"Ugh..."
At so point, he really couldn’t avoid getting up to face another day.
As he stretched, Blake noticed his body didn’t hurt nearly as much as before. Even when he tried to smile, his cheek only stung a little.
’Good.’
As he got up, he also felt oddly refreshed. Opening the windows, he leaned his head outside, breathing in the fresh air and the faint scent of flowers.
It had been two days since his infiltration at AFE.
As Blake headed to the bathroom, he felt a faint pulse of anxiety beating inside his chest.
After all, he still hadn’t worked up the courage to check the news. Maybe they kept everything a secret... or maybe they had photos of every form he’d taken plastered all over the dia by now.
’I an, I’ll have to look eventually, but I seriously don’t want to right now...’
Staring at himself in the mirror, Blake noticed his bruises had changed color significantly. The outer edges were red now, while the centers had turned a sickly yellow-green.
He didn’t really know if that was a good sign or not, but at this point, things probably couldn’t get much worse.
Taking out fresh patches, he peeled off the old ones he’d slept with and replaced them.
’Hell, my foot still looks the worst...’
It was the only bruise that hadn’t improved much. The skin was still stained a deep purple, with only a faint yellow tint near the center.
Blake placed another patch over it before walking out of the room.
"Good morning, young master."
A maid called out from behind him, carrying a tray in her hands.
There was a glass of milk, so bread, and a jar of jam on it. No dicine this ti, unlike the evening before.
"Good morning."
He nodded and stepped closer.
"You can just give it to here. No need to trouble yourself bringing it all the way to my room, since I’m already outside."
She smiled politely and shook her head.
"Of course not, young master. You’re hurt."
Simply standing there, Blake quickly realized she didn’t want to walk past him.
’Oh. The workers here probably think I’m so distant relative or sothing, because there’s no way they’d be this calm otherwise. Back at the mansion, they were all so wary because they knew my identity...’
Tilting his head slightly, he walked ahead and left the door open for her.
"May I ask why there’s no dicine?"
"The madam said a doctor will co later this morning, young master. He’ll prescribe whatever is necessary for your recovery."
"I see, thanks."
Sitting down on the bed, Blake started spreading the jam over the bread.
Judging by the sll alone, it was probably strawberry flavored.
Workers aside, who obviously had to maintain a polite facade to keep earning money, why exactly was the situation so much calr in his stepmother’s villa?
To so extent, it made him uncomfortable.
’A doctor, huh... will he even be able to figure out what caused these bruises? Technically, I wasn’t beaten up. This is all my defense buff’s miraculous work!’
There weren’t any bullet marks left on him.
Still, Blake couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy.
Mostly because, well... he wasn’t a doctor.
He took a bite out of the bread and, almost imdiately, his eyes lit up slightly.
’Yep. This is strawberry!’
The jam was sweet without being overwhelming, and surprisingly fresh too. The bread itself was soft enough that he barely had to chew.
For a mont, Blake forgot about the doctor entirely and focused on eating.
Maybe it was because he’d spent the last two days feeling like a heavy sack, but even sothing this simple tasted ridiculously good.
By the ti he finished the last bite, the tension in his shoulders had eased a little.
After drinking the milk, Blake placed the tray aside and stood up.
His body still hurt, but not enough to leave him bedridden anymore.
’Might as well move around a little.’
Stretching his arms overhead, he slowly walked around the room to warm himself up.
And, at first, everything seed fine.
"Gh—!"
A violent jolt of pain shot through him.
Blake imdiately crouched down, grabbing onto the edge of the bed as his entire body tensed.
He had stubbed his toe directly against one of the wooden bed legs.
More specifically, the toe connected to his horribly bruised foot.
His eyes watered almost instantly.
"Seriously...?"
The pain pulsed through his nerves so sharply that he felt slightly dizzy for a second.
"Fuck..."
Blake stayed crouched there for a while, quietly sucking in cold breaths through his teeth.
As he lowered his head, waiting for the pain to fade, sothing beneath the bed caught his attention.
"...Hm?"
There was a box tucked away underneath.
It was shoved pretty far back, almost hidden behind the shadows.
Blake stares at it for a few seconds.
Then, mostly to distract himself from the throbbing pain in his foot, he reached underneath and dragged it out.
Dust imdiately scattered into the air.
"Cough—!"
The box itself looked really old.
The corners were worn down, and the faded surface had several scratches running across it.
Curious despite himself, Blake lifted the lid.
Inside were a lot of toys: small wooden figures, toy soldiers, a stuffed rabbit missing one eye, karbles, even a tiny fake sword.
Everything was coated in a thin layer of dust, like nobody had touched any of it in years.
"What?"
Perplexed, Blake stared down at the contents.
This room really did look like a child’s room, so it’s not like he was surprised to find child’s items.
Technically, this was the hated illegitimate child room.
By all ans, this was confusing him, although there was no doubt that the room was lived in.
Still, what’s also clear was that he was eventually kicked out from here and probably the main mansion.
The bank transfers from Blake’s father date all the way up to when he was around 14...
He picked up one of the toys absentmindedly before putting it back down.
Not wanting to think too deeply about it, Blake continued rummaging through the box.
Most of the toys were ordinary enough.
But as he reached near the bottom, his fingers brushed against paper.
"Hm?"
He pulled out a small stack.
Those were all drawings, crayon drawings, to be exact.
The mont he looked at them, it beca painfully obvious they’d been made by Blake’s child self.
The lines were ssy and the proportions also horrible, with the colors spilled outside the outlines.
Still, there was sothing warm about them.
Blake flipped through the pages one by one.
A beautiful field of flowers with smiling stick figures, sunny skies and large colorful houses.
And family portraits.
His gaze slowly narrowed, there was a child drawn with blonde hair.
Another child standing beside him.
And a woman with long hair smiling brightly between them.
"...No way."
Blake stared harder at the page.
Even through the awful childish proportions, he could tell.
The second child was definitely his half-brother.
And the woman was unquestionably his stepmother.
Blake scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"Should I even be looking at this stuff?"
After all, he was Blake, but he also wasn’t the Blake who had drawn these.
The feeling was weird, his heart even started beating loudly.
He kept flipping through the drawings anyway.
In almost all of them, the atmosphere was strangely happy.
There were drawings of him playing with the younger child.
Drawings of the three of them holding hands.
One where his stepmother hugged both children while flowers surrounded them.
Another where they were eating together at a table with ridiculously oversized smiles.
The more Blake looked, the more confused he beca.
’What the hell even went wrong in this family...?’
Nothing about these drawings matched the atmosphere he knew.
There was too much warmth and affection in them.
It felt almost foreign.
Blake quietly reached for the last paper sitting at the very bottom of the box.
The mont he touched it, a sharp pain exploded through his head.
"Ah!"
Blake nearly dropped the drawing imdiately, his vision blurring violently.
A splitting headache tore through his skull so suddenly that he instinctively grabbed the side of his head.
His breathing beca uneven.
For so reason, his chest tightened too.
Tightened so painfully it almost felt hard to breathe.
The paper trembled slightly in his hands.
Blake looked down at it.
A bright red was adorning every snapped flower, but the color was so dark and ssy they barely even looked like flowers anymore.
There was no family beside him or smiling sun.
Just Blake standing alone, crying, even the lines themselves looked angry.
Like whoever drew it had pressed the crayon down hard enough to tear the paper.
Blake’s pupils shook faintly.
"Hk...!"
Sothing cold crawled down his spine.
The anguish hit him so abruptly it made his stomach twist.
A suffocating feeling spread through his chest for no reason he could understand.
His fingers suddenly felt numb.
The room felt too small.
’Ah, I...’
Blake frantically shoved the papers back into the box.
The toys followed right after, thrown in carelessly.
His breathing had beco shallow without him noticing.
Why did he suddenly feel like this?
Why did his chest hurt so much?
The box slamd shut.
He pushed it back under the bed almost aggressively.
Further back.
Out of sight!
Out of sight!!
Out of sight!!!
Blake imdiately stood up afterward and stumbled toward the window.
He needed fresh air.
His hand pressed against the wall beside it.
But looking at the field outside, for so reason, made his entire body go even colder.
His headache pounded harder and harder.
Blake gripped the windowsill tightly.
’I want to die.’
The thought appeared so naturally it terrified him.
Blake’s eyes widened slightly, his throat dry, then, he stared blankly outside the window.
Flowers swayed peacefully in the morning breeze.
Birds chirped sowhere in the distance.
Yet the anguish inside him refused to disappear.
Knock knock.
Blake flinched.
The sound instantly snapped him back to reality.
"...!"
For a mont, he looked disoriented.
Then he blinked rapidly, the strange feeling fading almost as quickly as it had co.
The headache remained, throbbing behind his eyes.
Still, the suffocating despair had already beco blurry, like trying to rember a nightmare right after waking up.
Blake rubbed his forehead before walking toward the door.
When he opened it, an older man stood outside carrying a leather bag, adjusting his glasses slightly before looking at him carefully.
"Young master, you look quite pale."
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