Chapter 48

I stood between Major Rodriguez and Massera, caught in the middle of their sharp, clashing gazes.

I couldn’t exactly shout, "Don’t fight over me!" when it was really just Massera being petty.

"I hope you two reach a peaceful agreement."

Now wasn't the time to spectate the fierce war of nerves between men.

Seeing Eugene trudge off somewhere, I quickly chased after him.

***

Emil, who impersonated the deceased Professor Hayden, was a bad villain, but to Eugene, he was still someone precious.

Sitting on a wooden bench in the garden, Eugene rubbed his teary eyes and looked up at the sky.

“Young Master Eugene, shall we play ball together?”

Emil had once been a servant in Eugene’s household.

He played kindly with Eugene like a father would and took care of him warmly. Young Eugene adored him very much and followed him.

Eugene never knew why Emil had left the estate, but after everything he went through and being left alone, he had been overjoyed to meet him again.

“I have my reasons for hiding my identity. I had no choice but to pose as Professor Hayden and work as a private tutor. I will never speak a word about your mother, young master.”

Even after he became Eugene’s tutor and treated him like a subordinate, Eugene still liked him.

Because to him, Emil was like a friend from his happiest days.

Even so, he didn’t want to lie just to get Cynthia kicked out.

So Eugene brooded alone.

‘Where am I supposed to go now? I really am all alone.’

Emil will probably tell them about my mother, a runaway Esaht, and Uncle Massera will end up hating me, won’t he?

Just like the hospitals and orphanages in the duchy had.

I would be separated from the kind people at the residence too.

Eugene sat there helplessly until the sun dipped behind a cloud and reemerged on the other side.

Then, Cynthia’s distinct gentle voice called out.

“What are you doing over there?”

Eugene didn’t answer.

“Eugene, are you very upset?”

As she asked again, Cynthia stood there gazing at Eugene’s lonely back.

“Noona, about the frog house…”

Eugene was recalling the time he caught a hibernating frog just to tease Cynthia.

“Yeah?”

Cynthia crouched beside Eugene and answered softly.

Still gazing at the sky, Eugene spoke.

“It’s said that most frogs that wake from hibernation don’t survive.”

Eugene already knew the frog was gone from the soil-filled tank.

Seeing Cynthia’s eyes widen in surprise, Eugene turned his eyes back to the sky.

“I killed it, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I made Emil die too, didn’t I?”

Startled, Cynthia quickly shook her head.

“Die? No, he’ll just be questioned, and if he’s guilty, he’ll go to prison.”

“I know what forbidden books are. Everyone who read them got taken away and never came back. They're probably dead.”

Back when the empire occupied their land, Eugene had seen friends, families and familiar neighbors dragged away by the police just for possessing forbidden books.

He was a child who learned the consequences of death far too early.

Cynthia looked at Eugene’s expressionless face.

His light green eyes looked resolute. The fear and anxiety that sometimes peeked through were now replaced by a quiet, complete resignation.

“Eugene, that was something the empire did to suppress its colonies. Countries that value freedom don’t do that.”

Cynthia tried her best to reassure him.

But Eugene lowered his gaze, speaking quietly.

“Noona, my mom and dad died because of me.”

It was the first time he’d ever spoken of his parents.

Cynthia’s face twisted with emotion as she gently patted Eugene’s back.

“Why would you think that? I don’t know what happened, but…”

From that moment on, Eugene said nothing. Just like way back when he wouldn’t speak, he remained silent, as if simply watching the clouds drift away.

Whether Cynthia chattered beside him, whether Massera tried to converse with him, whether the officers offered him piggyback rides—even when he went to sleep and woke again, he remained silent.

The boy had once again chosen to build walls around himself and live in isolation.

Several days passed since Eugene stopped speaking.

According to the doctor, they shouldn't pressure or worry him—just treat him as usual and wait for him to feel secure enough to open up again.

So Cynthia stayed close by, spending time with him as she always did.

“Eugene, the mama cat brought her kittens over! Aren’t they cute?”

Eugene looked at the mama cat brushing up against her and the fluffy little kittens.

“Cats co-parent with those they trust. She’s brought them here because she sees us as her companions and wants us to help care for them.”

Cynthia raised her chin haughtily and smiled at the unresponsive Eugene.

“The weather is going to get really cold soon, so I’m going to build them a house to survive the winter. Want to help? We’re the cat’s guardians, after all.”

Eugene silently nodded.

Unlike before, Eugene no longer avoided Cynthia and he quietly did as she asked.

‘It’s not that he’s grown fond of me… but maybe that he thinks he’ll be abandoned soon.’

Cynthia, who understood how children who knew death often seemed too mature, felt a deep sadness.

***

Later that evening, Cynthia sought out Massera after he returned to the residence.

“Rather than just waiting around, I think we should do something.”

She knew that Eugene was suffering from post-war trauma.

But it was a time where PTSD from war wasn’t a recognized diagnosis.

Rather, symptoms like that were often dismissed—seen either as fabricated for government compensation, or as signs of weakness.

So naturally, there were no proper treatments available.

“He went through a bombing at such a young age and lost his parents. I don’t think his emotional wounds have healed yet. I’d like to find a psychiatrist who’s studying post-war trauma.”

Massera, who had been focused on his documents, looked up at Cynthia.

[There’s nothing wrong with our Cynthia. She grew up in the countryside, so how could she have ever experienced war?”

She did once have a seizure at the sound of gunfire when she came along on a hunt. I suppose her fear of guns and fireworks must stem from that.]

That was Count Queensguard’s reply to his letter inquiring about Cynthia’s condition.

Massera mulled over the contents of the reply and let out a sigh. He felt pathetic for having even briefly felt sympathy for her.

“You know nothing about the suffering of those who went through war, so why do you speak so easily of it?”

Cynthia stared at him with a blank expression.

“I’m not taking this lightly.”

“So, are you suggesting we lock the child up in a psych ward?”

The families of war veterans often threw those showing symptoms into psychiatric wards.

They believed soldiers who killed people on the battlefield were possessed by demons and treated them as cursed.

The so-called treatment for them was nothing more than locking them up in tiny rooms and sedating them. Rather than showing signs of recovery, their conditions only worsened with time.

“Salutations, Colonel Giez! No anomalies on duty, sir!”

When he visited a comrade who’d been abandoned by family and institutionalized, he found that the man’s time had frozen on the battlefield.

Massera had seen too many of those heartbreaking scenes.

His eyes, full of fury, darkened into a stormy blue.

“You’re not saying he’s abnormal and therefore useless and bothersome, are you?”

“Why would you say something so cruel…”

“Do you truly believe marrying me makes you part of my family?”

Massera got up from his seat and walked toward her with a threatening air.

“The world may seem beautiful through the eyes of someone raised in a greenhouse, but many people are still unable to escape their suffering. For a weak person like you who trembles in fear at the sound of a mere hunting rifle, you have no right to speak so lightly about the lives of those who’ve lived through real war.”

His brutal words drained all color from Cynthia’s face. Her red eyes wavered like glass beads submerged in water.

She recalled her past life.

Her mother, wrapped in bandages from a bombing and dying in agony. Her father, killed alongside enemy gunfire. Her brother, returned only by his dog tag. Her sister, whose body was never recovered from the collapsed building.

And that final moment, standing beneath the blindingly beautiful hail of fire—like a burst of fireworks at a festival—she gazed up at the sky for the last time.

‘In that moment, the world really did look beautiful.’

She was able to see the beauty in the world precisely because she had seen just how horrific it could be.

“I know why you’re angry, General.”

It’s because he knows how society views war victims and the ugliness of the reality they face.

“But even so, your words were too harsh. You don’t even know me.”

Cynthia smiled faintly and walked out of the room.

Her pained expression and sorrowful smile lingered in the empty space like an afterimage.

“…Damn it.”

Left alone, Massera rubbed his forehead and sighed.