Chapter 57
***
The second floor corridor was intermittently lit by a few candles.
At first glance, this space might seem ordinary, but in reality, it was a place where only those belonging to the Ducal family or trusted servants could stand.
For the servants, working here was like a dream, but for Jeremiah, this place was nothing but hell.
Sothing he had never shared with anyone in his entire life.
“Only up to here.”
Jeremiah stopped in front of his room and turned to look at Higgins.
“That’s enough. I’m not a child anymore.”
Fortunately, Higgins didn’t persist or disturb Jeremiah’s mood further. He simply wished him a good rest and withdrew.
“Phew.”
Jeremiah sighed softly as he gripped the doorknob.
It was the first ti he had stood in front of his room since he had left the mansion for good.
Ignoring his heart pounding uncontrollably, he pushed the door open with an indifferent expression.
“Aaagh!”
The mont he faced the lit room, a scream from a long-forgotten mory echoed in his ears.
“Ugh…”
He clenched his hands near his forehead. It was a scar etched into his mind that night.
The thin scar, left by the sharp passage of glass, remained vivid on his skin even after years.
It was a wound that no magic could ever erase.
Just then, he heard soone’s footsteps from the corridor. Fearing it might be the ddling Ronny, Jeremiah hurriedly entered his room and locked the door.
Despite no one physically choking him, his breaths ca out ragged as he leaned against the door.
‘…This is why I didn’t want to co.’
He bit his lower lip painfully and forcibly moved towards the bed.
The bed was different from the one he used as a child. It seed they had replaced it with a larger one, considering his growth.
‘This isn’t the sa as that day.’
He buried his head in the bed and barely managed to breathe.
That’s when he heard the detestable knock. Jeremiah shut his eyes tight.
This was why he hated the Baldwin family. They just couldn’t leave him alone.
“Jeremiah.”
The voice that calmly reached him belonged to the Duke. He buried his head under the pillow and pressed his ears shut.
Hearing that voice at night was sure to bring nothing but nightmares.
“Jeremiah.”
Even as he covered his ears, he couldn’t stop hearing the voice calling him. It was as clear as if Master Owen himself was using a spell of calling directly into his ear.
“I thought you might be tired, so I brought so hot chocolate. I’ll leave it here, it’s better to drink it before it cools.”
Jeremiah bolted upright at the pretense of kindness in those words.
Sohow, anger welled up within him.
He wasn’t a child. Although physically so, the knowledge and common sense in his mind had long surpassed those of an adult.
He was also well aware that rely having a child does not make one a parent.
The Duke and his wife had never provided Jeremiah with proper affection. All he felt from them was fear and falsehood.
And now that he had beco the pride of the Magic Tower, was it not laughable that they were pretending to be affectionate to win his favor?
“Sleep well.”
At the Duke’s warm farewell, Jeremiah, without realizing it, dashed out of bed.
When he opened the tightly shut door, the Duke was looking down at him with a surprised expression.
His lips moved slightly as if to call his na, but Jeremiah shouted first, resisting.
“Lock
in this damn room and tell
to sleep well?!”
He grabbed the cup of chocolate from the tray.
The warmth of it clinging to his cold fingers without permission was irritating.
“I curse the Baldwins!”
With that shout, he threw the cup.
The cup shattered, scattering the dark liquid all around.
“Jeremiah!”
Expecting the Duke to reveal his true colors and beco furious, Jeremiah was taken aback.
“Are you hurt? Did any fragnts hit you?”
But the words that ca back were more of concern than a hint of anger.
“…….”
“Jeremiah?”
Perhaps it was because of the unexpected reaction.
Jeremiah felt his anger boiling up even more.
“I curse you!”
He shouted again. Still, the Duke had no response.
“I detest even having a na similar to yours! You…”
Jeremiah’s lips montarily stiffened. It wasn’t because he hesitated to speak.
It was just that he was montarily taken aback by the fact that he could finally voice the words he had longed to say for so long.
A thrill.
Yes, that’s what it was.
“I hate you.”
For the first ti, there was a different reaction from the Duke. The only sign was the hand holding the tray trembling.
Was he finally getting angry? Maybe so, considering he was that woman’s husband.
Jeremiah wished his father would just slap him across the face.
The hatred would solidify even more, and that would make him stronger.
“Yes, I know…”
However, the Duke’s reaction was just that stubborn answer.
“I’ll throw it away.”
So Jeremiah decided to hurt him more, to test the limits of his patience.
“If I succeed in this mission, I’ll receive the title of a mage. The na Baldwin won’t stand next to that title.”
Jeremiah shouted in a highly agitated tone,
“This ti, it’s
who will abandon Baldwin!”
He exhaled sharply, his breath quickening as he glared at his father, a smile of victory on his face.
His father continued to look down at Jeremiah with a hardened face. However, this ti, he did not remain silent.
“I have never removed you from my heart, Jeremiah.”
Jeremiah wanted to retort to the calm words, but he refrained.
Whatever the Duke said didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change what Jeremiah had to do.
He stepped back and gripped the doorknob.
He could feel the Duke’s gaze through the slightly closing gap of the door, but he did not lift his head.
And just before the door completely closed.
“Goodnight.”
The unchanged farewell ca through. Jeremiah closed the door a bit hastily.
“……”
Even after the Duke was no longer visible, Jeremiah stood there, still gripping the doorknob, lost in thought.
He felt a mix of relief and frustration.
***
Everyone has a ‘first mory.’
It’s the last one remaining after sifting through the multitude of mories from the long period known as childhood.
That one, first mory.
So people recall a very trivial thing as their life’s first mory.
Others keep a special experience as their first mory.
Whatever it is, that mory can be considered a representation of one’s childhood, having survived the competition with nurous other mories.
Jeremiah’s first mory was being in his mother’s arms. A hot sumr night when he was five. The sharp sound of rupture, his mother’s scream, and the pain that grazed his forehead.
His mother held him and spoke clearly to his father.
Probably thinking he was unconscious, she must have spoken so honestly.
“I will kill this child!”
But he was awake. He had heard everything. He hadn’t known then that it would beco his first mory in life.
Death.
For a long ti, Jeremiah didn’t fully understand the gravity of that word.
He vaguely rembered from the storybooks he had read until that day that ‘death was the punishnt for the wicked.’
To impose such a punishnt on Jeremiah…
‘Am I a bad child?’
Tears trickled out in a mont. Bad children are ant to be hated, after all.
Jeremiah tried to apologize to his mother. He admitted to whatever wrong he might have done, pleading not to be killed.
But soon he was taken to another room by a maid, and not long after, he fell asleep as if he had fainted.
The next morning, when Jeremiah woke up, he realized there was sothing on his forehead.
When he touched it with his palm, sothing sticky ca off. The maid approached and applied dicine again to his forehead, saying, “Young master, you shouldn’t touch your forehead.”
Feeling sowhat itchy, the boy with his eyes tightly closed asked,
“…Mother?”
His cautiously asked question was tinged with fear, probably due to the shocking incident from the day before.
“Ah, well…”
The maid took a long ti to respond, her voice hesitant.
Jeremiah, feeling even more scared, cautiously opened his eyes to check her expression.
The maid’s pupils were trembling ceaselessly.
Jeremiah intuitively felt that sothing bad might have happened.
But contrary to his expectations, nothing happened to him that day.
No one pointed out his faults, no one scolded him. It was just a peaceful day.
Yet, the unease didn’t leave him, and Jeremiah occasionally asked the maids close to him in a whisper,
“Am I a bad child…?”
To his question, the maid shook her head, along with a disapproving comnt.
“Young master, you are a very good child. Really.”
But then why did his mother try to ‘punish’ him?
The unanswered question filled his day.
Sotis he would start his questions to the mansion’s servants with ‘Well… about last night,’ but everyone just fumbled their words. No one gave him a proper answer.
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