To My First Love, With Regret - 65

—Make sure you keep that promise.

—Okay….

He answered promptly, but his spirit was completely crushed. His mouth acted as if he were an adult, but in the end, a child was still a child.

Perhaps he was more shaken than he let on; the boy was sobbing without a hint of shame. He’d said he was scared, so Ethan had offered his hand, and the boy was still gripping it tight.

Why on earth am I playing daddy to the son of my enemy?

Ethan let out a sigh of disbelief at himself. At that exact moment, a much smaller but identical sigh echoed beside him. The boy was staring at the broken kite in his other hand with an expression as if he had lost the entire world.

It’s just a piece of paper….

—I’ll make you another one once the anti-aircraft battery clears out.

Tony nodded vigorously, but the lingering disappointment was clear. He kept fiddling with the torn drawing of the plane until he suddenly froze.

—Ah!

A short cry escaped the boy’s lips. He had cut his hand on the sharp paper. As tiny beads of red blood began to dot the tip of his small thumb, Tony looked panicked.

—It’s just a scratch. It’ll stop if you leave it alone. Wipe it on your pants.

—I can’t….

—Why? Does the strict Lady say a Duke can’t wipe his hands on his pants because it’s ‘vulgar’? Your clothes are already filthy anyway.

—It’s not that! It’s that I’m not allowed to bleed!

The world-is-ending look was gone. Instead, Tony thrust his blood-stained finger toward Ethan with a triumphant expression, as if sharing a grand, exclusive secret.

—My blood is the most precious blood in the world.

—Sure, because you’re an aristocrat.

Even this youngling was already steeped in such a deep sense of status that he considered his own blood precious. In that innocent face, the shadow of the arrogant nobility Ethan so loathed began to flicker. The faint sense of camaraderie Ethan had felt for the boy just moments ago began to cool rapidly.

—That’s not what I mean! I had surgery when I was little, okay?

—You’re still little.

—I almost died back then.

Ethan imagined a predictable scenario: a surgical tool that hadn’t been sterilized, or the trembling hand of a drunken quack nicking the wrong vessel.

But the truth was stranger than the story he had imagined.

—It’s because my blood type is rare.

And yet, in a way, it was familiar.

—You too?

—Huh? Don’t tell me… Ethan too?

—That’s what they told me in the military, so I guess so.

It was a secret Ethan would have lived his whole life without knowing had he not gone to donate blood.

—What… so it’s not even that rare.

To find out the most precious blood in the world was no longer his own unique treasure—the pride on the boy’s disappointed face deflated like a leaking balloon.

—Kid, it’s not precious. It’s cursed. It means we could die from a wound that others would survive just by getting a simple transfusion.

…We?

That single word Ethan had muttered carelessly swirled in the boy’s head. Tony looked down at the large hand enveloping his own. Then he looked back up at the man’s face. This man and he had so many things in common—enough to be called we.

Suddenly, a remark from Dr. Kallas—who was a quack as a physician but knew a lot of things—flashed through his mind like a bolt of lightning.

—Blood types are determined by genetic factors inherited one from each parent.

It wasn’t just blood type. A child inherits other physical traits from their parents as well.

Like hair the color of pale gold, like the morning sun…. Or eyes that, if you look closely, resemble the sea beneath those white cliffs….

Tony began to see his sister’s old lover in a completely different light.

—Tony, you have an eye for people.

—Really?

—Yes, so from now on, always trust your gut.

His sister, who shared the same face as Tony… she had said that, too.

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As soon as he saw Tony safely inside White Cliff Hall, Ethan mobilized his men and raided the anti-aircraft battery at Kentrell Castle.

—Your unit nearly killed a civilian child. Does that tea actually go down your throat right now?

At his protest, the Major in charge of the battery responded with a shameless air, implying it was the civilian’s fault according to regulations.

—You should teach the child that regulations forbid flying kites near anti-aircraft positions.

At those words, a predatory, beast-like smile stretched across Ethan’s lips.

—Have you ever seen a child flying a kite in that field before?

When the Major hesitated, teacup in hand, Ethan’s smile grew even more dangerous.

—I’ll give you a choice. One: You saw a child flying a kite in that field for the past month and did nothing. Two: You didn’t see him. Which means you’re a bunch of idiots who can’t even monitor movement directly in front of your own position.

—Ahem, Major Fairchild…

—Pick one. Tell me which one you’d like me to report to your commanding officer.

—O-of course, there was some negligence on our part, but the child wasn’t hurt, was he? This is a critical time; if you’re a soldier, don’t blow this out of proportion and cause a stir within the military.

—You think I’m overreacting? Fine. I’ll give you a third option. Three: It’s plastered all over the daily papers tomorrow. Under the headline: ‘Anti-Aircraft Battery Attempts Assassination of the Duke of Kentrell.’

Ultimately, the battery commander was forced to admit fault, offer a formal apology, and promise to prevent any recurrence.

On the way back to White Cliff Hall, Mikey, who was behind the wheel, couldn’t help but keep glancing in the rearview mirror at his young boss.

He didn’t understand. Why was the Boss going to such lengths to protect the young Duke?

As he tilted his head and turned his gaze back to the road, a low voice struck the back of his head.

—Speak.

He’d been caught. Mikey took a breath, feeling like he was stepping onto ice without knowing how thick it was, and cautiously asked the question.

—Boss… that kid… isn’t it better if he dies?

Ethan’s silence stretched out. Mikey realized he had stepped onto paper-thin ice. He held his breath, not knowing where the Boss’s fractured rage might land. But the words that finally broke the silence left Mikey bewildered.

—If he dies while he’s with me, I’ll just get framed for his murder again.

…He gets hit by anti-aircraft shrapnel, so why would the Air Force officer next to him get framed?

Ethan was a man who had attended a prestigious university; he ought to know the logical fallacies in that statement better than someone who hadn’t even stepped on a college lawn. Perhaps realizing this, the Boss immediately corrected himself.

—Besides, I have to kill the husband first.

This, too, was full of holes. There was no need to follow a specific order of elimination. A man who had spent ten years sharpening the blade of this revenge would know that better than anyone.

There was only one reason the Boss was acting this strange. Mikey felt his anxiety becoming a grim reality.

‘Ah, no matter how I look at it, the Boss is in deep. He’s actually grown attached to that brat.’

What would happen now? A cold ending where he removes the child without realization? A sentimental ending where he realizes he can’t kill him and abandons his revenge? Or the most ruinous ending of all, where he kills the child while weeping tears of blood?

Mikey felt like he was simply waiting for the storm to break.

The Unexpected Olive Branch

When Ethan stepped out of the car and entered the mansion, the butler approached him.

—Lady Evelyn wishes to see you.

His brow furrowed slightly. The woman who has been avoiding me like a pest lately is looking for me? For what?

His first thought was Tony. He had asked the boy to keep several secrets today; had the brat already broken his promise?

But she wouldn’t ask to see his vermin-like face for such a simple reason. In fact, it wasn’t a reason he could have ever predicted.

As they sat across from each other in the drawing room, Eve pushed a single sheet of paper toward Ethan. The moment the title caught his eye, Ethan’s thoughts ground to a halt.

STATEMENT OF APOLOGY

It was a statement in the name of the Duke of Kentrell, Anthony Sherwood, admitting to the false charges against Jeremiah Robinson and apologizing for the wrongful accusation.

Ethan’s mind raced. For an aristocrat—especially the House of Kentrell—to issue a formal, public apology was a subversion of common sense.

Aristocrats do not apologize. Even if they insulted the Queen, they would only bow their heads in a place hidden from the world’s eyes. Even if they committed a genuine wrong, they would quietly pay hush money; he had never heard of a Great House admitting its faults to the entire world.

A Lady like her would certainly know the shockwaves this would send through high society and the press.

So why on earth are you handing me an apology first?

The idea that she prepared this the moment she heard he saved Tony was almost laughable. Yet, he couldn’t think of any other plausible reason besides it being a reward or a price for something.

Ah, I see.

Ethan found his answer.