Two Guests -1-
Three weeks had passed. A time that felt short if short, long if long—it swiftly transformed the awkwardness between us.
The first week passed in silence. The second with stiff greetings. The last, we finally faced each other for serious talks. Apologies for the horrific ordeal I'd put her through, mixed with thanks. We spoke of my arm. With every word, her tears flowed more freely, but the rift between us began to mend.
She cried at the sight of my arm. Cried at my awkward smile. Even cried gazing at the stars at night. Like a man in menopause, her emotions overflowed, but as we spent more time facing each other and talking, her smiles slowly returned.
That day, she said it. She'd cut back on her swearing and her picky eating. And she was truly sorry. We learned more about each other, offered sincere apologies. She faced my arm once more. Trembling, she unwrapped the bandage with her own hands, saying now or never. I could never forget the shock-stricken look on her face.
"...I did this to you?"
She fell silent for a long while, then nodded, covering her face with her hands as she sobbed.
Little by little, she came back. The bold, food-loving villainess Olivia. Not back to her old wicked ways, but...
"Ricardo, what do you want to eat?"
She'd returned to the generous villainess who let me choose the menu. She still welled up at the sight of my face sometimes, and if I scratched my itchy arm, she'd gasp with wide eyes, mumbling, "D-d-does it hurt?" But she was worlds away from the broken girl of three weeks ago. No longer wilted, but bold again. I preferred this.
Better a girl who spoke her mind and demanded what she wanted, even if a bit brazen, than one huddled in her room drowning in guilt. I'd hidden the scars on my hand partly to avoid suffocating tension, so maybe this was for the best.
*
In the quiet of her room, she sat on the bed, furrowed brow fixed on one spot. Like a surgeon in the operating room, she held a cotton swab in one hand and ointment in the other, utterly focused. I recalled the adults' words back then—if she'd studied like this, she'd have aced Seoul University. If only she'd concentrated on studies like now, she'd have easily claimed top of her class. Practical magic: number one in the department. Written exams: dead last.
She squeezed ointment onto the swab, hiccuping.
"Hic."
Biting her lip in concentration, her hand trembled as she said to me,
"Tell me if it hurts."
"Ah..."
"Hiet!"
I hadn't even touched it yet, but at my sound, she flinched, shoulders jumping. I chuckled at the sight.
"It hasn't even touched."
"R-really?"
"Hoo."
She let out a long sigh and focused on my rolled-up right sleeve. Her face was one wrong poke from tears as she tended the wound. I was dying to tease her. Covering my twitching mouth, I glanced at my right hand—shining with ointment, no black scars in sight. Her excessive worry made me laugh.
"Miss."
"...Quiet. I'm concentrating."
"If you apply this much, it'll end up in tonight's steak."
She flinched. At the mention of food, she paused, nodding awkwardly as her hopeful fantasies spun.
"The meat's hurt too, so maybe it'll grow bigger with ointment."
"Say something that makes sense."
"...It won't?"
"No."
She pouted, mumbling, "Then I'll just eat it a bit less tasty." She slathered ointment thickly on my arm. Over the coated spots again. Even on the unharmed parts. To my eyes, there was no room left, but apparently not to hers. It wasn't a bubble bath, but the sticky ointment had already gone through two tubes. Still not enough? She rummaged in the first-aid kit for an unopened one.
She murmured,
"It can't hurt... anymore."
"It doesn't."
"Still..."
She smeared ointment on unscathed skin, repeating,
"It can't hurt."
Ignoring my words entirely. She'd poke the wounds lightly, watching my reaction, and if I twitched from itch, she'd make a tearful face. "Ow... it shouldn't hurt..." Black magic had necrotized the skin—ointment was pointless—but I extended my arm anyway, warmed by her earnest touch.
That reminded me of the day after I'd properly shown her the wound. She'd said it so gravely, my heart nearly stopped.
—Take it off.
"Pardon?"
Impure thoughts flashed, inner conflict raging, but she squeezed her eyes shut and said,
—I need to see your arm. Take off your clothes.
"Just the arm?"
I awkwardly hid it behind my back, but her resolve—now fully aware—was unbreakable. Refuse, and she'd sulk in bed all day, moping, "I'm a bad girl...!" No escaping that. I rolled up my sleeve, and she wiped her glistening tears, declaring stoutly,
—I'll apply medicine.
So resolute. Reluctantly, I showed her my hand, and right there, she broke into tears while smearing ointment.
"Sniff... hic..."
"Why cry again."
"It's gross... and it looks so painful..."
From then on, showing her my hand became routine. When I brought chocolate, she'd dig gold from her chest pocket for more ointment—of course, the warm coins stayed safely in my drawer. Too precious to give away, with their deep story. Absolutely not for any perverted reason.
"Done."
She beamed, satisfied, after wrapping the bandage.
"Hiet...!"
Puffing her chest proudly at her bandaged handiwork. I eyed her soul-infused masterpiece with a wry smile.
"What is this."
"Treatment."
"Isn't it too thick for treatment? The maid will think my arm's broken."
Sloppily wrapped like a cast, thick enough to hammer nails into. She'd layered it like plaster.
"Heehee..."
So proud of herself, I couldn't complain. She grabbed a pen and started drawing on the bandage.
"What are you doing?"
"Magic spell."
"Not much magic in that despairing art."
"...Quiet. Concentrating."
Scribble scribble. An orc, a goblin. Elegant script: [Get well soon.] Monster family portrait aside, hard to get used to. I pointed at the fierce-faced orc.
"This you, by chance."
She nodded vigorously.
"Mm."
"..."
I wanted to flick her forehead. Next, I pointed at the goblin with suspiciously ample... assets. Reminded me of her emergency coin pouch—lewd design.
She smirked as I pointed.
"This you?"
Nod. Sparkling eyes awaited judgment on her artistic masterpiece.
"How is it?"
I turned to the window.
"Why no answer."
"..."
"Stunned by how good it is?"
You don't give false hope to hopeless talent. What if she mistakes it for genius and becomes a painter? My praise wasn't that cheap. She stared, lips pursed in silent threat, eyes sharp. I mumbled,
"I-it's... well drawn."
"Right?"
"Yes. The goblin and..."
'Ah... mistake.'
She frowned.
"Not a goblin..."
Disappointed, head drooping. I comforted her.
"Good thing you don't aspire to art."
She hurled the pen.
***
Warm sunlight filtered in. Another clear day in the mansion courtyard. She emerged after ages, plopping into a chair. "What if sword practice hurts?" she'd said, playing medic to grace us with her presence.
I swung my sword dramatically before her. Might as well dazzle with flair.
Whoosh. The courtyard echoed with wind-cutting slashes. Channeling aura, leaving afterimages in the air—she clapped, eyes wide.
"Ooh...!"
Like a romance novel hero, I wiped sweat, heaving artificially.
"Hoo... how was it?"
Blank stare. Not on the swordplay—my right arm. I'd thought the applause meant approval, but she just clapped indifferently.
She said,
"No meteors?"
"No."
"No zappy lasers?"
"Impossible."
"Lame."
She struck at my manhood. Bored eyes, drumming her belly.
"Can't you slice mountains, split the sky?"
"Not even Sword Masters can."
She eyed me.
"Can't you, Ricardo?"
"Well... that's..."
Demanding Sword Master feats? Her jabs flipped my switch. She drawled, "Eh, lame," once more, slouching like a lounger.
"Hungry."
Enough. Even if I collapsed, I needed her "Ooh... cool!" Otherwise, I'd forever be the butler good with kitchen knives in her memory. I summoned aura.
Limit Break (L) tests the limits of your aura.
My sword blazed sun-red. Her eyes sparkled.
"See it?"
"Ooh..."
Intrigued. As I gathered more aura—
"Ooh..."
"Ooh..."
Familiar voices. Two light-brown-haired figures. Uninvited guests.
I lowered my sword, spotting them at the entrance.
"Hanna?"
The Histania siblings stood amiably at the gate. Sword bandaged, arms full of gifts, Hanna beamed.
"It's me, butler."
Long time no see.
"Came 'cause I'm hungry."