Soren Arden POV
"Ugh…"
Soren's eyes fluttered open to a white ceiling and the faint scent of herbs.
For a while, he simply stared.
His thoughts were slow and sticky, refusing to line up.
His tongue was dry, his head felt hazy, and a heavy ache pulsed in his left arm in time with his heartbeat.
'…The infirmary again, huh.'
He let out a soft breath and lifted his right hand, covering his eyes with his palm.
The grain of the bedsheets, the distant murmur of voices, the sound of footsteps on polished stone, he recognised all of it far too well.
The important part, though, was simple.
He was alive.
The moment that thought settled, memories came rushing back in a jumbled mess: the arena, Ivan's twisted face, the pressure of mana gathering at his feet, the blade suddenly in front of him…
…and the cold, clean sensation of metal cutting straight through his neck.
Soren swallowed.
His throat scratched in protest.
'That wasn't a near miss. That… actually hit me.'
He could still remember the exact moment he thought it was over.
There hadn't even been time for fear, just a blank, stupid thought.
— 'Ah. So this is how I die. Again.'
A bitter laugh almost slipped out, but only a dry exhale came instead.
"Phew… I'm alive…" he muttered under his breath, half-disbelieving, half-relieved.
The words had barely left his mouth when a small, trembling voice reached his ears.
"S–Soren?"
He jerked slightly and turned his head toward the sound.
Before he could even finish the movement, something warm slammed into his chest.
The breath was knocked out of him as a body wrapped its arms around him, clinging tightly like he might disappear.
"Lou—"
His voice was cut off as she squeezed even tighter.
"You're awake… You're awake…"
Louise's voice cracked halfway through the sentence.
Her whole body was shaking.
Soren froze for a moment, stunned, his brain trying to process the fact that the ever-composed Louise Cruentus was practically crushing him in a hug.
"…Hey," he finally managed, his voice coming out rough. "Careful, I'm still fragile, you know."
Even as he joked, his right hand moved on its own, awkwardly patting her back.
After a few seconds, the motion grew a little more natural.
"I'm okay, Louise," he added quietly. "See? I'm talking. I'm fine."
It was a lie, of course.
He didn't feel fine.
His body felt like it had been taken apart and put back together wrong, and if he closed his eyes, he could still see that sword.
But right now, that didn't matter.
He could feel dampness seeping through his hospital shirt.
She was actually crying.
'…Seriously. Why are you crying for someone like me?'
The guilt that always appeared when Louise looked at him like that tugged at his chest.
He wasn't the one she should have been hugging.
He wasn't the real Soren Arden.
Louise's shoulders trembled against him, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as if she was scared he might slip away if she loosened her grip even a little.
"You scared me," she whispered, her voice muffled against him. "You really… really scared me…"
"Sorry," he muttered automatically.
"Don't you 'sorry' me…"
Her tone wobbled so much that it stripped any real anger from the words.
Soren blinked slowly, then lifted his free hand and, almost hesitantly, brushed his fingers over his own neck.
Smooth skin.
No bandage, no stitches, not even tenderness.
"…There's no scar," he muttered.
"There wasn't one even when they brought you in," Louise said, pulling back just enough to look at him.
Her eyes were swollen and red.
"You were holding your neck and scratching at it, but there was nothing there… Just you screaming."
The brief image of himself writhing on the arena floor flashed through his imagination, and Soren grimaced.
"So it really… went through?"
She nodded, biting her lower lip.
"I saw it," she said in a small voice. "We all did."
Soren sank back against the pillow.
He wanted to think about what that meant, about the strange system message he hadn't been able to see, but the weight pressed against his side wouldn't let his thoughts drift too far.
"…What happened to Ivan?" he asked instead.
Louise's expression chilled.
"Princes—no, Miss Einhardt said she'd speak to her father about it," she answered. "So you don't have to worry."
Soren let out a slow breath.
If Amelia's father was getting involved, then there was nothing more he could do about it anyway. It was out of his hands.
In more ways than one, that was probably for the best.
He relaxed slightly.
Only then did he notice that Louise still hadn't fully let go of him.
Her arms weren't crushing him anymore, but her hands were still gripping his shirt tightly, like a child afraid of being left alone.
"…Louise?"
"Y-yeah?"
"You're shaking."
She stiffened, then forced out a laugh that was far too light to be real.
"I-It's nothing. I just… haven't really slept."
"Liar."
Her gaze flickered away.
"It's fine. Don't worry about me. You're the one who almost died."
'That's exactly why I'm worrying, you idiot.'
He didn't say that out loud, but it lingered on the tip of his tongue.
Instead, he just stared at her for a moment.
Her hair was slightly messy, her uniform a little wrinkled, and the dark circles beneath her eyes stood out more than usual.
She had probably been here the whole time.
For him.
He wanted to say something more, but she beat him to it.
"Hey… why are you suddenly acting all stiff? Just be normal."
It was such a Louise thing to say that he almost smiled.
"It feels weird when you call me by my name, Soren," she added under her breath.
"Soren?" he said with mock confusion.
She shot him a faint glare through her tears.
"…Little Brother."
"That's better," he said quietly.
Silence hung between them for a while, broken only by the faint sounds of the infirmary beyond the curtain.
Eventually, Louise lowered her gaze, her fingers still twisted in his shirt.
"…I'm sorry," she murmured.
"For what?"
"For not helping you."
He blinked.
"Helping me?"
"If I'd been faster, if I'd done something, anything, maybe…"
She swallowed.
"You wouldn't have had to go that far. You wouldn't have had to…"
Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted unconsciously to his neck.
"I'm your family," she whispered, her shoulders trembling again. "And I just stood there."
"…Louise."
"I promised," she continued, more to herself than to him. "I promised I'd protect you. But in the end, I just watched while you got hurt again. I couldn't do anything when Frey…"
Her voice cracked.
"And then again with you…"
She choked back a sob and covered her mouth.
Soren stared at her in stunned silence.
It wasn't the first time someone had worried for him since he came to this world, but this felt different.
There wasn't guilt, obligation, or expectation behind it, only raw fear and relief.
He lowered his gaze.
The familiar guilt rose up again, sour and heavy.
He should have stayed quiet.
He should have kept his distance.
But seeing Louise like this, eyes red, voice hoarse, shoulders hunched as if she was carrying the entire weight of the duel on her back…
He couldn't.
"Louise," he said, more firmly this time.
She flinched as if expecting to be scolded.
"Look at me," he added.
Reluctantly, she lifted her eyes.
Her normally dignified, confident face was a mess.
Tears had washed away her mascara, her lashes were clumped together, and her nose was slightly red.
It didn't suit her image as a noble lady at all.
But Soren thought it suited her humanity.
"…You didn't do anything wrong. None of this is on you."
She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.
"Ivan challenged me. Ivan tried to kill me. Ivan crossed the line," Soren said bluntly. "That's all there is to it. You weren't even in the arena. What exactly were you supposed to do, teleport?"
"I—"
"And even if you had been close enough," he continued calmly, "I don't want you throwing yourself in front of swords for me. Don't be ridiculous."
She bit her lip.
"But—"
"No buts."
Louise stared at him in silence, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
"…But I'm your family," she whispered again.
The word hit him differently this time.
Family.
In his old world, that word had meant shouting, threats, slammed doors, hands that hurt more than they soothed.
It had meant people who should have protected him, using him instead.
Here, it meant this idiot woman crying at his bedside because he had scared her.
It meant a promise she had made to someone who wasn't even here, and yet she was still keeping it.
It was suffocating.
And warm.
At the same time.
'You shouldn't be treating me like this,' he thought bitterly.
Soren clicked his tongue quietly and reached for the box of tissues on the small cabinet beside the bed.
"Come here," he muttered, pulling one out.
He leaned forward and, with slightly clumsy motions, dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
Louise went stiff for a second, then relaxed, letting him wipe away her tears.
"Honestly," he sighed, "you look worse than I do."
"That's rude," she muttered, but there was a faint, shaky smile on her lips now.
He tossed the used tissue into the little bin, then let his hand rest on top of her head, fingers threading gently through her hair.
"Listen carefully, Sis," he said quietly. "I'm grateful you care this much. I really am. But what happened in that arena isn't something you have to carry. I chose to accept the duel. I chose to fight. And I chose to go that far."
He met her eyes, refusing to look away.
"You being here now is more than enough."
Louise's lips parted in surprise.
The despair that had been clinging to her expression eased, replaced by something softer.
"…Little Brother," she whispered, her voice steadier. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not? It's true."
"Because it makes me want to cry again," she muttered, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.
He huffed out a quiet laugh.
"Didn't you just do that already?"
"I can do it twice. Don't tempt me."
He chuckled, a small, genuine laugh that felt strange in his throat.
"Then I'll take it back."
"Nope. Too late."
The oppressive weight in the room had lightened considerably.
Her shoulders were no longer hunched like she was trying to make herself smaller, and her grip on his shirt had loosened, though she still didn't seem ready to move away entirely.
After a moment, she leaned forward again, wrapping her arms around him, not desperately this time, but gently, like she was confirming he was really there.
"Still, I'm sorry I couldn't do anything."
Soren hesitated, then exhaled and hugged her back properly.
"…Then next time, just scold me for worrying you. That's more than enough punishment."
Louise let out a soft laugh that vibrated against his chest.
He smiled faintly.
They stayed like that for a while, holding on to each other in the quiet infirmary.
Her warmth seeped into his bones, soothing the phantom chill still lingering around his neck.
The word 'family' circled in his mind again.
He had spent so long flinching away from it that he hadn't noticed how naturally it had begun to settle into place around Louise.
He wasn't the Soren she had grown up with.
He wasn't the boy Freya had asked her to protect.
But right now, she was clinging to him, not to a memory.
And he wanted to respond as himself.
"…Sis," he said softly.
She hummed in acknowledgement.
"Thanks," he murmured. "For being here. For worrying. For… everything."
She pulled back enough to look at his face.
Her eyes widened slightly at the sincerity in his tone.
Then, slowly, she smiled, a small, lopsided smile that made her look younger than usual.
"Idiot," she whispered, reaching up to lightly flick his forehead. "Don't say stuff like that all of a sudden. You really will make me cry again."
"You cry too easily."
"You almost died."
"…Fair point."
Their gazes met, and they both let out a small, helpless laugh.
For the first time in a long while, the word 'family' didn't feel like a chain around his throat.
It just felt… warm.
Grrr—
A deep, unmistakable sound broke the peace.
Both of them froze.
Soren's face flushed immediately.
"…That wasn't me," he said flatly.
Louise raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Really."
He groaned and covered his face entirely.
She giggled, her earlier tears replaced by amusement.
"You must be starving. You've been out for a while."
He sighed, rubbing his neck sheepishly.
"…Sorry for worrying you."
Louise shook her head.
"You already apologised," she said. "Apology accepted. On one condition."
"…There's a condition?"
She nodded firmly.
"You're not allowed to skip meals for a while," she declared. "And you have to let me check on you more. As your big sister."
He stared at her, then sighed in defeat.
"Yes, ma'am."
Her smile brightened at the easy acceptance.
"Good answer," she said, pushing herself up from the chair.
She smoothed out her skirt and then turned back to him, extending her hand with an almost theatrical flourish.
"Come on, Little Brother. Let's go get something to eat."
Soren looked at her hand.
At the warmth she kept offering, over and over, without asking for anything back.
At the title she claimed so casually, like it was natural.
'…I really am selfish,' he thought.
Even knowing he wasn't the person she thought he was, he still wanted to take that hand.
He wanted to accept her.
Not as a replacement for the original Soren.
Not as a role he was stealing.
But as himself.
He reached out and clasped her hand, letting her pull him gently to his feet.
His legs wobbled for a moment, but she steadied him without a word.
"Yeah, let's go, Sis," he said quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
They walked out of the infirmary side by side, their hands still lightly linked.
And as they stepped into the corridor, bathed in the soft afternoon light, Soren realised something simple and terrifying and warm all at once.
He didn't just accept being called her Little Brother anymore.
He wanted to be.
For the first time in a long time, the word 'family' didn't scare him.
It felt like something he could reach out for.
————「❤︎」————