Chapter 52
Chapter 52
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: Sacred Blood (6)
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The nightscape of the entire city shimmered beyond the spotless floor-to-ceiling windows.
The glittering lights of skyscrapers and dazzling illuminations stretched out into the distance.
In the penthouse suite on the upper floors of one such building, that view lay spread out at his feet.
The interior was an open space with modern decor, and soft music played at low volume.
A domain permitted only to the tiny elite who held both wealth and influence in this city.
A residence that perhaps everyone in the city had dreamed of at least once.
But the face of the man who entered through the door with familiar movements was far from bright. Deep fatigue and a gray melancholy shadowed his features.
As the man stepped into the foyer, the waiting maids greeted him in unison.
"Welcome home, Chairman."
He gave a perfunctory nod in response and walked down the hallway to the living room, loosening his suit tie as he went.
A maid standing by approached and respectfully took his overcoat.
The man undid the top button of his dress shirt and asked,
"And Rachel?"
"Madam spent the day as usual."
He nodded silently. As he headed to the dressing room, receiving reports on various household matters along the way, one of the maids following behind cautiously held something out to him.
"Oh, and Director Ben sent this gift. He said it's a product that's become hugely popular among collectors lately. It seems he remembered your fondness for wine and sent it over..."
He glanced indifferently at the wine bottle and replied,
"Put it in storage."
"Yes, I'll place it in the cellar."
The maid bowed politely and withdrew, adding that dinner would soon be ready.
'...Wine, huh.'
Left alone in the now-quiet dressing room, the man sank into thought for a moment.
Truth be told, he didn't particularly like wine. He disliked the thick aftertaste, and if anything, whiskey or brandy suited his taste more.
He'd only started drinking it frequently because his wife had enjoyed it back then.
It was probably a gift based on that misconception.
"......"
The man changed out of his suit into comfortable loungewear and left the dressing room.
A familiar aroma of food wafted to his nose.
The delicious scent grew richer the further he walked down the hallway.
Finally arriving at the dining room, he saw a splendidly laid dinner and a woman sitting blankly before it.
"Rachel, did you have a good day?"
The radiant beauty of old was gone without a trace, replaced by a gaunt, emaciated frame and vacant, lifeless eyes that greeted him.
The man swallowed briefly, then greeted her in his usual forced casual tone.
"You must have been waiting. You must be hungry. Let's eat."
Yet the woman showed no reaction, staring straight ahead as always.
"......"
This wasn't mere lethargy. It was a symptom of her illness.
But even he still didn't know the exact name of the disease that had reduced her to this state.
The top medical teams he'd poured fortunes into examining her could only speculate it was some form of 'glial cell autophagy disorder.'
A condition where malfunctioning brain cells devoured themselves, gradually stripping away brain function.
They'd only told him it was likely a very rare congenital genetic disorder, with the cause not even properly understood.
Perhaps if she'd received proper treatment a bit earlier, it wouldn't have progressed this far.
But Rachel had lived her whole life as an ordinary commoner without even basic health insurance. She hadn't even known she was sick, and even if she had, she couldn't have afforded the exorbitant gene therapy.
So when he, having achieved success, desperately sought out his childhood first love and found her again...
Her condition had already progressed beyond recovery. No amount of money could help.
That's why she initially rejected the man who had returned from her memories.
Even though he came back with wealth and status, she refused to meet him.
Because she knew she couldn't share a peaceful old age with him or bear him children in his place.
Yet the man resolved to marry her.
He'd never cared about the shares of management rights he stood to inherit. The reason a man who had lived his life as a wastrel suddenly worked himself to death was just one: so that when he reunited with the girl who had been his everything in childhood, he could propose to her honorably.
How much time she had left didn't matter.
Just the fact that they could be together—that was everything.
And in the first year of their marriage, they were happier than anyone in the world. They built memories precious enough for a lifetime.
But the next year was despair. The disease advanced in earnest.
She forgot even who she was, unable to recall cherished connections, events, or memories—nothing at all.
In the end, even vital autonomic functions began to degenerate.
She reached the point where she couldn't eat or even sleep properly on her own.
The doctor he'd met just the other day had given him a prognosis.
'I'm sorry, but in my opinion... Madam has about six months left.'
It was a reality he couldn't bear to believe, but the sight of her frail, withered form before him seemed to prove it true.
The man's heart ached unbearably, but he didn't show it.
He just shared trivial stories for her, who must have been bored staying home all day.
"Work was hectic today with a major contract deal, Rachel. Meetings back-to-back all morning. Everyone talked so much... I don't even know if I ate lunch properly. I wish you were there to look after me like before. ...Well, it wrapped up fine, so that's what matters."
No reply came, but he forced a faint smile and continued.
He even hand-fed her himself. After carefully mashing the meticulously prepared feast and feeding her bit by bit, she took a few bites before clamping her lips shut.
"...You need to eat more, Rachel. That's how you'll get better soon."
He murmured softly, but she showed no response.
Like someone cut off from the entire world, her empty eyes stared into space.
The man clenched his teeth unconsciously. He shoved his trembling hands under the table and gripped them tight. He wanted to sigh out his frustration.
'...No. Not in front of Rachel.'
He barely reined in his emotions. And gathered the remaining food on the plate again.
Seeing her body grow thinner by the day made him desperate to get even a little more into her.
But even the meals prepared with utmost care by top chefs and nutritionists refused to pass her lips anymore.
A profound sense of helplessness washed over him. He wanted to find some way—anything at all.
Then, a sudden thought struck him.
The man beckoned a maid and said,
"Bring that wine from earlier."
The Rachel of old had enjoyed wine along with cooking.
So maybe letting her smell the aroma would spark even a bit of appetite.
Taking the proffered glass, the man whispered pleadingly to her.
"Remember, Rachel? The day we reunited... our first date. You were amazed trying real wine for the first time. The way your eyes sparkled at the view outside the window... You were far more beautiful than that nightscape then..."
Murmuring memories now only he could recall, the man poured a little wine into the glass.
And carefully brought it to his wife's lips.
Then, for a moment, her eyebrow twitched faintly.
"...!"
Incredibly, Rachel—who hadn't reacted to anything for days—responded to the wine's scent.
She even closed her eyes softly, as if savoring the aroma at her nose.
In that familiar gesture, the man overlaid a memory from the past.
A scene from before she fell ill.
['Mmm~, see!']
['You really like this stuff? I still don't get why it's so expensive.']
['Smell it more closely. Then you'll catch the aromas and bouquet blooming in the glass—']
Her lively voice chattering on about sensations he couldn't grasp.
A memory that ached with longing.
A desperate hope surged, and his heart sank.
If he could just hear that voice one more time—even once...
"......"
As if entranced, he tilted the glass carefully to her lips.
The slowly swirling red liquid began to moisten her dry lips.
And astonishingly, Rachel... didn't spit it out.
She'd swallowed a tiny amount, unmistakably.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "I can't take it anymore!!!"
The resounding voice startled me.
Turning, I saw Yoanna burst through the office door with a flushed face.
"Y-Yoanna?"
Her unexpected outburst left my eyes wide.
But ignoring it completely, Yoanna strode toward me, her expression full of pique.
Flustered, I asked cautiously,
"Yoanna, what's wrong all of a sudden...?"
"That's what I'm saying! I! Can't! Take it! Anymore, Eve!! You're too much!!!"
Yoanna pointed at me like a child and yelled, then slammed her little fist on the table in front of me with a bang!
I flinched involuntarily.
"Do you even know how hard! How tough I've been working until now?!"
She gasped out the words, listing all the tasks she'd shouldered, her voice grating on my ears.
"Church organization structure, budget planning, execution, and settlement oversight! Accounting audits! Donor funds and tithe management! Mid- to long-term mission goal setting and detailed execution plans! Online evangelism content planning, production, and distribution! Sector-specific charity performance metrics and analysis! Parishioner database management! Mass and major event overall planning and budgeting...!"
Looking closely at her ranting face, I saw deep fatigue around her eyes. She'd definitely been overworking lately.
Overwhelmed by her intensity, I stammered to soothe her.
"O-Of course! I know how much you've been doing. Really..."
Before I could finish, "But!!!" Yoanna shrieked almost hysterically.
"But why do you only! Always do everything all sweet and cozy just with her over there?! Huh?!"
Her flushed finger pointed to Esty, whose blank expression carried a hint more bewilderment than usual.
We both froze, staring at each other speechless.
Before us, Yoanna flailed her arms, venting her grievances.
"I've worked so hard too! For you, for the church! Honestly, honestly, shouldn't you give me some reward... no, at least more attention than now?!"
Her cry held an undeniable truth.
The church's rapid expansion and stable operation owed everything to that girl's genius administrative skills and dedication. Without her, we couldn't have managed even half of this organization properly.
A wave of guilt crashed over me. Wanting to placate her, I asked carefully,
"Um, Yoanna... I'm sorry. I've been too thoughtless, haven't I? Is there something I can do to make you feel better?"
At those words, Yoanna's teary eyes suddenly gleamed with resolve.
The girl lifted the corner of her mouth and asked,
"You haven't... forgotten, right? The promise you made me during the baptism incident."
'Baptism?'
That jogged my memory. On baptism day, Esty and Yoanna had argued over order, and she'd ended up second. Feeling bad, I'd promised her something...
Then Yoanna pulled a small recorder from her pocket and pressed play. My familiar voice emerged.
["I'm sorry, Yoanna. But not being first doesn't mean it's unimportant. So if there's... any other request as thanks for this, I'll grant it, whatever it is."]
'Oh no!'
I'd forgotten amid the recent chaos, but yes, I'd made that promise.
Before flustered me, Yoanna smirked triumphantly and waved the recorder.
"This is this, and that was that. First, you need to pay back this old debt properly, Eve."
Do all blank checks eventually pile up into mountains of debt like this?
Panicking, I glanced at Esty, but even she averted her eyes, pretending not to notice.
Even Esty saw how ironclad her claim was right now.
She, who could crush elite mercenaries with one punch, couldn't stop the girl's approaching steps.
The girl's eyes gleamed ominously as she closed right up to my face.
"You clearly said... you'd grant 'anything' I asked for, right, Eve?"
A perfect checkmate. No escaping with "I was busy." She'd been even busier working.
She'd been immensely helpful to the church, while my attitude had indeed been somewhat neglectful.
So I had no rebuttal, no face left to argue.
"Anything! Right?"
I could only mumble in surrender.
"......Y-Yes."