The east wing corridor fell silent once again. Only the echo of Silvara's iron boots accompanied Lucas to the front of his room.
"Go in." Her voice was flat.
Lucas said nothing. He turned the knob, stepped inside, and closed the door. Outside, Silvara stood firm by the frame, like a nail holding up the weight of the house.
Behind the door, Lucas sat on the edge of the bed. Silent. His breathing was slow, eyes blankly fixed on the carved patterns of the wardrobe. His brain—so noisy with temptations and questions just hours ago—had suddenly gone blank.
Outside, Silvara crossed her arms over her chest, her back against the cold wall.
For almost a week now, ever since the Baroness and the Baron had given her permission to use force, one decision had hardened in her mind: she would never let "Lucian" cause trouble for the Baron's family or squander wealth like last night.
If necessary, she would drag him. If necessary, she would slap him until he woke up. And if necessary… yes, she would enjoy it a little. Not lewd—more like releasing years of pent-up disgust. At last, her itching hands had legal sanction.
Inside the room, time flowed without sound. Lucas stared at his fingers, then the wall, then the floor. The oil lamp flickered faintly, stretching furniture shadows like roots. Before he knew it… night had descended, draping the Voss estate in a dark blue blanket.
"…How long was I passed out at the bar earlier?" he muttered.
[DING!]
A translucent panel popped up in the air, cheerful like a snack commercial.
[(^▽^)/ Good evening, Host!]
[Progress today: GOOD. Resisting temptation + emotional control + initial farming plan = life direction beginning to straighten out (though still messy).]
[Keep the pattern of compounding little things. I'm proud of you.]
Lucas exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Thanks… at least there's one 'being' that gets me."
The panel quivered, displaying an emoticon of two hands forming a heart.
(♡˙︶˙♡)
Knock. Knock.
Lucas turned. The panel shrank into a dot and vanished. He rose and opened the door.
Liona stood on the threshold, holding a tray. Her face was clean, milk-pale. Her eyes lowered. The fingers clutching the tray's edge trembled—subtle, yet visible to anyone observant. Her chest swelled gently beneath the maid outfit, like morning dew resting on lotus leaves.
"This… is your meal and drink, Young Master," she whispered.
Lucas froze for half a second, this time able to study Liona more closely. Something stirred in his chest—a mix of two currents: the memories of a modern man who never had time for romance, busy chasing money to pay his parents' debts, and the lingering drift of Lucian's brain, instinctively drawn toward the opposite sex.
Silvara remained where she was, tilting her head slightly. Her voice sliced the air.
"Don't try anything."
Lucas flinched lightly. Reflexively, he lifted his chin and put on a sullen face. "Hmph."
He snatched the tray, a bit rough—enough to convince any watcher that the "old Lucian" still exist. The door shut again.
Click.
The tray landed on the small table. Warm soup released a thin wisp of steam. Hard bread, a slice of cheese, and a jug of water. Lucas pulled up a chair, sat, adjusted the bowl—then noticed his hand trembling, unsure if from hunger or… some buried emotion.
[DING!]
The panel reappeared at the side, like a nosy neighbor peeking through a window.
(ฅ^ω^ฅ) [Wow… the lone wolf returns to his den. And… he's beginning to sense something he wants to—]
[—prey upon. Rawwrrr… (^O^]
Lucas glared. "Shut. Up."
The panel displayed an emoticon with stitched lips
(×_×)🤐
Lucas inhaled, bringing the first spoonful to his mouth. The soup was salty. The hard bread softened it a little. He ate slowly, his jaw working steadily—more to calm his mind than to fill his stomach.
[DING!]
[Tomorrow, set light goals: check soil, dig holse. Small combos > zero.]
Lucas hissed softly, though the corner of his lips curved upward. "Fine. Small combos tomorrow."
Outside, Silvara still stood guard. Her silver eyes stared straight into the dark corridor. As the sound of steady spoonfuls drifted from inside, her expression softened a fraction. Then hardened again.
"Don't even think about it, Lucian," she whispered to the wall. "As long as I'm standing here, you won't fall into the same pit again."
Inside, Lucas drained his water, pushing the empty plate slightly away. The panel glowed once more, gentle.
[Good job for today. Log out, rest, wake tomorrow. We'll repeat again—small but consistent.]
Lucas nodded. "Okay."
The oil lamp was dimmed. In the half-dark, he looked at the door. A shadow of unmoving iron boots lingered outside. A guard. A whip. A brake.
"…Thanks for watching the door," he murmured—not sure if the words were meant for Silvara, for the panel, or for himself.
No answer came. Only the calm of cold air. And for the first time since that "FLAAASHHH—KRAAACK and Slap!" his chest felt just a little lighter.