The first light of dawn did little to ease the knot of dread in Hiruko's stomach. He hadn't slept, his mind a frantic reel of the previous day's revelations and the terrifying prospect of facing Tristan. He lay in bed, staring at the canopy, the silence of the pre-dawn hours feeling like the calm before a storm.
Then, the storm broke. A sudden flurry of activity in the hallway outside his room—the hurried whisper of voices, the soft scuffle of feet on the polished stone floors. He didn't need to ask. He knew. Tristan had arrived.
Hiruko got out of bed, his movements stiff with a mix of exhaustion and resolve. He walked to the washbasin, splashing cold water on his face. The reflection staring back at him was not his own, but a stranger's. Lukas's face, a handsome, aristocratic face that had once been a mask of despair, was now a mirror of his own fear.
"You can do this, Hiruko," he whispered to himself, the words a fragile mantra. "He's just a troublesome client. That's all."
A sharp, polite knock on the door broke the quiet. "Young master," came Theresa's crisp voice from the other side. "Your brother has arrived."
Hiruko takes a deep breath, preparing himself."Don't worry Lukas, I'll definitely make your life better. You will have a home where you can live freely, you won't have to hang your head in shame or live in disgrace.""
A cold dread settled over Hiruko as he opened his door. The hallway, usually quiet and cavernous, was now a corridor of hushed, hurried activity. Maids and footmen moved with a nervous energy, their faces tight with a palpable tension. They scurried past him, their heads bowed, as if even looking at him was a forbidden act in the presence of the family's true star. The air, usually thick with the scent of old paper and dust, was now filled with the light, crisp fragrance of a rare perfume—a scent of power and prestige.
Hiruko was on his way towards the sound of Lord Xavier's authoritive voice, with his eyes filled with determination, and then.
He saw them. In the grand foyer, his father, Lord Xavier Tross, stood ramrod straight, his posture a picture of unyielding authority. Beside him was a figure who seemed to radiate a golden light. His hair was a brilliant, almost unnatural shade of yellow, like spun gold, catching the sunlight from the high windows and shimmering with an inner glow. His posture was effortless, a perfect mirror of his father's but without the tension. He was flawless.
Tristan Tross,he stood a few feet from his father, his face turned away, a low, melodic voice carrying through the immense space. He was speaking of his accomplishments, of his flawless exam score, of the accolades he had received. His voice was smooth, confident, and utterly devoid of any hint of struggle.
Hiruko felt a shiver run down his spine, a deep, bone-chilling fear that wasn't his own. It was Lukas's fear, the raw, primal terror of a boy who had been told his entire life he would never be enough. It was the fear of a shadow facing the sun.
He took a step forward, his foot making a small sound on the marble floor.
Tristan's head turned. His eyes, a startlingly bright emerald, met Hiruko's. There was no hatred in them, no malice. Only a cool, appraising indifference—a look that a superior might give to a bug on his shoe.
But it quickly changed to a kind look.
"Oh, awake at last, little brother?" Tristan's voice was a smooth, perfect melody, a stark contrast to the casual cruelty of his words mentioned in the journal. He walked toward Hiruko, his effortless grace drawing every eye in the foyer. A genuine smile, full of warmth and brotherly affection, lit up his face as he clapped a hand on Hiruko's shoulder.
"Yeah… yeah, I am, big brother," Hiruko replied, his voice a little strained. He forced a smile, the gesture feeling foreign and stiff on his face.
"He's still a bit weak from his fall, I'm afraid," Lord Xavier said, his voice a low rumble. "But he's recovering."
Tristan's smile widened as he turned to his father. "It's a good thing I'm here then, isn't it, Father? I'll make sure he's well looked after."
Lord Xavier gave a curt nod. "I trust you will. I have business to attend to. Tristan, your rooms are ready for you." With that, he strode away, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the foyer.
The moment Lord Xavier was gone, the genuine warmth in Tristan's eyes vanished, replaced by the same cold, appraising indifference Hiruko had seen before. The smile remained, but it was now a thin, cutting line on his lips. His hand, which had been resting on Hiruko's shoulder, tightened into a crushing grip.
"I hope you didn't touch or enter my room," he said, his voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper. The melodic tone was gone, replaced by a razor-sharp edge of disdain. The pleasant scent of his perfume seemed to grow cloying, suffocating. "I won't tolerate your failure stench in my room."
Hiruko's mind raced, he saw it coming. Tristan was a monster, a perfect showman in front of his father and a cruel bully when the cameras were off. The world, where he is from has a lot of like-minded people. They show their fake positive side infront of clients and the higher ups, basically the people they find important, and show their true faces to those they don't. The physical pressure on his shoulder was a testament to his ruthlessness.
"Don... don't worry, brother, I haven't touched a thing," Hiruko stammered, forcing the words through gritted teeth.
Tristan's smile tightened. "It would be for your own good." He leaned in, his voice a low, condescending whisper. "And the gorgeous redhead who keeps you as her pet boy, is she still using you?"
Hiruko's mind immediately went to Mina. He kept his expression neutral, feigning the confusion of a boy in over his head. "I don't know anything about her using me or not, but she still hangs around me, yeah."
Tristan's smile widened, a cruel, cold expression. He pressed down on Hiruko's shoulder with a sudden, vicious force, pushing him down to the ground with minimal effort. "If I say you're being used, then you are," he spat, his voice a low hiss. "Like the good doggy you are, don't act out of place. She and Clarissa both pity you because you're a useless pet to them."
Suddenly, the pressure on his shoulder vanished. Tristan stood up straight, his face a perfect mask of brotherly concern. Hiruko, still on his knees, looked up and saw Clarissa walking toward them.
"Brother, you're back!" she said, her voice bright and cheerful. "But what were you doing with Lukas?"
"Your brother, Lukas, has found a new hobby of tribal dance and he was showing me the steps," Tristan said, a charming, effortless smile on his face. "It suits him quite well."
Clarissa's eyes, filled with sadness for a brief moment, quickly masked her emotions. "So how are you doing, my dear little sister?" Tristan asked.
"I've been doing well, brother," Clarissa replied, her voice firm. "I have finally perfected the art of pulling mana from the earth's core."
"Brilliant, sister," Tristan said, his voice full of praise. "It's really important to not overuse our inner mana. Even though we have massive mana reserves, we should have something on hand in case some spell messes with that."
Clarissa's face lit up. "Brother, I have kept growing plants in the conservatory, just as you did when you were here. Why don't we go have a look?"
Hiruko knew, it was her quiet attempt to save Hiruko from further humiliation.
Tristan's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he smiled and agreed. As they walked toward the conservatory, Tristan looked back at Hiruko, a glint of triumph in his eyes.
"My little cute brother," he said, his voice a sickeningly sweet melody. "I heard you have improved, that you actually perfected the fire ball spell."
Hiruko felt a fresh wave of pain in his shoulder, a physical reminder of Tristan's cruelty. He forced himself to stand, his voice tight. "It's not near enough to be called perfected," he replied, feigning the humility of Lukas.
"Oh, come on," Tristan said, a sly grin on his face. "If it's something the Rosewalt family taught you themselves, it must be great. Be ready—I'll check your fireball this afternoon."
He turned and followed Clarissa, leaving Hiruko alone in the immense foyer. The weight of Tristan's cruelty settled over him once more. He clenched his jaw, his hand going to his aching shoulder.
"Rich brat," he muttered to himself, the words filled with a bitter, simmering rage.
He raised his hand, his fingers trembling with a mix of pain and resolve. He focused on the memory of the warmth he'd felt in the conservatory, the feeling of mana answering his call. He gritted his teeth and, with a low growl, he called the spell.
"Ignis."
A ball of fire sputtered to life in his palm. It was weak, wobbly, and completely pathetic. It flickered for a moment, a pale, anemic light, before it fizzled out with a sad little pop, leaving nothing behind but a wisp of smoke.
He stared at his empty hand, at the pitiful, pathetic spark that had been all he could produce. A shadow fell over his eyes, a darkness that had nothing to do with the lack of light in the foyer. A bitter, cold smile touched his lips.
"A pitiful pet, eh?"