Revelation, or Promise
Of course, Father did not fall for Petia's shallow schemes or Damien's little tricks.
But whether from exhaustion or because the scale of what we had all done left him speechless, the scolding he gave us was not particularly severe.
A sentence my friend once said back in District 88 when I was in high school suddenly came to mind.
To cause trouble, you had to do it on a scale your parents could never imagine; otherwise you ate less of the scolding.
When we were together, I felt fine.
But the moment I was left alone in the room the Demian temple had given me, the unspeakable feelings mixed with fatigue pressed down on me.
I lacked even the strength to sit, so I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling.
I had always believed I was smart.
I had not gone so far as to say I was a genius like David or Damien, but I thought I was quite capable of keeping up.
I believed I could control most things and confidently predicted many variables.
What had happened as a result?
I, someone capable of rivaling the Tower Lords, had answered the saintess's call and never imagined that I would actually burn down the temple.
My poor little predictions had driven everyone into danger.
That evening, while eating dinner, David told me that without Demian we would have died without moving a muscle.
Isabel Confino's flames were the eternal burning flames of magic, impossible to extinguish with anything.
Thanks to Demian who had placed a barrier around us, we had survived.
If not, the mere thought of going near those flames would have made my spine go cold.
When Demian stood on the roof drawing Isabel Confino's gaze, I had felt powerless and utterly desperate.
Please, god, save me.
What kind of dark feeling was that?
I had wanted to avenge what Demian suffered, yet it felt unbearably wrong and infuriating to use him as a shield and flee.
This was already the how-many-th time?
Looking back, every time the opponent came at me with violence, I had stood there in a daze, unable to predict anything.
Each time, I thought of how Demian had saved me and felt even more self-loathing.
I should have thought more.
I should have thought more broadly and considered every single variable!
I wanted to strangle my own neck.
Being scolded with such feelings left me genuinely breathless, so I had to get up from my seat.
I should probably take in some fresh air.
Fresh air was the only thing left in the Grand Hall, so I took a good deep breath and cleared my head.
"You've been here for quite a while now."
A slow voice came after only a few minutes of walking, and when I turned my head, there was Demian.
He seemed tired from the day as well; his usually sparkling face looked somewhat worn today.
"Coming out like this is not something to be scolded about, is it?"
Demian chided me while removing his outer garment and slipping it over my shoulders.
The hem dragged on the ground.
The robe he had worn in Serpina was warmer and lighter than any of the ones he had owned before.
I had been about to say I didn't catch colds and then closed my mouth.
Instead, I hurriedly gathered the sleeves of his robe in my hands and held them firmly so they wouldn't drag.
"Was I scolded a lot?"
The face worrying that I had been scolded by Father too much was simply flushed.
Looking at that pale face made tears well up in my eyes on their own.
I shouldn't cry.
What right did I have to make a fuss?
I quickly turned my head away from Demian and blinked rapidly.
I tried to wipe the tears away fast, swallow the choked sobs all the way to the back of my throat, fix my expression, and then look at Demian.
But he had forced his waist and head low to look at my face and suddenly jolted.
"You were crying?"
I had thought I could hold it in.
"Arian, wait... Why are you crying? Was I scolded too much? Should I go apologize for you? Hm?"
If he had just cursed at me I could have held back the tears and apologized properly.
But worrying while apologizing together made the tears spill out.
I had tried not to cry, so my face twisted horribly.
I hated showing that ugly face, so I lowered my head.
Demian looked troubled and finally pulled me into his arms.
"Why? What did I say? I'll go apologize for you. I'll definitely say it's all my fault."
Don't say that.
None of it was your fault.
For Damien, who had almost died because of me, saying he would definitely take the blame had made my tears fall even more.
I had to say sorry, but my nose was blocked by snot, and sobs kept coming, so my throat felt tight, my mouth was messy with tears and spit, and the words wouldn't come out.
"Sorry."
Demian was saying the words I should have said.
He held me tight and stroked my back while saying,
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Arian."
He apologized for absolutely nothing.
That kindness was too grateful, and it was too painful to have put this kind, gentle boy in danger because of my pride, so I started to let out loud sobs.
I had to say sorry, but the words wouldn't come.
So I pushed him away a little.
Demian stumbled back on reflex, but he did not let go of me.
When I looked up at his face, he opened his mouth again to say sorry.
So I cupped both his cheeks with my hands and pressed my lips to his, lips full of embarrassment.
His lips were a little cold.
They were smooth as well.
This was the very first kiss in my entire life, including my time in Korea.
The feeling of lips was strangely soft and fragile.
I felt Demian's body stiffen.
I pulled back from his lips and asked,
"Do you hate it?"
Tears were streaming down my eyes again.
They were not falling because I was afraid he would hate them.
I already knew well that Demian liked me.
These tears had been building up since earlier and had simply fallen.
But Demian was startled by my tears and shook his head wildly.
"No, I don't hate it."
"You don't hate it at all?"
"I like it."
I closed my eyes at his words.
When I did, more tears fell.
When I pressed my lips to Demian's, the tears fell onto his lips.
A salty taste lingered, but neither of us pulled away.
We were young and didn't know exactly how to kiss, so we just pressed our lips together tightly.
At first I had been standing on my tiptoes to kiss Demian, but Demian kept lowering his body, so before I knew it I was kissing him comfortably, and he was leaning in with a somewhat strange posture.
I pulled back and asked,
"Is your waist hurting?"
"It doesn't hurt."
The tears stopped a little.
Suddenly, I thought this was my first kiss and my face probably looked terribly ugly.
But it was a kiss, so maybe it was fine.
Ah, I don't know.
I was in a state of both body and mind weakness right now.
"Why don't you do it?"
I asked.
Demian asked if he could do it too, then ignored the answer and pressed his lips tightly to mine.
It seemed he didn't know how to kiss either, so he was just pressing his lips together.
Then he gave a loud smack.
And again, smack.
And again, smack, smack, smack.
He kept kissing me with loud smacks.
"I like you."
Demian whispered.
It was not a confession, but rather an outburst.
With his heart overflowing, the words had just slipped out.
"I really like you, Arian."
At those words I opened my eyes and looked up at Demian.
I wonder if I will meet another handsome boy like him.
I wonder if I will meet another wealthy, capable boy like him.
I wonder if I will meet another boy with a bright future like him.
I wonder if I will meet a boy who likes me this much.
Maybe.
It might be possible.
Will I meet another boy who likes me this much?
I don't know.
My reason says it might be possible, but my heart declares it impossible.
"When you turn eighteen, inherit the Marquisate of Hamilcar and propose to me. Can you do that?"
The words were those of a woman soaked in ambition and greed.
Even to Demian, who did not know I had to become the wife of the Marquis of Hamilcar, the words were quite unpleasant.
Yet he nodded.
He pressed his lips to my face and said many times,
"I will. Somehow before I turn eighteen I'll become the marquis and come to meet you. So don't marry until then. Got it? I will definitely do it."
I kept nodding my head as well.
The wind was strong, but it was not cold.
In Demian's arms, the wind did not reach me.
It was not about becoming the wife of the Marquis of Hamilcar.
It was simply about marrying the person I loved.
Thinking that way, the future of becoming the wife of the Marquis of Hamilcar felt like a radiant promise rather than a revelation.
The stars in the night sky beyond his shoulders sparkled unusually brightly.
The stars I had never seen even once in Korea.
Under the sea of stars about to fall, I kissed Demian once more.
And the next day, we parted.
David and I went with Father to the estate, and six years passed like that.