"Tick... tick... tick—tock..." The second hand’s movent grew weaker, then stopped, like a flatlining EKG. Everyone knew the heartbeat’s inevitable descent towards a straight line, just as a clock without new batteries would eventually cease ticking.
Almost an hour had passed since Grigori and Komatsu left. Michael sat silently on the living room sofa.
Clattering sounds ca from the kitchen. No, the sounds had been going on for an hour, but Michael felt like he was only just hearing them.
He stood up, walking to the kitchen doorway, encountering the chef carrying a tray laden with desserts.
"What’s this?"
The chef smiled wryly. "I went upstairs with the juice. That white-haired girl told i-sama hadn’t eaten lunch. I figured I could spare a couple of hours. Made so desserts with what was left in the fridge. They say sweets help when you’re feeling down... This is... the last thing I can do for i-sama."
Michael took the tray, nodding. "I understand. You’re free to leave whenever you wish."
The chef lowered his head, ashad, about to explain, then decided against it.
"Then... I won’t say goodbye to i-sama."
Michael stepped aside. The chef, bags packed with his belongings and kitchen tools, hurried out.
Michael watched him leave, then quietly ascended the stairs, pausing outside i’s bedroom. He knocked softly.
"It’s . They’re gone."
A faint rustling sound ca from inside, as if Kiana was consulting i. After a mont, the door opened.
Kiana’s expression was sour, as if blaming him for leaving them alone for so long. But her frown vanished at the sight of the desserts.
"Shove off, these are for i. Three bowls of ran weren’t enough for you?" Michael feigned annoyance. Kiana pouted, then stepped aside.
She was being silly. There were only three of them in the villa. If it wasn’t for her, it was for i.
Hearing their exchange, i glanced up, then quickly lowered her head again, staring at the wood grain of the floor. Footsteps approached.
The sweet aroma of desserts filled the air. i swallowed involuntarily, her stomach rumbling.
Michael, seemingly searching for sothing, looked around.
"No table? No problem." He smiled, and a coffee table, identical to the one downstairs, appeared before i.
"W-wait... what?!"
Ignoring Kiana’s outburst, Michael placed the tray on the table.
"Try so." As i looked up, still puzzled, he continued, "Eat first. Then I’ll answer your questions."
i glanced at the desserts. All her favorites, ticulously crafted, no sign of being rushed. Her eyes stung. She bit her lip, staring at Michael stubbornly.
Michael could ignore her, but he wasn’t here for a staring contest. "Fine, one question. Only one!"
He assud she’d ask about the table. That would be easy to explain.
He was wrong.
After a deep breath, i asked in a barely audible voice, "Where is he?"
"Hmm?" "He" could refer to anyone: Ryōma, Komatsu...
i, without explaining, pointed at the desserts.
Michael swallowed, answering truthfully. "He left. After making these. He asked to tell you..."
"Crash!" i flipped the table, the desserts scattering at Michael’s feet, shards of porcelain flying.
He wasn’t surprised. He’d anticipated this. As he bent to clean up the ss, i knelt on the floor.
Ignoring the sharp shards, she picked up a dollop of spilled cream, murmuring apologies, tears streaming down her face.
Kiana, unsure what to do, hovered nervously, wanting to help but afraid to interrupt.
"I’ll clean it up," Michael said softly, but neither girl seed to hear him.
"I’ll... clean it." He knelt beside i, placing his hands on her shoulders. She nodded, her face filled with guilt.
Then, unexpectedly, he lifted her and carried her to the bed.
"Don’t cry. Let’s make a bet. How long will it take to clean this up?" He poked her forehead playfully.
i turned her head away, refusing to engage.
Michael scratched his head, frustrated. Even with his precognitive abilities, even knowing what to do, he couldn’t seem to reach her.
Perhaps... he lacked sothing genuine, sothing that touched her soul. He’d once possessed it, but he’d discarded it five thousand years ago, avoiding Elysia.
This wasn’t the ti for such thoughts. He snapped his fingers, a faint golden light flashing between them. The spilled desserts, broken porcelain, and the table vanished.
"What...?" Kiana’s eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat. Before she could process it, Michael grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the room.
He closed the door gently, almost silently.
"Hey, I want to..." Kiana started to complain.
Michael handed her a wad of cash.
"You... you’re trying to bribe ?" She stared at him, then yelped as he flicked her forehead.
"What are you thinking?!" He rubbed his temples, exasperated.
"Then why are you giving money? And aren’t you supposed to be watching i? She’s alone in there..."
Michael pulled her further down the hallway before explaining, "i’s cald down. She won’t do anything rash."
"But she just..." Kiana didn’t believe him. i’s outburst had hardly seed "calm."
"It’s a good sign when soone expresses their grief. It ans they’re starting to heal." A tinge of irony colored his words. He knew this all too well.
"And she showed a clear desire to eat. That’s another good sign."
"Huh? But she threw the food..."
Michael frowned. Was Kiana truly this oblivious? "She didn’t throw it because she didn’t want to eat it. She was upset because the chef who made it left afterward."
"The chef left? Was he that important?"
"Depends on the person. But he was Ryōma’s personal chef for ten years. i grew up eating his food. He made her bentos every day. Of course she’d be attached."
"He just... left? How could he? That’s so an..." Kiana’s cheeks puffed out. Regardless of Ryōma’s guilt or innocence, that chef had cared for i for years. Didn’t he care about her, about this place?
How could he just leave?
Michael shook his head. "It’s human nature, Kiana. You’ll understand soday."
He continued, as if to clarify, or perhaps just to vent his own frustration. "This wasn’t his ho, just a workplace. He cared about i, or he wouldn’t have made those desserts. If Ryōma had simply lost his money, he might have stayed. But he’s not stupid. He sensed the danger. And after hearing us ntion Cocolia... well, self-preservation is a powerful motivator."
"..."
"And i probably reacted that way because his initial gesture of bringing juice gave her false hope."
"Do adults always overthink everything? So scary."
Michael remained silent. Thankfully, Kiana changed the subject, waving the money. "So, what’s this for?"
"The fridge is empty. Go buy so food."
"Oh—" Kiana patted her ahoge with the money, but her ahoge refused to be tad, springing back playfully.
She was already debating what to buy. Junk food was her first instinct, but what if i didn’t like it? Should she ask Michael...?
As if anticipating her question, he flicked her ahoge.
Kiana yelped, clutching her head and glaring at him.
"Ahem!" Michael coughed, embarrassed. Around i and Kiana, he found himself acting childish. "I know what you’re thinking. Buy lots of fried things. Not ready-made, the kind you cook yourself. And snacks. And instant ran."
"i likes that stuff?"
"Well... Kiana, when you’re feeling down, don’t you crave fried chicken and cola?"
"Uh... yeah."
"Sa principle." Michael snapped his fingers. "High-calorie food makes people happy. And i probably hasn’t had much junk food. Even better."
"Oh—" Kiana nodded, counting on her fingers. "Fried stuff, snacks, ran... Got it! Leave it to ! Hee hee!"
Before Michael could respond, she skipped down the stairs.
He chuckled, Kiana’s figure blurring, montarily rging with another white-haired, carefree girl in his vision.
"Damn, what’s wrong with lately?" He cursed softly, turning away to wipe his eyes discreetly.
Kiana suddenly ran back, holding the money awkwardly. "I... I don’t know where to go..."
Michael sighed, a familiar weariness washing over him. But it was just weariness, not helplessness. And... he touched his chest, feeling a phantom heartbeat in the emptiness left by his battle with Kevin.
"Turn left outside. You’ll see a departnt store sign. Go there."
"Okay!" Kiana waved her fist, leaving him with another energetic skip.
This ti, his vision was clear. He muttered under his breath, "I admit it, you’re even more of an airhead than he was."
But thinking of a certain soone who’d abandoned his girlfriend for a bowl of ran, he couldn’t help but smile.
One second. He allowed himself one second of laughter.
Then he turned and opened i’s bedroom door.
i sat motionless on the bed, hands clasped in her lap. Her first words were, "I’m sorry."
"Hmm?"
"I shouldn’t have overreacted."
Michael t her gaze, offering a gentle smile. "It’s okay. Do you feel better now?"
"Yes."
"Then let explain... the adoption agreent."
"Eh—" Michael sat down... on thin air. i gasped, about to warn him, then a chair materialized beneath him.
i blinked, still amazed by his abilities, but she didn’t want to dwell on it.
"The adoption... was a transaction. Eight years ago."
"Mm..." i acknowledged, then added politely, "Eight years ago... I was very ill."
"It wasn’t an illness."
"Huh?" i tilted her head. Her father, everyone, had called it an illness. But her own fading mories suggested otherwise.
But she’d pushed those mories aside.
Now, Michael was confirming her suspicions.
But were those mories reliable? She wasn’t sure.
Who should she believe: her father or Michael?
Her thoughts were transparent to Michael.
"I know you don’t believe . Not yet. But ti will tell. Here’s a clue: that ’illness’ is related to the ’birthmark’ on your left hip."
i’s hand flew to her hip.
It wasn’t a birthmark, but a mark. Her childhood photos showed nothing unusual. It had appeared eight years ago.
Her father had always forbidden her from wearing clothes that revealed it. No one should know about it... The thought made Michael’s words seem even more credible.
Which was exactly his intention. He needed her trust to deceive her.
"Eight years ago, your father, desperate, sought out. I didn’t want anything in return, but I wouldn’t help for free. So I jokingly proposed a deal: if I cured you, should anything happen to him, you’d be under my care. Looks like I got myself a freeloader. There was also a monetary compensation—two million dollars, transferred to my account. Don’t worry, I don’t care about money. It’s all yours eventually."
Michael shrugged dismissively.
His words were half-truths. He had wanted sothing: i herself. He’d even taken precautions, registering himself as Ryōma’s brother, ensuring he’d retain custody even if the adoption agreent was invalidated.
And even if all else failed, he had the power to make things right. He claid to dislike this "child’s play," but he was enjoying it, perhaps even addicted.
"So, i, I’m telling you this because our adoption is more of a farce. It’s up to you. If you wish, I, this stranger, will be your guardian. If not..." He shook his head.
Before he could finish, i interrupted, a hint of panic in her voice. "Don’t... No, I an... yes... please... don’t leave ."
Reviews
All reviews (0)