The sun climbed higher in the sky, pouring its golden heat upon the sprawling Roschild estate. While laughter rang from the garden where Leo and Rina enjoyed their tea and sweets, another scene unfolded in stark contrast.
Far from the fragrant blooms and gentle fountains, the clang of wood striking air echoed relentlessly in one of the Roschild clan's many training grounds.
There, Artur Lancaster, the golden-haired youth of the branch family, continued his furious routine. Sweat drenched his brow, dripping down his chiselled face, but he refused to stop. His hands, already raw from overuse, clung tightly to the wooden sword, the blisters multiplying with each swing. He did not care. The sting only fueled him.
Swing. Swing. Swing.
Each strike carved through the air like a curse spat into the world. His expression, usually calm and benevolent, was twisted into something darker. Teeth clenched, jaw tight, eyes burning faintly with suppressed rage.
"Shit… damn it… damn it all…" he muttered through gritted teeth, voice breaking with the force of his frustration.
The memory of Rina's rejection replayed mercilessly in his mind. The cherry blossoms had been in full bloom that morning, a perfect backdrop for what he had thought would be the moment their relationship bloomed into something more. But her voice—clear, unwavering—had crushed his dream.
"Sorry, it can never work out between us. You're just my friend."
Friend. That cursed word dug into him like a thorn.
And worse—her ears had reddened, her eyes darting when he mentioned Leo. That one name. His cousin. His supposed brother-in-arms. The shadow he could never escape.
Artur's grip on the sword tightened until his knuckles turned white. His golden eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. If not for him…
He was still lost in that poisonous loop when the sound of small footsteps reached his ears.
"Ah, Big brother Artur!" a younger boy from the branch family called out, jogging into the training ground. He carried his own wooden sword, eager to begin his daily practice. But before he did, his eyes sparkled with gossip.
"You'll never guess what I saw in the garden just now!"
Artur paused mid-swing, panting, his chest heaving.
"What?" His voice came out harsher than intended, but the boy was too excited to notice.
"I saw young master Leo and Big sis Rina! They were sitting together in the pavilion, drinking tea and eating cookies like a couple! They looked so close—laughing, teasing each other. Even the maids said they were like a married couple already!"
The boy chuckled innocently, clearly oblivious to the storm he had just unleashed.
Artur froze. His wooden sword slipped slightly in his hand. Slowly, his expression twisted into something grim. His face darkened, as though a shadow had passed over him.
"…Is that so."
The boy tilted his head. "Eh? You don't look happy—"
But before he could finish, Artur suddenly forced a smile, though it looked more like a grimace. "Never mind. Do you want to spar?"
The boy's face lit up. "Really? With you? Of course!"
Artur lifted his wooden sword again, the weight suddenly feeling different in his hands. His eyes narrowed, and in his chest, his heart pounded with something ugly.
So… they're together. Laughing. While I…
His nails dug into the hilt of his sword.
It's always him. Always Leo.
The spar began.
The younger boy rushed forward, clumsy but eager, swinging his wooden blade with the energy of youth. Normally, Artur would have guided him gently, correcting his stance, showing him proper form. He was, after all, known for his patient and kind demeanor among the branch family children.
But not today.
Artur's first counterattack came like a thunderclap. His strike crashed against the boy's sword with brutal force, sending vibrations through the poor child's arms.
"Ugh—!" The boy staggered back, eyes wide. "Big bro A-Artur-?"
But Artur did not stop. His movements were sharper, faster, more vicious than ever. Each strike carried the weight of his festering rage, as though he were no longer sparring but trying to crush an enemy.
Clash. Crack. Thud.
The boy barely managed to block, his small arms trembling violently under the pressure. He stumbled, sweat breaking across his brow, fear beginning to creep into his heart.
"W-wait! Big brother Artur, you're going too fast—!"
Artur didn't hear him. Or rather, he refused to.
In his mind, it wasn't the boy in front of him. It was Leo. That infuriating smile. Those smug blue eyes. His carefree confidence that seemed to win over everyone around him, without effort.
Each swing of the wooden sword became a strike against that shadow.
If only I could break you… shatter you… force you to the ground so you'd stop shining!
The boy's sword snapped under the pressure of a heavy blow. He yelped, dropping what remained of it and falling backward onto the dirt. "S-stop! Please, I yield!"
But Artur's blade was already descending.
At the last moment, something in him snapped awake. He stopped his strike, the wooden sword trembling inches from the boy's face. His chest heaved as he stared down at the terrified child.
For a long moment, silence reigned. Only the sound of Artur's ragged breathing and the boy's whimpers filled the air.
Finally, Artur stepped back, dropping the wooden sword to his side. His golden eyes, once blazing with fury, now flickered with conflict.
"Get out," he said, voice low.
The boy scrambled to his feet and ran, tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn't dare look back.
Artur remained standing there, the weight of what had just happened sinking into him. His hands shook.
What am I doing? He was just a boy…
He pressed a hand to his forehead, sweat dripping down his temples. But then another thought came, darker, more corrosive.
No… this is Leo's fault. Always his fault. If he didn't exist… If she didn't look at him that way… I wouldn't feel this.
His nails dug into his skin until they almost drew blood.
"Just you wait," he whispered, voice trembling with hatred and desperation. "At the Blessing Ceremony… I'll prove it. I'll crush you, Leo. Then Rina will see who truly deserves her."
The wooden sword fell from his hand, clattering against the dirt.
The golden-haired boy stood in the empty training ground, his shadow long and distorted under the harsh midday sun.
And though he did not know it, something dark and dangerous had already begun to stir within him—something that would not be so easily buried again.