* * *
“In that case, this will be quick. As you know, my grudge is with Roilnia personally, not with the Lanilgraph family.”
Clink.
The sound of the teacup being set down landed like a comma in their exchange.
As if on cue, all expression vanished from the man’s face.
The faint smile at his lips and eyes alike became unreadable.
“I don’t believe that someone who treasures the Lanilgraph name so dearly would keep holding on to Roilnia—risking everything the family stands for. Wouldn’t you rather set things right before she causes something bigger?”
“In other words, you’re asking me to tell you exactly where she is and what she’s doing.”
“Exactly. You’re afraid too, aren’t you? Of what she might do next.”
Hoaphilen spoke with absolute certainty, as though the matter were beyond question.
His impeccable posture exuded not just calm but confidence.
Under the dimmed light, only the bettas in the tank danced and cast shifting shadows across Renato’s face.
The stillness between them wasn’t so much suffocating as it was a measured pause—a silence of mutual appraisal.
“So you want me to be the world’s biggest snitch.”
“This is a polite proposal. If you cooperate, I promise there will be no ill effects for the Lanilgraph family. Roilnia is already legally nonexistent, isn’t she? This would have nothing to do with you.”
As though reading from a script he’d prepared in advance, Hoaphilen spoke fluidly.
His explanation was as clean as if he were talking to a child, his enunciation so warm and clear that, if you ignored the content, it was almost enough to nod along to.
But Renato was not a man swayed by eloquence alone.
The bettas’ movements scattered shadows over Renato’s body, and when the last shadow slid off his face, he turned back toward Hoaphilen.
“…Hoaphilen Legius, I am her grandfather. I trust you understand what that means.”
For a moment, Hoaphilen’s eyes narrowed.
The fingers that had been tracing the rim of his cup stilled.
He no longer bothered to hide the effort of reading Renato’s mind.
“I thought Roilnia was someone you’d rather erase and discard.”
“An old man’s heart can change easily. She’s still Lanilgraph, in the end.”
Even if the law had erased her, the fact that Roilnia was his granddaughter by blood bound Renato fast.
Every time he looked at her, he saw the shadow of his daughter’s face—and he could never bring himself to abandon her completely.
Still, there was hesitation in his voice, because even now he wasn’t certain if this was the right choice.
It was a conclusion that had clearly been weighed and re-weighed countless times.
“Such shallow sentiment. If that’s how you felt, you should have done it two years ago—no, from the moment she was born.”
The balance of emotion that had been held evenly now tipped sharply to one side.
With a loud scrape, the teacup was pushed aside, sloshing liquid onto the table.
Like the rippling tea, a surge of blue stormed into Hoaphilen’s eyes.
“Only now you decide you want to protect her? Spare me your pity. I’m offering you a chance to sever this wretched tie, and you’re kicking it away—why?”
For the first time, the calm in Hoaphilen’s voice cracked into open anger.
From what he knew, two years ago Renato had covered up everything Roilnia had done, erasing her from public record, all for the sake of preserving his reputation.
The claim that he had simply wanted to protect her was nothing but a hollow pretext.
It had been far easier to pretend she didn’t exist and avoid the mess entirely than to deal with the ruin she might bring.
“Selfish old man.”
So in the end, blood really is thicker than water, is it?
“It was the best choice. You wouldn’t have done any different.”
“Selfish people always try to wrap themselves up in self-justification.”
“I won’t deny it. I also agree there’s a need to cut off this ill-fated tie with you. But not like this.”
“Even if you claim there’s nothing you can do?”
“At the very least, you won’t be able to find any lead to Roilnia from me. Seeing how you came somewhere you clearly didn’t want to be… I’d say you’re rather anxious yourself.”
Hoaphilen’s lips trembled at the sight of the old man’s eyes, calm and deep without a hint of agitation.
He had no intention of denying it.
Hoaphilen bore a deep hatred toward Roilnia Lanilgraph over a past incident and was determined to get revenge—no matter the cost.
Whether it meant becoming nothing more than a back-alley thug, or begging favors from others like it was his daily meal, it didn’t matter.
Even if the devil asked for his soul in exchange, he would give it without hesitation.
He tried hard to cool the boiling rage inside him, letting it sink like tea gone cold.
One or two of his planned moves had simply gone awry; it wasn’t enough to ruin everything.
Since Renato refused to accept his request for cooperation, there was nothing more to be gained here.
Not that he ever thought Renato would accept in the first place, which made it all the easier to leave without regret.
He stood up, straightening his wrinkled blouse.
“…One way or another, I must see this through with Roilnia Lanilgraph. It’s far too late to stop now. And as for you—your only role is to stand back and watch.”
Renato didn’t respond as Hoaphilen slowly pulled on his gloves and headed for the door.
Only after she disappeared with a light bow at the doorway did the old man let the worry escape his face, turning to the window where the sun had long since set.
A night where the sun hid itself.
A night where even the moon was covered by clouds.
In a sky without a single star, tragedy was beginning to rise.
“Are you feeling any better?”
“Me? What do you mean, ‘better’? I was fine.”
“Not you, Mr. Elgran—your guide.”
“Oh please. What would you do if my lovely Ruth wasn’t fine?”
Crunch.
A lazy cat sprawled on the sofa took a massive bite of the eclair Ben had brought as a get-well gift.
It was originally meant for Ruth and Elgran to share, but thanks to someone fiercely protective of the guide’s well-being, both Ben and Haimar had been refused entry to the hospital room and chased out.
Now they were in the rest lounge attached to the Central’s inpatient ward, face to face with the “culprit” himself.
Slurp.
The sound of hot latte being sipped followed.
At this point, it was hard to tell who had come to visit whom.
“But really… shouldn’t you be the one hearing that question instead of us?”
“Me?”
Elgran tilted his head toward Ben and Haima, taking turns glancing at them while sipping from his mug.
Ben, confused, looked himself over—then let out a short, belated “Ah.”
It wasn’t obvious under the long winter sleeves, but there were small bandages on his hands.
A large bruise covered his throat where he’d been choked, with extra marks—Haimar’s handiwork—layered over it, forcing him to wrap it all in thick bandages.
And with a big gauze patch on his cheek where a knife had grazed him, Elgran’s remark suddenly made perfect sense.
“Yes, well… I’m fine.”
In truth, aside from the cuts and bruises, there were plenty of other marks on his body that could easily make someone blush.
He would’ve covered them all in bandages if he could, but with a certain Esper sitting right next to him, that wasn’t an option.
Instead, Ben scratched his head, pulling his oversized fleece-lined hoodie tighter and tugging the hood up—enough to hide the worst of his battered face and plastered patches.
“Heh, anyway… hey, I’ve got something to tell you.”
…What now?
Apparently done probing further, Elgran slid the half-eaten éclair and mug across the table, then leaned forward, hands on the surface, grinning like a cat about to show off its glorious fur.
“Hehehehe…”
Ben tilted his head, waiting for the rest.
Elgran only grinned more mischievously.
Finally, Ben glanced at Haimar.
The man’s eyes, still fixed on his book, were filled with disdain for Elgran.
That was all the clue Ben needed.
“You got marked, didn’t you?”
“What?! How’d you know?! Did Haimar tell you?!”
No, it’s just that the only thing you’re dying to brag about is that.
“You’re wearing it all over your face. If someone didn’t notice, they’d just be stupid.”
Haimar’s cool remark hit the mark perfectly.
Even Ben, who hadn’t said it aloud, thought the same—Elgran’s expression was practically a billboard screaming ‘I’ve been marked!’
* * *
