Seojin screamed his lungs out.
The pain was unbearable!
His body convulsed. The consequence of chugging the potion felt like he had just downed five bottles of cheap soju back-to-back.
'How… long has it been?'
His consciousness had long since begun to fade.
Many stars floated through the enroaching darkness. Each one carried fragments of memories that did not belong to him.
Every time he reached for one, however, it felt like he was a witch being burned at the stake.
'This time, for sure…'
He reached toward one of the stars again. Doing that hurt like hell, but knowing what the hell was going on hurt less.
A faint amber glow seeped through his fingers as his fingers touched the surface.
"–Huh?"
He found himself gripping the wrist of a girl.
She wore a white midi dress with a black ribbon. Her hair was tied neatly into a bun, its color matching her amber eyes.
'Did I finally die…?'
He smirked.
"Heh. To end up in heaven and be welcomed by an ethereal angel, I know I lived an honorable life."
"I am afraid you remain among the living, my lord."
"Fuck."
His smirk immediately vanished.
"I would appreciate it if you refrained from such vulgar language."
"..."
"..."
"...Fudge."
Neither of them said anything further.
He remained flat on his back on the bed, while the girl continued casting her amber magic which he presumed to be a healing spell.
His vision gradually cleared.
The girl no longer looked like an angel. The puffiness around her eyes proved she was but a mortal being.
"Please do not overexert yourself."
She finished the spell soon after.
"This healing magic should allow you to move around comfortably, but it is certainly not intended to let you escape the manor."
He nodded.
'...Manor.'
If he remembered correctly, the children of House Hart lived in their respective manors until they turned sixteen.
It was meant to keep them away from the filthy politics of the outside world.
Step, step.
The girl walked to the window and pulled the curtains aside. Pale daylight streamed in.
Seojin instantly covered his eyes.
'Faaaaaaah-!'
He had spent so long in that darkness that even the pale daylight stung him.
He then watched the girl clean the room.
She placed the clothes into a woven basket, carried the basin into the bathroom, then brought the plate from the desk and set it beside him.
In that short period, he had organized the fragments of memories he had obtained from interacting with those damned stars.
He pushed himself upright and reached for a peeled apple slice.
"Iria."
Based on them, this girl was the sole attendant of the manor.
Munch.
"What is it?"
"How long was I out cold?"
"Five days, my lord. Today is the first day of Bruma. You have been unconscious for the entirety of that period."
"That much…?"
"Yes."
He reached for another slice.
Before he knew it, there was no longer a slice left on the side plate.
"Yawn. I'm still hungry."
The apples were nowhere near enough to satisfy his appetite.
"I understand."
Iria paused for a moment, then gave a polite bow.
"Please attend to your bath first. I shall have breakfast prepared in the meantime. Do come downstairs once you are ready."
Creak.
The door closed shut.
"And I hope the tea's not bitter this time!"
He projected his voice enough to be heard out the room.
There was no response, but there was a brief pause before the footsteps resumed. That alone was enough.
"Dammit. I almost forgot."
That was apparently something Seven Hart said every morning.
"I wonder if the tea's really that bad…"
He spent the next few minutes in silence before finally pushing himself out of bed.
He rolled his shoulders, bent his knees, and then gave himself a quick once-over. His body felt surprisingly light.
But there was one thing he couldn't neglect:
Fwoosh, fwoosh! Whap!
Shadowboxing.
This time, he pictured a certain rambutan-haired capybara.
"That piece of shit."
Fwoosh.
"Couldn't even say anything coherent except 'fall into hell' typa shi."
He threw a few more punches before abruptly pulled his fist back and stared at it.
"...Strange. It feels the same, but somehow it doesn't."
It was the same feeling he had during his fight with the capybara.
His mind remembered every movement and rhythm from his daily shadowboxing session, but his current body struggled to reproduce them.
It was subtle, and the feeling had nothing to do with his recovery.
Seojin frowned.
He lowered his fist and took a moment to catch his breath.
He then headed into the bathroom.
It was larger than his entire bedroom back on Earth. A massive bathtub occupied the center, while a vanity mirror covered nearly half the wall.
"..."
His reflection stared back at him.
His hair was dark brown, though it looked almost black under the indoor lighting. It fell naturally around his forehead and brushed against his cheeks.
It was also twice as long as what he originally had as Seojin, and his eyes were still the same indigo shade.
His complexion was pale, but not sickly.
He looked fifteen (Seven Hart), yet somehow, he also looked twenty-one (Yoon Seojin). In short, he looked so good he could date himself.
He recalled his comment.
[> "Seojin. Looks like me and a genius like me. Any genius ability works."]
"Seven Hart…"
He leaned closer, running his fingers through his hair.
After talking to himself for a few more minutes, he then rinsed himself off before climbing into the bathtub.
His expression changed.
'...The skill.'
The system had only shown him its name back in the forest. He hadn't gotten the chance to see what it actually did.
"Status."
> [Basic Information]
Name: Seven Hart (Yoon Seojin)
Age: 15 (21)
Race: Human
He continued reading.
> [Skills]
[Self-Proclaimed Genius]
He raised a hand and tapped the skill.
Tap.
[A genius does not require a skill description. If you are unable to understand it naturally, perhaps you aren't a genius like you claim to be.]
"...You mothe—!"
— – - 777 - – —
By the time Seojin arrived downstairs, breakfast was already waiting.
He had spent too much time arguing with the system. Both were so prideful that a coherent conversation never took place.
He stopped at the sight of the table.
"Am I supposed to eat all this…?"
"Indeed, my lord."
There were enough dishes to feed a small army.
"You expressed a notable appetite, so I adjusted the preparation accordingly. Should I have prepared more?"
"Nah. It should've been the opposite."
"...?"
Iria tilted her head, her hands fidgeting the hem of her skirt.
Seojin pulled out a chair.
'I should just think of this as my late birthday banquet.'
Food was food.
For someone who had not eaten a proper meal in months, this felt less like breakfast and more like the final feast of a death-row inmate.
'Technically, I really am sentenced to death.'
He picked up his spoon.
'How fucking ironic.'
Munch.
Truth be told, that encounter with the capybara five days ago was just a small appetizer for the nightmare to come.
He came to know it after seeing his name displayed in the status.
"I'm fucked," is what he said back then. After all, the name Seven Hart appeared only once in Requiem of Sinfall.
His birth and death shared the same page.
Seven Hart was the first member of House Hart to be assassinated while still residing in his own manor.
And the Harts valued their kin.
They valued them enough to start a war, but that war was the very reason of their downfall.
'Six days…'
Iria had told him that today was the first day of Bruma.
That meant he had six more days to live as Seven Hart was supposed to die on the seventh day.
Munch.
He ate faster, imagining the different ways the real Seven Hart might have survived his encounter with the capybara before the knights arrived.
Munch, munch.
By the time he finally stopped, the banquet had been reduced to an empty collection of plates.
Seven had inherited one of those enviable bodies that could devour thousands of calories without gaining a pound.
His eyes eventually landed on the only thing left—the tea. Taking a sip, his face instantly contorted.
"Pwaa! This tastes like shit."
Iria flinched.
"I beg your pardon, my lord. I used less ground tea and doubled the amount of sugar, yet it has turned bitter regardless."
Tak.
He placed the cup back on its saucer.
"You know what? I'll show you how to make proper green tea. Matcha. I've never made it before, but it can't be that hard."
"I do not understand."
Iria tilted her head again, her index finger poking against her cheek.
'...That reaction.'
She looked genuinely puzzled.
More than anything, she hadn't shown the slightest interest in the mention of matcha. He had his suspicions at first since she looked so much like the cashier, but—
"Forget it."
—he shrugged.
"I see your nonsense seems to have no end, my lord."
Iria returned to her usual composure.
"Mm. I almost forgot. The Vice Commander requested that I notify him immediately once you recovered. He should be waiting for you by now."
"That brick-wall knight?"
"A peculiar description, but accurate enough. He came with an elderly man."
"What…?"
His attention was caught by the mention of the old man.
"An old man?"
"Yes. The elderly man also had a little capybara sitting atop his head. It was quite adorable."
"Adorable?!"
That damned thing was the size of a human!
"Don't make me laugh. That creature?"
He stood up.
Before he completely lost consciousness back in the forest, an old man had claimed the capybara was his pet.
The idea itself was absurd, and meeting them was dangerous, especially with his written death looming around the corner.
But the mere mention of the name of the brick Vice Commander did a lot to lessen the threat.
"Lead the way.
He headed to the door.
"I am afraid I cannot go with you. I must clean up the breakfast first. However, I have already requested a knight to escort you outside."
Iria politely bowed.
"Please be at ease."
"..."
"..."
"Aight."
Seojin stepped out the manor.
Creak.
The door closed shut.
The dining room fell silent.
Iria remained where she stood. She had not moved, nor had she spoken a single word.
The dishes remained untouched.
Instead, her hands tightened around the half-filled cup of tea as amber light seeped between the gaps of her fingers.
It slowly darkened.
"My lord…"
Cracka!
The cup shattered.
Tea spilled down into the floor, mixed with the blood that dripped from her wounded palms.
But Iria didn't react.
Her gaze remained fixed on the closed door, as though she could see through it.
"...You idiot."