Adopt 165

165
The name Theodore had given soon became the child’s nickname.

So time passed, and in the year Cherry turned ten—

During summer, the only season in the North when snow is rare—

Just like the first snow falling without warning, the lingering curse was suddenly lifted from the child’s eyes.

The Grand Duchess, at last able to embrace her son with blue snowflowers blossoming in his gaze, did so; and the Grand Duke, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, spoke aloud, for the first time, the name he had cherished in his heart for ten years.

“I think ‘Cherry’ suits you much better than ‘Caesar.’ Isn’t that right, Cherry?”

As was his habit, Theodore traced the soft cheek of Caesar with the back of his hand and grinned playfully.

At last, Caesar understood.

That he was able to overcome the curse was thanks to his father’s strictness, his brother’s kindness, and his mother’s tears.

He must have been full of joy.

Yet, the teachings of his father—now a part of his very flesh and blood—had already taken all expression from Caesar, so his face showed not a hint of emotion.

Like petals falling gently, the years drifted by, and Caesar reached the age of fourteen.

In accordance with Valuaishten tradition, he entered the Barrier Wood and returned having slain three demonic beasts.

Though his sword was caked with the blood of monsters frozen by glacial aura, not a single drop stained his eyes.

It was a coming-of-age ceremony performed four years earlier than most, and yet, seeing the young master return unharmed, the northern knights were enthralled.

Even Theodore had to admit himself outdone by his brother’s talent.

“Ah, so I’ve lost out to Cherry. Not much to boast of as a brother.”

Theodore’s own coming-of-age ceremony had been at sixteen.

That, too, was two years early, but unlike Caesar, for whom every rule and slaughter in the Barrier Wood was almost effortless, Theodore had struggled greatly.

It was all for the sake of gaining the right to meet his little brother.

Knowing this, Caesar answered simply,

“There’s no need to worry about such things before me. The fact that you’re my brother never changes.”

At those words, Theodore looked at his brother, eyes wide, then, as if proud, ran a hand again across his brother’s cheek.

“You, you. Such grown-up words now. You’ve grown a lot.”

“If you think I’ve grown up, perhaps stop treating my face like a child’s.”

“Oh, well, then I take back what I said about you growing up.”

“……”

Time flowed ever onward, and Caesar reached the age of fifteen.

“Caesar, you’re an uncle now.”

Theodore, who had married a northern noble lady the previous year, had a child.

Caesar, upon being handed that small, soft, peachlike infant by Theodore, was at a complete loss.

Newborns were so frail that, face-to-face with his nephew, Caesar hardly dared to breathe.

And when, sleeping soundly, the child’s eyes opened to meet Caesar’s—

“His eyes… they’re red.”

For the first time, he understood what it meant for one’s heart to sink.

Yet, heedless of Caesar’s concern, Theodore touched the child’s cheek as if caressing the world’s most precious treasure.

“His name is Endymion.”

“But…”

“Cherry, I will not raise my child the way Father raised us. That’s the choice my wife and I have made.”

Unlike the Grand Duke and Duchess, who sank deep in worry, neither Theodore nor his wife heaved even a sigh.

“We heard you overcame the curse, young master. Thanks to you, we, too, now have hope. Endymion will surely overcome the curse, just as his uncle did.”

Theodore’s wife said this, and, refusing even the protection of a metal gorget for her throat, she held her child close, day after day.

Theodore and his wife were strong people.

Watching them, Caesar resolved to do what he could.

“Brother, I will eradicate every demonic beast beyond the forest.”

“What?”

“When this child grows up, I’ll see that such monsters become nothing but legend. That’s all I can do for Endy…mion.”

“Cherry…”

He swore he would do anything to protect his young nephew.

The aura he wielded to slay monsters grew colder and sharper by the day, yet within, he was stronger than ever, steadier than stone.

[Only true love can free us from the curse of the demonic beast.]

A record which the Grand Duke dismissed as the ravings of a romantic, and which Theodore, at least, judged proof that there must have been at least one sensible ancestor in their line.

Left to his own opinion, Caesar agreed with his father, but after that day, he came to understand Theodore’s heart.

When he thought of Endymion, not a trace of the curse could taint his soul.

It was not arrogance, but certainty.

Time crawled by as slowly as stalactites lengthen in a cave, and Caesar turned twenty.

He was on his way back from a ten-day hunt in the Barrier Wood.

Penadel, who had dogged his steps relentlessly through the forest, now began to whine.

“Ah, at last—I’ll get to sleep in a real bed! I was raised in comfort, and camping really doesn’t suit me at all.”

“Comfort isn’t what makes you unfit for camping. It’s all about mindset.”

“Young master, you’re still young, but you sound like such a fossil—”

Penadel’s grumbling fell silent as he suddenly spotted something.

From the distant Valuaishten fortress, a black column of smoke rose.

It sent a chill through the heart, like an omen for the coming of a demonic beast.

Without time to recover from their exhaustion, Caesar and the knights raced toward the castle.

Perhaps it was foreboding.

On the way, Caesar recalled again and again his father’s teachings.

“Don’t stir the waters. Never even think about peering beneath the surface.”

His mind had always rested deep beneath the sea—never troubled, no matter the threat.

But that day, Caesar met, for the first time, a violent storm that churned up even the hidden deep.

A wound was left on his soul that would never heal.

It was the Night of Betrayal.

---

At that point in his tale, Dame Cherry paused.

He had looked me in the eye the whole time, but now he turned away and gazed at the dawn sky, now beginning to pale to gray.

“It was an incident caused by a knight, hiding his progression into monstrosity, and causing chaos within the castle.”

Cherry’s voice, as he recalled his past, sounded as weary as stars fading before the new dawn.

“Murderous intent and madness are contagious. The knight’s desperation broke my mental defenses, fresh from the forest… By the time I regained my senses, everything was already over.”

With calm detachment, he described how, half-consumed by the curse, he had killed his parents and his brother.

How the stellar castle burned to ashes, many lives were lost, and yet Endymion’s body was never found.

But somehow, I sensed there were lies mixed into Cherry’s words.

It was not because I’d glimpsed the truth through a lie-detecting monocle, nor because I simply didn’t want to believe him.

Rather, it was because something in his story was as misaligned as a thorn caught in the throat—some small, undeniable incongruity.

Yet I did not press him to confess the truth, nor did I offer hasty condolences.

Instead, I voiced what had troubled my heart throughout the tale.

There was something all in the castle said about Dame Cherry:

That he always went into the woods—and seemed, each time, as though one day he might never return.

“Dame Cherry, do you go to the forest for vengeance?”

His eyes, wandering the air as though retracing past waystations, turned to meet mine.

Focused half in the past, they were unlike those of Cheshire.

“…At first, I suppose that was so.”

In the deep glacial blue of his eyes, there was a primal, ancient seed, frozen there, stronger than anything I’d ever seen.

“But I am a man dulled to feeling, and so, after a time, all that remained was duty. I simply wished for no one else to suffer as I had.”

He called it duty, but I felt otherwise.

“That’s not because you’re numb to feeling.”

Gently, as if soothing a wounded beast, I reached out and took his hand.

And I spoke more resolutely than ever before.

“It’s because you are kind.”

When, someday, his glacier melts, surely many will see:

How strong and how warm he truly is.

Cherry’s gaze fell, landing softly as a setting sun’s glow fell to earth, onto our joined hands.

His scarred hand, so much marked, seemed on the verge of clasping mine.

Whish—bang!

A flare of brilliant red shot up into the growing dawn outside.

At once, both our eyes turned to the window.

By now, I knew exactly what that signal meant.

A demonic beast’s appearance.

Yet one thing was different: the flare had burst from within the castle itself.

And as our eyes met again, I knew we were both thinking of the same thing.

“Leo…”

For some reason, his name escaped my lips in a groan as I leapt from my seat at once.