In truth, the two of us were never really there for him. We were present in body, but our hearts were always chasing the shadow of the one who had already left him behind.
Every corner of the house still echoed with her absence, and without realizing it, we compared Alphonse to a memory he could never become.
One should remember their past memories, but never be consumed by the shadows of the past.
I understood that only much later.
Perhaps Father understood it earlier than I did. That was why he forbade Alphonse from going to the Isilia Pavilion—a place soaked in memories of her laughter, her warmth, her presence.
But that prohibition was never truly for Alphonse's sake.
It was for Father.
And for me.
The two of us were cowards. We feared that if Alphonse stepped into that place, the fragile balance we maintained would crumble.
We feared seeing him stand where she once stood, feared the ache that would bloom in our chests if he asked questions we had no right to answer.
So we avoided it.
We avoided him.
Then, what about me?
Can I truly say that I was a good older brother to Alphonse?
No way.
Not even close.
I wasn't cruel. I never raised my voice at him, never laid a hand on him, never openly rejected him.
But indifference can be sharper than any blade, and I wielded it without hesitation.
When he looked at me with those quiet, hopeful eyes, I looked away.
When he tried to follow me, I told him I was busy.
When he needed guidance, I convinced myself he would figure it out on his own.
It was already too late by the time I realized what I had done.
Saying that I needed to prepare for the future that lay ahead of me was nothing more than a convenient excuse.
A lie I repeated so often that I almost believed it myself.
'Let's be honest.'
Unlike me—the villain of this story—Alphonse was always destined to be a good person.
He was kind in ways that felt effortless, gentle in ways that felt natural.
He would help strangers without expecting thanks, forgive without being asked, and smile even when the world gave him no reason to.
He would grow into someone who did good deeds, someone who saved others, someone people admired.
And that was precisely why I kept my distance.
Standing beside him made my own flaws impossible to ignore. Compared to his quiet goodness, my selfishness felt loud. My hesitation felt shameful. My future, no matter how carefully I planned it, felt tainted.
So I chose indifference.
I told myself that Alphonse didn't need me.
I told myself that Father would be enough.
I told myself that keeping my distance was an act of kindness.
But deep down, I knew the truth.
I wasn't protecting Alphonse.
I was protecting myself—from guilt, from regret, and from the unbearable realization that I had failed him long before I ever acknowledged it.
If this were a story, Alphonse would be the hero.
And I?
I was nothing more than the shadow that watched him from afar, too afraid to step into the light, and too late to pretend I ever deserved to.
---
I left the Isilia Pavilion with my mother's diary clutched in my hand.
Despite possessing a body that could be called gigantic, I felt no strength in my muscles. The small diary rested against my palm like a bar of iron, its weight pressing down on me far more than its size should have allowed.
"If you realize you've made a mistake, you have to correct it."
Those words echoed in my head, over and over, refusing to fade.
This was the first time in my life that I had a family.
The first time I had been someone's older brother. I didn't know what an ideal older brother was supposed to be, nor how one should act.
Even if I changed now, even if I tried, I doubted I could ever make up for the loss that child had already suffered.
When I set down the burden of my engagement with Elena, another weight immediately took its place in my heart.
This one felt heavier.
That was because it wasn't some unavoidable fate imposed on me—it was something born of my own negligence. My own fault. And because of that, it crushed me far more than the days I spent entangled with Elena ever had.
Lost in thought, I walked without a clear destination. By the time I realized it, I was standing in front of my room.
As I reached for the door, a familiar figure appeared before my eyes, as though he had been waiting for me all along.
Ken.
"Young master," he said, his voice calm and steady. "You seem to be carrying many worries today."
"Oh? Ken. What are you doing here?"
"As your personal butler, of course, I was waiting for you," he replied with a slight bow. Then his sharp gaze swept over my face.
"More importantly, why do you look so gloomy? Like the sky on a rainy day. Oh—if this is about Lady Edelweiss, there's no need for concern. That young lady has already fallen deeply for you."
"It's not like that."
I let out a quiet sigh.
Whenever I was in a bad mood, this old man always assumed it had something to do with Elena. Perhaps that was only natural, given how turbulent things had been between us. Still, for once, he was completely off the mark.
Ken studied me for a moment longer, his expression softening. "I see," he said slowly. "Then it must be something heavier than romance."