To My First Love, With Regret - 73

The enemies were finally repelled from the coastline, and the grueling period of clearing the war’s wreckage drew to a close. As the order to return to base was issued, Ethan’s path led him once more toward White Cliff Hall.

—Ethan!

Hardly had he stepped out of the car before a little puppy of a boy dashed forward and threw himself into his arms. Ethan’s mouth broke into a wide grin at the fervent welcome, as if he were a hero returning from saving the world. In this fleeting moment, he felt he finally understood why elders droned on with that cliché advice about needing a child.

—I’m so happy you’re back safe.

Ethan sighed as he stroked Tony’s small head.

How am I supposed to kill this brat later?

It wasn’t that he’d never killed someone he was fond of before. Being a gang leader meant there were times one had to be heartless. But this was the first time he’d grown fond of someone he had intended to kill. As he managed to pull away and head inside, the boy—oblivious to everything—followed at his heels, chattering away with excitement.

—So that’s why you told me to stay inside? You knew the enemy was coming, didn’t you, Ethan?

—That’s right.

—Whoa, so cool! I did exactly what you said and listened to the radio inside all day just waiting for you! It was you who dropped the paratroopers and defeated the enemy, right? You have to tell me everything! Did you almost die this time, too? I prayed to God three times every day. Seeing you back safe, my prayers must have worked.

Seriously, how am I supposed to kill him?

Unable to resist the surge of impulse, Ethan ruffled the adorable brat’s hair once more. But as he looked up, his eyes locked with those of the woman descending the stairs.

How miserable she must be, seeing that her shameful past hadn’t died on the battlefield. Just as he was thinking there was no way she had come to welcome him, Eve flashed him a smile.

Ethan’s breath hitched. That wasn’t the cynicism or mockery of late. It was the defiant, provocative smile she used to wear long ago, sitting on his old motorcycle.

His first love—the version of her that used to seduce him—was standing right there.

No. There’s no way she’s trying to seduce me.

He was convinced his brain had been damaged by inhaling mustard gas on the battlefield and was now hallucinating. That was until she spoke.

—Welcome back, Ethan.

It wasn’t a hallucination. Ethan felt a pulse of foolish expectation—something he thought had died long ago—thrumming in his chest.

It was that sound he had heard until he was sick of it on the battlefield. The siren he believed he had finally escaped began to wail inside his head once again.

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Luxury during wartime is a cardinal sin, but for the officers who led a major victory, it was considered a mark of respect rather than indulgence.

The long banquet table was laden with rich food and rare wines—sights that had become scarce since the start of rationing. Officers, traded their combat fatigues for crisp dress uniforms, laughed and talked loudly, basking in the joy and relief of triumph.

From the head of the table, Eve wore the smile of a gracious hostess overseeing the gala as she scanned her distinguished guests. Since partners had been encouraged, nearly half the attendees were women.

Her gaze eventually met a woman sitting further down the table: Rebecca Holbrook. Seeing that name on the guest list had sent a sharp ache through Eve’s heart.

Becky seems to be doing well.

Ten years had passed, so it was only natural, but she had matured into a remarkably sophisticated lady. Her attire and poise were as refined as those of a wealthy heiress.

Or perhaps a princess, since she’s the daughter of the king of the underworld?

Just as this idle thought crossed Eve’s mind, Becky pointedly looked away. Even earlier, when they had exchanged greetings, Becky had kept her lips pressed tight and refused to look Eve in the eye. This time, however, she couldn’t hide the contempt in her gaze.

Becky hates me too.

While her heart stung, Eve wondered what the woman would think if she knew her brother was currently in heat for the daughter of his sworn enemies. Rehearsing her plan for the night, Eve shifted her eyes toward Ethan, who sat beside his sister.

—In a night drop, calculating the wind is everything. The paratrooper commander complained about being dropped in the wrong spot, but after he made it back alive, he thanked me, saying it was perfect.

He was boasting of his exploits—how he had accurately dropped paratroopers and supplies into a field hospital occupied by enemy landing forces, saving the lives of the wounded. He spoke as if he were the sole hero who had carried the war to victory.

—I was heading back after the third successful drop when I had the rotten luck of running straight into an enemy plane. I thought I’d shaken him off, but the damn Peregrine wouldn’t listen to me. I started plummeting, and there was nothing but forest or sea in every direction. I thought, ‘Ah, so this is how I end.’

—No….

Tony, who had insisted on sitting close to him, turned pale as a ghost, looking as if Ethan were falling to his death right now, despite the man sitting there perfectly alive and talking.

But Ethan had returned safely. He had managed a successful emergency landing on a nearby beach. He even claimed to have walked through an enemy-infested forest, fully armed, until he reunited with his allies.

It was an impossibly dramatic tale. Was it just bluster? Most of the officers listened with eyes full of respect, and even on the few faces hardened by jealousy, there wasn’t a hint of mockery. The air in the hall was completely captivated by his story.

—There’s going to be another medal on that chest of yours. Congratulations in advance, Major Fairchild.

As the story concluded, an Air Force officer raised his glass. Again, no one scoffed; they all toasted to a medal he hadn’t even received yet. The rumors that he had bought his previous medals seemed to be false.

—Thank you. But I’d like to offer a toast of gratitude to the two medical officers here today.

When Ethan Fairchild, a man who usually kept humility at a distance, gave the credit to them, the medical officers looked delighted, unable to hide their surprise.

—The brightest heroes of this battle were, without a doubt, the medical officers.

Ethan’s deep, solemn voice drew every eye in the hall.

—The courage to keep holding a scalpel while bullets fly and the enemy closes in—that is true medicine. You are real doctors, and real men.

After the glasses clinked cheerfully in the warm atmosphere, Ethan pointedly turned his head toward Owen, who sat at the far end of the long table. His face was etched with feigned pity, but a sharp, cruel calculation flickered in his eyes.

—I can only imagine how stifling it must have been for Dr. Kallas, trapped in this safe manor tending to healthy patients. It’s such a waste that a skilled doctor couldn’t be where he was needed most.

Eve finally realized the depth of that arrogant man’s scheme. His sudden exaltation of the medical officers had been a calculated strike to demolish Owen.

The officers’ gazes pierced through Owen like a jury delivering a verdict. Their eyes asked the silent, damning question: Where were you while real men were bleeding out?

Judgment was instantaneous. He was a coward who had hidden in the safe rear while his colleagues risked their lives. Their eyes held either blatant contempt or cheap pity—both the kind of looks that were unbearable to endure.

Once again, Chantal stepped forward to defend her voiceless puppet.

—Major Fairchild, I believe I already mentioned that the Doctor has a chronic condition that prevents him from serving?

Chantal exposed Ethan’s dark intentions before everyone, but no one cared about his motives. One of the ladies, looking at Owen with patronizing sympathy, piped up.

—I suppose even a doctor can’t cure everything?

At that moment, Ethan let out a dry, audible laugh and answered on his behalf.

—Best not to ask what the illness is.

With that, Owen was perfectly branded as a draft dodger. Had he revealed his ‘ailment,’ he might have countered Ethan, but the medical officers present would have sniffed out a malingerer instantly. Thus, Owen Kallas remained trapped in his own snare, unable to utter a single word.

Worried that this might insult the hostess of the party—given that the man in question was the husband of the Princess of Kentrell—one officer stepped in to save the family’s face.

—Still, has the House of Kentrell not graciously opened the doors of this manor to us officers?

Risking the misunderstandings of the gossips gathered there, Eve cast a brief, favorable look toward Ethan. Then, for the sake of her true hidden objective, she looked at her ‘husband’ with the opposite expression: one of profound pity.

—It is the least we can do to fulfill our duty to protect the motherland. Sadly, there are currently no men in Kentrell capable of enlisting.

She said this while looking directly at Owen Kallas—a physically fit, adult male. She was declaring that there were no real men in this house.

While Ethan had been flaunting his superior masculinity through his war stories, Eve had been watching Owen’s face. He was gritting his teeth, barely containing the swelling inferiority complex within him.

Why are you holding back? Let it burst.

Owen had refused to budge even as Ethan dug a trap, choosing instead to endure the humiliation. But the moment Eve gave his festering wound a light prod and a gentle push, he leaped into the enemy’s pit of his own accord. Glaring at Ethan with an expression that seemed to have distilled his humiliation into pure venom, he declared:

—I, too, shall volunteer for the army.