But who knew that it wouldn’t be a death-defying endeavor?
In fact, it was so easy that Kyle was wondering if sothing had gone wrong sowhere.
But maybe it was because Ollie, who was just recovering from hiccuping and feeling like the world hated him, was now back to kneeling before his parents as they tried interrogating him under the lights of the dorm room.
However, the blonde ss of a mop stood, well, more like,knelt his ground as he insisted that he couldn’t talk about it.
Not just yet.
Marquise Julienne’s gaze sharpened like a blade unsheathed. Beside her, the Marquis sighed, resigned.
Their boy’s words—his refusal—echoed the very principles they had drilled into him since childhood. And now, weaponized against them, they could hardly fault him for it.
"Pop! You said I shouldn’t talk about it without the proper security asures, right?!"
Ollie looked up at his father, face puffy, but his eyes were as determined as they could be, even if his arms were trembling.
"So, I promise, I would be able to talk about it, but-but we need to go through the proper procedures!" Insisted the son, who didn’t exactly look intimidating as he knelt on the floor.
"Procedures, you say?" Asked the mother whose smile didn’t reach her eyes.
"Were there also procedures for when you get into such situations?
Ollie flinched at the coldness of her tone, but he could only clench his fists and nibble at his bottom lip.
Do you still rember why you got into the chanic division in the first place?" She echoed, tone honeyed but glacial.
"Or have you forgotten your purpose?"
The air tightened. Ollie bit down on his lip so hard he tasted iron. His mother’s words were sharp, deliberate, testing.
"I haven’t forgotten." He swallowed. Maybe it was air or his pride, but it sure as hell wasn’t even his saliva, given how dry his mouth was due to fear.
"Then what are you doing?" she asked, cool and calm, yet every syllable an invisible shove. "Telling us, not asking. And worse, thinking you could shoulder it all without even considering the house."
He stared at the floor like it would give him answers before hesitatingly lifting his chin to face the inquisitors.
"I’m asking," Ollie said hoarsely. "Can I... show you sothing first?"
"Can I? Sure, you can, but you may not."
That made the mop pause.
"I’m sorry, Mom, but may I please show you sothing?" he tried again, hoping it would work this ti.
Marquise Julienne raised a brow but finally allowed the conversation to continue.
"Show us?" she repeated.
"Mom, Pop...Please let show you what I can," Ollie pressed. "And then...you can decide if you want to know more. But if you choose to know, there’s no going back."
Silence.
Then Marquise Julienne leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "Ah...so now you rember how to ask."
But her smile took on a sharper tilt. "Perhaps you need ti to clear your head. Maybe it’s better if you co ho for a while and work on the family businesses. Once your mandatory service is done, of course."
Ollie’s breath hitched. His blood drained.
His mind raced as the past months invaded his mories.
His friends, their accomplishnts, their vision. And now he was being told to leave this all behind?!
"!!!"
"NO!" he gasped, panic bursting forth, raw and imdiate. "No! Mom, please—don’t pull out—please don’t!"
Marquise Julienne watched impassively.
"I believe in this, Mom!" Ollie’s voice cracked, thick with desperation. "I believe in all of it! Please...even if you don’t understand, even if you don’t support it—I have to do this, with or without your help!"
He was grasping at straws, throwing out all the sacrifices he was willing to make, even taking out financial support and even the right to his noble status, if that would help.
The words escaped like a dam breaking, his chest heaving as he looked straight into her eyes.
His eyes burned with tears now, but it wasn’t just that, but a rare, wild determination. One that startled even her.
For a long beat, Marquise Julienne said nothing.
Ah. I see. Thought the mother who looked at her son with different eyes.
Then, softly, she sighed.
"Hm..."
Eventually, she stood closer, her expression eerily unreadable. It was one thing that always scared everyone in their family as one would never have the ti to prepare for their mother’s reactions.
It was just that this ti, instead of continuing with her tirade, Ollie felt a hand on his head.
"I guess you could show us."
Ollie blinked up at her, confused.
Eh?
"You’ve grown up," she said simply, fingers lightly ruffling his hair before patting it down. "Congratulations."
For a long ti, they had always worried about Ollie’s lack of passion, which the people who knew him now would find odd.
But it seems like their child has really grown into himself after leaving the nest.
It was a bittersweet realization that he was big now and wouldn’t probably need them as much anymore, but she was glad because, of all people, she knew what it took to undertake endeavors like this.
If her son didn’t have enough determination and strength, then he would only be setting himself and everyone up for danger and failure.
And so she had to see for herself.
Lo and behold, their little Oliver has already developed his teeth.
Ahh. What a ti to be alive.
On the other hand, Ollie stared at his mother, half-relieved and half-stunned.
"Now, let’s hope whatever you’re about to show us is worth all the risks you’re taking." She turned toward the door, pausing as she laid her hand on the chanized door.
"...Besides," she added, lips curving faintly, "your friends seem to have brought us so interesting things to talk about."
And with that, she opened the door.
Kyle nearly stumbled back inside, saved only by sheer balance as he caught himself.
Marquise Julienne’s eyes glinted with amusent as she clapped her hands softly, greeting Kyle and Jax, both frozen like startled deer.
"Co in, boys," she purred. "I believe you had sothing to invite us to?"
Kyle recovered, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Ah—y-yes. We...were sent to deliver an invitation..."
The Mylor couple exchanged a glance, surprise flickering across their features.
Marquis Osmond raised a brow. "An invitation? From whom?"
Kyle hesitated. "From the Duchess of House Kyros, My Lord."
That startled even Ollie, whose jaw nearly dropped.
Marquise Julienne’s smile widened, gleaming with delight. "Well then," she said sweetly. "We graciously accept."
Ollie’s hands scrambled against the floor as he tried to crawl toward the door, face crumpling in silent dread.
But his father caught him by the collar, effortlessly lifting him up.
"Not so fast, son." Marquis Osmond chuckled. "Last I heard, you were going to show us sothing? So why the rush?"
Ollie groaned, his shoulders sagging in defeat.
"...Pop," he mumbled his little and futile complaints, but despite all that, a small, fierce smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Because even if they didn’t understand yet, he would make them see.
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