The First Adoption (4)
To a fifteen-year-old girl, death shouldn't be a close concept—nor should it ever come near. But that didn't apply to Beatrice.
"Blood Death Disease." She would suffer heart pains until the moment she died, her entire body bursting into a puddle of blood before she even reached twenty. Back when she lived in the count's household, she'd overheard the count speaking with a doctor. That's when she learned the truth: her illness was one of the rarest and most incurable on the entire continent.
"You're no longer my daughter. I'll give you some travel money, so find your own way to survive."
Even when Count Edenberg drove her out of the lord's castle, it hadn't fully sunk in. But after wandering the back alleys and enduring the heart pains that came every single day, she had no choice but to accept it. She wouldn't live more than another ten years at best, and even in that short time, she'd be tormented by endless agony.
The first time she accepted that reality, Beatrice wept through the night, bawling like any girl her age, calling for her parents. She kept it up until other orphans drawn by the noise beat her down, until she was utterly exhausted. Because she couldn't bear to admit it. Because she didn't want to die. Because she wanted to go back—and to live a long, long life.
It was a wish that could never come true. At least, that's what Beatrice thought.
The worsening heart pains day by day stole away any last shred of hope she had. Even the Blood Flow Catalyst she'd received once from the count's house only suppressed the pain—it offered no fundamental cure. In the end, death awaited her. An inevitable, inescapable death.
Sometimes, she even imagined ending it all herself. She never mustered the courage to act on it... but at such a young age, the fact that suicide crossed her mind proved just how utterly hopeless her reality was.
And Beatrice believed her life couldn't get any better than this. It might worsen, but she'd never feel the happiness of her childhood again.
Clinging to that belief, she lived her mechanical days in the back alleys, as always.
But then.
"If you want to go to school, I'll send you. It's a bit late, but with your sharpness, transferring in should be no problem. Anything else you desire, I'll make it happen, just as you wish."
"......"
"Well, I can't promise the same luxury as when you were a count's lady. But I can assure you—becoming my daughter is far better than life in the back alleys, where you never know when some horror might strike."
Fate intervened in her life with a stroke of serendipity. Whether for good or ill, it was too soon to judge. But at least, it felt like she could now dream of a far more positive future than the hopeless years behind her.
......The Blood Flow Catalyst was exactly that kind of medicine.
To someone with Blood Death Disease, it was more precious than gold—desperately vital. The daily heartaches? She could endure those with sheer willpower. The real problem was the horrific agony that struck once a month. The demonic torment every half-moon that drove people mad.
Beatrice had endured the disease for five years already, but she still couldn't conquer her terror of that pain. The sensation of blood reversing through her body, thorns stabbing her brain and heart—it was torture so intense she'd gladly die to escape it. She had to spend half a day withered and tearless, dried up from crying everything out.
The Blood Flow Catalyst could fix that.
So it was only natural—instinctual—for her eyes to lock onto it the moment she saw it.
"......Hng...!"
Pure instinct. Like a beast starved for ten days, or a beggar spotting cash on the street, Beatrice lunged blindly, knocking dishes everywhere with a crash!
She scrambled onto the well-set table, snatching the vial from the man's hand as if entranced.
"......Hah, hng, heuk."
Beatrice came to her senses only after clutching the vial he'd handed over without resistance. Hot liquid spilled from the overturned mug, slowly soaking her lower garments.
"......Ah, uh."
She'd lost control. Just for a moment, she'd lost her reason. No matter the excuse, she'd failed to think straight.
She'd forgotten the man across from her was a mana user far superior to her.
'Wh-what have I done?'
Terror and tension flooded her red eyes. She'd stolen the item he'd prepared for her—before he'd even said it was hers.
Circumstances suggested he'd let her take it on purpose, without dodging. His calm expression showed no anger. But that didn't matter.
The point was, her action had been utterly shameless.
And by any common sense, such brazen behavior deserved reprimand and punishment.
Thud!
"......I-I'm sorry."
The moment she judged herself, Beatrice dropped to her knees right there—still on the table.
Stew and hot chocolate soaked her knees and thighs, burning her skin, but she ignored the pain, trembling violently. Such trivial agony couldn't touch her.
Only one thing made her shake: offending the man who might become her patron.
Regardless of the truth, she'd done something that could be seen that way. That was all.
To apologize belatedly, burns be damned.
If this made him angry enough to retract his words, she'd be the one to lose.
She'd seized the vial in a reflexive impulse, but strictly speaking, it wasn't hers yet. The moment he changed his mind, it could be taken back anytime. No reason to hold it.
Beatrice bit her lip hard, carefully returning the vial to its wooden case. She clasped her empty hands together, bowing deeply to the man—prostrating herself.
On the table strewn with food, she curled up tight and squeezed her eyes shut.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry....... It was a mistake. I lost myself to desire and committed this rudeness. Forgive me, please forgive me......"
Forgetting her habits from the count's house, she even used formal speech toward what seemed a commoner.
"Enough."
"......Hic."
His cold voice cut her off. She couldn't continue.
Beatrice forgot to breathe, hiccupping blankly, convinced it was over. Spilled water couldn't be gathered. A committed mistake couldn't be undone. If she'd offended him and apology was all she had left, there was nothing more to do.
She wanted to cry, thinking she'd kicked away her stroke of luck.
Yet as she lifted her pleading head one last time, hoping for mercy.
"I......!"
"Stay still."
"!?"
The man had risen, circled the table, and approached her side before she noticed, interrupting her.
She hadn't sensed it. When had he come so close?
Beatrice swallowed a gasp, freezing solid.
Ignoring her, he clicked his tongue—tsk tsk—and placed a hand on her thigh.
"A young girl like you shouldn't treat her body so roughly. Can't you feel pain? Your skin's all red and inflamed......"
"......Eh, euh."
"Hey now, I said stay still. Even a minor burn can scar if neglected."
Restricted again, Beatrice clamped her mouth shut like a statue.
In that awkward perch on the table, she accepted his touch.
At first, the contact from a strange man on her bare skin made her flinch in fear.
"Heal."
"......!"
But soon, as he murmured and channeled mana, she shuddered for a different reason.
Bluish mana settled warmly on her thigh. A basic healing spell.
But not the kind a commoner would use......
Beatrice was first shocked he'd used magic, then awed by its precision. Even the count's resident healer couldn't cast so cleanly.
For a light wound, her skin healed in seconds. She stirred in agitation.
Curiosity about this man who'd approached her repeatedly surged—
"Don't do that again. I won't punish the girl who's to be my daughter over a little mistake like that."
"!"
He glanced at her with a gentle expression.
It seemed about her climbing the table and snatching the vial rudely.
As Beatrice's pupils quaked, speechless and rigid, he added casually,
"It just means you were that desperate. I've never suffered Blood Death Disease myself, so I can't know, but they say it's like gut-wrenching agony."
"......Ah."
"Timing like this makes it sound like a pickup line, but still. Become my daughter, and you won't have to endure that pain anymore."
No matter what you do, as your father, I'll supply you with the medicine.
That's how he concluded.
......To Beatrice, tormented by the disease for five years, it was the whisper of an angel.
And at the same time, a devil's temptation that stripped away her choices.
"......I'll do it."
"Hm?"
Beatrice murmured in a daze, gazing at her now-healed thigh.
"I'll do it. I'll be your daughter. I want to."
"Oh."
"No—please let me......"
The man smiled as if he'd been waiting, deeply satisfied. Beatrice clutched his clothes with teary, affectionate eyes.
For the first time, desperate life sparked in her eyes, once filled only with suspicion, wariness, tension, and resignation.
The moment their understandings aligned.
The moment father and daughter were bound.