After a round of polite farewells, they returned to their wagon, citing more commissions awaiting them at the workshop.
We stood at the entrance watching them leave.
Watching the old man laboriously climb onto the wagon, I suddenly recalled Rafaella calling him Hugo earlier. Was he Lissy's husband? Or just someone with a similar name?
I squinted, studying his weathered profile.
Isn't he too old for her?
My gaze drifted from him to the turtle still resting in the courtyard, then inevitably settled on my Lian as she confidently approached the massive beast.
With fluid grace, she stepped onto the creature's shell, navigating the contours of its rigid shell as if she'd done so countless times before.
A slender frame and a graceful posture. A woman carved from moonlight and frost.
A sly smirk crept across my face as I watched her bend slightly while climbing the turtle.
I'd have to be careful not to shatter something so delicate in the future. The mere thought of those silver eyes writhing in pleasure under me sent a shiver through me.
Suddenly remembering Rafaella was still right beside me, I jerked my head toward her, that shitty smirk unfortunately still tugging at my lips.
She was already shaking her head, face buried in her palm.
Without a word, she spun on her heel and walked toward the kitchen.
Getting caught red-handed, I winced internally.
With a deep sigh, I followed her, determined to make amends with my gentle fairy.
When I stepped into the kitchen, the scent of spice and herbs tickled my nose. Rafaella was already at the counter, sleeves rolled up precisely to her elbows. She unwrapped the parcel from earlier, revealing a slab of rich fish meat that immediately filled the kitchen with an enticing aroma.
Eclipse materialized nearby as if conjured from thin air, perching on a stool with laser focus, her copper-black eyes never leaving the fish.
I hovered near the doorway, clearing my throat lightly. "Is that the salmon you mentioned, Big Sis?"
Silence.
Rafaella selected a knife from the rack and began slicing the meat into thin, neat strips with mechanical precision. Each motion was clean, practiced... and just a little too forceful.
"Hey, don't give me the cold shoulder," I said, edging closer. "I was just helping out Miss Lian. Performing my clinic duties at my absolute best, like you told me to." I leaned against the counter, arranging my features into what I hoped was my most innocent expression.
"It is Mrs. Lian to you," Rafaella finally spoke, emphasizing the title as the knife connected with the board in a particularly decisive chop. "She is a married woman and the daughter-in-law of Mrs. Tsubaki." She paused, fixing me with a piercing stare. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes." I nodded with exaggerated solemnity. "My big sis is jealous."
Smack!
Her left hand descended like a divine judgment on my shoulders.
"Ouch!" I hissed, genuinely surprised by the sting.
"Are you going to flirt with every woman you see?" The knife resumed its rhythm against the cutting board, slightly faster now.
"Don't be ridiculous," I said, rubbing my shoulder with a wince. "Not every woman. Just the good-looking ones." I paused, meeting her eyes. "Like you."
Rafaella scoffed, turning back to her cooking, but I caught a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Come on," I pressed, "all I did was help a woman in need. Is being a good person a crime these days?"
"That was not all you did." She grabbed a small bowl of spices, sprinkling them over the fish with expert flicks of her wrist.
"Oh, what else did I do?"
"You were leering at a married woman. Right in front of me."
"Oh my goodness, you completely misunderstood!" I leaned in, lowering my voice as if telling a secret. "I was comparing her to Alvin. Don't you see how similar they are?" I pulled an exaggerated deadpan expression, eyes vacant, mouth flat. "The same cold fish face. The similarity is uncanny."
My impression must be good enough that I saw the corners of her mouth twitch as she fought back a smile.
"And besides," I added smoothly, "why would I look at anyone else when I've got such a gorgeous fairy at home?" I leaned closer, just enough to catch her lavender scent before softening my voice. "So my big sis doesn't need to be jealous, okay?"
"I'm not... jealous." Her tone was firm, but my antics flushed her cheeks. "Just... reminding you not to give me secondhand embarrassment."
"I see~," I drew out the words playfully. "My big sis is not jealous at all."
That did it. She spun around, brandishing the knife with playful menace, her eyes sparkling with irritation and amusement.
"Go to your room. Don't come down until I call you."
"Fine, fine," I mumbled, raising my hands in mock surrender, backing away with exaggerated caution.
Stepping out of the kitchen, I debated whether to lock myself in my room, but the failure in the spiritual plane still lingered like a dull sting that refused to fade. Without any progress in the bloodline, I wasn't in the mood to wrestle with a frustrating meditation session or experiment with making false cores that haven't seen an iota of success yet.
Just then, Ivan came bolting down the hallway like a fired-off cannonball.
I caught him mid-sprint, lifting him into the air with one arm and spinning him in a wide circle. He squirmed at first, kicking his legs, but soon threw his head back, laughing like a lunatic and stretching both arms out like wings.
"Where did you vanish off to earlier?" I asked, grinning.
"We were playing with Dory," came the soft reply from behind.
Irene had trailed after him, eyes fixed on her brother in my arms.
Her gaze said it all.
Without needing to be asked, I scooped her up with my other arm and twirled us all together like some unhinged merry-go-round. Both of them burst into giggles, gripping tightly onto my shoulders.
"Put me down," Ivan eventually huffed. "I want to go play with Eclipse!"
I paused.
The last thing Rafaella needed was the little terrors and the furball waiting for a chance to snatch the fish, ganging up to disturb her in the kitchen. I was already guilty of being enough of an annoyance and wasn't keen on them being added to her problems.
"Eclipse isn't in the kitchen," I blurted. "She's, uh… catching mice. Let's leave her alone and play in the hall."
I turned on my heel and carried them both toward the hall.
"Then let's go help her!" Irene suggested.
While Ivan seemed convinced, Irene didn't seem on board yet.
"Eclipse needs to learn how to hunt alone," I reasoned solemnly. "If she doesn't develop those instincts, she won't be able to become a magical beast in the future."
There was some truth in my words.
They exchanged a glance, then nodded reluctantly.
I herded them into the hall and kept them busy with ridiculous stories from Agroville, adding plenty of dramatic flair. I did everything I could think of to keep their attention off Rafaella and the kitchen.
Apparently, it worked.
And because none could disturb her, Rafaella could go all out.
When she finally emerged holding a steaming platter of seared spiced salmon glazed with honey-garlic butter, resting on a bed of herb-roasted tubers, we were already drooling.
None of us spoke as we ate except to squeal in delight with each bite.
Even Ivan, who normally wolfed down his meals, slowed down just to savor it longer.
I wasn't ashamed to confess my appreciation at least four times between bites. When the last crumbs were gone, I retreated quietly to my room with a full stomach and satisfied heart, and somehow even more in love with my gentle fairy.
I spread the futon across the newly delivered bed and sat cross-legged on top, the Black Book steady in my hands. With the Baron of Corruption technique stalled until further bloodline advancement, and spiritual plane exploration on hold, my attention shifted elsewhere.
The mysterious spell form.
The one inked onto the page beside the Echo Lupine.
I had a few hunches about its purpose, though I doubted whether it could truly be helpful to me. Still, curiosity won out.
I carefully copied the intricate patterns into my notebook, and after a moment's consideration, added the rune script I'd seen etched into that tree earlier today.
Once the Black Book was safely tucked away in the closet, I turned back to my copied notes.
Eyes closed, I committed the pattern to memory. Then, I began channeling mana on instinct more than expectation, bracing for the usual fizzled-out rejection. After all, with the peculiarity of my vessel only spells under the sphere of life and transmutation magic should be viable to me, and this spell clearly belonged to neither.
And yet… something stirred.
My fingertips tingled.
Before my disbelieving eyes, a faint outline of the spell construct formed above my palm, shimmering faintly with red light before flickering and fracturing apart like glass struck by a hammer.
I blinked at the empty air. For a second, I wasn't sure if I had imagined it.
It felt disturbingly similar to how much I could handle corrupted spirit mana. But that couldn't be. That affinity stemmed only from my incubus bloodline, so what was enabling this?
Was there something else lurking inside me? Is some unknown piece of that helping me with this spell form?
I didn't waste time. For the next half hour, I chased the initial spark of success, pouring more mana and focus into the spell form.
With each attempt, the spell came together just a little more before falling apart again. Sometimes it reached the halfway point, or even less. But each attempt inevitably failed, with success high out of reach.
My circuits flared, my head throbbed, and heat built in my entire body with every effort. A dull ache settled across my ribs, stretching up into my neck, then clamping tight behind my eyes.
It wasn't that I couldn't complete the spell. Instead, it felt like climbing a hill that grew steeper with each step, or swimming against a current that grew stronger the harder I kicked.
There was resistance.
Something about me was clashing with the spell.
I made one last attempt before a sharp lance of pain shot through my temples, and I collapsed backward onto the bed, gasping as if I'd just sprinted across the estate.
I lay there in silence, chest heaving, my entire body humming with overstrained circuits. But my mind refused to stop and calm down.
Something inside me had responded to that spell while something else clashed against it.
The question now was, what were they?
I stared at the ceiling, letting my mind and body slowly unwind. The dull throb in my skull was the only lingering trace of what I'd done earlier. Just then, I caught the soft jingle of anklets, signaling Rafaella's arrival before she even appeared in the doorway.
I tried to sit up, but her hand found my shoulder, easing me back down.
"Lie down. You'll still feel the strain," she murmured, voice laced with mock scorn. "Must've thrown your back out trying to impress her."
"Hey, all I did was help a woman in need," I said defensively while my eyes couldn't help but trace the outline of her figure as she perched herself on the edge of the bed, the futon dipping slightly beneath her weight.
"That's literally what I just said," she replied with an irritated tone, parroting my voice from the morning with a little roll of her eyes. Her lips quirked up in satisfaction, clearly pleased that she was getting under my skin.
I should've been annoyed that she was poking at me. But I wasn't. Not when she was sitting right within the reach of my fingertip, her damp hair still curling from a recent bath, trailing over her shoulders like vines of silk.
The long, plain blue dress hugged her figure, its modesty only amplifying the allure of the girdle cinched at her waist, accentuating the curve of her hips.
Keeping my gaze on her face became impossible.
The intoxicating scent of lavender clung to her skin, curling through my lungs like a slow, intoxicating drug. I felt a deep, irrational envy toward the bar of soap that had the freedom to glide over every inch of her body.
Lying beneath her gaze, I realized my thoughts were spiraling into increasingly obscene territory, an obvious reflection of which was already bulging in my pants. So I turned onto my side, almost face down, trying to be as stealthy as possible.
"What is my Nero always spacing out about?" she asked gently.
"Ugh… that guy Hugo—did you notice how he called me 'big brother'? Super weird!" The words tumbled out hastily, a desperate attempt to hide my body's embarrassingly honest reaction before it could earn her scorn.
"Oh, don't take it to heart," she said, leaning in. "He grew up in the workshop with coworkers twice his age. Coupled with Mr. and Mrs. Timber, who used to breathe down his neck like hawks, being overly polite to everyone became second nature to him. Even to those younger than him." She lowered her voice as if sharing a great secret. "Do you know he used to call me big sister before I insisted he call me priestess?" She giggled like a child who shared a great secret.
The stray strands of her damp hair gently brushed over my face as her shoulders shook, making me ticklish all over.
"Well, that's okay. You do look the part." I said it in a matter-of-fact tone just to rile her up.
"You've been asking for it since morning," she threatened, rolling up her sleeves dramatically. "Do you want me to beat you up?"
I shook my head exaggeratedly, lifting my hands in surrender with a sheepish grin.
"Humph," she huffed. "You're the one who looks like his older brother with that scruffy beard." She gave my chin a playful tap.
I grinned. "Hey, watch your mouth. I'm just a child who barely passed his coming-of-age ceremony."
"Bah! Who would call you a child?" She wrinkled her nose in playful disdain.
"There's no cure for jealousy. But since the words come from a sad old hag, I'll overlook it."
Her face twisted. "Old hag!? Who are you calling an old hag?" She grasped a long strand of my raven hair and tugged sharply. "I'll be only twenty-five after the harvest festival."
"Which harvest festival? The one over twenty years ago?" I taunted, laughing at her.
"Why are you always driving me mad?" she said, eyes gleaming as her hands buried in my hair, tugging it left and right playfully.
Each pull brought my head dangerously close to her soft thighs. I didn't complain. If anything, I savored the heat radiating from them. When her hands left my head, she failed to notice how close my head remained to her legs. The heat of her skin burned through the fabric of her dress, and I drew closer to them like a moth to a flame.
"Now, don't run away anymore, okay?" Her voice carried a teasing lilt. But underneath it, I could sense a genuine concern.
"Is that why you bought me a new bed?" I asked quietly, guilt creeping into my voice.
I'd only complained to rile up Lissy at the pond. I never expected it to reach Rafaella's ears or for her to spend so much on something for someone as temporary as me.
"Of course," she said without hesitation. "Do you know how awkward it was convincing them to fit our order in between their hectic work? But it's all good since we got it done faster than they promised."
I frowned, remembering an earlier conversation. "You also spent extra money."
She pouted, eyes flashing with mock anger. "I spent money because I have money," she said, as if my words made her some kind of stranger.
"No… that's not it. It bothers me that you thought I'd only stay if I had all these things. That makes me squirmy."
"Oh really? Haven't I already seen you packing the bag to sneak away in the morning, hmm? Playing the gentleman now, are we?" she said playfully, pinching my cheek.
I felt no real pain from her gentle pinch, but wanting more of her attention, I winced dramatically.
"Oh? Now you're being dishonest. Let me do it for real." Her laughter bubbled up as she pinched my cheek again, this time with genuine force.
The sharp pain made me hiss, my expression contorting into one of genuine discomfort.
"Try to trick me again. You'll get more of those." She reached for my nose, tweaking it as one might scold a misbehaving child.
"Hey, stop playing around. That actually hurts," I protested, catching her wrist firmly and pulling it away from my face. "I'm letting it go only because of gratitude for what you bought."
Despite my complaint, I held onto her hand, unwilling to relinquish the contact.
The warmth radiating from her soft thighs and the playfulness dancing in her eyes melted my heart. Slowly, I brought both my hands and clasped her hand in mine, savoring the softness of her skin.
"Who needs your gratitude?" Her expression tightened, perhaps interpreting my words as treating her kindness as transactional.
She tugged subtly at my grip, attempting to pull her hand away.
But I didn't let go. In fact, I even laced my fingers between hers with deliberate slowness, teasing.
Suddenly, her focus immediately shifted fully onto them. Her gaze dropped to our hands, her brows knitting. The faint smile she wore earlier had vanished entirely.
Slowly, a deep frown crawled across her face.
At the time, I didn't notice how close her hand was to my lips.
"Nero, let go," she said, voice suddenly hard. "It's starting to hurt."
I thought she was still playing. "Well, it's your turn to experience some pain," I smirked, squeezing my hands tighter, still not realizing her shift.
Then, her expression transformed right before my eyes. The same look of disgust I'd seen at the staircase on the day arrived. The warmth between us evaporated instantly, replaced by a frigid tension.
She tugged her hand more urgently now, but the shock had frozen me in place. I struggled to comprehend why her attitude had changed so abruptly after our light hearted exchange moments before. Panic seized me, and I unconsciously clenched her hand tighter.
The situation took a turn for the worse than I could have anticipated.
She quickly noticed the proximity of my head to her thighs and shifted away, creating a distance between us.
I watched, horrified, as pure revulsion contorted her features.
I couldn't believe it. What had happened here to provoke such a reaction? Why was she looking at me as if I were some repulsive creature?
"I don't like how you're behaving," she snapped, her voice quivering with barely contained anger. "Don't do anything creepy and let go of my hand."
My heart dropped.
She leaped from the bed, still struggling to extricate her hand from my grip.
"I warned you! Over and over. Not to act like this with me. Don't you have any shame!?" Her voice cracked like a whip, her face flushed crimson with rage.
Still reeling from the shock, I sat up abruptly. I couldn't comprehend her reaction. We were joking together moments ago, and now this?
"Big sis, what... what are you saying? I thought we were just… joking around." My voice wavered with confusion and hurt.
"Let go! Let go of me, you filthy DOG!" Her teeth clenched as she spat the words, her voice rising hysterically.
I flinched and released her hand instantly, stunned by the venom in her voice.
A breath caught in my throat. Filthy DOG!?
The word sliced through my mind like a hot blade.
I'd never… never thought she would ever say something like that. She, the gentlewoman I'd known for so long, did she really call me that?
I was flabbergasted. Had she lost her mind?
A spark caught in my chest, anger kindling like embers fanned to life.
She shot me a withering glare before turning toward the door. By then, the ember had transformed into a raging wildfire that blinded me.
I leaped from the bed, crossing the distance between us in a heartbeat.
I seized her wrist.
When she tried to turn, startled by my sudden movement, I yanked her forcefully. The unexpected action caused her to lose balance, and she tumbled backward onto the bed.
Without hesitation, I strode to the door, slamming it shut and turning the lock. Rage clouded my judgment, narrowing my focus to her.
Rafaella, who had immediately attempted to rise from the bed, froze at the sound of the door locking. I watched her expression morph from anger to genuine fear within seconds.
Her eyes went wide with panic, darting frantically between my face and the locked door.
"What are you trying to do?" My voice came out cold—harsher than I'd ever heard it. "What was the point of this whole performance? You're not taking a single step outside until you explain yourself."
She regarded me fearfully, visibly calculating her response. I could see she was unnerved by my sudden transformation.
I stared at her relentlessly, waiting for a response.
"I… you…" she stammered, then looked at me accusingly, trembling. "You grabbed my hand. Tried to—tried to kiss me."
"WHAT?!" My voice exploded, echoing in the confined space.
Rafaella flinched, glancing anxiously toward the door, clearly worried about alerting the children.
"I kissed you? When!? What the hell are you talking about? Did you freaking lose it!?" I replied in shock and outrage at her response.
She was accusing me of something I hadn't done. Something I hadn't even thought of. The realization made me boil with rage inside.
"I want to know! Why are you accusing me of something I never even thought of? This door stays locked until you answer me!"
"You were gripping my hand and did it like this..." Trembling, she raised her own hand to her lips, touching the back of her hand to her mouth.
"Oh my god." I covered my face, overwhelmed. She was accusing me of something that existed only in her imagination. I sagged against the wall, without knowing what to say anymore.
I doubted whether she would even believe me if I said anything. I was guilty of giving her enough reasons not to with my earlier behavior.
"Why did you grab my hand? You brought it near your lips." Fear still lingered in her voice, but accusation rang clear.
I met her gaze directly, and she immediately averted her eyes.
"What were you doing before that? Have you forgotten?" The disbelief in my voice was obvious. "I grabbed your hand when I was hurt. And for that... for that, you called me a dog?"
I lunged toward her, seizing her hand once more.
She flinched again as I held it up.
"For doing THIS, you called me a dog? I still can't..." My words failed me, the sentence trailing into silence.
My heart felt heavy.
If she had reacted this way to any of my genuinely inappropriate thoughts or glances, I would have accepted it without protest. But to be condemned so harshly for innocently trying to get close to her stung harshly.
I released her hand slowly. For a brief moment, I searched her face.
A shadow of guilt flickered across her features.
I yanked the door open, then leaned against the wall, head hanging low in defeat.
"The way you look at me... It's not right. I've noticed it too many times. Your gaze is unacceptable." Her voice had softened considerably, but the accusation remained.
I stayed silent without a word in response.
She paused, perhaps waiting for a defense that wouldn't come. Then she rose slowly from the bed.
"W-when you suddenly brought... seeing my hand close like that… I got mad." Her words faltered, disjointed. "And after what happened today, yesterday... that word just came out unintentionally. I didn't mean it." Beneath her fragmented explanation, I sensed genuine remorse.
"You're right," I said finally, my voice low and flat. "I've looked at you. Just like I've looked at anything here that made my heart race — the birds, the flowers, the greenery. Anything beautiful that pleased me. And yeah, sometimes… that included you."
I met her gaze unflinchingly. "There's nothing wrong with that. Not in my eyes. I'm a man, not the boy who used to cling to your skirt. I look at what makes me happy. What I love to look at."
I straightened, finding strength in honesty. "And you could have reacted then. You could've cursed, slapped, yelled, or whatever you wanted. I would have accepted it all without complaint. Why? Because you have every right to. But this? This entire charade, that word you used? You have absolutely no right. I didn't do what you've accused me of, nor did I try to. And I'm not saying any of this to convince you. Neither do I need you to."
As the words left me, a weight lifted from my shoulders. At that moment, I felt no shame in admitting how I'd looked at her.
Remorse clouded her features. Perhaps she realized she'd gone too far. But I couldn't accept it. Her regret after inflicting such pain was a bitter pill to swallow.
"Nero... I..." She slowly reached for my hands, her touch apologetic.
I stepped away and shook her hands off.
She must have never expected it, as the startled gasp revealed her surprise.
Silently, I pointed toward the open door.
"Nero... sorry... I didn't..."
Seeing her still grasping for words, I realised she wouldn't leave. I wasn't in the mood to hear her apology.
Without waiting for her to continue, I pushed past her and strode through the doorway.
"Nero! Listen."
Ignoring her plea, I stomped down the stairs.
#####
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