The hellbound train to Magnolia Manor had arrived.
In other words, Iris had pulled up in front of our shabby house with her carriage.
That magnolia engraved on the harness and even the carriage body still turned my stomach.
"I'll be back. Stay home and behave."
"Have a good talk!"
With Mace's carefree farewell, I boarded the carriage and headed to Iris's regular boutique in the plaza.
Iris wasn't wearing her usual academy uniform, but a dress dripping with frills.
"It's, it's been a while... going out to the plaza with Ain..."
Her small voice was drowned out by the sound of hoofbeats and the coachman's calls.
Even if I could hear her clearly, I didn't feel like responding anyway, my mood as gloomy as today's weather.
The sky, which had been bright enough to remind me of the midnight sun for a while, was ashen for the first time in ages.
I hated this sensation of clothes clinging to my body because of the rain, dark clouds, and high humidity.
It reminded me of the first day of my regression when I went back to find Giselle.
My body grew sluggish, but the pain only worsened.
I chain-smoked while facing the wind flowing through the window.
Iris didn't bother me after I accepted her proposal either.
Aside from the noise coming from outside, the carriage remained quiet until we arrived at the boutique.
.
.
.
The boutique looked exactly as it had the last time I visited in my adolescence.
Lamps blooming in various colors. All kinds of flashy suits. Ribbons and neckties were visible.
And irritatingly dressed noblewomen were busy primping in front of mirrors.
I followed Iris into a small fitting room at the very back.
The moment I saw the squared-off jacket on the mannequin, draped with decorations and medals like ivy, profanity burst out of me.
"Fuck off. I'm absolutely not wearing that. Don't fuck with me."
"Why, why...? I think Unnie would look good in it..."
"I'd rather go in naked. Why are there medals on it?"
"B-because Ain was a soldier..."
When I approached the mannequin for a closer look, they were medals I had no memory of receiving.
I wasn't even an officer to begin with.
Far from earning merit, I was too busy just keeping myself alive.
The cinched waist of the outfit reminded me of the uniform I wore during the war.
As if the weather wasn't enough.
Giselle, the war. Giving me double the shitty memories.
"The old man's taste is consistent as ever. He still likes this crap?"
"Y-yeah... F-Father is obsessed with honor and merit..."
I sighed and turned my gaze to the other accessories placed nearby.
An eyepatch with that damned magnolia garishly embedded on a black background, and a prosthetic arm made of gold were visible.
Maybe Iris actually wanted to test my patience.
"......"
"F-Father said... Ain's... um... he didn't want to see your scars..."
Iris hesitated for a long time, agonizing over how to euphemistically express something about my disability.
In other words, cover up my crippled eye and crippled arm with these things.
It reminded me of how a prostitute dolls herself up.
I pulled out a cigarette, put it in my mouth, and sat in the only chair in the fitting room.
Today's Iris was busy gauging my mood.
The moment she saw me rummaging through my pocket, she lit a flame in her hand and came over.
"...You know I can't put it all on by myself, right?"
"Y-yeah... Unnie will help you... I'm sorry, Ain... I knew you'd hate it..."
"Forget it. Let's just get this over with."
I don't even know anymore.
If he's so thrilled by this kind of thing, I should wear it for him as his son.
I took off the clothes I was wearing one by one and tossed them into a corner of the fitting room.
The jacket resembling a military uniform constricted my chest as if it had a corset.
The starched pants and shiny ankle boots—I put them on one by one with Iris's help.
I really used to wear this kind of thing every day back then.
*Click*
I fitted the leather socket and prosthetic arm onto my empty arm.
The prosthetic was just heavy; it was a simple decoration with joints that didn't move.
Looking in the full-length mirror, I looked like Jaime Lannister from "A Prince's Martial Law."
"I don't fuck my Unnie though."
"H-huh...? What did you say, Ain?"
"Just talking to myself."
I put on an eyepatch large enough to completely cover the scar that cut vertically across my eye.
My whole body felt cramped, as if stuffed into a small box.
Iris stood behind me and stroked my long hair.
"It's, it's a bit long... I'll, I'll tie it up for you, just a moment."
She undid one of the ribbons tying her own hair and gathered the hair covering my neck and forehead, tying it into a ponytail.
While Iris helped me dress up, I just frowned and smoked.
I wonder what Mace would say if she saw me now.
Iris stepped back after finishing with my hair, then put her hand on her chin and looked at me.
Soon she clapped her hands with a satisfied smile.
I guess that means I passed. I'm already exhausted and we haven't even reached the manor.
I boarded the carriage again with a gait as stiff as Iris's.
.
.
.
Entering through the main gate, the courtyard I didn't want to face even in dreams and the familiar faces of servants passed by the window.
To think I'd see those plaster statues and overgrown plants in that garden again.
Our family's pride—a manor as dreary as the weather.
Iris beckoned a servant with a gesture, and we were guided to the drawing room.
She told me to sit in a chair and wait for a moment, so I habitually pulled out my cigarette pack.
It was obvious they'd nitpick about the smell of cigarettes, so I obediently put it back.
Iris came out from the dining room and politely opened the door for me.
She blocked my way as I tried to enter, then pressed something into my hand and whispered.
"A, a gift... I, I prepared it... Give it to Father after the meal..."
Before putting it in my pocket, I glanced at it briefly—it was an antique brooch embedded with some kind of jewel.
With a feeling of resignation, I just nodded and walked with Iris to the center of the dining room.
Under the chandelier shining brown, I spotted a face I didn't want to see.
Head of the Family, Father, Old Man, Fucking Bastard—whatever.
Douglas Magnolia was already eating, rudely enough.
He didn't even glance at Iris and me bowing, just kept cutting at the dish in front of him.
Only after wiping his mouth with the napkin on his lap did Father silently point to the chair in front of him.
The seat right next to Iris, my seat with an empty plate.
My designated spot whenever I ate with the family.
The same blue slicked-back hair as Iris, a dignified blue mustache.
Even that pretentious gaze—still in fine form.
He only picks expensive things to eat, so he'll probably live a long, healthy life.
For reference, Mother's hair was red.
My other sibling, not me, took after her.
If you mixed the paint of my parents' hair colors together and smeared it on a canvas, you'd get the hair color of me, the illegitimate child.
Father's voice, as arrogant as the rest of him, rang out.
"At least you're presentable today."
My outfit must have hit Father's taste perfectly.
His generous heart acknowledging the siblings' efforts made me want to flip the table right then.
"I'm allocating my precious time to a bastard like you because of your sister.
So be careful when choosing your words. Understand?"
"Thank you for caring for your inadequate son, Father."
Iris stood up from her chair and bowed again in greeting.
I just stared at my plate.
Conscious of Iris not raising her head until Father gestured for her to sit.
"Yes, Ain. Shame of a noble family. Stain on a glorious war. One-eyed, one-armed freak.
You wretched, hideous monstrosity. You dare ask something of me?"
As expected, he still didn't use the term "son."
He's in menopause, so I was worried that a sudden surge of paternal love might gush forth due to decreased testosterone.
But he's consistently a piece of shit.
"Yes, Father. Your son stands here to confess his wrongs and humbly beg to be taken back under the family's protection."
"Did I ask you, Iris?"
Iris's mouth closed.
I could see her hand under the table fidgeting where Father couldn't see.
"Your brother, who's worse than a worm, isn't mute at least.
Ain, I'm asking you. What do you wish to ask of me?"
Iris's hand covered mine, which had been trembling without my realizing.
Her gaze remained on Father. She nodded slightly, imperceptibly.
Meaning to endure. Meaning to bear it.
Those insults—insults Ain probably received constantly since birth without understanding why.
Those curses—curses that rang in his ears until they callused over.
That condescension—condescension that made even the servants look down on me.
It wasn't difficult.
If I had any pride to sell, I would have sold it long ago.
With just a few words, Mace could leave my shabby house and solve everything at once—comfortable lodging, clothes, and even meals.
I too could escape financial difficulties and perhaps live out the rest of my life comfortably without deciding to commit suicide again.
Iris would be satisfied too.
She'd be able to care for me with peace of mind under the family's shadow.
Iris's hand shook my knee.
Father had already heard from her, it seemed, and had cleared the table for the gift that would be placed before him.
I tried to take the gift out of my pocket.
But in the end, I thought only of Mace, not the things I could gain.
Mace, who was waiting for me at home even now, who was confident she'd take me in even if I was abandoned and wandering.
I recalled her words, swearing she wouldn't betray me.
*'I'm here. Mace is. If you're abandoned, you can come find me anytime.'*
It wasn't even worth considering.
Instead of the gift, I pulled out only an empty hand from my pocket and raised it toward Father.
I folded the other fingers into my palm, leaving only my thumb sticking out between my index and middle fingers.
Yeah. What I really wanted to ask for might have been to see that face.
I wanted to see that pompous face freeze into a stupid expression, see that blue beard I wanted to rip out tremble with rage.
"...You do know what that means, don't you?"
"Eat it. Something white and sweet but sticky."
Iris kicked back her chair and stood up.
I extended the prosthetic arm in front of Iris to prevent her from making excuses on my behalf.
"Father, I've come to confess my sin."
"Oh, so you've finally realized."
Father seemed to be barely containing his anger, his philtrum trembling.
"My sin is arrogance.
My sin is the arrogance of not knowing my place, of my father's inferior bloodline—of the sperm filled only with that—daring to get ahead."
*Crash!*
An empty plate flew over my bowed head.
I could see Father gripping the tablecloth with heavy breathing and bulging veins in his hands.
His eyes, full of fury, wouldn't leave me.
It felt as refreshing as ten years of indigestion going down.
I looked straight ahead and faced Father—just Douglas.
So this man was this small.
I was no longer afraid of him.
Leaving behind Iris calling out to me desperately and Douglas shouting, I leisurely left the dining room.
I kept walking, tearing open the front of my outfit and undoing my tied hair.
I smashed the connection between the socket and prosthetic with my fist.
Throwing the eyepatch and the brooch from my pocket onto the corridor floor, I savored the first freedom of my life.