WSRN 25

Chapter 25

No, I just said it because I thought it might comfort you since we’re kind of alike.

I felt a little awkward. Quickly shaking my head, I changed the subject.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that we’re kind of similar, you know…? Never mind, forget what I said.”

“…Yeah. You’re right.”

I hadn’t expected him to agree. My eyes widened in surprise.

Feeling a little better, I lowered my voice to a secretive whisper.

“Right? We could actually be a pretty good family.”

“Yeah. …Wait, what? What are you talking about?”

Sian looked at me, flustered. So flustered, in fact, that his face even turned a little red.

There he goes drawing a line again.

I couldn’t hide my disappointment as I said,

“Why? I heard that in the old days, guardians and their wards got close enough to call each other brother and sister.”

Aren’t we kind of close now? Aren’t we?

When I looked at him with watery eyes, he quickly averted his gaze.

Why though!

Was the idea of being like siblings with me really that bad?

“A sister like me is pretty rare, you know!”

Even if I don’t have money or background…!

At least I have personality. And since Sian has the money and the family name, that balances things out nicely.

Sian nodded slightly at the “rare” part, then looked at me with disbelief.

“…Sister?”

“Yeah. I’m your older sister.”

I straightened my shoulders proudly. Sian gave me a once-over, then snorted.

“Liar.”

“It’s true! I’m two years older than you.”

Even when I eat, I probably eat a few bowls more than you—well, maybe not.

Since I never really ate that well, maybe we were about the same.

Still, I’m the older one.

No, wait—that’s not the point. Talking to Sian always makes me regress somehow.

“Anyway, what did you mean by being ignored? I thought you were just awkward with the servants?”

Sure, I’d never seen him close to the duke or Blair, but they didn’t seem on bad terms either.

Just a while ago…

Blair had called Sian “my little brother.”

That wasn’t something you said without affection.

And that mansion—it’s oddly child-friendly too.

My thoughts trailed off when Sian began speaking again.

“My mother also passed away early. …Not as early as yours, though.”

I already knew that much, so I quietly listened.

It seemed hard for him to bring up. Sian bit his lip, and when I lightly touched the back of his hand, he finally let go.

“We’re… born with a cursed power. And I, in particular, am especially unskilled.”

Unskilled?

That was a little different from what I’d heard from Marian. She said his power was too strong to control.

Still staring downward, Sian continued.

“So I hurt normal people. From a very young age… and even now.”

There was a heavy note of guilt in his low voice. Of course he felt sorry about it.

Don’t tell me…

As if confirming my suspicion, he went on.

“My mother was an ordinary person too. …Maybe, maybe she could’ve been fine staying by my side.”

“…”

“Until that day.”

The Duchess of Hilberg had been a kind woman. After all, she had fallen in love and married that Duke Hilberg—a feat in itself.

Whenever Sian lost control of his power and went on a rampage, she would always hold him close and whisper,

“Don’t be too upset. It wasn’t something you could help.”

It’s not your fault. When he repeated those words with her, it made him feel a little better.

She was the one person who would never hate him.

That alone had been enough.

But clearly, his cursed power didn’t think the same way.

Even his mother, who always stayed close and comforted him, was eventually swept away by the fear that came like a violent storm.

No matter how much he shouted that he didn’t want this, it was useless.

As if mocking him, his memory blurred and shattered again.

And when he looked up…

Even she—the one person he thought would never leave—looked at him with that all-too-familiar emotion.

Fear. Disgust. Revulsion. Eyes that screamed: I want to get away from you.

That single look finally broke him.

In the end, Sian asked a question he’d never dared to before.

“Mother… am I… horrible?”

She didn’t answer. She simply turned and left the room.

But was there ever a clearer answer than that?

Even the one who used to tell him it wasn’t his fault had turned her back on him.

An unbearable sense of helplessness crushed him.

No one will ever come to me again.

With a trembling voice, he apologized over and over. Admitting, again, that it was all his fault.

Why did someone like me, who can’t even control this power, have to be born with it?

His apologies shattered in the empty air, unheard.

He hated himself, feared himself, and yet still longed for love—and that longing disgusted him even more.

So Sian locked his door and chose solitude.

Time passed. One day, his mother returned and pleaded for him to open the door.

“Sian, come out, please.”

“…”

“I have something I really want to tell you. Won’t you come out? I even made your favorite chocolate.”

“…”

“Please… I just want to see your face.”

“…!”

He heard those words through the door every day. When her voice reached him, he would quietly approach and stand nearby.

But he never answered. Pretending he couldn’t hear.

There was no need for his mother to bear such a horrible thing. It was his burden alone.

After a few days, she grew quiet, and Sian thought he’d done the right thing.

Watching from a distance, in secret, became his habit. That way, he couldn’t hurt anyone.

But on days when his mother seemed especially lonely, he still wanted to go to her.

But I can’t.

That day was one of those days.

The Duchess, unusually melancholic, went out on an unplanned trip.

And she never came back.

It was an ambush. They said not even her body was found.

The mansion sank into mourning.

Beyond the waves of grief, Sian was filled with regret. He didn’t even understand what this choking feeling in his throat was.

If I was going to lose her like this, I should’ve been selfish—just for a day.

…No. Ordinary people always leave eventually. It’s inevitable. So maybe it’s better not to expect anything at all.

If he were to regret anything, it was that he had dared to hope for something as normal as a family.

Sian Hilberg carved that regret deep into himself, like a mark.

When he finished speaking, Sian fell silent again.

Without realizing it, I muttered in a shaky, tearful voice,

“You really are an idiot.”

Just seeing the chocolate pudding had made him remember all of that, made him suffer again.

And to think he believed he deserved to bear that pain alone—how frustrating and foolish.

It would’ve been better if you were just mean for no reason.

As I kept calling him an idiot in a damp, choked voice, Sian sighed and handed me a handkerchief.

“…Can you stop saying that?”

“Sniff. So that’s why. …You must’ve been so lonely.”

“I never said anything like that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“…You’re just twisting it.”

“Uh-huh. Since you’re stubborn, I’ll be too.”

Then I realized something strange. His story mentioned only Sian and the duchess—no one else in the family.

I jerked my head up, and Sian flinched.

“Wait—what was the duke doing all that time?”

Sian tilted his head in confusion.

“What was he supposed to do?”

“In that kind of situation, he should’ve stepped in to help!”

The handkerchief he gave me stretched endlessly in my clenched hand. Sian quietly watched it, then said,

“I told you. Just because you’re family doesn’t mean you have to cover for someone’s flaws.”

What in the world—flaws? “The other person”? What kind of child says something like that?

Sian was completely misunderstanding.

“He’s not just somebody! He was your father. And you were just a kid!”

“…Being young doesn’t mean everything should be forgiven.”

“No!”

My firm, unwavering response made him stare at me blankly. I continued without hesitation.

“When you’re a kid, you make mistakes. You learn from them. Even grown-ups make mistakes—so of course you do too.”

But you shouldn’t let one mistake become a lifelong wound.

You don’t have to excuse everything, that’s true. But still… someone needed to tell him.

“Even if what you did was wrong, it’s okay. Things will get better someday. …And someone should’ve helped you see that.”

Both he and I needed someone like that. To grow up properly someday—we both did.

“If you’re an adult… that’s what you should’ve done.”