As the rain continued to drum against the windows of the clinic, Dr. Hinikow sat at his desk, going through his notes with a furrowed brow.
"Good evening," the man greeted, his voice smooth yet carrying an unsettling undertone. "Did a young boy, around seventeen years old, drop by?"
Hinikow furrowed his brow, suspicion creeping into his thoughts. "Sir, may I ask what brings you here?" Hinikow responded, his tone cautious, almost wary.
Instead, the mysterious man offered a nod. "Thank you for your time, Doctor. I hope you have a pleasant day," the man replied, his words polite but hollow, lacking any genuine warmth.
Without waiting for a response, he gave a slight bow and turned to leave, and he disappeared into the stormy night.
Hinikow stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the mysterious figure fade into the shadows. A sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach, growing stronger with each passing second. He closed the door and leaned against it, his mind racing.
Driven by a growing sense of urgency, Hinikow moved to the telephone on his desk. His fingers hesitated for a brief moment before he picked up the receiver and dialed a number.
Meanwhile, in Gear Village, Vanvi and Andrew arrived at the clinic with the medical supplies that the doctor had urgently requested.
However, When they arrived they were greeted by the sight of local police surrounding the clinic, mingling with anxious villagers. The shocking news of the horrifying crime that took place inside the clinic had spread like wildfire, moving from mouth to mouth in a frenzy of gossip and fear.
The local police had arrested the nurse who was found at the scene, and rumors about the search for the mysterious, calm man seen exiting the clinic spread fear among the villagers
Vanvi, always vigilant, took in the chaotic scene with a sharp eye. His instincts were on high alert, something about this entire situation felt wrong, deeply wrong. As he scanned the area, his gaze fell upon Andrew, who was frantically searching the crowd for his uncle.
Finally, Andrew spotted Roger sitting alone in a corner of the clinic's courtyard, looking frail and weak, his face pale and aged. Without a moment's hesitation, he dashed to his uncle's side.
"Uncle, are you alright?" Andrew asked softly, trying to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil around them.
Roger looked up at his nephew with tired eyes, managing a weak smile. "I will be," he replied, though his voice was barely more than a whisper.
Vanvi, watching the exchange from a few steps away, couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly off. "Roger, I heard you were with the doctor when all this happened?" Vanvi asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
Roger shook his head slowly. "No, I wasn't... I must have been unconscious when it all happened," he said, his voice faltering as a coughing fit overtook him. The coughs racked his frail body, and Andrew quickly moved to support him.
Vanvi's eyes narrowed as he observed Roger's condition. "Strange that you're alright... considering everything that's happened," he remarked, his tone carrying an undercurrent of doubt.
Roger struggled to catch his breath, finally managing to still his coughs. He looked up at Vanvi, his face lined with exhaustion. "Sir, see—cough, cough," he began, but his words were cut off as another wave of coughing hit him.
Vanvi didn't relent. "So you say you were unconscious... How are you keeping up now? The doctor is dead, Roger. Do you need to see another doctor?"
Andrew, his heart pounding with fear, interjected urgently, "Yes, the captain is right, you should see a doctor, Uncle."
Roger shook his head, his expression pained. "I will be alright," he insisted. "After all, everyone sees me as a suspicious man now... It is uncomfortable... And this crime has scared me to my bones."
Andrew looked at his uncle, worry clear on his face.
"But you should worry about your health, shouldn't you?" Vanvi pressed gently.
Roger offered a tired smile, his eyes filled with a weary resignation. "Thank you for your caring suggestion, my lord, but I would like to return home and rest," he said, his voice steady but tinged with finality.
Vanvi wasn't satisfied with the answer. He stepped closer, his gaze piercing as he looked down at Roger. "Why? You should at least have a quick check-up, Roger," he pressed.
"I wish not, my lord," Roger replied, his tone polite yet firm. "The lord is a man of high society; that is why you may not understand our situation and why I insist not to."
Vanvi's eyes narrowed as he studied Roger's face. "I understand your reluctance, Roger, but given the circumstances, it would be wise to ensure your health is thoroughly checked," Vanvi said, his tone edged with concern. "You have someone to take care off. You should not be careless."
Roger was about to response, however he was interrupted by another fit of coughing, his body shaking with each gasping breath.
Andrew reached out, placing a hand on his uncle's shoulder, his face filled with worry. "Please, my lord, stop now," Andrew pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Leave us be..."
"Andrew, do not leave your house tomorrow, under any circumstances. You must not." Vanvi issued a stern command.
Andrew's heart sank as he heard the command, but he knew better than to argue. "Yes, my lord. I understand," he replied, bowing slightly.
"Fine, you may leave then," Vanvi said.
As Roger and Andrew began to walk away, Vanvi's mind raced with unanswered questions.
Suddenly, a commotion broke out behind them. The nurse, who had been standing silently in the courtyard, suddenly snapped. With a wild scream, she picked up a burning piece of wood from a nearby fire pit and, before anyone could react, hurled it at the doctor's lifeless body. The fire remained burning, but was not enough to set the corpse on fire.
Vanvi's eyes remained calm as he watched the scene unfold.
However, Andrew clutched his uncle tightly, his heart pounding in his chest as he too watched the scene unfold.
"Andrew, let's leave."
As the wagon rattled along the uneven dirt road, the tension between Andrew and his uncle Roger was palpable.
"Andrew, what did the lord mean by that?" Roger's voice cut through the stillness, edged with a worry that seemed to grow heavier with each word.
Andrew tried to master a reassuring smile, though the attempt fell flat. "Do not worry about it, Uncle. The lord was just concerned," he replied, his voice trembling slightly.
Roger wasn't convinced. The forced casualness in Andrew's response only deepened his suspicion. His gaze bore into Andrew's, searching for the truth hidden beneath the surface.
After a few moments of tense silence, he asked more directly, "Why would he be worried? Did you make a deal with him?"
Andrew's breath hitched, the question shocked him a bit. The seconds stretched out, each one thickening the silence that hung between them. And in that silence, Roger found his answer.
"How could you be so foolish?" Roger hissed, his voice low yet filled with unseen rage. His words were sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Roger rubbed his forehead, frustration and irritation evident in his every gesture. The rest of the journey home was spent in a tense silence.
As they arrived at their modest home, Andrew stopped the wagon and immediately went to help his uncle down.
Without a word, Roger allowed himself to be guided inside, but as soon as he crossed the threshold, he let go of Andrew's support and moved toward the small bed tucked away in the corner.
Roger lay down and turned his back to his nephew, closing his eyes as if to shut out the world, and especially Andrew. The silence was thick and suffocating. Andrew hovered near the doorway, his heart heavy with guilt and regret.
He finally found the courage to speak, his voice trembling as he tried to hold back tears. "It was the only way to save you, Uncle," he whispered, his eyes pleading for understanding.
But there was no reply, only the sound of Roger's steady breathing.
"Uncle," Andrew called out again, desperation creeping into his voice.
"Leave me be," his uncle responded, his voice low and cold.
The words hit Andrew like a blow, but before he could react, Roger continued, his tone laced with frustration and bitterness, "Do you understand the gravity of what you've done? Making deals with people like Vanvi... it's not something to take lightly. You know what, just leave. I do not need you."
Andrew stood there for a while, his heart pounding in his chest, the guilt and regret holding him down. "I will go prepare dinner..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he turned and left the room.
Roger frowned, his gaze fixed on the wooden ceiling above, but after a moment, he couldn't stay still. He got out of bed and walked out of the house.
The air grew colder, and a heavy silence settled over the house. Andrew holding bowl of warm meal, stepped out from the house, and his gaze fell on his uncle, leaning against the wall of the storage room, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
"Uncle, I cooked your favorite meal," Andrew said, forcing a note of cheerfulness into his voice, but he still tried to avoid his uncle's cold gaze. "It might get cold. Don't you want to have a taste?"
Roger didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the horizon, as if he hadn't heard him at all. The silence stretched on, and Andrew's heart sank further.
Determined not to give up, Andrew went back inside and returned with another bowl, this time filled with rice and fish. He sat down beside Roger, close enough to feel his presence but not too close. "Uncle, I am planning to bring a new type of cupcake and bread to the market," Andrew began, trying to sound casual as he tore off a piece of fish and mixed it with the rice.
He took a bite, chewing slowly, but his appetite had long gone. The food tasted like ash in his mouth. He looked up at the sky, "The moon is bright tonight... It's beautiful," he remarked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Still, he received no answers from his uncle. The silence was suffocating, and Andrew could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He pressed his lips together, his eyes staring blankly at the rice in his bowl, and finally, the words slipped out in a hoarse whisper. "I am sorry..."