About an Incurable Disease -1-
The Desmont family, fresh from causing a scene at the hospital, sat on the plush sofa with heavy expressions. It was 7 p.m., dinnertime, but none of the three showed any sign of moving.
Olivia, fidgeting with her fingers, glanced slyly at Darbav's serious face and spoke up.
"Daddy. Is big bro going to jail?"
"No."
Olivia eyed Kyle suspiciously, who sat to Darbav's left. His clothes were a mess from tangling with that mysterious green-haired punk at the hospital. She asked Kyle cautiously, keeping her cool expression.
"Big bro, you going to jail?"
"...No."
"Why?"
"...You want me to?"
"No way."
Olivia shook her head, voicing her modest wish that her big brother wouldn't have to eat prison slop.
"You hate beans, bro."
"Yeah."
"So you can't go."
Kyle's eyes misted over, touched by his sister's worry. He'd always thought she was just picky about side dishes, but here she was remembering his least favorite food. Whoever's sister she was, Kyle figured her brotherly love was the best in the world.
"Hey, sis. Want anything?"
Olivia answered without a second's hesitation.
"A chocolate palace."
"..."
"No good?"
Kyle regretted his words. The chocolate palace in his mind was probably tiny compared to whatever Olivia imagined. He nodded bitterly, thinking he'd need to make more money.
"I'll give you cash instead."
"...Bro, you're so cool."
Olivia admired him.
"So, what happened?"
"What?"
"The fight."
A spark of excitement lit Olivia's eyes. She hadn't seen Kyle scrap with the green-haired punk. Today at the hospital, Kyle had quietly stood next to the guy, thrown an arm around his shoulder, and walked out. Olivia—and even her father Darbav—had missed the show and were pretty bummed. It looked like some gentlemanly chat from her view, leaving her a bit worried since she didn't know the outcome.
"Did you lose?"
Kyle thrust out his fist, showing her a tiny scrape. Olivia peered at the speck of a wound, tilted her head, and pouted.
"You lost, huh..."
Kyle firmly corrected her naive assumption. The Desmonts, called the empire's bantam chickens? Absurd.
He replied to Olivia with pride in his voice.
"Your bro doesn't lose, Olivia."
"So you won?"
"Yep."
Kyle smiled faintly and gave a quick rundown on today's opponent. Not strong, but not weak either. Mediocre, in a nutshell.
"Name's Ruin, he said."
"I know him."
"You do?"
"Yeah. Friend from school who always bought me bread. Liked getting hit too."
"...?"
A swarm of question marks popped up in Kyle's head, but he didn't pry. He couldn't picture Olivia being chummy with a line-cutter. If they were close, the guy would've at least said hi. As far as he remembered, this Ruin punk had avoided eye contact with Olivia entirely. No connection there, so Kyle let it slide.
Kyle chattered on about the fight. Olivia gazed at him proudly, and Kyle grinned, spinning his tale of valor.
"Fire mage. Talented kid too, young as he is."
"Tower Lord's disciple."
Darbav, who'd been listening quietly, nodded and promised to handle the aftermath.
"Good timing, actually. Now I can hurl a meteor at the Tower Lord's face."
"Daddy, is it war?"
"Nah, just a figure of speech."
Darbav's curt inner thought: Nice win over the Tower in our little rivalry.
Kyle recounted the fight like a gentlemanly duel.
"I asked him why he cut in line."
"Yeah?"
"Said he was in a rush, could he go first?"
"Ooh..."
"Claims he's buddies with the doc, no appointment needed. Cocky excuse."
"Then?"
"Punched him."
Kyle boasted about settling it with fists, not magic. Hearing two mages scrap like dogs thrilled Darbav, who nodded proudly.
"A man's gotta use his fists."
Kyle spat that Ruin pulled magic at the end—cowardly bastard.
"Dirty player. Like master, like student."
"But I won."
"As expected... my son. The Desmont future shines bright."
Kyle eyed his fist smugly, muttering, "A man's a fist..." Magic would've crushed him anyway, but Kyle didn't want to waste spells on a rude line-cutter. Primitive victory it was. Darbav beamed at the scrape, proud.
"You've grown, son."
"Just like you, Father."
"Hahaha. Too kind."
Rosanna, watching the heartwarming father-son chat, rubbed her throbbing forehead.
"Aigoo...! All you do is brag! Brag!"
"He's just like you, isn't he?!"
Darbav hung his head sullenly, mumbling, "Not a compliment...?" Rosanna smacked his back with a sigh.
"Ugh... Show some restraint, you enemies!"
Kyle turned serious to Rosanna.
"You were wild in your youth too, Mother. 'Red Gloves' back in your adventurer days..."
"Hush. That's a black history I wanna bury."
"I'm proud, Mother."
"..."
Rosanna shook her head. After a brief silence, she addressed her huddled kids and husband.
"So, why'd you call me here?"
Rosanna had paused dinner prep for Darbav's summons. Urging her to hurry back, he replied in a somewhat serious tone.
"Got something to talk about."
"Talk?"
"Yeah, very important."
Darbav lowered his voice.
"What's for dinner tonight?"
He took another smack to the back.
*
After dropping Yuria off at her dorm and heading back to the mansion, I stretched with a satisfied heart. What a fulfilling day after so long.
"Yawn... Tired."
Chatting with Yuria had been more fun than expected. No awkwardness, no heavy topics—just pure enjoyment. Hearing novel events straight from the source was a thrill, like a reader finally excited again. Details not in the book, her emotions during my academy absence... And hey, talking to a pretty girl didn't hurt the mood.
Not as pretty as the young miss, though. Eye candy the whole time.
It was 7:30 p.m. Spotting the family mansion in the distance, I shrugged.
"No trouble, right?"
With Kyle there, probably not. But the young miss and family head weren't exactly reliable. I worried.
Just no incidents till I get back...
A tiny wish, but she'd never granted one like it, so I sighed and trudged toward the mansion.
Capital life was winding down. Three days left. Mansion renovations and the family head's birthday would wrap up. Housework piled up depressed me a bit, but heading home after so long brought a small smile.
The trip started with the young miss's lousy driving. Full of worries, but it'd mended two tangled relationships—a pretty meaningful journey. With the Desmonts and Yuria. Not perfect, but smoother ties eased the suffocation, like a turning point.
Streetlights brightly lit the dark paths. Capital density made solo walks safe. Ghost-phobic wimp that I am, patrolling guards and lamps kept fear at bay.
Tomorrow, date with the young miss.
Heading home, marking the long trip's end—
A familiar man's voice called from behind.
"Ricardo."
I bowed lightly at his face.
"Master Kyle."
Kyle stood there, gazing at me with a heavy look.
"Let's talk a bit."
"About Olivia."
In Kyle's hand was a small paper.