The Secret Exposed -3-
Another bright morning dawned, just like always. Dressed impeccably in my butler uniform and polished black shoes, I strode energetically toward the young lady's room on the second floor. It was 10 a.m. now. Normally, this would be when Olivia was having her breakfast, but I'd overslept and failed to sync with her internal clock.
I thought to myself, 'Slept in again. Wonder if she'll chew me out.'
Ever since realizing my right hand could no longer wield a sword, I'd thrown myself desperately into training with alternatives, and naturally, the late mornings piled up. Luckily, Olivia wasn't much of a morning person, so an hour's delay wasn't a huge issue. Still, guilt gnawed at me for neglecting my butler duties. I hurriedly buttoned my shirt and broke into a jog down the hall.
That's when I ran into the maid carrying a laundry basket in the corridor.
"You're in a rush, Butler."
The mansion's sole maid greeted me with a kind smile. She offered a professional nod to the man who effectively signed her paychecks. Satisfied with her poise, I bowed my head in return.
"Good morning."
"Yes, it is a fine morning. Oh, right—did the young lady say anything yesterday?"
"Haven't heard a word."
"Ah... surpri..."
She trailed off, glancing at me sideways as if she had something to say, then muttered 'Never mind' and clammed up. Starting the day with this vague unease was a real pain. Curiosity getting the better of me—a Korean trait I couldn't shake—I pressed her.
"Hoho, it's nothing. Just commenting on the nice weather."
All I got back was her crinkly-eyed smile. 'You don't need to know. You'll find out later.' It felt like everyone but me was in on some scheme, and it creeped me out. Wouldn't sharing the good stuff make it even better? Better to know a beating's coming and brace for it.
"Don't keep it to yourself—tell me too."
Even as I kept prodding, she smiled sweetly, hefted her basket, and slipped away. She headed to the laundry room with that same ambiguous 'hoho' grin to the end. As a curiosity-driven Korean, it bugged me no end. Felt like I'd left something behind at the front door.
Sending a resentful glare after the maid for dropping this morning riddle on me—
-KYAAAAAH!!!
Air raid siren! Olivia was awake.
The freshly woken Olivia rubbed her eyes and looked me over. Bottom to top. Top to bottom. She scanned me, then nodded.
"Thought you were beef jerky."
"Which part?"
"Red hair."
"Wanna eat me?"
"Yeah."
With today's snack settled on beef jerky, I handed her the honey water I'd prepared hoping it'd wake her faster. She chugged it down.
Gulp. Empty glass. She eyed me again, sleepy gaze lingering intently this time, like she'd spotted something on my face.
"Hmm..."
What?
"Hmmm."
She propped her chin, staring hard. Probably clocked that I hadn't washed up before "coming to work." She couldn't tear her eyes from my admittedly handsome face.
"First time seeing someone this good-looking?"
"Blech."
She recoiled in disgust. What was wrong with my face? Hurt feelings ignored by all, I flicked her forehead to vent on the drowsy girl.
"Ow... why'd you hit me!"
"Think of it as employee welfare."
"Youuuu!!"
Once the pillow war ended, with her hair a tangled mess, Olivia patted the bed beside her.
"Ricardo. Sit here."
Inviting me onto the unmade bed. Fresh from smashing a pillow into her face mid-battle, I approached without complaint and sat by her side.
She peered at my face closely.
"Something's off."
"What?"
She poked and prodded my face—stretching it side to side, up and down. Just like I toyed with hers sometimes, treating it like putty. Blurry vision from sleep, maybe? She squished my cheeks fish-like and pulled my face close.
Too close. Way too.
"What're you doing?"
Olivia said to me, her expression tinged with worry.
"Ricardo."
"You sick or something?"
Caught off guard, I stared blankly before answering.
"Nope, too healthy for my own good. Didn't you see me dodge those pillows earlier?"
Sick out of nowhere? Why say that? Maybe mad about my oversleeping. I flexed my left bicep, veins popping.
"Intimidating, right?"
She ignored me, eyes still worried.
"Your eyes look exhausted. Like they'd topple if poked."
"My eyes?"
I turned to the vanity mirror by the bed.
"Oh..."
Reflected back: faint dark circles under decadent, weary eyes. Aftermath of overdoing sword practice last night, probably. I looked a bit sickly, sure, but not enough to fret over. Had she seen some ghost at night or what? Seemed like paranoia since the bathhouse incident.
I shook my head lightly to ease her mind.
"I'm fine."
"Really?"
"Yeah, just skipped washing my face today."
She scooted away.
"Eww... gross."
"Cleaner than your pockets."
"My pockets are clean!"
Defending her pride on the weirdest thing, she roughly washed with a damp cloth, then sidled back beside me, grumbling and tugging my arm. It tugged at my heart—cute and bittersweet.
She took my hand. Soft warmth enveloped my knuckles.
"Ricardo. Don't get sick."
"I'm healthy."
"Still. Don't get sick."
Our eyes met. Like an orphanage teacher pleading, 'Please don't punch your friends, play nice.' She gripped tight, imploring earnestly.
"No matter what, stay healthy. I hate seeing you sick."
She repeated it.
"Got it?"
I nodded.
After our late breakfast, as Olivia's internal clock chimed again, she spoke while I brushed my teeth.
"Wicawdo." (Ricardo)
"After I finish brushing."
"Nooo." (Hate it.)
Foam flying as she talked. Tempted to flick her forehead, but she was being unusually obedient today—brushing without chocolate first, no dozing off post-wakeup, even worrying about my health. Her exemplary behavior bordered on legendary, enough to unlock my hidden snack vault.
I listened.
"Hey, know what day it is?"
"Today?"
I pondered. Not her birthday—that's winter. Not the family head or matriarch's. So...
"Your magic day?"
"Shut up!"
Rare curse from her. I asked the fuming girl,
"Then what day is it?"
"No idea?"
"Yeah, clueless."
"For real?"
She grinned mischievously, like she held some grand secret. I tracked even her doljabi ceremony, so this scheming side of her was novel. A villainess plotting amusement... well, she is one.
Anyway, beaming like a villainess in bliss, her sparkling eyes fixed on me, ears burning.
I pointed.
"Miss. On your chest."
"Chest? What?"
"Tha-that..."
White foam on her outrageously swollen bosom from brushing. Blasphemous thoughts stirred.
She wiped it casually and popped it in her mouth.
"What're you doing? Dirty!"
"It's fine. From my mouth, so clean."
Satisfied, she puffed out her chest proudly. Hell of a view—mood lifted.
Late evening. Sword practice in the yard done, I wiped sweat from my brow.
"This should do."
The ground bore countless sword scars—from pinky-sized gouges to man-sized craters. Left-hand swings feeling natural now, I let out a long-held sigh.
'This'll hold till the next arc.'
Not Ballack-level, but I could handle Pascal or Mikhail easily. Maybe the left's powerful strikes outshone my old right's precision pokes.
Regretfully eyeing my right arm—still trembling faintly, no easy recovery till black magic resistance rose. Silver lining: no reckless right-hand use like with Ballack, lest the curse spread to my good left. Hoped for no major events mid-recovery, but Mikhail's awakening loomed. Couldn't slack—the guy's a prodigy, but contingencies demanded prep.
Worrying now was pointless. I dusted off and stood.
Before returning to Olivia, I detoured to my room at the hall's end, unbuttoning my sweat-soaked shirt. Sticky fabric clung stubbornly, but it meant I'd given my all today—satisfying.
Shirt off, the mirror showed pristine white bandages wrapping from right sleeve to chest. Mummy vibes drew a chuckle—reminded me of a game character from my past life, sobbing for her friend. Amumu or something. Bizarrely overlapped with Olivia.
Telling her that? She'd hurl a fork denying resemblance. Her blank face post-chocolate confiscation merged with the character's, sparking laughter. Prime teasing material later. Childish prank, but teasing her blanks my mind—age regression?
"Crazy bastard."
Breath steady, I unwound the bandages slowly—from right sleeve across left chest, sweat-damp rolls peeling away.
Scars emerged gradually. Burn-like twists on back and chest first, then burst-flesh gashes. Grotesque enough to send Olivia fleeing if seen. Worst: right arm's blackening necrosis, oozing pus that wrinkled the nose.
"Tch... better than yesterday, at least..."
No real pain—just occasional stings as necrosis crept. Or was it familiarity now? A year's cycle of regen and rot had numbed me to it.
"Fucking gross."
Mirror-gazing spawned worries: Olivia fleeing at the sight? How to hide them ongoing? If it spread全身...
"Daunting."
Biggest dread: her discovering them. No good excuse ready. Laugh it off? Confess clean? Whatever, I'd pick words to spare her pain—she's timid.
Reaching for a fresh shirt—then it hit: what day it was. Autumn September, leaves ripening. Around now, she'd always said it.
-Happy birthday.
Last year skipped 'cause she collapsed. I let out a hollow chuckle.
"Right, it's my birthday."
Foolish grin. I'd even guessed her "magic day." Now it clicked—their awkward morning vibes. Should've said earlier. Again, only I was clueless. Time to whine to Olivia. She'd tease me as a "dummy" past midnight.
I yanked open the wardrobe for a shirt.
-Creeeak.
No resistance—it swung wide easily.
"Broken?"
Should've snagged on the latch; now it'd open in a breeze. Maid or me only ones entering—must be busted. Reaching in casually—
"Huh?"
Shirt spot empty. And—
-Hic...
Someone who shouldn't be there stared wide-eyed.
"M-Miss... Olivia?"
Party hat on head. Clutching a chocolate cake and gaily wrapped gift.
'Oh no...'
Face crumbling like the world's end, she said,
"Y-You... if you're..."
Foolishly repeating herself.
"If you're sick.... you can't..."
Faced with her teary eyes, I spat a clumsy lie, hoping it'd stick.
"Ah, that? Just from a fall."
"Don't lie!!!"
This fib wouldn't fool her.