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92.59% Screw the Plot! I'll Save the Villain! / Chapter 25: Chapter 26

Kapitel 25: Chapter 26

When the sun was a palm above the horizon, Randell and the General rose with it. Neither were ones to linger in the morning, so soon after washing and dressing themselves, both went to start their day.

Kissing his lover a brief goodbye, the General headed for the clinic to see the doctor for treatment under the guise of a routine check up.

Since he was injured, the General had clearly hidden the amount of discomfort his hand brought him, especially to Randell. How could he allow for such a 'small' inconvenience to prevent him from having intimate time with his lover?

On his way to the clinic, the General unexpectedly ran into his son whose direction was the same.

"Morning, father. I hope you slept well," Jamie greeted. His smile was brightly beaming from a good night's rest. As soon as he woke up, he already had his day planned. 

The General nodded and walked beside his son. "Good morning." Quietly looking to the left, right, above, and behind, there was no sign of the raven-haired child that provided a great deal of mental pain less than twenty-four hours ago. On the surface, the General's face remained as calm as a lake, but internally, he was pleased.

Yesterday, taking information was like prying teeth from the child.

"Can I go now?" Gone from the young master's side for nearly two hours, Cieran was already impatient. He didn't tell them everything he knew, but enough so that his interrogators could stop pestering him about things he did not wish to answer.

The General gave him a nod, letting the child go free. 

But as soon as he turned around, he sent new orders stating that starting tomorrow - which was today - Gale and Isla would bring the boy with them to the training grounds.

Partially pardoned from their punishment, the two guards were only happy to do so. They didn't have much time to waste when spring conscription was just around the corner. Unlike many other armies, the competition under the Marquis of Claudius' banner was tough and merciless. If there were 500 spots open, they would never take 501. 

Just like scholars cramming for the imperial exam, there wasn't a second to waste.

This is why Cieran was off somewhere running laps and not following the young master around like a little tail.

"Where are you off to right now?" Side by side, the father and son walked. Slowing his pace, the General matched his steps to the boy who only reached his waist.

"Remember how I said I started reading the books in Doctor Imire's collection? Well, I was hoping to find an anthology for plants."

The General nodded and remembered a key point he had forgotten to ask about. "You seem to have no problems when reading. Did you have a teacher?"

Finding himself caught in a trap, Jamie's mind came to a stutter. It seemed he had forgotten that literacy was an invaluable treasure and he was supposed to be a poor orphan boy from the countryside.

Unable to deny this, he could only say the truth. "O-oh. Yes... but .. I'm not that proficient so..." Well, part of the truth.

The General keenly smelled something fishy, but didn't pull off the boy's cover. The relationship of the father and son was still fresh. It was best to strengthen their bond rather than pry his son's secrets - obviously, he didn't hold those same reservations toward other children.

Cieran who was currently frog leaping across a field while holding basket a stones above of his head, "..."

"If you have any questions, you can always come to me or Avery. We were waiting for a time for you to adapt before choosing a tutor for you. But seeing as how you are already very studious, I'll have your Uncle look into it right away."

The General's words were earnest, but Jamie couldn't help but cry internally. Although it was true that he liked to study, it was mostly toward topics he enjoyed. 

Now he was going to go through a whole knew level of education. Studying in this world was, according to the story, 'a constant recitation of things one cannot understand until one understands...' Even Jamie had to sympathize with the protagonist for the grueling rotary way of teaching he had to go through...

With an ugly smile, he gratefully gave his thanks, "...Yes... I will work hard." He promised his father on their way to the Capital that he would do his best to support the name of the Marquis. And being a man of his word, he couldn't back down.

"As long as you do your best, that is all I ask for." The bitterness in the youth's voice couldn't be hidden and Jedrick withheld his amusement. It seemed the child was not much different from his younger self at all.

The aversion to schooling was in the blood of the Lovel family. Of course each descendant seized the opportunities when given - education was a privilege and gift - but no hot blooded son of the Marquis of Claudius household had the mental wiring to endure hours upon hours of scholarly torture out of fun and righteousness.

The doctor was already awake and sipping away on his morning cup of tea when the master and young master arrived. 

"Good morning, sir. Good morning, young master."

"Good morning, Doctor. Has the brew been prepared?" Jedrick asked. It was a few days after halfway through of the month and his hand was already curling in on itself. Last night, he tried to hide the deadened thing well, but by morning, his fingers were already forming a fist.

The doctor saw the child looking at the gloved hand with interest and understood the General was giving permission to speak openly. "Yes. I've kept some from a few weeks ago. Please wait a moment while I go and heat it up."

The doctor left and Jamie tentatively asked, "Does it hurt?"

Looking down at his palms, the General shook his head. "No. Not anymore." Just a little, he folded the top of the glove to reveal a small area of flesh. Partly blackened and scaled with keratinized skin, it wasn't something that belonged to a human's body.

Jamie's brows furrowed. His mind wasn't focused on the repulsive skin, but the mien of the hand as a whole.

After suffering from her first stroke, his grandma had a similar problem in terms of mobility. She was able to walk around and live, to an extent, a normal life, but the lack of medical care left her with a weak left hand that was unable to open and close.

Later, when Jamie grew up, he learned from his grandfather that she could have gone to a physical therapist or a specialist for this... but raising a child in old age was expensive. Paying for books and saving for Jamie's education was much more important...

When his grandfather fell down their front porch steps, he was bedridden for months. And no matter how stubborn the old man was, Jamie was sure to pay - with his meager college funds - for the best physical therapist at the hospital. While he cheered for his grandpa on the side, Jamie learned a few massaging techniques and exercises from other patients working hard... He planned to keep these in mind for when his grandfather was released from the hospital...

Unfortunately, the man passed away not long after recovering.

For a long time, the child was quiet while remembering unpleasant events.

Mistaking the silence as disgust, Jedrick had to sigh. He himself didn't like looking at it, but it was best to prepare the child for the future... When the time came when treatment no longer worked...

Not wishing to think of the inevitable, he began to cover the decrepit skin.

He didn't expect for the child to stop him.

"Can I touch?" The child raised his head to look at him with eyes as clear as a lake. 

The General took a moment before nodding. The doctor had told him many times that the skin wasn't infectious. The reason he kept it covered was for his own mental state and so the world wouldn't know. 

Slowly, every ugly thing hidden beneath was revealed. Jamie studied the hideous hand. And with his own unsoiled fingers as perfect as polished jade, the fist was carefully unfurled.

Multiple times, Jamie checked his father's face to see if this caused any pain, but all he saw was the usual scary, yet endearing, expression.

Little by little, the palm was opened.

And just the first time he saw a certain flaming red-haired boy, an odd sense befell him. Time seemed to have stopped and the pieces he had yet to collect of this world were scattered even further from him.

Within the palm was a mark... 

It was something all too familiar to him. Something that shouldn't exist in this world...

On a perfect day where the sun shined and the sky was clear, a bolt of lightning struck him.

Unable to contain his honest thoughts, Jamie uttered some surprising words... "What the fuck?"


AUTORENGEDANKEN
Goosey_Goo Goosey_Goo

Small Theater:

Cieran: (who had been working since dawn) "..."

Author: "Sorry... at least I mentioned you."

Cieran: (takes a few rocks from the basket he's been exercising with and steps closer.)

Author: "Hey. Hey. Hey. I don't control the story. I give you all free will to do whatever you want."

Cieran: (continues closer under his own free will)

Gale and Isla: "Yo, kid. It's time for lunch. If you want food, you better hurry up."

Cieran who is very food motivated: (scurries away)

Author who was almost stoned to death: Phew. Better increase his training to keep the boy busy. Can't let this child grow crooked.

Future Cieran: grows crooked.... very crooked.

Kapitel 26: Chapter 27

Splashing through sparkling water, the boy walked through the creek while barefoot. Tiny fish kissed his skin before swimming away as if they were playing a game of tag. The sensation was ticklish on his toes. 

His movements caused small waves along the lazy brook. Each ripple reflected the sky above the trees and floated away like dancing ribbons. The surface was shallow and only reached his ankles. And beneath his feet he felt the smooth pebbles that cover the loamy banks.

Summer had taken over, looming through the air with a mugginess that made it impossible to do much of anything. Fortunately, their home was near a clean body of water where he could stomp about to keep cool.

"Don't go too far. Your grandma should be done with lunch soon." Behind him, his grandpa walked slowly with his hands crossed behind his back. The old man's shoulders were slightly hunched and his hair was mostly grey, but in the boy's eyes, he was as strong as a bull and as short as a tack - at least that's how he thinks how that saying goes. His grandpa is really silly sometimes.

Hearing about lunch, the child was excited. His grandma was making his favorite cornish hen and apple pie from the fruit he and his grandpa picked from the orchards this morning. This was part of the reason they were outside where it was so hot an egg could cook on the sidewalk. 

"Take this boy outside before he presses his nose to the oven," his Grandma said to his grandpa.

And always one to do as his wife says, his grandpa took him for a walk through the small forest a short ways away from their house. After crossing the street, it only took them a few minutes through the trees of verdant green to find the babbling creek, one of his most favorite places in the world.

When he reached the large rock on the other side, the boy climbed up fearlessly. His grandfather watched over him so he wasn't scared.

At the top, he looked around and felt like he was the tallest in the world. This was the first time he was able to climb all the way by himself and wanting to show his victory, he yelled, "Papa! Papa! Look at me! I'm taller than you!"

The old man nodded. "I see that. One day, you will be much taller than me." 

With bright eyes like crescents, the child laughed. His voice was crisp and sweet, causing the birds and squirrels in the trees to chirp and chatter along. The old man listened as a symphony played around them.

From the corners of the woods, small animals drew closer with a curious nature. Unafraid, the boy spread out his hands in a welcoming gesture. And all the good things gathered round his grandson.

The grandfather watched with both awe and a muted fear... This was not the first time such a confounding thing happened... But masking any cursed thoughts, he stood with an assured smile.

More than a half an of an hour passed like this when his grandfather checked his watch. Seeing how it was nearly time, he called the child back.

 "Best to hurry, before your grandma gives our pie to the neighbors."

Widening his eyes, the boy hurriedly climbed down from the rock. Next door to them was a middle aged couple with their son who was just a few years older than he was. Last time his grandma made pie, the neighbor kid came running and ate several large slices before he and his grandpa came home. 

His grandma was never one to let a soul go hungry. Even if she was on the last dollar in her pocket, she'd be sure to feed that person before sending them off on there way.

Pursing his lips, his tiny hands gripped the top like a cliff. Little critters cheered for him during his perilous task.

 In reality, the rock was only a few feet high, only as tall as him. But with such short limbs, it was a difficulty that he wasn't expecting.

Slowly, he scooted downward, his body dangling momentarily. And thinking his right foot had touched the ground, he let go of the top of the rock only to fall.

From across the water, his grandpa was startled. Not even caring is his shoes were wet, he ran to the other side where the little boy was flat on his bum.

Tears forming in his eyes, the boy lifted his hand to show something sharp sticking out of it. "Papa... it hurts!" He said woefully. The large doe-eyes were wide and pitiful. The old man felt his heart ache. He grabbed the tender little hand and studied the object.

Soon, he recognized the thing for what it was. And more than before, the pain in his heart increased tenfold. He gave the child a handkerchief from his pocket and brought him back to the house.

The boy wanted to bravely walk on his own two feet, but the old man was concerned about the thing in his palm. Picking the child up, he heaved as he stood up.

"Aren't I heavy, Papa?"

The old man's brows were two furry down-pointing lines. "What nonsense? Your papa is as strong as a bull, remember. Even when I'm a hundred years old, I'll be able to pick you up."

A few minutes later, the two were back at the house. The yard was small and covered in greenery that bore a cornucopia of fruit and vegetables.

The aroma of apples and cinnamon wafted from the kitchen, distracting the boy from the pain stemming from his hand. 

Just as she set the pan down on the counter, the old woman heard the sound of the door. The old woman went to the living room with a smile on her face... but then she saw the bright red wrapped around her grandson's hand.

"Oh my! What happened?"

His tears still stubbornly hanging at the edge of his eyes, the child sniffed, "Nana, it hurts... can I have your special ice cream to make it feel better?"

The old husband and wife helplessly looked at each other. Such a silly child.

~

With a quick and merciless tug, the item came out of the tiny palm. The boy squeaked and squirmed in his seat. The grandma soothed him while patting his back. Quickly she tended to the injury and wrapped it in clean bandages.

The old man went to put the sharp object away. There was a sadness in his eyes, but like the wound he tried to cover it up with happy ignorance.

"Papa, wait! I want to see."

But the grandfather shook his head and took the thing away. "When you are older, I'll give this to you." 

The old man went to the old couple's bedroom and took a tin canister down from their closet. Opening the lid, there were a few papers and an object that looked to be a pair to the one in his hand. He placed them together and closed it, no longer wishing to look.

Putting the can back on the shelf, he took a moment before leaving the room. 

It seemed they could delay as much as they wanted, but no matter what, the future was inevitable.

~

The crest of a moon overlapped by the sun.

Clear and distinct, the mark was an exact replica of the mark on his past-self's hand. He couldn't remember when or where he received it. It was probably somewhere before grandmother fell ill because many childhood memories were fuzzy around that time.

"This mark..." Raising his gaze, Jamie wanted to ask why it was tattooed on the General when the good Doctor returned with the concoction. "The medicine has been heated."

Nodding, Jedrick took his hand away and sat at the table where Imire placed the medicine. Lifting up his sleeves, he kindly instructed, "The smell may be bothersome. Go with the Doctor to find your book."

Yet, the boy firmly rejected. "No... I'll stay."

Hearing such a resolve raised Imire's opinion of the young master several points. And so, he offered, "If you tell me what subject you are looking for, I can find the books while you wait with the Master."

After the doctor left again, the General placed everything from his forearm down into the bubbling basin. The foul odor like a cavity in the mouth rose, tickling the senses. Moments later, the necrotic tissue began to shed away like a snake's skin. 

Jamie's eyes watered, but did not look away. It was disgusting and putrid and gross. But he did not look away. The brew sizzled and popped and the fumes of death that were not there before lifted then dispersed.

The General's forehead trickled with sweat, yet his face remained calm.

Intermittently, he casually chatted with the child. And going along with the General's feigned attitude, Jamie kept good company - keeping any heavy thoughts away to sort through later. But even though his mind was scrambled, there was no way the General could fool him into believing that this was in any way a pleasant process.


AUTORENGEDANKEN
Goosey_Goo Goosey_Goo

I really want some pie right now. I plan on making some for Christmas.

Just imagine...

Eating some delicious, homemade apple pie, cinnamon infused with a pinch of nutmeg... You're beside the fireplace with fuzzy socks and a nice cup of milk or coffee or tea or whatever beverage of your choice.

The buttery crust is perfectly flakey, complimenting the sweetness in the filling...

At the very top was a dollop of freshly whipped cream.

And every bite is a small parcel of heaven in your mouth.

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