Chapter 53 – At the Doorstep
Ethan hurried down the narrow lane, his breath ragged, boots slapping against the cobblestones. The dim evening light stretched his shadow long across the ground, but his thoughts ran even faster than his legs.
Lirael will think I ran off with the money… damn it. I didn't expect it to take this long. How much time passed while I was unconscious?
He clenched his teeth, frustration and worry mingling as Amelia's home finally came into view. Relief surged through him, loosening the knot in his chest.
Reaching the door, he rapped his knuckles against the wood—once. Silence. He knocked again, harder this time. From inside came the faint shuffle of footsteps.
The latch clicked. The door creaked open.
And standing there was Lirael.
Her eyes widened the instant they landed on him.
"Ethan!! You finally came back… where were you all this time?"
Her voice cracked between relief and reprimand, but as her gaze traveled downward, the scolding caught in her throat. Her expression shifted as her eyes softened, brows knitting in worry. She took in the torn cloth hanging off his shoulders, the streaks of grime and dried blood.
"Wait—are you hurt?" she asked quickly, stepping closer, her hands hovering near his arms as if afraid to touch him too roughly. "Your clothes… gods, you look like you've been through a battlefield."
Ethan followed her gaze and grimaced. He had been in such a rush, he'd forgotten to change. His tunic was shredded, boots caked with dust, and the faint copper tang of blood still clung to him.
"I'm fine," he said, forcing a small smile. "Actually, I just went to get my class jo—"
"Not now," Lirael interrupted gently, her worry overruling her curiosity. She tugged at his sleeve, already guiding him inside. "First, you're getting cleaned up. You reek of sweat and blood. I'll help prepare your bath—if Mary sees you like this, she'll scold you until your ears fall off."
A faint laugh escaped Ethan despite himself. Her fussing, so earnest and protective, dulled the weight pressing down on him.
Lirael's voice carried from the other room, a little breathless but tinged with pride.
"The bath's ready. Water's warm and soaps are set. You should hurry before it cools."
Ethan, now halfway into his fresh tunic, glanced at her. She stood near the doorway, a faint blush on her cheeks, her hands fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.
Her lips parted, hesitated, then she asked, almost in a whisper, "Do you… want me to help? You look like you're hurt… and it might be difficult for you to wash properly."
Ethan blinked, startled by her sudden offer. For a moment, he saw genuine worry in her eyes, but underneath it, something else flickered—something she herself wasn't sure of.
"I appreciate it," he said gently, shaking his head. "But I'm really not injured anymore. I can handle it myself."
"Oh…" Lirael nodded quickly, covering the moment with a faint smile. "Alright then."
But as he passed her and stepped into the bath chamber, her smile faltered, a shadow of disappointment slipping onto her face. She sighed softly, almost inaudibly, and walked back to the sitting room.
---
When Ethan emerged minutes later, the air carried the faint steam of lavender soap. His hair was still damp, clinging slightly to his forehead, and his skin, scrubbed free of blood and grime, looked almost renewed. The modest but clean set of clothes he had brought out earlier gave him a more composed air, though his eyes still betrayed weariness.
He found Lirael curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, absentmindedly tracing circles on the armrest with her finger. The moment she noticed him, her posture straightened, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"So?" she asked, her tone calm but heavy with demand. "Where were you for these two days?"
Ethan froze mid-step. "Two… days?" He blinked, genuinely confused.
"Yes, two days." Her voice sharpened, a tremor running through it. "Don't act like you don't know. Do you have any idea how worried I was?" She leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "If you hadn't returned tonight, I was ready to file a missing-person report at the guild tomorrow. And then you show up, looking like—" her eyes flicked over his freshly dressed form, remembering his earlier state "—like you barely survived a battle. Ethan, what happened to you?"
Her words rushed out, worry spilling over the restraint she usually kept. Her eyes glistened faintly, though no tears fell, and her voice softened at the end. "Don't you dare vanish on me like that again."
Ethan, taken aback, swallowed hard. For a moment he couldn't find the right words. Then he exhaled slowly, forcing calm into his voice.
"So… you didn't actually think I ran away with the money?"
Lirael stared at him, stunned, then her brows furrowed. "What? Run away? Ethan, what are you even saying?" She shook her head, incredulous. "I trust you. That thought never crossed my mind even once. Do you really see me as that low of a person?"
His throat tightened. "No, no—it's not that. It's just…" He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let's say my upbringing makes me think that way sometimes. Please don't take it to heart. I didn't mean to insult you."
Her shoulders eased, though her gaze stayed sharp. "Hmm. I understand… but you still owe me an answer." She tilted her head slightly, her expression firm. "Where were you? You started saying something about a class?"
"Right." Ethan sat down beside her, rubbing his palms together as if steadying himself. "I went to get my job assigned."
Lirael's eyes narrowed, disbelief coloring her voice. "That's not possible. If there was a god's temple anywhere near here, this place wouldn't be called a backwater." She folded her arms, staring at him intently. "And you're really telling me you don't already have a class? You toyed with that level nine scumbag Max, who was practically on the verge of getting one himself."
Ethan met her gaze firmly. "It's true." He let out a long breath. "Haahhh…"
For a moment he sat in silence, weighing the decision. Then he leaned closer, lowering his voice. His expression grew serious, enough that it made her still.
"Looks like I need to tell you this now." His tone was grave, carrying the weight of something that could not be spoken lightly. "But before I do—you need to promise me one thing."
Lirael blinked, caught off guard by his intensity. "What?"
"This has to remain an absolute secret between us," Ethan said, his voice just above a whisper. "Not Amelia. Not Mary. No one. You understand?"
The candlelight flickered between them, painting shadows across his steady expression.
She blinked, genuinely confused, her lips parting soundlessly. Then she gave a slow nod.
"Okay… whatever it is, I'll keep it a secret."
Her gaze flicked around the sitting room uneasily before lowering her voice.
"But… maybe not here. If you want to say something so important, we should move to your room."
Ethan nodded. The seriousness of the moment demanded it. Together, they walked down the short hall. The house was quiet and each creak of the floorboards felt amplified.
Inside his room, they sat on the bed. Closer than either intended—so close their shoulders brushed whenever one of them shifted. Neither moved away. The air seemed thicker there, the candlelight dimmer, the silence stretched taut.
Ethan drew in a slow breath and began.
He told her about waking by the riverbank, about being a man from another world. About the strange "system" that governed his every step, and how it was unlike anything he could explain. He left out the deeper, harsher truths—those would only shatter her. Instead, he painted broad strokes: his abnormality, his sudden teleportation to that strange place where his class was forced upon him, the visions of blood and battle that crushed his mind until unconsciousness claimed him. And finally, how he awoke to find that days had passed.
Lirael didn't interrupt. She simply sat there, eyes wide, fingers tightening in her lap. If anyone else had spoken such things, she would have laughed bitterly and walked away. But this was Ethan. And Ethan would never lied to her.
When he finally fell silent, her lips trembled as she tried to form words.
"So…" she began slowly, her voice shaky, "you're… someone from another world. You were dropped here by chance. You have some strange… system tied to you. You fought monsters you've never seen, were dragged into a castle you can't explain, bled yourself unconscious for two days, saw visions you can't describe… and then came back with a class."
Her head tilted, eyes narrowing with disbelief. "If someone else told me this, I'd call them a lunatic. But…" She swallowed hard, her voice softening. "You're you. And I know you wouldn't lie to me. So I… I don't know whether to believe or not, but—" her hand clutched at her chest "—I want to believe you."
Ethan smiled faintly, though weariness lingered in his eyes.
"Haha… I know how it sounds. Honestly, it's strange even for me. But still… I'm here, aren't I?"
Lirael let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah, you are. But… that still doesn't explain everything. How you're so powerful. How you removed my curse. And—" she hesitated, her voice dipping low "—what even is your class?"
She shook her head quickly, guilt flashing across her face.
"No… forgive me. That was rude. I shouldn't pry into things you're not ready to say."
Before she could say more, Ethan moved. His hand shot out, gentle yet firm, and he pulled her toward him. Lirael yelped, her body instinctively tensing as she was drawn against his chest.
Without a word, Ethan leaned back, lying flat against the bed, Lirael pressed atop him. His arm wrapped around her back, the other resting lightly against her hair.
The world outside the room disappeared.
For a heartbeat, she froze, her breath caught in her throat. She could hear his heartbeat—steady beneath her ear. The heat of his body seeped through the thin barrier of her dress, and her fingers clutched instinctively at his tunic.
"E-Ethan…" she whispered, her voice trembling between protest and surrender.
He closed his eyes, his voice low and steady. "I don't need to explain everything right now. What matters… is that I'm here. And I won't run."
Her breath shivered against his chest. The walls she had carried, the doubts she had clung to, cracked just a little more.
"…Idiot," she whispered back