RIN'S POV
The room smelled faintly of herbs. Not the calming, lavender-type herbs either. No — this was the suffocating, "you're sickly and dying so let's boil every plant in the kingdom and hope for the best" kind of scent.
I was sprawled on an absurdly soft bed, trying to convince myself that the events of today were just a fever dream.
Waking up inside a coffin, servants screaming like they'd seen a zombie, some Greek-god-level man crying over me like I was his most precious treasure, and then — oh, right — the floating silver-haired gremlin waving and calling me by my real name before my vision glitched into a whole "Welcome, Player!" nightmare.
Totally normal day.
I groaned, covering my face with the ridiculously fluffy pillow. The room was quiet. Aion had finally left after fussing over me for hours. I thought that meant freedom.
But then he stayed.
The door creaked, and a shadow loomed closer. I peeked through my fingers. It was that knight from earlier. The one who had squeezed me in a hug so tight I thought my ribs were going to snap.
Tyrant. The guy looked like he'd been carved out of stone and loyalty. Broad shoulders, square jaw, eyes sharp but strangely soft when they landed on me. Aion's right-hand man. And apparently, now, my babysitter.
"Young Master, you need to eat." His voice rumbled low, carrying the authority of someone who usually commanded soldiers, not spoon-fed invalids.
"I am fine." I said automatically. "Really. Don't worry about it." That was a lie. My stomach had been grumbling for the past ten minutes. But the thought of being spoon-fed like a toddler made me want to crawl back into the coffin.
He ignored me completely. Like, did my words just bounce off his armor? He placed a tray on the bedside table. Steam curled up from a bowl of porridge. Before I could protest, he scooped a spoonful and held it toward me.
I blinked at the spoon. Then at him. "Uh, you are not seriously—"
"Yes." No hesitation.
I gawked. "I can feed myself, you know. I have been using my hands for twenty-six years. I am very good at it."
"You collapsed earlier." He countered, his expression unreadable. "You're still pale. General Aion entrusted me with your care. Please don't make me fail him again."
Again?
The spoon hovered closer, unwavering. His face didn't shift at all, but there was something in his eyes. Something heavy. Guilt? Pain?
Crap. He wasn't doing this because he thought I was weak. He was doing this because he felt like he had failed me once before.
I sighed dramatically and opened my mouth. "Fine. But only because I don't want the scary knight to cry on me."
He actually froze for a second, like he wasn't used to being teased. Then, silently, he fed me the spoonful. The porridge was bland. Medicinal. Like someone boiled sadness and oats together.
But, my chest did a weird thing when he carefully wiped the corner of my mouth with a cloth after. No one had ever done that for me before. Back home, family meals were just people eating in the same room, not caring if you were there or not.
This? This was — gods help me — nice.
I tried to cover the awkward warmth crawling up my neck with sarcasm. "Wow. Gourmet service. Do I get dessert too, or is this a one-course experience?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. Barely noticeable, but it was there. A crack in the stone facade. "Only if you finish the whole bowl."
Was that a joke? Oh no. Oh no. If even the knight was teasing back, then the harem route system was not bluffing.
Nao was probably somewhere invisible, snickering.
I downed the porridge faster than I'd like to admit, glaring at the empty bowl as if it had betrayed me. Tyrant gathered the tray, then to my horror, leaned over and adjusted my blankets. Like I was a kid. Like he'd done this a hundred times before.
"Rest, Young Master." He said quietly, almost gentle. "You need your strength."
The warmth in my chest spiked again, and I had to roll over, hiding my face in the pillow.
"Don't call me that." I muttered. "Makes me sound like some spoiled brat."
"But you are the Young Master." He said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, that I had no comeback.
He tucked the blanket snugly, stepped back, and lowered himself onto the chair beside the bed. He sat there like a guard stationed at his post — immovable, unsleeping.
"You're really just going to sit there all night?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Like staring at me?"
"Yes."
"Creepy."
He didn't answer. But I could feel his eyes on me, steady, like an anchor keeping me from drifting too far into this strange new reality. For the first time since I woke up in this nightmare, I felt safe enough to close my eyes. And damn it all — some traitorous part of me felt loved.
---
THIRD PARTY'S POV
The council chamber smelled faintly of wax and parchment, its tall windows curtained to shut out the night. Shadows gathered at the edges of the room, broken only by the steady light of crystal lamps suspended from the ceiling.
General Aion stood before the long oak table, armor stripped down to its simple black underlayer, the fatigue plain in the slope of his shoulders. His chest still rose and fell from his hurried ride across the palace grounds. Yet even so, the moment his presence filled the chamber, every soldier and noble straightened.
He was Olympus' Knight-General, after all. The youngest in the kingdom's history.
The king sat at the head of the table, grave eyes surveying his council. Beside him lounged Crown Prince Hilliard, his blond hair catching the lamplight, his smile too relaxed for the solemnity of the room. Further down, Lukas sat with hands folded over a stack of documents, the strategist's eyes sharp behind his spectacles.
Others filled the benches — dukes, barons, ministers — but the focus shifted as the king's voice rumbled low.
"General Aion. We have heard troubling news."
Aion bowed deeply, fist over heart. "If Your Majesty refers to my younger brother... then yes. The rumors are true."
A murmur rippled through the gathered men.
"The Young Master Eon." One of the ministers whispered, "The sickly child who perished two days ago—"
"Has returned." Hilliard finished smoothly, his lips curling in a grin. "Back from the dead, if the servants' gossip can be believed. Tell me, Aion, did the boy crawl out of his coffin on his own, or did you pull him free?"
The prince's words carried amusement, but his eyes — sharp golden — watched closely for the general's reaction. Aion's jaw tightened. "I do not know what transpired, Your Highness. I only know that when I returned home, Eon was alive. Breathing. Speaking." His voice cracked at the edges, and he quickly forced it steady. "And for that, I give thanks to the gods, though I cannot explain their mercy."
Another murmur surged, this one darker — fear, suspicion. The dead did not simply wake.
Lukas' voice cut through the noise, calm and precise. "A miracle or an omen. If the Young Master has returned from the grave, then we must ask. What is he now?" His dark eyes glinted. "A blessing to Olympus? Or a threat we cannot yet name?"
The words landed heavy.
Aion's gaze snapped to him, steel-hard. "He is my brother. That is all."
For a moment, silence stretched taut.
The king's expression was unreadable. Hilliard drummed his fingers against the polished wood, amusement dancing on his lips though his mind clearly churned.
"And what will you do, General?" The king finally asked.
"I will take him to the royal medics tomorrow morning." Aion said firmly. "Let them examine him. Perhaps they will know what our priests cannot. Until then, I ask no one to draw conclusions."
Lukas tilted his head. "You speak as though you expect us to see him as unchanged. But if something unnatural clings to him—"
"I do not care what clings to him." Aion interrupted, voice sharp, raw emotion bleeding through. His fists trembled at his sides.
"He is my only family left in this world. If the heavens themselves descended to say otherwise, I would not let him go again."
The chamber fell silent. Even the flickering lamps seemed to pause.
Hilliard's brows lifted, then his grin widened. He leaned back, arms folding lazily over his chest. "Well, well. Such devotion. If your brother truly is alive, then Olympus has gained a jewel we all thought lost." His gaze gleamed, dangerously intrigued. "I think I should like to meet him myself."
Lukas' lips pressed thin, though he said nothing more. His mind was already turning, weighing this unexpected return, calculating the ways it might tilt the balance of power.
The king cleared his throat, redirecting the focus. "Enough of Eon, for now. We have a greater matter to discuss. The rising aggression at the Demon Kingdom's border. Reports speak of skirmishes near the southern forts." The maps were unrolled, inked with jagged red lines that marked encroachments.
The room shifted back to strategy. Troop movements, supply routes, treaties at risk.
Aion forced himself to concentrate, though his mind lingered in a small, dimly lit room at his mansion, where his brother had looked at him with living eyes.
Alive. Against all odds, alive.
For that miracle alone, he would fight the entire Demon Kingdom if he had to.
---
RIN'S POV
The first thing I saw when I woke up wasn't the ceiling, or the stupid curtains that looked too extravagant to belong in a sickly recluse's room.
It was him. Tyrant, slumped forward on the chair beside my bed, chin tucked to his chest, arms folded like some makeshift armor. He looked like he had fought a war against the chair and lost. His shoulders were stiff, his legs awkwardly spread out as if he had been ready to leap up at the first sign of trouble.
I groaned softly, sitting up. "Idiot's going to break his back like that."
He didn't stir. His messy hair was drooping into his eyes, and for the first time since I got here, I realized how human he looked. Not the unshakable, sword-swinging knight everyone else saw, but just some guy who fell asleep watching over a patient.
"Tch." I threw off the blanket and shuffled over, nudging at his arm. "Hey. Wake up. At least go sleep on a proper bed before your bones fossilize."
He groaned like a bear disturbed from hibernation, cracked one eye open, and instead of doing the logical thing — standing up and moving — he reached out, grabbed me by the wrist, and pulled. The next second, I was sitting on his lap, caged in his arms.
"Stay." He mumbled, voice gravelly from sleep.
My brain short-circuited. My body stiffened. Heat rushed to my face like someone had lit me on fire. "Wha—?! Get off me, you muscle-brained giant puppy!" I sputtered, flailing weakly because my damn body was still too fragile to fight him off properly. "I swear if you don't let go, I will — I will sue you in modern court for harassment!"
He didn't even reply. His breathing evened out again, clearly not awake enough to process my Tokyo-level curses. By the time I managed to wriggle out of his hold, my entire face felt like it could fry an egg. Muttering every profane word I knew under my breath, I stomped out of the room before he could drag me back.
---
The mansion was enormous.
The hallways stretched on forever, decorated with tall windows, portraits of people who probably didn't smile in their entire lives, and carpets so soft I kept worrying I'd sink and vanish into them.
Nao drifted at my side, arms folded behind his head like this was all some vacation. His silver hair shimmered faintly, smug grin plastered across his face. "Aw, Rin." He cooed, voice echoing only in my head. "Did big scary Tyrant cuddle you to sleep? How romantic."
"Shut it." I hissed under my breath. "That was a near-death experience. If he crushes me again, I will actually die. For real this time."
Nao cackled, floating upside down now just to annoy me. "For someone who claims to hate harem tropes, you sure are speedrunning them."
"Don't you dare call this a trope." I snapped, turning down another hallway. "Also, where the hell is the kitchen in this labyrinth? At this point I need a GPS."
Several detours, wrong turns, and awkward encounters with confused servants later, I finally stumbled into the kitchen. The cooks nearly dropped their ladles when they saw me.
"Young Master Eon?!" One of them gasped, rushing forward. "Please, you should not be here. If you are hungry, just tell us and—"
"Nope." I raised a hand, already rolling up my sleeves. "Back off. I am cooking."
They protested, horrified at the idea of the supposedly sickly young master doing peasant work, but I ignored them and commandeered the nearest pot. A simple soup. Something warm, light, and familiar enough that even this weak body could handle it.
By the time the aroma filled the room, I felt a little proud. Just a little.
That's when heavy footsteps thundered toward us, and a panting Tyrant appeared in the doorway, looking like he had sprinted across the entire estate. His eyes scanned the kitchen until they landed on me.
"There you are." He was out of breath, sweat on his brow. "I looked everywhere. Why are you here?" I planted a hand on my hip. "Cooking. Obviously."
He gawked like I'd just said I was planning to assassinate the king.
Before he could start fussing again, I shoved him toward the table and made him sit down. Then, with all the authority I could muster, I set the bowl in front of him.
"Now eat."
His entire body went rigid. "Huh?"
"Eat." I repeated, grabbing the spoon, scooping soup, and holding it up to his lips.
For a moment, it was like time stopped.
He stared at me, expression unreadable, and I suddenly regretted everything. But then, slowly, reluctantly, he opened his mouth and ate.
The stupid pink heart above his head blinked and ticked upward.
Ding.
[ TYRANT — KNIGHT LIEUTENANT ]
Affection Rate: 🩷 32%.
I cursed internally.
Damn it, this wasn't romantic! This was just repayment! Mutual care, equal exchange!
Tyrant ate quietly, gaze flicking up at me in between spoonfuls, while I tried not to combust on the spot.
When he finally set the empty bowl aside, I crossed my arms. "There. You took care of me, so I took care of you. Mutual deal. That's my principle. Don't expect babysitting to be one-sided."
His lips twitched, but he did not argue.
We ended up eating together in rare, peaceful silence. Until I stood up to get more soup, and my knees buckled like the traitorous noodles they were. I stumbled forward but Tyrant caught me instantly, strong arms wrapping around my waist.
And of course, that's exactly when Aion walked in.
The door opened, and there was my big brother, still in his armor from the council, frozen in the doorway. His gaze darted between me, half-collapsed against Tyrant, and Tyrant, holding me like we'd been caught in some scandal.
For a full, painful second, nobody moved.
"General." Tyrant finally managed, straightening me up, voice far too formal.
Aion blinked once, then sighed. "How many times do I have to remind you? Just call me Aion."
He didn't press the scene. Didn't question it. He just stepped further inside, looking only at me. "How was your night, Eon?"
If there had been a hole in the ground, I would have happily buried myself alive.
Nao, meanwhile, was laughing so hard in my head I was tempted to strangle his incorporeal form.