[My Little Sister from the Fire Cult (5)]
According to the physician, fortunately it wasn't a serious illness—just a cold from accumulated fatigue after the long carriage ride. A relief it wasn't anything major. But if you're sick, you should say so and stay quietly in bed. Why force yourself out and collapse in the corridor like that? Scaring the hell out of everyone. Good thing I'm a kind-hearted SSR super brother, or else Yeomhwa would've turned into a departed soul right there in the hallway.
"Ugh... haa..."
I gaze down at Yeomhwa, who's breathing heavily. Hair matted with sweat, face flushed red, clothes disheveled as she writhes in discomfort.
...What can I say. The girl who always acted so elegantly, drawing a line like not even a needle could slip through—seeing her like this, vulnerable and messed up, strangely stirs my protective instincts. And the way she's clutching my sleeve so preciously? It amps up the pitifulness. I know I shouldn't think this about someone who's sick, but she's cute. If this is all calculated, honestly, I have no confidence I'd win any family power struggles from here on out.
"Haa... haa... hic..."
A tiny teardrop trails down her cheek. She's in so much pain she's crying... why the hell did she hold it in? Stupid kid. I thought I was being nice to her. Was I not trustworthy enough?
They say wild animals never show weakness even when sick. Show it, and you're marked as easy prey—lose your territory, get attacked. In Yeomhwa's eyes, me, the rest of the family—we all must look like untrustworthy people she can't lean on. Sure, we haven't had time to build trust, but maybe past experiences taught her not to believe in anyone.
I wipe away the flowing tears and change the damp cloth. Checking the time, it's long past zasi—we're deep into chuksi. In this Murim world with no entertainment, my early-to-bed-early-to-rise routine has me conditioned, and my eyelids are getting heavy. Early spring chill's making my body shiver too. I wanna crawl into a warm blanket.
...But my sleeve's caught. Even if she's half-asleep, my little sister reached out first. Can't shake that off as her big bro. That's what being a brother means.
Nod— Convincing myself with a nod, I cross my arms to keep her body heat from escaping. I curl slightly so her grip on my sleeve doesn't slip, leaning back in the chair. Warm cozy bed waiting, and here I am slumped in this hard cold chair—what the hell am I doing? But watching her fever slowly break, breathing steadying... yeah, a tiny bit of reward for the suffering.
She's one high-maintenance little sister, for real.
Chirp~ chirp~ chirp chirp~ chirp~! Industrious birds twittering as the sun just peeks up, bathing the world in blue morning light.
Yeomhwa blinks her jewel-like red eyes wide on the bed, staring at Mancheon with his hand—warm yet somehow cool—on her forehead, piecing together the situation.
Her vision blurred and she collapsed in the corridor—that much she remembers clearly. After that, fragments come back. The problem? Some memories she'd rather forget are surfacing hazily too.
Mancheon's face, kindly changing her cloth. And—
"Don't... leave me alone."
Wha-wha-what?! Calling him orabeoni or not, letting a guy she met just yesterday into her room... saying something that shameless!!
"Hm? You're up. Looks like the fever's gone. How's the body feel?"
"Y-yes? -Eh? Uh? Um? I mean..."
I pulled an all-nighter nursing her, and now she's glitching out? Can't smack her like a gadget to fix it—call the physician again? While Mancheon seriously ponders summoning the doc, Yeomhwa takes a deep breath, regaining her composure.
Her beautiful ruby eyes gleam seductively. She flashes a smile that stirs the heart.
Yeomhwa sits up gracefully, one hand lightly on her chest, head tilted, expressing thanks with elegant poise.
"I showed you an unsightly side. Thanks to you, orabeoni, the fever's down. I can't thank you enough—"
Polite, formal, keeping distance. Play along, and it'll stay surface-level nice talk. Maintain a cordial, line-respecting relationship.
But that's no longer what Mancheon wants.
After slaving away all night? Keep lines drawn and mind your own business? No way in hell.
I lean forward, waving my hand to cut her off. Hurl a 160km/h fastball.
"Ah~ enough~ enough. You're still sick—don't strain yourself with formalities. You hate me anyway, right? No need to force it."
"...Pardon?"
Her brows twitch at the unexpected strike. Mancheon flashes his signature shameless, bold grin. Shatters the mask.
"Being polite is key for society, but not when you're sick. So relax."
Unyielding eyes, fearless words. Shameless face. Not just swinging wild. Not mean teasing. Backed by conviction that nails her delusions. Hits the bullseye.
...Yeah, Yeomhwa hates Mancheon. His looks like Sima Bu's, those eyes piercing her soul without permission, that thick-skinned shameless face, growing up happy without shadows unlike her. All of it.
But even if her true feelings are exposed, she can't let provocation draw out emotions. Normal Yeomhwa would've smiled awkwardly to defuse or change the subject.
Yes, normal Yeomhwa.
Sima Bu's verbal abuse—lingering loss and rage—plus her body's residual fever melt the mask hit by Mancheon's fastball. His irritating smile scratches it away. Peels it off.
The smile vanishes from Yeomhwa's face. Red eyes cool to ice. Ironically, she looks just like Sima Bu.
"...You're right. I hate you, orabeoni. So what? What're you gonna do?"
"Declaration of war."
"...Ha?"
She frowns at the incomprehensible words. Doesn't get it. 'Declaration of war? What the hell? What does it mean?'
Before Yeomhwa deciphers the intent, Mancheon leans in close. No time to think. He seized first strike. His turn now.
"Dunno why you hate me. Doesn't matter."
Manchun's reflection fills her red eyes.
...For some reason, Mother's words float up. Overlapping with Mancheon. Thick brows, sharp jaw, straight nose, fierce amber eyes. Guts unknown, but shameless? Check.
"I'm not the cool dashing type you see. Deep down, I'm a sticky, greedy bastard. Never give up on what I want."
Manchun's eyes, usually cold and distant, sparkle—not fire, but stars. Twinkling like the night sky.
"And I got no intention of just pretending to be all buddy-buddy with the cute little sister fate handed me. We're gonna get along for real."
'He's a wolf in human skin. A huge,