Dark Clouds
The train to hell, bound for the Magnolia Mansion, had arrived.
Which was to say, Iris had pulled up in front of my shabby house with a carriage.
That damn magnolia crest, engraved on everything from the harness to the carriage body, still turned my stomach.
"I'm off. Behave yourself while I'm gone."
"Have a wonderful chat!"
Sent off by a blissfully carefree Mace, I boarded the carriage and headed toward Iris's go-to boutique in the plaza.
Iris wasn't wearing her usual academy uniform; instead, she was dressed in a gown dripping with frills.
"I-It's been a while... going out to the plaza with you, Ain..."
Her quiet voice was drowned out by the clatter of hooves and the coachman's shouts.
Even if I had heard her clearly, I wouldn't have wanted to reply. My mood was as foul and sticky as the weather.
The sky, which had been bright enough to recall a midnight sun for a while, was a dull ash-gray for the first time in ages.
I hated this sensation—the rain, the dark clouds, the high humidity making my clothes cling to my skin.
It reminded me of the first day of my regression, when I went back to find Giselle.
My body felt sluggish, yet the pain only grew sharper.
I chain-smoked, letting the wind rushing past the window hit my face.
Iris didn't pester me either, not since I had accepted her proposal.
Aside from the noise filtering in from outside, the interior of the carriage remained silent until we reached the boutique.
The boutique looked exactly as it had when I last visited during my teenage years.
Lamps glowing in various colors. A lavish assortment of suits. Ribbons and neckties on display.
And obnoxious-looking noblewomen busy preening themselves in front of the mirrors.
I followed Iris into a small dressing room tucked away at the very back.
The moment I saw the stiff, structured jacket draped over a mannequin—adorned with sashes and medals hanging like creeping ivy—a curse slipped out of my mouth.
"Fuck that. I'm not wearing it. Don't even start."
"W-Why...? I think it would look r-really good on you..."
"I'd rather walk in stark naked. And what are the medals for?"
"B-Because you were a soldier, Ain..."
I stepped closer to the mannequin to inspect them. They were medals I had absolutely no memory of receiving.
I hadn't even been an officer to begin with.
Forget earning merits; I had been too busy just trying to keep myself alive.
The cinched waist of the jacket was reminiscent of wartime military uniforms.
As if the weather wasn't enough.
First Giselle, now the war. It was a double dose of shitty memories.
"The old man's tastes are as consistent as ever. He still likes this crap?"
"Y-Yes... F-Father is obsessed with honor and achievements..."
Sighing, I turned my gaze to the other accessories laid out nearby.
An eyepatch with that wretched magnolia crudely embroidered on a black background, and a golden prosthetic arm.
I wondered if Iris was actually trying to test the limits of my patience.
"......"
"F-Father... said he... didn't want to see... Ain's... that... scar..."
Iris spoke hesitantly, having agonized over how to euphemistically refer to my disability.
He wanted me to cover up my useless eye and useless arm with these things.
It felt like the elaborate dressing-up of a high-class whore.
I pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and sat on the only chair in the dressing room.
Today, Iris was walking on eggshells around me.
The moment she saw me fumbling in my pocket, she conjured a flame on her fingertips and stepped forward.
"...You know I can't put this on by myself, right?"
"Y-Yes... I'll help you... I'm sorry, Ain... I k-knew you'd hate this..."
"Forget it. Let's just get this over with."
I didn't care anymore.
If this was what made him wet his pants with joy, then as his dutiful son, I suppose I had to wear it.
I stripped off my clothes one by one and tossed them into the corner of the room.
The military-style jacket squeezed my chest as if it had a built-in corset.
With Iris's help, I pulled on the stiff, starched trousers and slipped into the polished ankle boots.
To think I used to live every single day wearing stuff like this.
—Click.
She fitted the leather socket and the prosthetic arm onto my empty shoulder.
The prosthetic was just heavy, useless metal—a mere decoration with joints that didn't even move.
Looking in the full-length mirror, I looked like Jaime Lannister from Game of Thrones.
"Though I don't fuck my sister, of course."
"H-Huh...? What did you say, Ain?"
"Just talking to myself."
I put on the eyepatch, which was large enough to completely cover the scar running vertically down my eye.
My entire body felt suffocated, as if I had been crammed into a tiny box.
Standing behind me, Iris stroked my long, overgrown hair.
"It's a-a bit long... Let me t-tie it back for you. Just a second."
She untied one of the ribbons from her own braided hair, gathered the strands covering my neck and forehead, and bound them into a ponytail.
While Iris helped me get ready, I did nothing but scowl and smoke.
I wondered what Mace would say if she saw me like this.
Having finished tying my hair, Iris stepped back and looked at me, resting her hand on her chin.
Soon, looking pleased with the result, she smiled and clapped her hands.
I took that as a passing grade. I hadn't even reached the mansion yet, and I was already exhausted.
I climbed back into the carriage, my gait now as stiff as Iris's.
As we passed through the main gates, the courtyard I never wanted to see again—even in my dreams—and the familiar faces of the servants drifted past the window.
To think I would lay eyes on those plaster statues and overgrown plants in the garden once more.
And the mansion itself, the pride of our family, which was every bit as bleak as today's weather.
Iris gestured to a servant, and we were guided to the drawing room.
Told to sit and wait for a moment, I reached for my cigarette pack out of habit.
Knowing it was obvious I'd get chewed out for smelling like smoke, I quietly put it back.
Iris emerged from the dining room and politely held the door open for me.
Before I could step inside, she blocked my path, pressed something into my hand, and whispered.
"A-A gift... I prepared it... Give it to Father when the meal is over..."
I glanced at it before slipping it into my pocket. It was an antique brooch set with some unknown gemstone.
Nodding in resignation, I walked with Iris to the center of the dining room.
Beneath the brown-glinting chandelier, I spotted the face I despised most.
The head of the family, my father, my old man, that son of a bitch—whatever you wanted to call him.
Douglas Magnolia, with his usual utter lack of manners, was already eating.
He didn't even look up as Iris and I bowed. He just kept slicing the food on his plate.
Only after dabbing his mouth with the napkin on his lap did he silently point to the chairs opposite him.
I sat in the seat right next to Iris, where an empty plate sat waiting.
It was my designated seat, the one I had always occupied whenever I dined with the family.
Slicked-back blue hair just like Iris's, and a neat blue mustache.
Even his pretentious gaze remained unchanged. He looked as healthy as ever.
Since he only stuffed his face with the most expensive delicacies, he'd probably live a long, disease-free life.
For the record, my mother's hair was red.
My other sibling, not me, had inherited it.
If you mixed my parents' hair colors together, smeared them on a canvas, and let them rot, you'd probably get the hair color of a bastard like me.
A voice as arrogant as the rest of him drifted across the table.
"You look somewhat presentable today."
It seemed my attire had hit the bullseye of his tastes.
His benevolent display of acknowledging his children's efforts made me want to flip the table right then and there.
"I am only sparing my precious time for a wretch like you because of your sister. So, mind your words. Do you understand?"
"Thank you for showing grace to my foolish brother, Father."
Iris stood up from her chair and bowed once more in gratitude.
I kept my eyes glued to my plate.
I was acutely aware of Iris, who wouldn't dare raise her head until Father gestured for her to sit.
"Indeed. Ain, the disgrace of our noble house. The stain on our glorious war. A one-eyed, one-armed cripple. A worm-like, hideous monstrosity. You dare have something to ask of me?"
I hadn't expected it, but he still refused to call me his son.
Since he was reaching that age, I had worried that a sudden drop in testosterone might trigger some long-lost paternal instinct.
But he was as consistently piece-of-shit as ever.
"Yes, Father. My brother has come to confess his faults and humbly beg to be taken back under the family's protection."
"Did I ask you, Iris?"
Iris shut her mouth instantly.
Beneath the table, I saw her fingers twitching, hidden from Father's view.
"Your worm of a brother cannot possibly be mute. Ain, I ask you. What is it you wish to beg of me?"
Iris's hand slipped over the back of mine, which had begun to tremble without my realizing it.
Her eyes remained fixed on Father, but she gave me a subtle, barely perceptible nod.
She was telling me to endure it. To swallow it down.
This abuse—the same abuse Ain had likely received constantly since birth without ever knowing why.
These insults, which had been drummed into my ears until they formed calluses.
This condescension, which had allowed even the servants to look down on me.
It wasn't hard.
If I had any pride left to sell, I would have sold it long ago.
With just a few words, Mace could leave my squalid house and secure comfortable lodging, clothes, and regular meals all at once.
I, too, could escape my financial ruin and perhaps live out the rest of my days in peace, without ever having to contemplate suicide again.
Iris would be satisfied as well.
Since she would finally be able to look after me under the family's shadow without any worries.
Iris's hand nudged my knee.
Father, having likely heard something from her beforehand, had cleared a space on the table in front of him, waiting for his tribute.
I reached into my pocket to pull out the gift.
But in the end, instead of all the things I stood to gain, I thought only of Mace.
Mace, who was waiting for me at my house even now, and who had confidently promised to take me in no matter how abandoned or broken I became.
I remembered her vow never to betray me.
“You have me. You have Mace. If you're ever abandoned, you can always come to me.”
It wasn't even worth agonizing over.
I pulled my hand out of my pocket—empty—and raised it toward my father.
I tucked my other fingers into my palm, leaving only my thumb thrust between my index and middle fingers.
Yes. Perhaps what I had truly wanted to ask of him was to show me that face.
I wanted to see that solemn, arrogant face freeze into a stupid gawk, and that blue mustache I wanted to rip out twitching with sheer rage.
"...Do you even know what that gesture means?"
"It means eat this. Something white, sweet, and sticky."
Iris kicked back her chair and bolted to her feet.
I thrust my prosthetic arm in front of Iris, blocking her from making excuses on my behalf.
"Father, I wish to confess my sins."
"Oh? It seems you have finally come to your senses."
Father seemed to be barely holding back his fury, his upper lip trembling.
"My sin is arrogance. The arrogance of a sperm, carrying nothing but my father's inferior lineage, daring to outrun the rest without knowing its place—that is my sin."
—Crash!
An empty plate came flying right over my bowed head.
I could see Father clutching the tablecloth with veins bulging in his hands, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
His eyes, burning with fury, refused to look away from me.
It felt as refreshing as washing down a ten-year-old clog.
I raised my gaze and looked my father—no, just Douglas—straight in the eye.
I hadn't realized this man was so small.
I was no longer afraid of him.
Leaving behind Iris, who was crying out my name, and Douglas, who was roaring in rage, I leisurely strolled out of the dining room.
As I walked, I tore open the front of my jacket and untied my hair.
I smashed the joint connecting the socket and the prosthetic arm with my fist.
Tossing the eyepatch and the brooch from my pocket onto the hallway floor, I savored the very first taste of freedom in my life.