The Eve of Departure
As the first day passed just as you'd described, followed by the next, it soon became the day before departing the mansion.
“Wow, so you studied magic entirely on your own, Sir Ern?”
“That's right. Since my body was so frail, all I could do was hole up in my room reading books.”
“That's truly impressive.”
“I've heard you're quite something yourself, miss. My senior brother said you earned praise from the Sword Saint himself, even without a proper teacher.”
“Heh, it's not that big a deal.”
Before I knew it, Liriet and Ern had grown incredibly close. I had no idea when they'd hit it off like that. At first, Liriet had been pretty prickly toward him—had something changed her mind? From the very next day, she was chatting with him casually, no holds barred. She even asked me to call him over, closing the distance at breakneck speed.
Well, if they'd become friends, that was a good thing. Ern might be a bit eccentric, but his heart was in the right place, so he'd get along fine with Liriet.
“Liriet, your meal's here.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“Then I'll take my leave. Enjoy your meal, miss.”
“Thank you. I had a great time thanks to you.”
“The pleasure was mine.”
That didn't mean I had nothing to do, though. Meal times still left just the two of us in the room, and feeding Liriet by hand remained my duty.
“Not too hot?”
“No, it's perfect.”
“What would you like next?”
“The meatballs this time...”
After repeating this routine a few times, I'd gotten the hang of it. I even knew how long to let the soup cool before it was just right. I'd also gotten a rough sense of Liriet's tastes.
“You don't like vegetables much, do you?”
“N-no, that's not true. I'm not a kid anymore.”
When I pointed to the salad I'd been left with, Liriet flushed red and denied it vehemently. It didn't carry much weight coming from a child insisting she wasn't one.
“Yet you've barely touched the salad these past few days.”
“I just find cucumbers and cherry tomatoes a bit tough. I eat lettuce and the rest just fine.”
“Kale and chicory?”
“Those too... a little. B-but I can eat them.”
But subtracting those left hardly any vegetables. Back when Cassdia was at her worst, her meals must have been meager. Somehow she'd endured with tastes like these.
“That's usually called picky eating.”
“Ugh... D-do you dislike picky kids, Uncle?”
“Not to that extent, but it's best to eat a balanced diet if possible. It's important for growth.”
“Growth...”
I'd just tossed out the standard line for kids, but Liriet seemed to mull the word over, conflicted.
“Got it. I'll try it. Starting with the tomato.”
Oh? She was willing to give it a shot? It wasn't every day you saw a ten-year-old resolve to fix her picky habits on her own. My niece was something else, as always. Impressed, I speared a cherry tomato with my fork and brought it to her mouth.
Pop.
“Hic...!?”
The moment the cherry tomato burst, Liriet's face twisted into a hilarious grimace. A kittenish whimper escaped her lips, like she'd eaten something regrettable. The tomato's tartness clearly didn't sit well; she squirmed, desperately trying to endure it. Her cute little tongue darted out, then retreated. I probably shouldn't say this, but she looked utterly adorable.
“You okay?”
“Hng... It's too sour, Uncle.”
“No need to push yourself. Fixing bad habits matters, but if meals stop being enjoyable, what's the point?”
“No. I'll have one more. Please.”
Her determination bordered on obsession, which puzzled me, but I obliged with another cherry tomato. We repeated the process until the salad bowl was spotless.
Clap, clap.
I applauded from my seat, genuinely impressed, and Liriet looked up at me in surprise.
“Well done, my Liriet.”
“Did I... do good, Uncle?”
“Of course. That's my niece. But don't overdo it trying to fix everything at once.”
“N-no way. I want to grow up big and strong, quick.”
Kids this age must all have their own aspirations about becoming adults. Come to think of it, I was the same. On Lunar New Year, they said eating a bowl of rice cake soup aged you a year, so I'd crammed down three and ended up puking. I felt a twinge of regret for planting such ideas, but seeing Liriet chew her veggies thoroughly with a proud smile made it feel okay.
As I watched her focus on her meal, I sensed it was time to broach the topic. I'd planned to skip it, but addressing it once wouldn't hurt.
“...How are you feeling, Liriet? No more pain, right?”
I smiled as gently as I could, but her face paled.
Liriet felt like her breath had caught in her throat. It sounded like he was checking on her health, but his expression and tone said it was more than that.
Uncle knew all along.
Of course he had—her flimsy act wouldn't fool him. It was just a matter of when he'd call her out. She also realized he wasn't angry. There was no trace of ire in his voice. He was gauging her feelings, choosing his words carefully.
“...Yes, Uncle. I'm fine now.”
“I'm glad.”
She didn't specify what was fine. He didn't ask. They both knew without saying it. It wasn't just about her physical state.
“I was so worried. I kept thinking my niece might fall ill again while I was away.”
“That won't happen. And you said 'niece' again.”
“Forgive that one. It was my way of showing affection.”
“Still no. Everything else is fine, but 'niece' is forbidden.”
“Why?”
“Just is.”
Liriet didn't know the reason herself. At first, it was simple: he was the first to say her name so warmly, so tenderly. But somehow, she sensed the feeling in her heart shifting, though she couldn't pinpoint why. Whenever he called her 'niece,' a dull ache settled in her chest, like a stone weighing it down.
“Alright. If that's how you feel, so be it. Anyway, I leave tomorrow, so please take care until then.”
“Yes. Don't worry, Uncle. I'll eat my veggies, train hard, and get even closer with the family.”
His hand rested on her head at her resolute reply—his usual gentle touch, his gaze warm as he looked down. She wanted to stay like this forever. But wishes like that wouldn't come true. For the first time, Liriet pulled her head away from his hand on her own. Meeting his slightly surprised eyes, she shrugged with a grin—her own cute practice at independence.
Even if it's a month, a year, or ten years.
She vowed to endure somehow. It was her first goal: to stand proudly before Baal upon their reunion.
“Seeing you so confident puts my mind at ease. It'll be a long week, but stay well and...”
“...Pardon? A week?”
Her inner resolve shattered at the unexpected follow-up that slipped into her ears. Baal blinked in surprise at her reaction, replayed the past few days in his mind, then asked sheepishly,
“Didn't I mention? I'll be back in a week after leaving the mansion.”
“No.”
“......”
What kind of ridiculous twist was this? That's the face I should be making, Liriet screamed inwardly.
“S-sorry. I got so caught up in not telling you I was leaving that I forgot the most important part...”
Baal scratched his head awkwardly, and Liriet beamed.
“No need to apologize. I'm actually happy?”
“Happy?”
“Yes. Being so upset over just a week away means you treasure me that much, Uncle.”
Dreams paled compared to this reality—at least for Liriet, whose heart swelled. If he hadn't cared much, he'd have brushed off her dramatics over a mere week with cold indifference. But he hadn't. He'd comforted her warmly, even through her fake illness.
I'm happy.
That fact filled her with indescribable joy.
“Did you think you'd feel lonely without me for just a week too, Uncle?”
“Naturally. How could I not, without my cute ni—er, Liriet.”
“Tch.”
So close. One more syllable, and she'd have had an excuse to bury her face in his chest.
“Partings from family are always bittersweet, short or long. You might not notice their presence at first, but soon you feel the emptiness.”
“Family...”
Why did her chest ache again? They were family—precious beyond measure, perhaps more than life itself. No denying that. Liriet had no intention of rejecting it. Yet ever since his long lecture on love, a lingering question haunted her.
Is family supposed to feel this tender?
She didn't feel sad missing her father's face for a day. No regret at not talking to her mother. No sorrow if her brother found a lover. They were dear family, without doubt. But with the man before her, the standard didn't apply. Missing his face for a day felt like suffocating. No words for a day felt like thorns in her mouth. Imagining him with a lover choked her.
No answers came, no matter how she asked herself. They were family. He'd told her so. His words were infallible. Liriet always cherished and followed them like gold and jade. But—
—that's love too. Just not the romantic kind between man and woman. It's possible only between family who cherish each other deeply.
For some reason, his past advice flashed through her mind, and—
He's wrong.
For the first time, Liriet realized Baal—flawless as the heavens—had been mistaken. She didn't know what or why, but her intuition screamed it.
“Uncle.”
“Yes?”
“Dummy.”
“......?”
That's why, that day, Liriet could hurl a cute insult at him with the sunniest smile she'd ever worn. He was a fool for not realizing what she'd figured out. But she couldn't blame him. She'd noticed she was becoming a fool herself.
Otherwise, why would she wander without answers to her own heart?
That night, Baal had a dream.
“...Sir... Uncle...”
Something soft pressed against his chest. A faint woman's voice whispered in his ear.
“Ugh...”
A groan escaped his sleeping lips. He thrashed his arms awkwardly, shaking his head as if resisting something.
“No. I am your...”
As if responding to his sleep-talk, the hazy figure in his dream sharpened, speaking in a sweet voice.
“You taught me yourself. That this is love. I can't hold back anymore. Unc— no, Baal.”
“Hah!”
He bolted upright at the voice ringing clearly in his ears. By then, cold sweat drenched him.
“W-what was that...?”
It felt like a nightmare, but the details wouldn't come. Even a 7th Circle mage struggled to recall a dream.
Huff. Huff...
Beside him, Liriet slept soundly, breathing softly in her dream world. Back in reality, Baal gave a wry smile and tucked the blanket around her tenderly.
“...Almost woke you.”
A pathetic uncle's nightmare nearly robbed his innocent niece of sleep. He smoothed her stray hair, then lay back with a chuckle to try sleeping again.