TPCF 68

CHAPTER 68…………………..

Suddenly, the man’s words became inaudible. All Sarah could hear was a dull humming, as if submerged underwater, and she collapsed at the doorway.

“Body… couldn’t… risk of infection… cremation…”

His words were fading in and out. When Rutger turned his head, he saw Elena’s sorrowful face beside him. At some point, she had pressed both hands against his ears, shielding him.

Tears welled up in Rutger’s eyes, spilling uncontrollably.

His father, they said, had contracted the plague while tending to patients day and night. There was no time to act—he died suddenly. Before the imperial soldiers could even arrive, the fearful natives, worried about infection, burned the corpse. His body was cast into the crematory along with others, leaving behind no ashes, no remains.

His belongings, his clothes, even the letters he had written to his family every night—all of it was burned.

And just like that, he vanished from the world. As though he had never existed in the first place.

Months later, Sarah remarried, and Rutger was no longer Rutger Ellen—he became Rutger Veylan.

Now seven years old, Rutger Veylan was kicking a ball around the backyard. His target: the rosebush. Fixing his gaze on the bright red rosebuds as though they were his sworn enemy, he swung his foot.

Thud.

A few roses fell to the ground. Staring blankly at the broken stems, Rutger soon regretted it. The roses, rolling pitifully across the damp earth after the rain, looked forlorn.

When he bent down to pick one up, the ball tucked under his arm slipped out and rolled away.

“Boy. You dropped this.”

The unfamiliar voice made him jump.

“Wh-who are you?”

“No need to be afraid. Just a passing neighbor.”

Rutger turned toward the sound of rustling grass. The man looked nothing like a neighbor. His appearance was far too peculiar, far too deliberate. He was dressed like a gentleman heading to a gala, in a pristine tailored suit, his brown hair slicked neatly back with unnatural precision. And around his neck hung a camera.

“A… neighbor?”

Perhaps sensing the suspicion in Rutger’s hesitant reply, the man’s eyes softened, as though trying to prove his innocence.

“You’re Rutger, right?”

“Yes.”

“I heard your father passed away recently. Before that, how was your parents’ relationship?”

“…Why are you asking that?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not a strange person. Just a neighbor with a bit of curiosity. Here, want a lollipop?”

He suddenly pulled a blue candy from his pocket and thrust it toward Rutger. Even when Rutger turned away sharply, the candy followed him insistently.

“No? Not a fan of sweets? Then maybe if you answer just one question, I’ll take you to the marketplace and—”

“I don’t want to.”

“Do you ever think there was something strange about Ronald Ellen’s death?”

“What? No, never.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Wait. What are you writing?”

The man had pulled a notebook from another pocket and was scribbling. Then, slipping it away, he lifted the camera hanging from his neck.

Flash!

A burst of light and sound exploded. Dazed by the sudden glare, Rutger staggered.

“Get inside! Don’t talk to him!”

Before he could recover, Sarah’s voice rang out. Suddenly, Rutger felt himself lifted into the air.

“Wait—!”

“Get lost.”

Sarah had grabbed him by the scruff like a sack of grain, slung him over her shoulder, and marched quickly away. She shoved him inside and slammed the door shut. Rutger twisted the doorknob, but it only rattled stubbornly.

Curious and unsettled, he dragged a chair over to the kitchen window and peered outside.

His stepfather, Heindel, was standing in the yard with a hose. Turning the faucet, he unleashed a jet of water straight at the stranger.

Rutger gaped.

The man, equally startled, tore the camera from around his neck, furious. Water dripped from the soaked device. He slapped it a few times in frustration, then jabbed his finger angrily at Heindel. Though Rutger couldn’t make out the words, it was clear an argument had broken out. After some huffing and gesturing, the man stormed off.

“What was that about?” Rutger asked.

“Not your concern.”

Rutger narrowed his eyes at Heindel.

“Damn brat, already picking up bad habits,” Heindel muttered, ruffling his hair roughly as he walked past.

It wasn’t until much later that young Rutger realized that suspicious visitor had been a journalist.

When the same thing happened several more times, Sarah could no longer bear it. She took her son and new husband to live near an old friend.

Rutger Ellen—or rather, Rutger Veylan—hated his new surname as much as he hated his stepfather. He hated leaving his hometown and friends behind.

And he hated his new neighbor.

The girl who would soon become his neighbor had shoulder-length black hair, tied back with a yellow headband. Her dark eyes, the same shade as her hair, were startlingly clear. She wore a spotless white dress, every button fastened neatly to her collar.

“Hi. What’s your name?”

She introduced herself as Anita Rodel. But to Rutger, she seemed like the worst kind of neighbor—the sort parents would use as an example when scolding their kids: “Why can’t you be more like the girl next door? She’s top of her class.”

Rutger felt as though if he didn’t answer her, he’d be stuck there forever. So he grudgingly replied:

“Rutger Veylan.”

She wouldn’t take her eyes off him, studying him with a bright, inquisitive gaze, as though he were some curious specimen. The way she stared irritated him.

But what irritated him even more was that this was only the beginning.