Younger Sister (4)
"Marry me, Oppa."
The moment the words left her mouth, Charlotte fixed Isaac with a relentless stare, looking up at him as if catastrophe itself would strike if he failed to answer at once. Her eyes, her whole expression, demanded nothing less.
Isaac's mouth snapped shut on pure reflex, but behind it his mind was racing at full tilt.
Why is my little sister suddenly doing this?
He couldn't begin to guess at her reasons—couldn't even hazard a theory—but he still needed to give her something in reply.
"…What on earth are you talking about all of a sudden, Lottie?"
A question first. The perfectly ordinary reaction. Anyone who heard their own younger sister propose marriage would have answered the same way.
"Marriage? You, of all people, cracking jokes? Haha… Does that mean you're finally opening up to me?"
"…"
"Or did the steward put some nonsense in your head? Something about the Duke dying out of nowhere and the territory falling into chaos, so you have to marry me to stabilize the house?"
"…"
"If that's it, I'll give that old man a piece of my mind. Lecturing a twenty-one-year-old kid with garbage like—"
Isaac had been talking steadily, but midway through he trailed off, his expression darkening. No matter what he said, Charlotte's face never changed.
Holding that clear, unwavering gaze for so long was a talent in its own right. Maybe she was simply born with a gift for putting people under pressure.
Isaac didn't dislike those blood-red eyes of hers—but even he couldn't enjoy a stare that stretched on in total silence, without a single word offered in return.
He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally let his shoulders sag.
"What is it you want, Lottie…?"
It was the only conclusion left to him. If this wasn't a cruel prank and it wasn't a bad joke, then only one possibility remained.
Charlotte wanted something. That was why she was putting on this show—why she had pressed herself against the older brother she'd spent five miserable years with and was staring him down without blinking.
"Whatever it is, if it's something I can do, I'll—"
He meant every word.
"Be quiet, Orabeoni."
Charlotte cut him off with a deep scowl, dismissing everything he'd said. Isaac flinched and fell silent. She switched back from "Oppa" to the cooler "Orabeoni" and pulled him into an even tighter embrace—so hard he half expected his ribs to crack, fierce and utterly without mercy.
Crrrk…!
"…L-Lottie."
As a pure-blooded mage, Isaac's face went pale at once. If it came down to raw physical strength, Charlotte—who had already awakened her power—was simply irresistible.
His thoughts scattered. He forced the words out in a stammer.
"What is this really about? What did I do wrong? You have to tell me what's bothering you if you want me to fix anything…!"
"…Wrong?"
The voice that answered was so cold it might have dropped below freezing. Isaac's words died in his throat. Charlotte tilted her head at him.
"You're a little slow, Orabeoni. For a mage, you're not nearly as clever as I thought."
"What are you—"
"I already told you. My demand, short and simple. What I want. What you have to give me. Was that hard to understand?"
"…"
"Marry me. Your little sister."
"Uh…"
How was he supposed to describe the feeling of taking a short, heavy straight punch square to the face? Isaac felt his mind bleach white. He even started doubting whether he had truly heard what he'd just heard.
Marriage? Me… and Lottie?
What kind of bolt from the blue was this?
His blue eyes shook hard.
"…If you still don't get it after I've said it this clearly, I'll have no choice but to take stronger measures."
"Ah—"
Watching him flounder with open disdain, Charlotte shoved him straight toward the bed. Thud!
"Oof—"
Without advance warning, he stood no chance against her strength. Isaac went sprawling helplessly onto the mattress—
"Choose, Orabeoni."
—and Charlotte flicked her pale blue hair behind one ear, then set a knee on the bed between his legs. She leaned down over him as if mounting him, and her eyes began to shimmer with that mysterious blood-red light.
"Will you do this the proper way—go through the steps and marry me nicely?"
The emotion rising in those eyes was thick, clinging…
"Or."
…and sticky besides.
Isaac swallowed dryly on pure instinct. Charlotte smiled, lovely and dangerous.
"…Shall we just sleep together right now, so you're stuck with me with no way out?"
"…"
"Which do you prefer? I don't mind either. Both have their pros and cons."
Hic.
Isaac hiccuped, his face gone deathly white. Charlotte seemed to like that too; she burst into a bright, refreshing laugh.
"Ahaha… Nice sound, Oppa."
"L-Lottie. We're…"
"Don't start with that garbage about how we can't because we're siblings, Oppa. You know perfectly well that under imperial law, consanguineous marriage is legal."
"…That…"
"I have no intention of letting you go."
Looking down at the speechless Isaac with a prim little pout, Charlotte shifted her tone. The playful, faintly teasing edge from a moment ago gave way to something closer to genuine feeling.
"…Do you really think I'd say all this if I didn't mean it? You seem to think everything I'm saying is empty noise."
From a certain angle, her expression almost looked taut with tension. Charlotte lowered her gaze a fraction and added one more line.
"…You're all I have left now, Oppa."
"…!"
"Take responsibility for pulling me out of this nightmare of a house. You're going to live with me. From now on. Forever."
She didn't wait for an answer. If anything, she seemed almost afraid to hear one. Charlotte dropped her head at once—
Chup…
—and pressed her lips to his, covering the mouth of the dazed Isaac still lying beneath her.
Soft skin meeting soft skin. A first kiss, shy and almost tentative.
…Lottie.
Even as the thought this is wrong kept circling through his head, Isaac couldn't erase the truth writhing underneath it. He simply couldn't—
"Haa… mmph… hh… Oppa…"
Charlotte sank into a happiness she had never once felt before, her face flushed deep red.
It had started years ago—after their mother died—this desire to open a heart she had never opened to anyone. The uncertain affection she held for the older brother who had tormented her and yet, somehow, always looked after her in the end. The doubts. The warped feelings tangled through it all.
—Don't look back. Don't think about anything else.
—Run as far as you can. Somewhere the Duke can't catch you. Anywhere. As far as your legs will take you.
And then, a week ago—the day he had torn the iron bars apart and taken her hand.
—Be happy, little sister.
Charlotte would never forget that bright smile, not even on the day she died.
I don't need anything else. I don't care about the rest…
By now, Isaac Havertz was the only family Charlotte had left. The only family she had ever truly acknowledged. The only family she could no longer bear the thought of losing.
As long as I have Orabeoni, that's enough.
She drew back from the long kiss and, through the small gap of her parted lips, let the tip of her tongue—strung with a thread of silver—slip out for a brief, soft flash.
"…Haha."
Ears and the nape of her neck burning hot, Charlotte laughed weakly. Her blood-red eyes, clear and brilliantly bright, held nothing but Isaac's face.
Isaac, for his part, still looked like he hadn't fully grasped the situation, his pupils trembling in shock.
"Heh."
Charlotte only huffed a little laugh, tilted her head with a coquettish grace, and gently stroked her older brother's cheek.
"…So."
And then she asked—softly, in a low voice.
"Oppa. Do you hate me?"
Just that one line.
"…"
Isaac couldn't speak a word. But even with his face flushed scarlet, his head moved from side to side as if it had decided for itself.
"Ahaha…"
Charlotte covered her mouth with her sleeve and smiled with her eyes, joy seeping gently through.
Everything exactly as she had wanted.
Sunk.
"Then that's settled, Oppa."
"…W-wait. Hold on."
"Nuh-uh. No take-backs. You already answered once, so you can't change it. I won't let you. Where do you think you're going when you've got a cute little sister like me right here?"
She immediately pulled the ribbon from her hair, spread all five fingers, and pressed lightly against his chest—as if to make sure he couldn't run, couldn't so much as twitch.
"So, Oppa."
"…"
"Take them off."
"…What?"
"Or should I undress you myself?"