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2.15% Reborn As Papa Silva / Chapter 2: Meeting

Capítulo 2: Meeting

Acier Silva POV:

"That bastard still hasn't visited you?!" The words echoed in the dim light of the room, filled with an urgency that contrasted sharply with my feeble state. As I lay there on what felt like my deathbed, a frail smile tugged at the corners of my lips. I turned my head slowly, ignoring the sharp ache that radiated through my body, seeking solace in the familiar presence before me. There stood Aurelia Silva—the girl who was once my sister, now a proud Vermillion by marriage.

In her, I saw reflections of myself. The unmistakable silver hair flowed like liquid moonlight, while her eyes, a softer pink, reminded me of my youngest daughter's innocent gaze. While we shared many physical traits, the essence of who we were set us apart. Aurelia's spirit burned bright and outspoken—a trait that may have been ignited further by her time in the joyous chaos of House Vermillion. Even as a child, she had an indomitable spark that made her stand out, her voice often rising above the fray and bringing life to the silences around her.

I glanced at the tiny bundle in her arms, stirring from a light slumber, roused by her mother's fervent utterance. Sweet little Mimosa, coiled up like a radiant sunbeam, boasted soft Vermillion locks and bright yellow eyes that sparkled with curiosity. I could only hope she inherited her father's innate sense of awareness—otherwise, it seemed certain that she and Noelle would butt heads more often than not, like wildflowers in a tempest.

My heart ached as I recalled Noelle, my youngest, nestled securely in Nozel's arms, her delicate frame shielded against the world's turmoil. He had finally taken a much-needed respite from that relentless self-imposed training to come and see me. It pained me to think that I would be unable to converse with her, to share my thoughts or experiences as a mother should. She wouldn't even remember my face, leaving a hollow gnawing of guilt in my chest. The burdens of a curse weighed heavily upon me, and I lamented the unfairness of it all—this affliction that dictated my fate and sequestered my love from my children.

Rumors abounded, whispers circulating among the ranks of our family and acquaintances, suggesting my demise was a consequence of my choice to bear Noelle. But how could I clarify their misguided assumptions? Any attempt to set the record straight would only subject Nozel to the cruel repercussions of a devil's curse he bore, and I would never wish that upon him. It was maddening that they chose to forget the truth of my health following her birth. They opted for twisted narratives over the reality of my situation, ignoring the cries and pleas of a mother who fought for her child's right to know her.

It was infuriating yet tragically ironic. Noelle, the daughter of the princess of the battlefield, was to be subjected to a lifetime of scorn for her vulnerability; how foolish of them to believe that she could be anything less than a tower of strength. The disdainful glances she received from servants, and even from Nebra and Solid, were a sting I wished I could shield her from, at least while I still drew breath. I knew that the moment I was gone, the floodgates would open, and the scorn of those who desired to see her falter would rush over her like a tempest.

I clung to the hope that Nozel would uphold his promise to protect his sister. As for her father, indifference would be his only gift to her. He would neither lash out in rage nor extend a protective hand; Noelle would become just another shadow in his distant gaze, placed among his other three children. Strangely, I found solace in this thought, for amidst the many potential predators circling around my sweet girl, he would be the least of her worries.

But it was Nozel's clenched jaw and brewing anger that caught my eye when that despicable man's name slipped from Aurelia's lips. I felt the tension ripple through Nebra and Solid, as they braced themselves for a feud sparked by the mention of their father, and I couldn't help but feel a sharp annoyance bubble within me. I turned my gaze back to Aurelia, forcing my hoarse voice through the constricted remnants of my strength. "A—Aurelia… j-just... d-drop... i-it," I murmured, straining with each syllable. Even for someone as forthright as her, the message seemed to resonate. She caught the weight of my frustration reflected in my eyes, offering a sheepish nod in understanding before redirecting her gaze to the floor, safely abdicating the topic.

The ceiling loomed above me as I lay on my bed, its sterile whiteness offering no comfort against the encroaching shadows of my reality. Solid's and Nebra's hands gripped mine tightly, their voices a muted murmur in the background, blending into the thick fog of exhaustion that enveloped my mind. My body, slick with perspiration yet frigid to the touch, felt trapped in an agonizing limbo, oscillating between arctic cold and simmering fever. I glanced at my wrist, astonished to see the vibrant hue of my skin replaced by an unsettling pallor, one that could easily prompt the casual observer to mistake me for a lifeless shell. The heaviness beneath my eyelids made the world blur into an incoherent haze.

So, this is it, huh? I'm really a goner. One would think that someone like me—a scion of proud magic knights, a warrior known for valor and fame earned on countless battlefields—would have made peace with this fate. I had always understood the stakes of violence; if you kill, you must be prepared to die. But the truth of my situation struck me with a brutal clarity: I was not ready. I wanted to be present for my children, for Noelle. I yearned to witness Nozel and Solid navigate the tumult of young love, to see Nebra and Noelle exchange vows with their lovers under a sunlit sky, to tease my children about their first crushes, and to bond with Nozel's and Solid's girlfriends. The thought of closing my eyes, only to drift into an eternal sleep, terrified me. I feared with every fiber of my being that I would never again see my precious jewels.

Then, perhaps stirred by my sister's presence, my thoughts turned inevitably to him—the man who had snatched hope from my grasp time and again, delighting in the very pain he inflicted. It struck me as a grim irony that the dancing princess of the battlefield—a title I had worn with both pride and grace—was cowed by the very man who should have been my partner. Sebastian. The thought of defying him felt foreign and impossible; after all, he wasn't a magic knight. Maybe that's why I found it so challenging to confront him as I would an enemy on the battlefield. At the end of the day, he was my husband. My battles with him were tragically limited to words and wits—skills in which I perpetually faltered, my heart shattered time and again by his cold indifference. My once unbreakable spirit, honed on the battlefield, felt like fragile clay, easily manipulated by his presence.

What a cruel man you are, Sebastian. Even if your heart no longer harbors love for me...not anymore...is it too much to ask for a single visit? After all, there was a time when we shared the sanctity of vows, a time when we were... something more. I snapped my head away from those thoughts, mentally shaking myself free. There was no use in dwelling on spilled milk. Perhaps it would be wise to give him a taste of his own medicine and demand a divorce before I slipped away from this world. His precious hold on House Silva would disintegrate, leaving him as nothing more than a shadow. A dark, juvenile fantasy, I mused with a spiteful grin—but even in that fleeting moment, practicality reigned, and I recognized the futility of such thoughts.

If he were to disappear from my children's lives as I departed from this world, I knew too well the dangers that would descend upon them. There were more than enough nobility and dealers from the Kira family poised to snatch House Silva for themselves at the first sign of weakness. Despite his flaws, Sebastian was a shield for my children, and my eldest son, Nozel, though remarkably gifted, was merely a teenager fresh from acquiring his grimoire. Asking him to protect his siblings, to carry the burden of our lineage alone, would break him. It would crush the very spirit that nestled within him, rendering him helpless against those who would prey on our family's misfortune.

I returned Solid's grip with a gentle squeeze, forcing a smile that felt grotesque as I continued to gaze at the ceiling. "S-Sorry, S-Solid… Mommy wasn't... l-listening. Can you... repeat that... a-again?" I waited for him to express his point once more, but the words never came.

Perhaps he didn't hear me. "Solid?" I called out again, straining to raise my voice despite the searing pain that lanced through me. I waited and waited, but only silence greeted my ears. Confusion creased my brow as I turned to look at my strangely quiet son. It was then that I noticed something unsettling—he wasn't even focused on me. Solid's gaze was fixed across the room, his pupils dilated, his mouth slightly agape. A cocktail of surprise, trepidation, and a hint of fear coursed through me. Ignoring the migraines pulsating through my head, I followed his line of sight, and that was when I saw him—my husband.

Sebastian stood framed in the doorway, and despite the vehement hatred Nozel held for him, I recognized the traces of his regal demeanor mirrored in my eldest. My husband, from whom Solid had inherited not only his physical features but also the legacy of his magic. A part of me had resigned to the notion that he wouldn't come to see me, perhaps only willing to pay his respects once I was entombed beneath a gravestone. Yet here he was. A husband, visiting his dying wife—such a notion should be natural, but it felt so strangely misaligned with the man who perpetually wore irritation like armor. The silence in the room was so palpable it felt as though the very air between us held its breath, reflecting the disbelief we all shared.

I watched as Sebastian whispered something to Alfred, who hurried away carrying a heavy load, glancing back at me with a look tinged with uncertainty. I braced myself for the sharp twist of anguish that I had come to expect from him—the reassurance that I should not harbor hope. I braced for him to turn around, to shatter what little optimism had ignited in my heart. But instead, there he stood, crossing the threshold and stepping into the room

Sebastian Silva POV:

Ignoring the palpable tension that filled the air like a suffocating shroud, I ordered Alfred to see to the task I had entrusted him with before stepping tentatively into Acier's room. I could sense the myriad of eyes bearing down on me, but my focus was singular, inescapably drawn to her.

In the stories told in manga and anime, she always appeared unfazed, glowing with confidence even in her illness. But reality told a harsher tale. Acier lay frail upon her deathbed, her body a shadow of its former self, so thin and ghostly pale one could easily mistake her for a specter. Sweat glimmered on her forehead, yet I hesitated to pull the covers away. Even in this weakened state, I could feel the icy chill radiating off her; she was so very cold. Her once-vibrant lilac eyes seemed dulled, heavy bags beneath them betraying restless nights—either she lacked sleep or, perhaps, had avoided it altogether, fearing that slumber might seal her fate. Megicula and Vanica... just wait. I clenched my fists unconsciously, my resolve solidifying. I'll make—she'll make you pay.

As I took in the bewildered expression on her face, a flicker of guilt washed over me; how could she be so surprised by my presence? The looks on the faces of our children and my sister-in-law mirrored her own shock, but those quickly morphed into a storm of anger. Nozel, in particular, shot me deathly daggers while cradling his infant sister, Noelle, in his arms. The weight of their collective emotions made me feel as though I might kneel under the pressure. I fought the instinct to rub my temples or twiddle my thumbs—old habits that clung to me from another life—and instead maintained my regal and impassive demeanor.

Damn it, you left me quite the mess, Sebastian. I forced a steady voice through my mounting frustration. "Everyone but Nozel should leave. I want a word with the two of you." To my dismay, no one moved. Confusion tightened my brows. Even if you harbor disdain for me, is it too much to ask for a moment alone with your mother and eldest son?

"Get out." The commanding voice pierced the air at my side.

Huh? I turned to see Aurelia, perched on a chair, with her daughter, Mimosa, cradled in her lap. The infant was undeniably adorable, and I would have been tempted to pinch her soft cheeks, if not for the fury radiating from her mother, who thrust a finger in my direction as if to emphasize her demand.

"...Why?" I could barely manage a single word, and judging by the bulging veins on Aurelia's forehead, I knew I had misstepped.

"Sister—" Acier's hoarse voice tried to intervene, but Aurelia charged on undeterred.

"HOW CAN THIS NO-SHOW FATHER, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING HUSBAND, UGLY RAT-TAILED, HEARTLESS GRINCH OF A MAN, SHOW UP AFTER NEARLY A YEAR SINCE YOU GOT SICK, AND TELL US TO GET LOST?!"

The insult caught me off guard. "Ugly" was a bit too much, wasn't it? Nozel's enthusiastic nodding confirmed just how delighted he was with his aunt's tirade, and Acier's silent acceptance of this exchange did little for my already tenuous feelings of being loved or respected. I had to clamp down on my impulse to pout at their reactions.

Clearing my throat, I sought to redirect their ire back towards me. "I apologize if I came off as rude," I started, cautiously glancing at their incredulous expressions, each looking at me as if I were some extraterrestrial being. Damn it. It was just an apology. I've issued countless apologies in my life—none particularly sincere—but it shouldn't be so difficult to express remorse.

Ignoring the throbbing ache in my head, I pressed on. "It's only for a moment I ask you to step out of the room. I need to speak to them privately."

"What do you want with me?" Nozel's voice reached me from the side. I was taken aback that he felt inclined to speak to me at all. Perhaps I wouldn't have to move mountains to elicit a response after all.

"Because this involves you as well," I replied simply, watching as he raised an eyebrow, skepticism gleaming in his eyes. I knew I had never shown much interest in him, aside from leveraging his magical prowess to boast at royal gatherings as if every accomplishment was solely due to my guidance. "And I don't think you're willing to leave your mother alone with me," I added, observing how he instinctively tightened his grip on Noelle while his other hand unconsciously drifted toward his satchel, where his grimoire lay.

With a reluctant, indifferent nod, he acknowledged my assessment. He was obviously unwilling to hand off his sister, not trusting Nebra or Solid to tend to the embodiment of much of their ire. I finished, "She can stay; it's not like she'd understand anyway." Yet again, I found myself suppressing a curse at their mixed reactions to my so-called "cooperation."

Silence enveloped the room once more, stretching uncomfortably as I struggled to maintain my composure. I found myself tapping my right foot in impatience, arms crossed tightly over my chest. Thankfully, Acier chose this moment to cooperate. With barely veiled encouragement passed among her, Nebra, Solid, and Aurelia, she motioned for them to leave. My children hurried past me, eager to escape a room that crackled with tension, where their father and eldest brother looked poised to erupt. Aurelia glared at me with a fierce intensity as she exited, closing the door with a finality that echoed in the stillness.

Hmph, do you think I'm afraid of you? You're not Mereoleona. I sneered inwardly, shaking off the bravado as I turned back to my wife and Nozel, who perched on the edge of Acier's bed, a bundle of sweetness—Noelle—squirming cutely in his arms. I reached for my grimoire, but of course, that was the precise moment Nozel tensed and reached for his own.

I halted, looking at him as if he were an imbecile, the words slipping out before I thought better of it. "If I wanted her dead, I'd just wait a few weeks. Why would I take the risk of killing her myself?"

Nozel's face flamed red with embarrassment as he darted a glance at his mother. Acier met his gaze with an exasperated nod that seemed to convey everything. He turned back to me, and I couldn't suppress a dramatic sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose in defeat. "I'm just casting a spell to block any potential eavesdroppers and spies. Is that okay with you?" I emphasized the "you" with a pointed annoyance. Once again, Acier gave him a reassuring nod, prompting Nozel to offer me a reluctant sign of approval.

With that, my grimoire floated out of my satchel, shimmering with an ocean-blue luminescence. Flipping to a page that illustrated a peculiar water dome, I cast my spell in silence. Water Barrier Magic: Deep Blue Room. The parameters of the room began to manifest, a dark blue bubble surrounding us, muting all sound and preventing intruders from peering into the barrier. A flicker of satisfaction rippled through me when Noelle squeaked in delight at the sight. I didn't let that small victory show on my face.

"Now let's talk." I shot them a weary look as I pulled a chair closer to the bed, hoping that we could finally have this long-overdue conversation without further distractions.

Acier Silva POV:

I observed my husband as he clumsily pulled a chair in front of the bed and tried to sit down. Yet just as he was about to lower himself, he suddenly halted, standing there with a frown that spoke volumes—his displeasure was palpable. Oh god, please don't tell me he's going to launch into a tirade about a chair.

To my surprise, he didn't. He simply continued standing, trying to play it off as if that brief moment of indecision had never happened. Nozel and I exchanged bewildered glances, our shared confusion mirrored in each other's eyes. Sebastian then coughed into his fist, gathering our attention back to him with his ever-signature indifferent tone.

"So is that it? Are you just going to give up? It's not like the Steel Princess to admit defeat." His words cut harshly, utterly tactless and devoid of empathy—just as I had come to expect. Did he truly think I had given up? I had battled this curse for nearly a year; anyone else would have perished within a month. I had tried everything I could without confessing the true nature of my affliction. I sought the best doctors in the kingdom, yet all they could deduce was that it was some post-birth malfunction. A bitter taste filled my mouth as I fought back tears. I refused to give him the satisfaction of witnessing my breakdown. He wasn't worth it anymore.

Nozel, ever ready to protect me, looked like he was about to unleash his wrath on Sebastian. Honestly, I was tempted to let him, but I knew they would need their father, for better or worse. Just as I opened my mouth to chide my eldest, Sebastian spoke again.

"You need to eat and get some rest. Experts will be coming in tomorrow to assess your condition."

Experts? What experts? I shot him a disbelieving look that could not be disguised. "If even the great Dr. Owen was helpless, who else could possibly make a difference?" Nozel chimed in, sarcasm dripping from his voice. It was rude, yes, but far from incorrect. Unless these experts hailed from outside the Clover Kingdom—which seemed improbable—they'd offer no genuine hope. Diamond would likely celebrate my downfall rather than assist me, Spade had closed itself off to outsiders, and the Heart Kingdom specialized only in natural mana elements, completely incapable of working miracles in healing.

I met Sebastian's gaze, searching for any hint of sincerity or understanding, but all I saw was the same indifferent mask he wore like armor. How could he be so unfeeling even now? The overwhelming weight of my situation pressed down on me, but I was resolute: I would withstand this storm, even if he refused to see my struggles.

I braced myself for Sebastian to reprimand Nozel for speaking out of turn, but to my surprise, he merely offered him an understanding nod. "I never said anything about a doctor. I said experts." He emphasized that last word, whatever it meant, before turning his gaze to me. "They're much better equipped for dealing with your particular situation." His eyes shifted toward Nozel, narrowing in on his throat, and I felt a chill run down my spine. "Both of yours."

What? He...he...he actually—"You know?!" Nozel echoed my shock, the accusation hanging heavily in the air. He knows about the curse—not just mine, but Nozel's too. He knows the truth.

Sebastian's only response was a silent nod, plunging the room back into an eerie silence.

"H-how?" I managed to stammer, my heart racing with dread and a glimmer of hope. "Why?" How had he found out? Did he always know, and if so, why wait until now to give me this flicker of hope? Did he take pleasure in playing games with me like this? Tears spilled over, despite my attempts to rein them in, pleading silently for a response, for any form of reassurance.

I anticipated mockery or taunts aimed at Nozel and me, yet what I received shattered my expectations. Sebastian hung his head, shame palpable in his posture. The complex emotions writ large on his face, the guilt that marred his features, knocked the wind out of me. No, this must be a lie. Acier, he's just manipulating you; don't let yourself believe this. I couldn't shake the thought that this was yet another cruel game, one more opportunity for him to revel in my despair.

"Any response I give you...won't satisfy you." He forced himself to meet my gaze, an unsettling intensity in his eyes. "So it's better not to ask." Ignoring my desperate plea for something more, for understanding, he continued, "Eat up...and get some rest...both of you. Your fate isn't sealed yet...so don't give up hope. Come tomorrow, I swear things will start to change." And just like that, he turned to the door, allowing the spell to unravel, restoring the room to its previous state, much to Noelle's displeasure. I found myself trying to reach out to him, my heart racing.

"Sebastian," I called hoarsely, just as I had countless times before, hoping against hope that this time he would stop and face me. But as always, he swung the door open and walked away, indifferent to my call or the accusations Aurelia hurled in his wake, deeply misunderstanding the situation.

I felt Nozel squeeze my hand, his gaze filled with a mixture of anxiety and hope that he struggled to conceal. "Your fate isn't sealed yet...so don't give up hope." Fine then, I thought, just one last time—I will keep my fingers crossed. But deep down, I resolved that this would truly be the final time.


Capítulo 3: Through Day and Night

Ignoring Aurelia's barely-contained fury, I hurriedly made my exit, brushing aside Acier's frantic pleas. It was difficult to reconcile the strong woman I had always admired in the story—the indomitable force of nature—with the fragile figure laying before me, her eyes darting nervously as if trying to gauge the repercussions of every word. The fear that I might erupt like a volcano at any moment only served to deepen my discomfort. Acier Silva was celebrated as one of the mightiest individuals in her world, her radiant smile and unshakeable confidence broadcasting an unyielding resolve—even as she prepared to embrace death when it eventually came. But now she seemed so broken, so far removed from the powerhouse she once was.

As I walked out of her villa and made my way back to the office, an unsettling churn twisted in my stomach at the memory of her dull, haunted gaze, which flickered with the faintest hint of hope as she regarded me. In the original work, my existence as Sebastian Silva was merely an afterthought—nothing more than a footnote noting Acier's eventual marriage and the four children she would bear. Perhaps the author chose to exclude him entirely, aiming to preserve Acier's independence and strength. After all, an illustrious figure like her shouldn't have been made to look like a mere appendage of a man, a hapless wretch clinging to her success.

Yet, the reality was starkly different. Acier's husband was undeniably real, and the torment he had wrought upon her during their sixteen years of marriage loomed large. To crudely compare, I imagined my existence paralleling that of Jacques Schnee from RWBY—an opportunist who had married into the esteemed House Silva (the equivalent of the Schnee Dust Company) purely for personal gain. Although the comparison painted a simplistic picture; Sebastian's character was layered, encompassing a genuine, albeit twisted, love for Acier—love that was now tainted by the years of emotional abuse he had inflicted.

In this grim narrative, Acier exemplified a far more resilient and nurturing mother than Willow of RWBY, refusing to allow the bleakness of her marriage to eclipse her devotion to her children. If anything, her tribulations seemed to deepen her love for them, compelling her to pour even more attention and affection into their lives.

Tragically, her life was cut short at the tender age of thirty-three—a devastating reality in a world where mana enhanced not just abilities but also resilience and vitality. Had she been plucked from this tale and placed into the modern realm, she might have been mistaken for a vibrant twenty-five-year-old. Within the confines of this cruel story, had she continued to endure, there was an unnerving possibility that she would have eventually succumbed to the pressure and trauma. Yet, unlike Willow, who retreated into the shadows, Acier would likely not lose herself entirely; instead, she would have projected her hidden scars—visible only in the presence of her tormentor—and become increasingly vulnerable to the world around her.

Damn it all—how pathetic I was, too. I couldn't even muster the courage to respond to her. I couldn't tell if it was the remnants of Sebastian's wretched disposition or my own timid nature as the transmigrated soul that drove me to flee like a coward. My dark mood clung to me like a shadow as I strode through the main estate. Typically, the staff would part for me out of respect, but this time it was different; their faces bore an unmistakable dread, eyes averted, bodies trembling as they avoided attracting my ire.

I chided myself for the transformation I had allowed to unfold. Despite being intertwined with a man as rotten as Sebastian, I had yet to fully succumb to that darkness, I mused, berating myself for the annoyance swelling within. I refused to lay my frustrations upon these poor souls. They were not deserving of my wrath. But the door to my office—now that was a different matter entirely.

As I reached for the doorknob, I turned it slowly and stepped inside. The door swung shut behind me with a resounding crash, shaking the very walls of the room. Damn, it didn't even break! What on earth were these doors made of? I shook my head in exasperation, my irritation boiling just beneath the surface.

I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I realized just how tense I had been. The release of tension was almost instantaneous, making me feel much better. My eyes drifted to the stack of paperwork cluttering my desk— a daunting reminder of the myriad tasks that needed reviewing and signing. Procrastination wasn't an option; leaving it for later would only result in an unbearable pile-up. I needed to clear this off my plate to free up my schedule for my plans this month, especially time for Acier. Resolutely, I picked up my quill pen and inkpad. Instead of sitting in that dreadful excuse for a chair by my desk, I opted for the coffee table in front of the sofa. The Victorian-style couch, while prioritizing aesthetics over comfort, was still an improvement over the chair. Making a mental note, I considered dedicating a budget to replace the estate's seating furniture, at least in the areas I frequent.

As I looked at the mountain of paperwork, a migraine threatened to surface. If only I hadn't sent Alfred away; he could've been manipulated into handling this for me. I psyched myself up. "Come on, Sebastian, you can do this," I muttered. After all, I was a medical student who had made it to my final year, written essays as long as textbooks, and memorized procedures and protocols lengthier than the constitution. I picked up the first sheet and my brow furrowed in confusion. A wedding offer addressed to one Nozel Silva. The mere title was enough to make me crumple it up and toss it into the waste bin. If only I were a fire mage, I could have incinerated it.

The next sheet...another wedding offer. A quick review of Sebastian's memories made it clear. With Acier soon to be out of the picture, many nobles and royals greedy for House Silva had set their sights on my eldest, the next heir in all but name. Annoyance flickered through me as I began sorting through the papers, pulling out all the ones labeled with wedding or engagement offers. To my dismay, nearly 60% of them fell into this category. It would be easy to shred them all, but my curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know who had the audacity to reveal their greed so plainly.

As I scrutinized the senders, my frown deepened. Sebastian's aristocratic knowledge enabled me to see that 90% of the offers came from House Kira or noble houses allied with them. Some were so desperate that they adopted daughters just to make an offer or even proposed their sons. Despite my irritation, I couldn't help but stifle a laugh-Sebastian knew Nozel's preferences well enough to know he didn't swing that way. Some offers were ludicrous, proposing significant age gaps or even suggesting patriarchs' wives, concubines, or mothers and aunts. A few were so shameless they promised newborns as concubines when they reached marriageable age.

Even the more reasonable ones, offering daughters or second sons, were shredded all the same. I made a note of one particularly bold offer for Noelle, nominating the sender himself. Clearly, he had heard the rumors of her resemblance to the Steel Princess and hoped to sire children with her presumably large magic reserves.

I decided Alfred would arrange a meeting with Damnatio. Not only to deal with the upcoming Conrad issue and Lovilia's imminent assassination but also to address the nuisance that was House Hapshass. Wasn't that the house where that blonde idiot, who tried to plot against Yuno, came from? Salim, or something like that. Sebastian's knowledge confirmed they were indeed a family of lightning mages, making me more confident in my decision.

A smirk played on my lips as I gathered the remnants of the ridiculous proposals. At least dealing with this nonsense provided some amusement amidst the tedium. I reached the final marriage offer, ready to toss it away without a second thought. These offers sickened me, but something made me pause. I squinted at the paper, disbelief washing over me. Surely, this was some sick joke. Reading it again, my blood ran cold. Clutching the paper, I wanted to shred it and tear the sender apart. The title read: Marriage Offer For Sebastian Silva From House Kira.

"Hahahahhahahahahah!" My hysterical and furious laughter echoed in the room. Thankfully, the walls were soundproofed, or passersby might have thought I'd lost my mind. My muscles tensed, and my mana flared instinctively. I wasn't alone in my rage; Sebastian's very essence was repulsed by this idea.

It was no secret that Sebastian and Acier had a loveless marriage. But why then did Noelle and her siblings not have any half-siblings? In noble circles, it was common to have many lovers and concubines. Yet, Noelle's father never remarried after Acier's passing. The truth was, he still loved Acier, albeit in a twisted manner. To him, Acier was a jewel, an idea of perfection he wanted to corrupt and mold. Despite having women throw themselves at him, he chose the undefeated princess of the battlefield. He was a competitor, not interested in the result but the journey and chase. He wanted to defeat Acier slowly, making her kneel before him because she had the strength to oppose him. He didn't want an obedient wife; he wanted a fighter and a rival. Basically, he was an M.

House Kira's blatant disregard, not even waiting for Acier's passing or the standard mourning period, infuriated him. As my hysterical laughter subsided, I looked up at the ceiling and mused manically, "Perhaps, Augustus has outlived his usefulness."

In the summer of 1619, Sebastian Silva began planning regicide.

3 Hours Later

I sank back onto the sofa, utterly spent after a grueling session of managing the family's financial affairs. The weight of responsibility pressed down on me, as I signed off on budget allocations for various sectors—food, defense, magical tools, education, and instructors, to name a few. I also had to approve the distribution of our monthly earnings, ensure all outstanding taxes and fees to the kingdom were paid, and authorize those dubious "donations" (which were more akin to bribes) to the courts and the church, all to keep them from prying too deeply into the Silva family affairs. It was an arduous and unenviable task, to say the least.

The strain of calculating expenses took a toll on my wrist, but it was the heartache of watching so much gold slip away from our treasuries that truly weighed me down. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought I was having a stroke, but I forced myself to remember that, in the grand scheme of our wealth, it was merely a drop in the ocean that constituted the Silva fortune.

I couldn't help but daydream of the sort of chaos I could unleash on the economy back in my old world if I were able to return with even a fraction of our resources. Uncle Sam might seriously entertain the notion that the Clover Kingdom is in desperate need of some liberty!

As tempting as it was to simply turn in for the night and let the burdens of the day fade into oblivion, I steeled myself to rise from the sofa. I knew if I allowed myself a moment's respite, procrastination would ensue, and no amount of fusing with Sebastian would rectify my chronic lack of work ethic. With determination, I made my way through the now quieter hallways, offering indifferent nods to the patrolling knights as I set my sights on heading back to Acier's villa. Tomorrow promised to be a long day, making it wiser to rest there, where I could optimize my time. I only hoped my family's tension wouldn't be too palpable at my presence.

Acier Silva

A shiver coursed through my body as I twisted and turned on the bed, battling the overwhelming urge to surrender to sleep. Come on, Acier, I urged myself, you can fight this—don't close your eyes! The thought of drifting off terrified me; I had little faith that I would ever awaken again if I let slumber consume me. I was acutely aware of my own fragility, a state I had never experienced so intensely—not even as a toddler, when I first learned to navigate this world. This curse had rendered me so weak that I could barely sense the flow of mana within me, marking an ominous approach to the end of my life.

In a desperate attempt to prolong my wakefulness, I had requested Nozel to leave the blinds open and the window unlocked, allowing the moonlight to flood the room and the chilly night breeze to nip at my skin. "Just one more day," I whispered to myself, thinking of the experts scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Though I dared not entertain hopes of a full recovery, maybe they could restore enough of my strength for me to live my final days in peace and tranquility. Perhaps I would even have enough vigor to hold Noelle—if only for a fleeting moment.

"Just a few more hours," I pleaded with my weary limbs, desperation creeping into my thoughts. I genuinely doubted my body's resolve to bring me back should I give in to the temptations of a short nap. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and the resistance I had so fiercely clung to began to crumble as my vision blurred and darkened.

No… no, please! I silently begged. Nozel, Aurelia, someone—anyone! Tears I wanted to suppress began to swell in my eyes as I desperately called out, "P-please." Just at that moment, a gentle yet masculine sigh broke through the stillness, followed by a strong, warm hand resting on my forehead. Instantly, I felt a rush of cold water coursing through my mind and down my mana veins, invigorating me as if a surge of life had just entered my weary body.

My vision sharpened, the fog lifting as I focused on the source of that comforting touch. To my astonishment, it was a figure I had never expected to see by my side—the very essence of what should be the backbone of any family, the one whose face mirrored the features of our sons, my husband.

In that moment, everything else faded away, giving me a glimmer of hope and strength to cling to.

"W-Wait, Sebby?" I whispered hoarsely, disbelief flooding my senses. As soon as the pet name slipped from my lips, a wave of anxiety surged through me. It had been so long since I had called him that—back when we were engaged and every syllable wove affection between us. But after Nozel's birth, he clearly demonstrated how much he loathed being addressed that way… and he did so quite violently. The way he paused in that moment sent a chill through me, and I felt a knot form in my stomach, worried he would withdraw his touch in a fit of petty spite, leaving me to languish in despair. I could almost feel the words gathering in my throat in a futile attempt to explain myself. Yet, he lingered for only a breath before returning to his gentle ministrations, bathing my forehead in soothing recovery magic.

"If it hurts, you shouldn't speak," he remarked indifferently, his voice devoid of emotion. I remained in stunned silence as I watched him care for me, an unexpected rush of memories sweeping over me. I envisioned times long past when he would eagerly heal my wounds after I returned battered from training or missions, times when he sought out knowledge from renowned doctors just for my benefit. It stirred a bittersweet ache within me, a nostalgia for a past I tried desperately to bury. Now, with hindsight, it all felt tainted—a lie I wasn't ready to confront. I had been so lovesick back then that I couldn't accept that his concern might have masked something darker, that the worried glances he cast my way whenever I emerged with bruises or injuries, large and small, might simply have been a façade.

"This… t-takes… m-me… back," I stuttered, the words escaping my lips before I could truly grasp their weight. A fresh wave of apprehension washed over me as I braced myself for a reprimand or even a harsh response, yet none came. He persisted in his task, enveloping us both in an awkward silence until the magic's maximum effect seemed to reach its pinnacle. With a reluctant sigh, he drew his arm away, and I felt a pang of embarrassment for missing the warmth of his skin against mine. But I wouldn't voice it—not anymore. That was a vulnerability I could no longer afford to reveal.

As I sat watching him in silence, I felt the urge to break the tension when he suddenly reached into his satchel, pulling something out that surprised me. It was an unusual sight—Sebastian, the typically stoic royal, holding something other than his grimoire or communication device. When he retrieved a circular jar, my curiosity piqued.

I observed him with bewilderment as he uncorked the jar, releasing a sweet aroma that even my congested nose could detect.

"H-honey?" I stammered, half in confusion. He then produced a spoon from beneath his robe and dipped it into the golden nectar, drawing out a generous tablespoon.

"Yes," he replied with his characteristic indifference as if this was the most mundane task in the world. Then he reached for something else—a smaller container this time—and sprinkled dark specks over the honey.

"And pepper?" I gasped, incredulous at the sight. It was utterly out of character for Sebastian to prepare his own food, let alone combine honey with pepper. The absurdity of it left me in a comical state of disbelief.

I braced myself to witness his peculiar culinary choice, but instead of feeding himself, he brought the spoon to my mouth. My puzzlement deepened as I noticed the honey-pepper mixture take on a blush hue; he was channeling a bit of recovery magic into it.

For me? I was about to voice my shock, but as I opened my mouth to speak, he quickly interpreted that as my consent and shoved the teaspoon into my mouth.

"Mph, mfff…" I muffled in protest, attempting to flail my arms in indignation as he shot me a stoic look.

"If you want me to pull it out, swallow it all. It'll clean your throat so you can at least speak like a human being," he said matter-of-factly.

Two conflicting thoughts raced through my mind: my husband was feeding me, and his justification could easily paint a more "erotic" scene for anyone overhearing our exchange without context. Shaking off the absurdity, I nodded and obliged, swallowing the strange combination of flavors that balanced sweet with a sharp bite. As the healing magic flowed through me, I felt the soothing sensation start to clear my throat, alleviating the itch and irritation that had lingered.

He withdrew the spoon, placing it back into the honey jar and setting it on the side table. "Better?" he asked, turning away from the table to face me once more.

"Better," I replied, surprised at how effortlessly the words came out. "Much better," I tried again, delighted to find that even my nasal passages had opened up, allowing me to breathe and speak without sounding like I was drowning.

All he offered was a slight nod before he reclined in the chair. I noticed him frown as he adjusted his position, attempting to make himself more comfortable. I was tempted to tease him about it, but the seriousness etched on his features convinced me that there were certainly better moments to test my luck.

"Why are you here?" I decided to confront the elephant in the room. It was hard to fathom why the illustrious Sebastian Silva had stepped down from his throne at the main estate to grace his wife in her villa with his presence—not once but twice in a single day—especially after years of ignoring me.

"Didn't I tell you? Experts are coming in tomorrow," he replied matter-of-factly as if I were the one who had lost track of the conversation. The tone ignited a flicker of irritation in me. Perhaps he noticed my annoyance, as he continued, "They're not the most social or pleasant bunch… so I'll need to handle the negotiations to ensure they fix you and Nozel up. Besides, with both of you unable to voice your issues without 'her' knowing…"

He truly knew it all, I thought somberly, nodding with a muted expression. "Even then, why are you here, in my room?" I pressed.

"I wasn't planning on it," my husband shrugged indifferently as if it held no significance. "I was still on the fence about checking up on you, but I heard your plea and let myself in. Was that alright?"

A warm feeling flickered to life in my stomach, threatening to rise to my cheeks. I quickly stifled it. I had learned much over the past 16 years—two decades if I counted our time as fiancés. I was no longer the lovesick fool I had once been, susceptible to all his whims and sweet nothings. He wouldn't take hold of my heart so easily again. Still, given that he had just saved my life, I looked at him earnestly and said, "Yes, it was. Thank you."

Out of all the responses I could have anticipated from Sebastian, watching him blush like a schoolgirl while scratching his cheek and mumbling a bashful "don't mention it" was not among them. Who are you and what have you done with my husband? I wondered, recalling the days when his flirtation had piqued my interest and held my affection.

Regaining his composure, he slumped back into his chair, crossing his arms and turning his gaze toward the wall across from him with indifference. He might have looked regal, if not for that brief moment of vulnerability I had just witnessed.

"So what was that about?" I asked tentatively, feeling the weight of the moment.

He blinked at me in confusion, his brows furrowing. "What was what about?"

I propped myself up against the bed's backboard, trying to steady my racing thoughts as he helped me sit up straight. Twirling a lock of my silver hair around my left index finger, I studied him. His genuine bewilderment stirred a mix of frustration and vulnerability within me. Gritting my teeth, I finally forced the words out. "The honey… and pepper… and…" I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, unable to suppress my embarrassment, "…feeding me."

I half-expected him to blush and turn as red as a tomato, fumbling for words in a flustered mess. Instead, his expression shifted to one of nostalgia, a hint of melancholy washing over his features as he gazed up at the ceiling. Disappointment gnawed at me, convincing me he was slipping back into his familiar habit of ignoring me. My head began to slump back down onto the pillow when he unexpectedly began to speak softly.

"Whenever I got a cold, or a stuffy throat or nose… my mom used to feed me that." His voice carried a lingering affection, and I blinked in surprise as he studied my reaction closely. A wave of thoughts washed over me. For someone like Sebastian, whose parents had died when he was very young, I had always assumed he wouldn't have many memories of them. The fact that he chose to share this fragment of his past with me, especially knowing how sensitive he usually was about discussing his parents, felt significant.

"Thank you." I sounded like a broken record, repeating the only response I could muster. If my words stirred any annoyance or offense in him, he didn't show it—just a soft nod in acknowledgment.

"So what now?" I asked, attempting to shift the topic away from the intensity of the moment.

"Originally, I was going to rest in one of the guest bedrooms," he began, then narrowed his gaze at me. "Alas, it seems you're quite scared to sleep." I felt the air grow heavy as he touched on that sensitive subject. Normally, I'd brace myself for mockery or snide remarks, but instead, he added gently, "So if you don't mind, I could just stay in this chair, and we can keep you awake by chatting until sunrise when our guests arrive?"

Once again, I found myself blinking in bewilderment. This was not the Sebastian Silva I had come to know since our marriage. This was something akin to the man my fiancé had been before the weight of the Silva name had changed him—an offshoot of the family, so distant from the core that it was easy to forget he belonged at all, aside from his striking hair.

Please, don't let this be some cruel joke, I thought, a game designed to lift my hopes only to shatter them later. Anxiety coiled tightly in my chest as I gripped the covers, my questions etched across my face—concerns, a plea for the truth. I couldn't stop the silent tears from spilling as I pressed my lips together in frustration. His eyes held mine, reflecting a complicated mix of emotions. Please tell me. "What is that supposed to mean?" I managed to ask.

In response, he leaned toward me, and I instinctively closed my eyes, bracing for mockery, the sharp sting of insults to pierce through the moment. But none came. Instead, I felt gentle thumbs underneath my eyelids, wiping away my tears. Opening my eyes, I fought to stop trembling and to calm the hitch in my throat. He stood up and knelt beside my bed, turning to me with an earnest expression as he clasped his right hand over mine.

"I… can't… speak for the future," he began softly. "But right here, right now… this is all real. No games, no ploys, no sick jokes or schemes. It's just you and me, interacting like a husband and wife should. If you don't want to talk, we can sit in silence. I'll keep you awake with some light mana pulses."

Looking into his eyes—sincere and earnest, despite the betrayals of the past—I felt a flicker of confidence. This time, the honesty behind his gaze felt undeniable. I gave him a shaky nod, and we let the silence envelop us, finding comfort in the delicate touch of our hands against one another. Glancing beyond him at the moonlit sky, I silently wished for this moment to last just a little longer.


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