Knock, knock.
After a moment of silence, a deep, curt voice responded from the other side of the door.
"Come in."
"Excuse me," I said as I opened the door.
Seated behind his desk was Dawson F. Narazario, my father in this world. Without lifting his head fully, he glanced at me briefly before returning his attention to the documents in his hands.
"…How's the injury?" he asked. "You were out for quite a while."
"Thanks to the care I received, it seems it'll only leave a small scar. My apologies for worrying you."
"Good. That's fortunate," he replied flatly. "As the heir of the Narazario family, even a minor accident can't be overlooked."
"Yes, I'll ensure this doesn't happen again," I said, keeping my tone polite.
"Do that," he said, cracking his neck without looking up. "So?"
"Pardon?"
"Was that all you came to say? I have work to finish," he said, gesturing toward the stack of papers in front of him.
"…No, that's all. By the way, did Mother say anything?"
"Hmm, Elia? Of course. She was worried about you," he said, his tone indifferent. "She even stopped by your room a few times, though I'm sure she was anxious since you didn't wake. You should thank her."
"I will. Thank you," I said, bowing slightly before turning to leave.
As I closed the door behind me, I cast a glance back at him. He hadn't lifted his eyes from the documents even once.
In the courtyard, I spotted a woman seated on a shaded bench.
It was my mother, Elia F. Narazario.
"Mother," I said, approaching. "Forgive me for disturbing you during your relaxation."
"Oh my, Ronnie. You're up," she said, smiling warmly.
"I've heard from Father that you were concerned. I've made a full recovery, so I came to thank you."
"There's no need to be so formal. As long as you're well, that's all that matters to me," she replied, still smiling.
"I'm sorry for troubling you. I heard you visited me while I was unconscious."
"Visited? Oh, yes… Of course, dear. How could I not worry about my own son?"
Her words sounded rehearsed, but I nodded. "The wound still stings a bit, so I'll be resting a while longer."
"Good. Let Carla know if you need anything. And for now, have your meals brought to your room," she said.
"Thank you for your kindness," I said, bowing as I prepared to leave.
Before I could go, her voice stopped me.
"Ronnie."
"Yes?"
"Have you seen Johan anywhere? His tutor is coming soon, but he hasn't shown up for his lesson."
"I haven't seen him yet, but if I do, I'll let him know you're calling for him."
"Please do. Next month, a famous magician from the capital is visiting because of Johan's reputation! We have to make sure he's prepared. With his talent, he might even be scouted for the Royal Academy. Oh, what a thrill that would be!"
"That's impressive," I said, forcing a polite smile. "But isn't the minimum age for the Academy sixteen?"
"Oh, you're right," she said, laughing softly. "I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyway, remind him to come if you see him."
She resumed her sunbathing with a contented smile, completely forgetting that today was my sixteenth birthday.
"Brother!"
As I ascended the stairs to my room, I heard a familiar voice call down from above.
"There you are, Johan," I said, looking up.
"I just checked your room and was surprised you weren't there!"
The twelve-year-old bounded down the stairs, his energy seemingly endless.
"I was reporting my condition to Father and Mother," I explained.
"Are you really okay? I heard there was a lot of blood!"
"I'm fine. A little rest and I'll heal completely."
"I was so bored while you were asleep! I thought you might've died!"
"...My apologies for worrying you, but you shouldn't be bored. Mother was just calling for you in the courtyard. Your tutor will be arriving soon."
"Ugh, really? Already? I hate those lessons. They're so boring," he groaned.
"When you're done, stop by my room," I offered.
"Okay! I'll hurry through the lesson and come by later!"
"Good luck," I said, watching him dash off.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, I called after him, "Johan, one more thing."
"Yeah?"
"What were Father and Mother doing while I was unconscious?"
"Huh? Um, I don't know. When I asked them to check on you, they said they were too busy. So… yeah."
"I see. Never mind then."
After speaking with my family, I returned to my room. The sheets on my bed had been replaced, likely Carla's doing. Sighing, I sat on the edge of the bed.
"Walking around so soon after an injury really wears you out."
The conversations with my family had been brief, but they served to clarify my position in this household.
Father and Mother showed little interest in my recovery. Their claims of concern were likely hollow, as Johan's comment confirmed. The only one who seemed genuinely worried was Johan himself.
I couldn't blame my parents. I'd spent sixteen years disappointing them. It was a miracle they hadn't disowned me already.
Oddly, though, I felt no resentment.
In fact, I felt lucky. Johan bore the burden of expectations, while I had the freedom to do as I pleased.
And I do have something I want to do.
It would take time and effort, but it was something only I could accomplish.
"Excuse me," Carla said, entering with a tray of sandwiches and tea.
"Perfect timing," I said.
"I saw you returning from the courtyard, so I thought I'd bring your breakfast," she said, placing the tray on a desk.
"Thanks. Leave the tray there."
"Will you be resting after you eat?"
"No," I said. "I need to head to the archive."
"The archive? I could bring you a book if you'd like."
"No, I'll be gathering quite a few. Help me carry them," I said.
"Gathering… a lot of books?" she asked, tilting her head in confusion. "Of course, I'll help. But, um, why so many?"
"If it proves useful, I'll explain later. For now, just help me carry them."
"...Are you sure you're okay?" Carla asked, her brows furrowing in concern.
I laughed and stood, placing a reassuring hand on her head.
"Don't worry. I've never felt better. In fact, it feels like a fog has lifted."