Human Trash Parents
Objectively speaking, my parents were human trash. Father? No, that bastard didn't even deserve the title. He was tall—a whole head taller than most men—with a body round and solid like a beer barrel. Thick veins bulged on his forearms, and his eyes were always bloodshot red. His strength was the real deal. Once he grabbed your arm, you weren't getting free, and a single slap left your cheek burning for days.
He'd been a mercenary. A genuine veteran who'd rolled through the northern battlefields. Now he was just an unemployed drunk, but open his mouth and out poured war stories.
"I killed wolves with my bare hands up north."
"Ten guys rushed me—I tore 'em all apart."
Stuff like that. Whether I wanted to hear it or not, it came once a day.
I was eight. That's when I touched a dagger—his prized weapon. Pure curiosity. It sparkled, looked pretty. I picked it up for a second, then set it down. Just a glance, honestly.
But the moment he saw, his eyes changed.
"Mercenaries don't touch each other's weapons."
"Touch one, and you lose a finger."
I thought it was a joke. But he was dead serious. He dragged the dagger's tip across my shin—scraaaape, scraaaape—not cutting the finger, but close enough. Blood welled up, flesh tore, thin crimson lines seeped from the wound. He scraped that delicate skin until the white bone showed. I gasped in air, and the cold hit the raw spot like fire.
He smirked and tapped my head. "Next time, it's the finger. Got it?"
That was when I first realized it: in this house, I wasn't treated like a person.
Mom? She was a whore. Didn't know it as a kid. Just knew strange men came every night, and mornings she'd be passed out in bed. Makeup always heavy, breath reeking of booze when she smiled. Once, staring at my face, she said:
"Just grow up pretty. Life'll be easy then."
Didn't get it till I was over ten. Then... I wanted to puke. Embarrassed I'd come from that woman's womb.
Never learned love from them, never expected it. Love? Fairy-tale crap. Thought about dying. Kid me sat on a cliff edge, dangling my feet in the void. Figured a fall would end it. Bad luck—I snagged in some bushes and lived. That's why I'm still here.
Raised in that hellhole, I met Elizabeth. A gem pulled from the dark. Small, fragile, beautiful eyes. Nothing like me. I didn't want her growing up like that.
So I swore—to an all-powerful god, and to myself. I'd be a good father. Give love. No beatings, no loneliness.
I've lived by that vow. Cooked her meals, tucked her in, made her laugh, played, read books, hugged her tight.
But... what did she say to me today?
"I love you."
"I'll take care of you. If you want, I'll even bear your child. So please..."
My head felt like it would split. Heart stopped—or so I thought. Couldn't name the emotions surging. Everything just... crumbled.
Couldn't believe her words. Didn't want to. Was the family I'd craved my whole life going to shatter like this? The child I swore to protect, now an existence I had to reject?
But this wasn't Elizabeth's fault. She just... grew in the love I planted. The emotion she called love twisted wrong, the memory I manipulated to make her see me as father—all my doing. And I'd patted myself on the back as a "good father." Pathetic. Nauseatingly so.
"Hic, sob... sniff. Hah, ha..."
She was crying. Like a lost child, abandoned by the world. And Leo was breaking. Each tear stabbed his heart like an awl.
I thought I was different from those humans.
I really did. Not like Father. Not like that whore of a mother. I was a good man, could be a good father.
But what was this?
He bit his lip until blood beaded. She said she loved him—purely, without guilt. Too pure. That made it terrifying.
I'm sorry. He screamed it in his mind dozens of times. Sorry. Really sorry, Eli. Never meant to raise you like this.
He gazed at the tears streaking her cheek. Why had he raised a child like this—this beautiful, broken love? He just wanted to be a father. She just wanted love. Those two hearts clawed and tore and tangled each other.
Looking back, he hadn't been in his right mind. Manipulating a ten-year-old's memories? Even then, it was too far. If he'd been a bit colder. A bit more human. Would it have changed?
But back then, it was his best. He didn't know comfort. Never learned how to handle people. All he knew: swing a sword, burn a man.
How should he have hugged that little girl? What words? How to rebuild her shattered world?
Even if he'd succeeded, wouldn't she have clung to revenge anyway?
Thoughts looped. Regret flooded. All meaningless hindsight.
"Is it... really impossible?" Elizabeth asked, like it was her last chance. Voice trembling, face already resigned.
"...Yeah."
That single word crushed her final hope. She drooped her head, hollow.
"I see. Kinda figured it'd end like this, but... yeah, no."
The faint murmur hung in the air—like self-consolation, or a funeral for her dying heart.
Leo swallowed a groan. His own heart collapsed. He didn't think himself good. But he wasn't scum either.
Elizabeth Valentine. No shared blood. Yet the one he'd cherished and raised above all. His daughter. One he didn't want stolen by anyone—his daughter, shaped by his hands.
Courting his daughter? Unthinkable. Crossing that line. The last shred of duty, human dignity.
Then Elizabeth staggered to her feet. Limped away slowly on her right foot.
"...Where you going?"
Leo's voice was low, sunken like ruins.
She half-turned, managed a weak smile. "Home. No point staying."
"I'll come with."
Leo stood, grabbed his coat, followed her. Their bond was already smashed—but family was something he still wanted to cling to.
Elizabeth never once looked back.
That was the moment.
"...So here you were."
At the garden's edge, a woman appeared, moonlight at her back. Her black cloak fluttered in the night breeze; silver ornaments caught the light briefly.
"Hildegard."
Black hair like the night itself. A cold, unyielding aura. His lover.
But Leo couldn't greet her warmly. Wrong mood, wrong vibe.
"What brings you here? Aren't you on duty?"
Casual as ever, but his eyes were shattered.
"Well..."
Hildegard faltered, then stopped. She'd seen Elizabeth's face. Reddened nose bridge. Tear-streaked cheeks. Golden hair matted with grass. Like a child thrown to the ground and dragged up—pitiful, unstable.
And those eyes. Envy. Hatred. Jealousy. All aimed at Hildegard.
And Leo. Face carved hollow. Pretending calm, but she knew: he was crumbling.
Leo and Elizabeth... She didn't know what happened between them. But instinct told her: something unbearable.
Still, the message had to be delivered.
"...Her Highness is looking for you two."
"Got it."
"...Did you do something to Her Highness?"
Hildegard eyed Leo. During the height of the banquet, the princess had burst in crying to the king. Claimed Leo Valentine slapped her cheek. The king issued a secret order to the guards and soldiers: bring Leo's household before him.
Of course, the princess hadn't explained why. How could she admit trying to smash someone's head with a wine bottle?
The king's secrecy stemmed from shame—a royal cheek slapped by a commoner.
"I slapped the princess's cheek."
"...You slapped Her Highness's cheek?"
Hildegard's eyes went wide.
"Yeah."
Leo answered flatly. From the moment of Elizabeth's confession, the world held no fear. Heart torn to shreds, mind blank—but nothing left to crumble further.
A king's order? No tension, no dread.
"She tried to smash Elizabeth's head with a wine bottle. You think I'd stand by?"
"..."
Hildegard was speechless.
Leo spoke like an exhausted man. "Hildegard. Sorry, but... not in the mood to face the king. Heading home first."
"But... it's Her Highness's command."
Her voice was stiff. But laced with tremor. A lover's plea was one thing— a royal order absolute to a soldier. No defying for personal feelings.
Silence fell.
Hildegard pressed her lips, glancing between Leo and Elizabeth.
"Then I'll see the king in a few days. That work?"
No desperation in his words. Like a man whose emotions had worn threadbare. Listless. Lonely.
"Hildegard. Please."
She stared wordlessly. Breathed deep. Finally nodded.
"...Understood."
She granted his request. Watched as Leo and Elizabeth faded into the dark.
Leo and Elizabeth. So close, yet worlds apart. One step away, but heavier emotions than silence flowed between.
Thick shadows settled between their shoulders.
Two people walking without a word, without a gesture. Together, but not on the same path.
They seemed like strangers. The father-daughter bond, forged over countless hours... now slipping beyond an irreversible line.