Chapter 66
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 66
Chapter Title: Misha Raltos
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Misha Raltos
At first, I didn't suspect a thing.
I already knew the Raltos family was the biggest backer of the Ashen Hand.
So it was only natural that there would be some hidden face lurking somewhere in the mansion, one that didn't show itself during the day.
A noble mansion of benevolent repute by day.
A gathering place for the empire's shadows by night.
It was a cliché, if anything.
The setup where I, Lucas Argent in the morning, would be summoned by evening as an Ashen Hand operative to some secret hideout tucked away in the mansion for a formal briefing or whatever.
Honestly, I was prepared for something like that.
So I followed the servant outside without a word.
But.
The place we arrived at wasn't any secret passage I'd imagined.
"This way, please."
The servant spoke calmly and stopped in front of a door.
"Someone inside wishes to see you, Master Lucas."
I gave the door a once-over.
...This isn't an ordinary room.
Growing up in the Argent family had honed my senses for such things.
In a noble mansion, doors spoke volumes about a room's status.
Servants' quarters had thin, simple doors.
Studies were a bit sturdier.
Rooms for the family head or direct kin were on another level entirely.
The density of ornamentation.
The quality of the wood.
The heft of the metal in the handle.
The door before me was clearly in that category.
'Not an Ashen Hand hideout, then.'
I murmured quietly, eyes still fixed on the door.
"This... isn't an ordinary room, is it."
This wasn't a summons from a secret organization. It was the Raltos family treating Lucas Argent as a 'guest.'
Creeeak.
As the door opened, the first thing that caught my eye was an unexpectedly familiar face.
"Ah! There you are, Lucas Argent."
She waved cheerfully. None other than Evelyn.
"Your Highness...?"
My head tilted in confusion for a moment.
The vibe was way off.
The usual Evelyn was a schemer who always kept a step back, playing the adult with a cool composure beyond her years.
But right now, even her expression was different.
Her eyes sparkled, and the corners of her mouth twitched upward.
Most of all, the clothes she was wearing were the issue.
Cute pajamas that looked like they'd been made for a child—straight-up sleepover attire.
'...No way.'
No matter how young she seemed, she wouldn't have called a guy like me here so casually in this atmosphere.
As I thought that, I let her drag me inside by the arm—and that's when I finally noticed another presence.
She was white.
Blindingly so.
Snow-white hair cascaded down her shoulders.
Between the strands, big, bright black eyes peered out.
Our gazes met, and she shyly lowered her head, averting her eyes.
She looked like a finely crafted doll.
Perfectly balanced, neither excessive nor lacking.
The kind of cuteness that made you unconsciously steady your breathing just looking at her.
Frankly, on looks alone, any guy would let out an involuntary "Oh..."
But.
What held my gaze wasn't the girl's face.
As a doctor, it was something all too familiar.
A wheelchair.
The girl, dressed in pajamas and looking about my age, sat there casually.
"Your Highness, who is this...?"
Before Misha could answer my question, Evelyn jumped in.
"The only daughter of Family Head Alain and my second-closest friend. Misha Raltos."
At those words, Misha shrank her shoulders slightly and bowed her head.
"H-Hello..."
Her voice was soft, the ending almost dissolving into a breath.
Evelyn shrugged at the sight, as if to say, 'See? Isn't my little one adorable?'
Misha Raltos.
The last direct bloodline remaining in the Raltos family.
From the moment she was born, her position as the next family head had been set in stone.
A life utterly unlike the endless sibling rivalries in the Argent family.
Yet she seemed far too quiet and fragile for someone in that position—almost unbelievable on the surface.
I naturally bent at the waist in greeting.
"Pleased to meet you, Misha. I'm Lucas Argent of the Argent family."
At that moment, Misha's gaze flicked up to my face before dropping straight to the floor.
"Y-Yes! Please take care of me..."
Her hands were clenched tightly on her lap, and her fingertips gripping the wheelchair handles trembled ever so slightly.
That's when it clicked.
It wasn't because I was an Argent—it was because I was a 'man.'
"Misha's hardly ever been this close to a man before."
Evelyn added casually.
"Her father, Family Head Alain, dotes on her so fiercely."
Daughter complex.
The term fit perfectly.
The sole heir.
A child who looked frail and was always in a wheelchair.
Overprotectiveness came naturally in that case.
I shifted my gaze back to Misha.
And that's when I realized she wasn't just some 'timid noble lady.'
Being here at all meant she already knew about the Ashen Hand.
'Evelyn wouldn't pick a 'friend' for no reason.'
So the reason she'd brought me here was obvious.
It had to do with this girl, Misha Raltos.
My guess hit the mark immediately.
"Lucas Argent."
Evelyn glanced at Misha as she spoke.
"Misha here handles the actual operations for our Ashen Hand."
My mind blanked for a second.
A princess who'd built a secret organization at age six.
And now a ten-year-old girl practically running it single-handedly.
Fantasy or not, this went beyond mere talent.
But then again, this was a world where elves dropped 3,500 DPS, beastkin kids used dragon-neck-slayers as shields, and black knights got smacked around.
At this point, it was easier to just chalk it up to the genre.
I swallowed a sigh and nodded.
"And?"
I asked calmly.
"What's the purpose of summoning me here, Princess Evelyn? You wouldn't bring your 'friend' Misha in front of me without reason."
"Hehe."
Evelyn's lips curved up.
"True enough. You're a bit... too stimulating a guy to show her casually."
...Was that a compliment?
Well, my Korean sensibilities were already toughened up, so whatever.
The important part was coming up.
"Lucas Argent."
Her voice lowered a notch this time.
"Misha here."
A brief pause.
"Hasn't been able to walk since birth. So she's always—"
Evelyn gestured naturally at the wheelchair.
"Lived like this."
Congenital paraplegia.
I'd thought it was just inconvenient at first, but hearing that made it clear.
This wasn't temporary—it was a body that had lived this way her entire life.
That's when I started noticing.
The traces I'd overlooked until now, but no doctor could miss.
First, the lower body.
Her calves and thighs were excessively thin compared to her age.
Not just skinny—the distinct lines of muscles that had barely ever been used.
Legs that had never borne her weight due to innate inability to walk.
No amount of massage could fully compensate; it only aided circulation temporarily.
Muscles didn't grow without walking.
Looking at her upper body made the reason even clearer.
Constant sitting had subtly tilted her pelvis, leaving a habit of unconsciously leaning to one side.
Hidden by her white hair, her complexion wasn't great either.
Especially her legs—blood flow felt faint.
A body with poor lower-body circulation from prolonged sitting.
In contrast, her fingers, twitching lightly even now, bore clear calluses.
Traces of supporting her body with her arms, moving with her arms, enduring life with her arms.
This was a body that had lived from the top, not the bottom.
And in that instant, the reason I'd been called here became crystal clear.
I spoke quietly.
"Lately, your legs must feel especially cold, right?"
Misha's eyes wavered slightly.
"You get dizzy sometimes, wake up at night from hip or back pain, eat little but always feel bloated... and struggle with constipation."
Her pale face visibly flushed.
A mix of embarrassment and surprise.
That was enough.
It was spot on.
But then.
"Ahem, Lucas Argent."
Evelyn cleared her throat and shot me a look.
She was smiling, but a subtle shadow lingered in her eyes.
"Even so, talking about hips and constipation in front of a lady you just met... there's a thing called tact, you know?"
I paused briefly at that.
Sure, in a normal situation, it might come off as rude.
But I shrugged.
"It was all correct, wasn't it?"
"...!"
"And right now, I'm not here as a 'man'—I'm here as a 'doctor.'"
I looked straight at Misha as I added,
"Beating around the bush about a patient's condition isn't kindness—it's negligence."
A moment of silence.
Evelyn bit her lip, then reluctantly nodded.
"...You're right about that."
That's when it happened.
"I-It's okay! Evelyn."
Misha spoke up hesitantly.
"Misha...?"
Seated in her wheelchair, she had placed her hands neatly on her lap.
Her small, fragile frame looked strangely resolute in that moment.
"If anything, I'm the one who asked for help..."
Misha lifted her head.
For the first time, looking me straight in the eye.
"You're the one treating Father, so getting upset over that... would be more rude of me."
Her voice blended shyness with determination.
"And... you're right, Master Lucas."
She took a breath and confessed carefully.
"My legs are always cold, I wake up often at night from hip and back pain... and even though I don't eat much, I always feel bloated."
Her head dipped briefly, then rose again.
"So."
Misha squeezed out the words like mustering tiny courage.
"Before Father's surgery... even if just for a moment, I wanted to see you for a checkup. If I've taken your time... I'm truly sorry."
I shook my head immediately.
"Lift your head, Miss Misha. Seeking a doctor when you're in pain is nothing to apologize for."
After choosing my words, I added,
"If anything, I'm grateful you were honest with me."
"Ah..."
Misha's eyes widened a bit.
In that instant, everyone present must have felt it.
This wasn't just an add-on consultation—it was the first time this girl's life was properly laid before a 'doctor.'
"And in your case, unlike Family Head Alain, it's relatively simple to treat. No need to worry too much."
"R-Really?!"
"Yes. Just lie face-down comfortably, and I'll personally massage and loosen the muscles around your hips."
"Huh?"
"...Eh?"