"Why should I?"
The three words slipped emotionlessly from his lips, slicing through the heavy air in the room like a honed dagger.
Count Dreadnote's ash-gray eyes wavered in bewilderment at the sound.
He probably never even imagined it.
A son who had thirsted for his recognition his entire life would respond like this.
"...What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what I said. Why should I forgive you? I just can't figure it out."
He untwisted his legs and leaned slightly forward toward the man.
The distance between him, seated on the bed, was now less than a handspan.
"Indifferent? Turning a blind eye? No. What you did can't be dressed up in such lofty terms."
About the man who was Evan's father.
To be honest, he didn't feel much toward him one way or the other.
Even though he had possessed this body, he didn't remember the life Evan had lived up until now.
Just speculation. About the repulsive calculations that had left him in this state.
But contrary to those thoughts, the words coming from his mouth struck like a viper's tongue.
Whether it was the resentment etched into this body acting on instinct.
Or disgust at this nauseating hypocrisy.
He didn't know which.
"Now that I seem useful, now that I look talented, I'm suddenly your son again? Grovel like a dog for the family's glory?"
He let out a hollow laugh.
"Wake up, Your Excellency."
"...Evan. Do you realize what you're saying?"
"I know exactly."
The count's voice gradually hardened.
The mask of a remorseful father from moments ago peeled away, revealing his true nature.
The real face of the man before him, whose treatment varied by his utility.
"You want forgiveness? Fine. Then get on your knees."
"You insolent...!"
The count, his mask shattered by the mocking tone, tried to leap from the bed.
But his unhealed wounds betrayed him, and he groaned, slumping back down.
How utterly ridiculous he looked.
"You can't, can you? Your pathetic pride won't allow it."
With a face like he might pounce any second.
Bloodshot eyes glaring at him—he didn't avoid the gaze as he rose from his seat.
He knew it was a waste of time, so there was no need to stay longer.
No need to play along with this farce any further.
"I'll take my leave. Rest well."
Ah. Almost forgot one thing.
With his back turned, he added the final words.
"Don't treat me like your son anymore. It's revolting."
"...Stand right there, Evan!"
His furious shout echoed from behind, but he didn't even glance back.
There was no more time to waste on him.
"Is that all you have to say to your father? Have you forgotten the grace I've shown you?!"
"Grace?"
Grace.
He paused, pondering deeply, but nothing came to mind.
No matter how hard he racked his brain for any grace received, there was none.
A disbelieving laugh escaped him.
"If you think just letting me breathe is grace, then live the rest of your life in that delusion."
He silently walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out.
Crash!
Just before the door closed, something shattered inside the room, but it was none of his concern.
The count must have hurled an object in rage.
Slam.
"..."
He shut the door hard enough to make a sound and emerged into the corridor, where the knights stared at him tensely.
"..."
What? Why?
"Something to say?"
"...No, sir."
They must have overheard bits and pieces from inside.
Put two and two together.
Pathetic. Ignoring their gazes, he strode down the corridor.
'Feels good in a way. But still leaves a bad taste.'
Maybe he should have just ignored him and left.
[Well done, my lord.]
"Yeah, thanks."
Even he thought it had been hard work.
Irritation bubbling up unexpectedly, he brushed back the hair obscuring his vision and quickened his pace toward the annex.
Not long after, he encountered two figures approaching from the opposite direction.
"Brother?"
Celine called out to him with a worried expression, and beside her stood Heron, bandages still on but his complexion much improved.
"...It's been a while, brother."
"Yeah."
Meeting blood relatives one after another today. What kind of day was it?
Or perhaps, after summoning him first for a talk, when things didn't go as planned...
He had planned to call these two in for some persuasion.
"...Did you just come from seeing Father?"
"Yeah. On my way back."
Ah. A short gasp escaped her, and Celine's bright eyes flickered with unease.
She wasn't trying to show it, but she seemed to sense something was wrong from his expression.
With her delicate nature, she noticed even the slightest change, making it hard to hide.
"...Brother. Did something...?"
"I'll head in first. I'm tired."
He cut off whatever she was about to say, carefully parting her lips.
He gave her the faintest smile.
"B-Brother!"
"Brother!"
Ignoring their calls from behind, he just waved a hand.
He passed them and hurried out of the main building.
Feeling the cold air seep deep into his lungs, he looked up at the sky.
Faint sunlight pierced through the gray clouds, mirroring his mood.
"Hoo."
He exhaled a long, heavy breath.
[My lord. Are you alright?]
Borin's voice came from the shadows, where he had remained silent throughout.
"Do I look alright?"
[No.]
"No fun."
A chuckle escaped him.
His mood was the worst, but strangely, a corner of his heart felt relieved at that moment.
Like finally pulling out a thorn lodged in his throat for so long.
Perhaps it was the last lingering resentment of the real Evan Dreadnote within him.
Now that even those remnants were gone, he was truly free.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The corridor after Evan left.
Left alone without even a glimpse of him, they stared blankly in the direction he had gone for a while.
It had been ages since he last visited the main building, excluding early childhood.
But the way he left was far from normal.
Like he was holding back disgust, on the verge of exploding.
"Sister. Evan... no, brother seemed off somehow."
Heron cautiously spoke up, gauging her reaction.
"...I know without you saying."
Celine replied in a trembling voice.
Her heart chilled as she stared where he had vanished.
That faint smile Evan wore.
It looked like the hollow smile of one who had given up and let go of everything.
'I thought it was strange when Father suddenly called us together...'
One thing was certain.
Something had happened between brother and Father.
And the suspect, at least as far as she knew, was only one person.
"You. You told Father about what happened in the mountains, didn't you?"
Celine's cold gaze turned to Heron, who stood dazed.
Unusually for her, her eyes held unprecedented reproach.
"Yes? Ah... yes. Of course I reported it. It was the truth."
"Who asked about that?"
As expected. She had hoped otherwise.
A wave of headache and irritation made her rub her temples unconsciously.
"Didn't you think brother wouldn't want that? You know how much he hates the family."
"I know, but I just wanted to give brother his due recognition fairly..."
"...Since when did you start caring for brother like that?"
Heron fell silent at her words. It was the truth.
"...Well. Can't blame you alone."
She was the same.
All the things he had endured until now. She had turned a blind eye during those years of suffering, just like everyone else.
"..."
"..."
As the two stood in heavy silence.
The door to the count's bedroom burst open roughly from behind.
Bang!
"L-Lord! Please calm down! Your wounds haven't...!"
"Bring that ungrateful wretch here! Now!"
His face, emerging from the door, was flushed red, drained of blood.
The count, lost to rage, gripped the doorframe, breathing raggedly as he bellowed.
"Father! Calm down!"
"That... that vile scum dares to...!"
The count staggered, gasping for breath, on the verge of collapse.
His wounds from Imir clearly hadn't fully healed.
Celine and Heron rushed to support him as he coughed up blood.
"That boy is no longer my blood! Excommunicate him from the family and cast him out now!"
"No, before that, chop off his limbs and hang them in the square as an example...!"
"Father! Please!"
Celine finally cried out in anguish. Tears finally streamed from her eyes.
"Cough! Cough! Send the knights now! What are you waiting for to drag that scum here?!"
The count shoved away his children's supporting hands and bellowed at the knights standing firm in the corridor.
Blood trickled from his mouth, his voice hoarse and grating like metal.
"No. I'd feel better killing him myself. Galen! What are you doing... Cough!"