Right after she entered, Kyle had bolted it. Beatrice whipped around in horror, but... the Kyle who would usually soothe her surprise remained impassive.
He simply walked calmly into the room and stood by the table. Compared to Beatrice's room, it was modestly small—a cheap inn room with a double bed in the center and a lone table.
Beatrice's lashes trembled as she looked up at him cautiously. ...She could no longer even ask his intentions.
Despite some bumps, she'd lived happily as Kyle's daughter this past year. Never had she seen such a terrifying expression on him. Or rather, it was terrifying because it showed no emotion—coldly sunken.
Kyle glanced at the now-shivering Beatrice, then set the case on the table.
Clack.
Opening the leather case revealed about thirty vials. Beatrice instantly recognized them. They'd been down her throat over a dozen times this past year alone: Blood Flow Catalyst.
Why bring these out now? A ominous possibility flashed through her mind, and she swallowed dryly.
"From now on, you'll have to administer these yourself."
"...Huh?"
Kyle pulled out a bundled syringe, casually inspecting the needle as he spoke. Ignoring her stiffening shock, he continued.
"I picked them up while I was out yesterday. Normally, I'd have gone to the capital myself like last time, but leaving you and Sina alone at home while I did didn't sit right."
"...D-Dad."
"And sure enough, when I returned with the delivery service's package, the courtyard was wrecked. My hunch was spot on."
Swish.
He set down the syringe and gently shook a vial of clear solution. Intentional? He no longer looked at Beatrice. His voice stayed flat, rhythmic.
"Don't worry. Hokma's not that shameless... He wouldn't tamper with the drugs after losing all justification, especially after trying to pressure you with knights. I double-checked with magic myself, of course."
"...".
No reply came, and Beatrice couldn't call to him anymore. She stared vacantly at the case: vials, syringes, and beneath, a leather pouch brimming with gold coins.
Kyle tapped the pouch with his knuckles.
"That's living expenses—enough for you alone to splurge for years. If it runs out, come back to the mansion for more."
"...Y-Yeah...?"
A chill ran down her spine. Forcing an awkward, pitiful smile that anyone could see was fake,
"What... what do you mean? For me alone? Living expenses? Dad, I don't get it."
"...".
"Why bring me to this room? No, wait—that's not... not what I'm thinking, right? Right?"
Only then did Kyle finally turn to her. With those emotionless, mechanical eyes. Beatrice's lips quivered at the unfamiliar ache in her chest.
"D-Da... Daddy...".
"...If my presence annoys you that much, what choice is there?"
"...Ah."
"I told you when I first brought you home: I'd give you whatever you wanted."
Beatrice's words caught in her throat. She wanted to say something—anything—but it stuck. Trembling like an aspen, she clutched her wrist with her other hand and bowed her head.
"Rest easy. I'm not saying I'm cutting ties after bringing you here."
"...".
"If anything, it's like... setting up a branch family. What can I do when my daughter hates me that much? I have to get you a separate place."
He said it reassuringly, but to Beatrice, it was a heart-stopping verdict. Branch family—polite term for exile. The nuance said it all. Her dilated pupils fixed on the floor. She lacked the courage to face Kyle as he said it.
But she couldn't avoid it forever. Nor flee.
'...Hic.'
She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, swallowing a short, desperate breath. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe she'd misheard, and lifting her head would reveal Dad's usual bright smile. Knowing it wasn't true, she still clung to that hope and looked up.
And.
"Ah."
The vain hope shattered, as expected. Beatrice let out a soft sigh. Kyle's face remained icily cold. Even seeing her pitiful, wavering eyes, he showed no change, speaking flatly.
"If you need anything, say so now. I'll pack your room and send your luggage once we're home. Clothes or whatever."
"...".
...A single forlorn tear traced down Beatrice's pale cheek.