I Really Hate My Father
I really hate my father.
A rare drink with his son. Rowen felt quietly pleased to finally share a drink with his son, whom he'd barely seen lately due to his recent aura awakening. Malik always delivered exactly the results he'd hoped for. Sure, Rowen could spot plenty of shortcomings in his own eyes, but the boy showed no lack of potential to follow in his footsteps. Even though he'd been skipping out more often lately, insisting on training alone, Rowen admired how diligently Malik pushed himself for growth.
If only Hanna had come... He wouldn't have welcomed her so warmly. He'd have lashed out with harsh words, Rowen thought. "Quit the sword right now. It's too dangerous for you." Even if she argued back about her talent, he wouldn't bend his stubborn principles. Looking at it, I'm the crazy one here. Rowen found himself ridiculous.
Clink. Malik poured liquor into a fresh glass. Rowen lifted his brimming cup and said,
"So, what's the real reason you're here? You didn't come without one."
"Can't a son just drop by for a drink with his dad?"
"Haha... I didn't raise you to be that sentimental."
Malik gave a wry smile. It wasn't just Hanna who'd suffered under Rowen's sword obsession.
Ahem. Clearing his throat, Malik spoke. Rowen felt an inexplicable bitterness at the tension in his son's trembling, husky voice.
"Father. About Hanna."
A familiar name. One Malik never seemed to utter. Hearing it ring in his ears, Rowen gripped his glass tightly.
"What about Hanna?"
"She's my sister, isn't she? She just crossed my mind after all this time."
"..."
Malik stared at the rippling liquor in his glass. His father terrified him. To Malik, the man was a heavy burden on his shoulders—not as crushing as it was for Hanna, but still a fearsome presence. Broaching this took real courage.
Wetting his fingers with the condensation on his glass, Malik ventured carefully,
"I know it's overstepping, but... how about apologizing to Hanna?"
"Apologize?"
Rowen's voice sharpened. The word grated on him; apologies weren't his style. He'd acted knowing full well it might breed resentment—and no sorry would erase that.
Besides.
"Why the hell should I apologize to Hanna? If anything, she owes me one. Ignoring my letters to come home—do you think that's right?"
Rowen felt no guilt toward Hanna. He regretted only his failure to make her abandon the sword. If tough love was a crime, then every parent in the world was guilty. He didn't see his guidance toward a better future as wrong. If it led to apologies, that was on Hanna for not listening.
Rowen couldn't grant Malik's plea. A faint ripple stirred in Malik's glass. His father's intransigence felt suffocating. The man who'd always forced the sword on them, who'd been so cruel to Hanna—it was maddening.
In a quavering voice, Malik pressed,
"You've always played favorites. Me too."
"It wasn't favoritism. It was a rational choice. Focusing on you, the key to upholding the Histania name."
"Our house has grown plenty strong."
"Without me, you'd have faded away."
"That's inevitable, isn't it? We're not you, Father..."
"That's a damn unpleasant thing to say."
Malik bowed his head.
"I'm sorry."
Rowen sighed heavily. The heir apparent, fretting not a whit over the family's future—what a disappointment. Hanna too, and now Malik. Everything had gone off the rails since they met that guy.
Glancing at his bowed son, Rowen probed slyly,
"Two days ago, you mentioned that swordsman Ricardo, the brave one. I met him."
"Ricardo?"
"Yeah. Treated me like some peddler."
"A peddler?"
A faint smile tugged at Malik's tense lips. Muttering under his breath so Rowen wouldn't hear, he whispered, "Crazy bastard." He couldn't help but wonder what Ricardo had said to his father—and it excited him a little. Thanks to one of Ricardo's offhand remarks, he'd mustered the guts to seek Hanna's forgiveness.
But contrary to Malik's hopes, Rowen grimaced, teeth gritted, shattering his expectations.
"Insolent prick. Serving the fallen Desmont lady aside, the guy's got nothing but some early achievements at a young age. Pathetic, yammering on about how I'm wrong..."
Downing his drink, Rowen continued,
"The arrogant shit had the nerve to tell me I'd never get close to Hanna."
Malik asked Rowen what exactly he'd said to provoke that. The Ricardo he knew didn't sling barbs without reason. They stung because they were true.
"What did he say... to make Ricardo respond like that?"
Rowen declared proudly,
"He begged me to make Hanna give up the sword."
"Father!"
Malik slammed the desk and shot to his feet. Glaring with frustration—that again? How long will you keep this up?—but Rowen just scowled back from his seat, staring down his standing son.
"Malik. Second warning."
Malik didn't back down.
"How long are you going to keep this up? Hasn't Hanna proven herself? She loves the sword, and you won't even help—!"
"You don't get it. Why I'm doing this."
Recalling the memories he'd witnessed, Rowen told Malik,
"Hanna's young, can't think deeply. Charging ahead like that will land her in danger someday. Sudden power lets you succeed, but it's not safe."
"...Then help her, Father."
"I'm busy enough watching over you."
"That's bullshit."
Rowen glared at Malik.
"What about you?"
Rowen cut to the heart of the family's rift.
"You've been rotten to Hanna too. Ignoring her, discriminating—just like me. If you thought it was wrong, why didn't you stop it?"
"I..."
"Talent or not, you're no better than me. Wish you'd realize that."
Malik clenched his fists, head bowed. Not a word was wrong. But he'd already apologized to Hanna and meant to keep seeking her forgiveness. Yes, he'd been harsh, just like his father said. But he wanted to make amends before things worsened. That's why he'd come here, to urge his father to do the same.
Rowen eyed his silent son.
"Whatever. My choices stand. Raising Hanna strong? If a little hardship breaks her, how's she supposed to survive the world?"
Malik met his gaze squarely.
"Isn't that just you rationalizing to suit yourself...?"
"Rationalizing? Hilarious. I've never regretted my choices once. My life proves it. Your success proves it."
Rowen fixed him with a final glare.
"Third warning, Malik. Push further, and I won't hold back."
Malik ground his teeth.
"You'll regret this. Just like I did with Hanna..."
"Hanna's the one regretting."
This talk solidified Rowen's conviction: Forcing Hanna to quit the sword was for her future. Even petty means were justified for her safety—and to let Malik focus on success.
A brief silence fell.
Rowen waved him off, issuing the dismissal.
No point dragging out empty talk. "Get out..."
As Malik, fists clenched, bowed and turned to leave the study—
BAM! A clamor erupted outside the mansion. Something shattering, servants panicking.
"Ah... Miss...?"
"Where is he...?"
"What business does the young miss have here...?"
"Where's Father?!"
A voice he hadn't heard in ages. Not the childish tone of the girl who'd once begged him for spars and lessons, but raw hatred seeping through the study door. Thud-thud-thud... Urgent footsteps pounded up the stairs. A gasping servant burst in.
"Huff... huff... My lord... the youngest miss is here!"
Rowen's iron resolve shattered. His vow to make her quit the sword upon next meeting crumbled. No thoughts came—only the urge to see her face.
"Hanna's... here?"
"Yes...! You need to come out now! She's... uh..."
"Where is he!"
Hanna's furious roar shook the mansion, laced with rage. It pressed heavily on Rowen's shoulders in the study.
Ten seconds ticked by. Footsteps ascending.
A familiar figure shoved past the guarding steward into the study.
"Move. Before I kill you."
"But miss... this is the lord's office..."
"Move before I kill you."
His daughter strode in, bathed in orc blood. Hanna Histania. Panting, she stood before Rowen. Red-veined eyes glared with resentment; her gripped sword trembled. Her face, on the verge of tears, shook Rowen to his core.
I'm gonna be a cool swordsman like Daddy!
The adoring girl from the past was gone. Hanna hurled a letter at Rowen.
"Did it have to come to this?"
To Hanna Histania—
Return to the family. This is your final warning.
Come back and study academics. I've prepared the finest tutors; you won't lack for anything.
If you dodge this too, I'll have no choice but the worst methods to drag you home.
Even an engagement, if need be.
— Rowen Histania
Hanna glared at the crumpled letter, telling Rowen,
"I really hate you, Father."
1. Read the letter from Rowen Histania. (1/1)
2. Meet your father, Rowen Histania. (1/1)
3. Subjugate the elite orc warriors of the Hamel Mountains (30/30)
Hanna was crying.
*
Atop the study roof, in a shadowed nook. A man crouched, watching the melodrama unfold. He sighed deeply, hand on his sword.
Testing the efficiency limits of Stealth Potion.
His presence concealed, the red-haired man muttered softly at the sight.
Ah... I miss the young lady.
Sneaking for some fortuitous encounter, Ricardo sensed fuckery afoot.