Our Family -3-

Another peaceful day at the mansion. I stopped in my tracks upon spotting the young lady sulking in the corner of the hallway, having overslept myself.

The young lady sat in her wheelchair, a wooden placard with bizarre lettering hanging around her neck. It was such a heartwarming sight that I couldn't help but smile faintly as I asked her,

"What are you doing?"

"Getting punished."

"Punished?"

"Yeah. Big brother said I have to keep my hands up all day."

The young lady was receiving punishment on the orders of the next family head. As expected of the Desmont family's eldest son—he was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ruthless, offering no forgiveness without atonement. Watching her hands tremble, I remarked,

"That's quite the scary punishment."

"Yeah. So I was sneaking them down for a break."

"Should I tell the young master?"

"No!"

We exchanged awkward glances. My eyes screamed that I'd bolt to Kyle's room right that instant, while hers warned of immediate dismissal if I did. As that ominous vibe hung between us, she sighed deeply in defeat.

"Ricardo, my arms are gonna fall off soon."

"I'll pick them up and reattach them for you."

"You're all thumbs—you'd probably stick my right hand on the left side."

"Wouldn't that be a shame."

"Don't tease me!"

She glared, barely hiding her rising smirk as I poked fun. Her frustration boiled over.

"If you're not gonna help, scram!"

"I haven't done anything wrong, though?"

"Big brother said you'd get punished too."

"..."

I shot an uneasy glance at Kyle's firmly shut door at the end of the hall.

"Really?"

"Nah, I made that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up."

At her cheeky prank, I flicked her forehead.

"Why'd you hit me!"

"Just felt like it."

"Argh!!!"

She clenched her fists and flailed her raised arms wildly. The sight of her threatening me with that ridiculous placard around her neck wasn't scary at all. It was more like a pet dog I'd raised, sitting there with a sign after shredding the toilet paper indoors—adorable rather than intimidating.

I gently grasped her wrist, giving her a slight break from the strain. Her furrowed brow relaxed at the small gesture, her expression easing.

"Tiring, huh?"

"Yeah. My shoulders have been screaming since earlier."

"How long have you been at this?"

She beamed mischievously.

"Three minutes."

"Ugh."

I dropped her hand roughly.

"You call that tiring?!"

"Why not?! It's hard!"

"Hold out for ten minutes at least."

"Argh! No way!"

She whined and begged me to hold her hand again, claiming it'd be less painful if I did—and that we should stay like this all day. It was a tempting offer, one I desperately wanted to accept, but getting caught by Kyle would mean trouble for me too. Swallowing my regrets, I resisted the allure.

"So. How'd the talk go?"

I asked softly. Did you two make up properly? It wouldn't resolve in one chat, but seeing her endure punishment so cutely suggested it had gone decently well. No servants roamed the hall either—probably Kyle's orders to clear the area.

She bowed her head shyly at my question.

"Dunno... He said he'd be mad at me till tomorrow. Not sure."

"And yet he gives you a punishment like this?"

"...Isn't that pretty harsh?"

I flicked her forehead again, smiling at her innocent face.

"Pfft... Beats me."

A question mark practically floated over her head as she demanded to know what I meant, but I clamped my mouth shut and left her to figure it out. Kyle really was dishonest.

As we bantered pointlessly,

Clack... clack...

Shoe heels struck the fourth-floor stairs. The crisp sound grew closer to our third-floor hall. I straightened my clothes and peeked at the approaching figure.

A middle-aged man in a deep navy uniform, hair neatly pinned up, came into view. I bowed respectfully.

"Good morning, family head."

"Yes, good morning, Ricardo."

Darbav, impeccably dressed, waved casually in greeting. He stopped before us and peered down at the young lady in surprise.

"Having some fun, eh, Olivia?"

She pouted up at him.

"Dad. Good morning."

"Did you sleep well, Olivia?"

"Nope."

"I see."

Darbav nodded and stroked her hair for a good while, savoring its soft texture. She gazed up at him hopefully.

"Dad, here to rescue me?"

"No."

"..."

She drooped. A solemn air filled the hall.

"Kyle's stubbornness is beyond even me."

"It's fine."

After a brief silence, I eyed the wooden placard in Darbav's hand curiously.

"Family head, what's that you're holding?"

"Ah... this?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, stepped beside her like it was routine, and declared proudly,

"A love message from Rosanna."

"Here for my punishment."

He sighed after whatever Rosanna had said, hung the placard around his neck, and raised both hands familiarly. Glancing at me, he asked,

"You here to get scolded too?"

"No, sir."

"Lucky."

The family head sounded genuinely envious. To my bewilderment, he added deadpan,

"If you have a moment, could you ask Rosanna how long I have to keep my hands up?"

His straight-faced absurdity nearly made me burst out laughing, but his utmost seriousness helped me stifle it. A household where even the family head faced such treatment? Unthinkable elsewhere, but everyday Desmont life. Respecting the scene, I headed downstairs to the kitchen where Rosanna was.

"I'll be back."

"Take your time—no rush."

Darbav shot a glance at Olivia as he spoke. I'd learn later that Rosanna had never actually ordered such a thing. It was just a father's excuse to spend time with his daughter. Truly,

"What a good man."

I smiled, welcoming the mansion's night.

Late night arrived. Darbav and Rosanna were deep in slumber, and Olivia's snoring echoed fiercely through the witching hour. Sleep evading me, I stepped out to the mansion's garden for fresh air.

The vast park-like grounds held statues of past family heads and Rosanna's rose beds. Strolling brought back memories.

"It's been ages here too."

The day she'd first picked me up lingered vividly—her chubby cheeks, cat-like face from childhood flashing by. Who could've foreseen this back then?

Cold winter air stung my chest, breath fogging from my mouth. It had been weather like this when we first met. Who knew a slum orphan's fistfight would lead to saving her life? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠As a possessor, I'd never imagined growing this close to the villainess—the one I least wanted to encounter or entangle with. Our bond stretching this long was utterly unforeseen.

As I walked, feeling a chill, a familiar voice called from behind.

"Ricardo."

A strong man's voice. The one I'd feel most awkward alone with in this mansion.

Black hair, blue eyes.

"Young master."

Desmont Kyle. Hands in pockets, he called to me.

The immature boy was gone; now he suited the title of next family head. We'd fought plenty, shared youth with Olivia—my old comrade.

Kyle waved off my formality. Dismissing protocol as always, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and offered it.

"Smoke?"

Tempting, but I declined with a wave—Olivia hated the smell.

"Next time."

I bowed politely.

"Suit yourself."

"Sorry."

"No need."

It was awkward. Being alone with Kyle, especially after the black magic incident.

He lit up, exhaling smoke that drifted into the garden sky, heightening the silence.

"Well..."

Another puff, then,

"So, how long do you plan to keep hiding it?"

Kyle stared straight at me.

"A commoner who wields a sword. I know you go way back with him from the slums."

He loathed Mikhail.

"Why... keep it secret?"

Enough to want him dead.