Max heaved a deep breath, and his steps edged closer to the door. Hesitant at first, he ultimately encouraged himself, gripped the doorknob with his right hand, and pulled it wide open.
Creak—
The door parted with a soft click, revealing an elderly woman on the other side. Her deep, black eyes shimmered with concern and wisdom; sharp, commanding, yet filled with care.
Her angular face bore the marks of age, but not of weakness.
Nearly in her sixties, the woman held a regal aura of control. Donned in a black-and-white dress, professionally tailored for butlers or stewards in high nobility and some rich households.
Not like Max had ever observed one closely, he identified the dress code purely from movies and dramas.
Her hair was knitted into a tight bun, not leaving even a single strand of those dull black locks, interwoven with white, giving them a silvery edge.
Her beauty, marked with the slightest makeup possible, still gave Max the impression that she must've been a beauty in her younger days.
The woman held Max in her gaze for a moment. Her sharp eyes softened, and a graceful smile sparked across her lips.
Watching him head to toe, her eyes lingered for a while longer on his tear marked cheeks.
"Max, you've holed yourself up in your room for days. Please let it go now," she pleaded, her lips trembling, a few tears even threatening to spill over her cheeks.
Her gentle words stirred warmth in his chest. His throat tightened as another memory churn his stomach, and with effort, he managed a nod.
"You're right. I should get over it now," he whispered, his tone heavy and melancholy. His words, filled with pain, struck her.
Swoosh—
"Oh, my boy!" The woman zoomed into his personal space, her limbs curling around him as she brought him into her embrace.
Stunned, Max stood in place, his fingers twitching, trying to rise and embrace her back, but something held him.
His breathing quickened and became uneven.
Some reluctance, perhaps due to his memories, his body steeled itself, refusing to loosen.
He suddenly felt her arms tighten their hold over his shoulders. Their heartbeats were in sync, and next he found his shoulder soaked wet as soft sobbing stifled from the woman.
That was all it took. His gaze blurred and moist, his shoulders slumped as an intense surge of emotions broke his mental dam. Clear water finally spilt down his cheeks; his arms flew up and held the lady.
Both remained frozen in place.
Now, Max understood why everything felt so complicated; this woman held a special place in his heart. The warmth, the care she evoked, he hadn't ever felt in his past life.
The distinction between him and this body closed abruptly. The fragmented memories, previously disjointed, merged smoothly. His soul and body were in complete sync more than ever, both melted into one another.
"Sorry, Grandma Martha... I worried about you a lot, right?" His words gagged as he tried to speak.
"Hush!"
Martha rubbed his back and nudged him to be silent. She swallowed her emotions, bracing herself. "No, my boy, I should've been braver. I thought it's not my place to comfort you after..."
She couldn't continue; her sobbing intensified. Max held her closely with familiar intimacy. His heart ached at the sight of the once brave and strong woman breaking apart.
He finally realised it wasn't just him. She had also lost everything.
"What're you thinking, Grandma? You're part of the family and you have every right," he willed, boosting his courage and unveiling the feelings.
Even though he wasn't the original Max, in that moment, he accepted the emotions this body had for Martha. And now...they were his too.
Martha pulled back softly, her gaze taking Max intently, as if a mother admiring her child. She nodded, a beautiful smile on her lips.
"Yes." She reached out and wiped his tears intimately, flowing down with emotions. "It's enough—we've grieved a lot. Look how weak you've become. Break your stubbornness and eat something."
Max acquiesced with his eyes, his fingers gently cleaning her tears. "Okay, I'll be there shortly."
Martha smiled gently, stepping back, but she warned him playfully, "Don't be late. I'll ask Carla to make something light."
"Yes, yes," Max chuckled, waving his arms up in surrender. Both giggled softly at the banter, and gradually, Martha gave him one last glance before quietly leaving the room, the door shutting softly behind her.
Max watched her until the last second, and when the door closed with a soft thud, suddenly, he felt weak; his legs gave out.
Thud—
Slumped on the polished wooden floor, he ran his hand through his hair and muttered weakly, "I just displayed such emotions... to someone I never even met."
He watched his hand trembling.
"Am I me anymore?" his words meant a lot, before he swallowed them back.
He'd been in this world for more than an hour, but besides a few fragmented memories and exchange of identity, he felt safe—himself, however...
This distinction between his past and present blurred rapidly after meeting Martha.
He concluded, as he met more people related to Max, the previous owner who, for some twisted reason, also had a similar name, that his existence might be painted onto a new canvas and become something entirely new, with so many paints brushing over him.
Jaw clenched, his eyes flared. "No. I'm me and I'll remain me." He wasn't some weak-willed man.
He had his fair share of struggles that shaped who he became. How could his will be smudged by a young man who'd hardly faced society?
Fortunately he also had his trump card for the inevitable.
His lips curled into a grin, his gaze lifting to something only he could see: an icon, faintly flickering like a ghost in the air.
'Right, system?' he chuckled, a dry laugh breaking through the silence.
….
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