Chapter 5

From that point on, something truly astonishing happened.

Henry, who had scoffed as though my mother wasn’t even worth acknowledging while she tried to protect me, actually raised his hand to slap her.

But that wasn’t what surprised me.

Percival Bastard—or rather, Percy—rushed in front of her.

“D-don’t you dare t-touch my new m-mother, you fucking bastards!”

Even while saying “mother,” he stammered a little, apparently embarrassed by the word.

But he still shouted it loud and clear.

Yeah, that part was good.

“Pieces of fucking garbage that wouldn’t even roll around in a food waste bin! If you want to act fucking crazy, do it alone at home—”

But the bastard didn’t stop there.

He began spewing out a thick stream of profanity that should never have come out of the mouth of a child from the British upper class.

And he was even doing it in a Cockney accent—the accent originating from the working-class districts of East London.

His vocabulary of curses effortlessly ranged from insults suitable for teenagers all the way to ones apparently invented for people in their sixties.

I forcibly shut my mouth, which was threatening to fall wide open.

Where the hell did he learn all that?

“Oh my, Percy…”

Unlike me, Mom was completely dumbfounded at first.

But as soon as she understood what Percy had said, her expression became deeply moved.

Her eyes quickly grew moist as she stared at Percy’s back while he stood protectively in front of us.

“%$#@#@-!”

“……”

Although the bastard was currently verbally abusing his adult relatives with language that seemed too obscene even for someone his age in the slums…

Mom apparently couldn’t hear any of it.

“He’s only met me a few times, yet he’s already calling me Mother… I didn’t know Percy already thought of me that way…”

So they’ve already met a few times.

I realized that after hearing Mom mutter to herself.

Today was the first time the four of us had met together, but apparently those three had met before.

I should probably have been glad that he’d had enough time to develop some attachment to Mom.

But that wasn’t the important thing right now.

“Oh, stop! Stop it, Percy! I understand how you feel, but that’s enough!”

“Fuck! Who the hell gave you permission to call me Percy?! Henry Blanchard, Charlotte Blanchard! You pieces of shit who aren’t even worthy of being called Uncle and Aunt—!”

“Ian! Stop your son!”

Unable to listen any longer, Henry Blanchard and Charlotte Blanchard began appealing to Arthur.

It was an absolute disaster.

They weren’t grabbing each other by the hair, but this was practically a street brawl.

Every single person in the room couldn’t take their eyes off them.

But I was looking somewhere else.

F-fuck… What is that?

I couldn’t help it.

The message window floating above Percy’s head was flashing like crazy.

It wasn’t some kind of angel’s halo.

I eventually couldn’t do anything about my hanging jaw and simply stared at it.

Ding! Ding!

The sound was loud enough to hear clearly.

Yet nobody reacted.

Percy was on the verge of lunging at his uncle and aunt, while Arthur seemed to have decided that he absolutely had to stop him and was holding onto his son.

Mom was trying to calm Percy down, while the other members of the Blanchard family continued arguing among themselves.

Everyone around me was being swallowed up by the chaos, gradually becoming one indistinguishable mass.

Yet I alone seemed detached from the entire situation.

Main Quest 3 has been completed.

Your options are being recalibrated. 23%… 46%… 79%……

Your options have been recalibrated.

A new Main Quest has appeared.

Main Quest 4: Place third or higher in tomorrow’s go-kart competition, Silver Cross.

A new Sub Quest has appeared.

The previous Sub Quest will disappear due to the expiration of its time limit.

Sub Quest: Say a warm word to the surprised Sarah and Ian.
(Reward upon success: 5 additional stat points. No penalty upon failure.)

This really is like a game, isn’t it?

Several message windows rapidly appeared above Percy’s head.

They were transparent yet crystal clear, just like in-game message windows.

It was far too bizarre to be considered something occurring in reality.

I rubbed my eyes stupidly.

Then I rubbed them again.

And again.

Until the corners of my eyes became bloodshot and sore.

Yet the message windows didn’t disappear.

If everyone could see them, there’s no way they could act this calmly. Then… are they really visible only to me?

“I can’t believe this! Your taste in women was already questionable, but you’ve even failed at raising your son, Arthur! If our late father had seen this, he would have been furious!”

“What did you just say, Brother?!”

While I desperately tried to come to terms with this ridiculous reality, the situation continued escalating.

Now even Arthur looked like he was about to clench his fists like Percy.

After finally letting go of his son in response to the endless insults that had crossed the line, Arthur looked ready to grab Henry by the collar and fight him himself.

Only then did my attention return to them.

But what the hell am I supposed to do about this?

How was I supposed to stop a fight that even blood relatives couldn’t prevent?

I guess even rich people turn into complete disasters when it comes to family fights.

I had thought that at least people like them, who were so obsessed with the dignity they held dear, would know how to maintain some semblance of decorum.

Somehow, that realization left me feeling strangely disappointed and hollow.

Then—

Swish.

I saw it.

Percy, who had quieted down around the time Arthur and Henry began grappling with each other.

He was quietly picking up the crystal ashtray that had been sitting on the table.

Every hair on my body stood on end.

Percy Bastard, you’re not… Right? You wouldn’t go that far, would you?

Unfortunately, I seemed to be the only one who noticed what he was doing amid all this chaos.

I immediately shifted my gaze back to the message window above Percy’s head.

Maybe there’s a quest saying something like…

“Smash Henry and Charlotte’s heads!”

I wondered if something like that had appeared.

But the quest floating above his head was still exactly the same as before.

Enter the competition and make the podium.

And say something warm to me and Mom.

Then why the hell is he holding an ashtray?

That’s fucking terrifying.

I shuddered.

That bastard really was the kind of person who did what he said he’d do.

Percival Blanchard.

The greatest delinquent and piece of trash in F1 history.

Even the biggest hothead would at least wait until the race was over before getting into a physical fight.

Even if they wanted to drag the bastard in front of them out of the cockpit right then and punch him in the face, they’d hold themselves back during the race.

They had no choice.

If they acted on impulse, the first thing they’d destroy would be their own career.

But that guy, Percival Blanchard…

That bastard really does break things when he says he will!

Just to mention one incident from his record, the most infamous would probably be what happened at the Suzuka Grand Prix.

A fistfight on the circuit.

The so-called Suzuka Disaster.

It happened right after the first corner following the start of the race.

One of the drivers racing alongside Percival apparently decided that he couldn’t get past him wheel-to-wheel, so he cut across the grass, overtook him, and then deliberately obstructed his racing line.

There was no reason to do it.

He could simply have driven ahead, but instead, he interfered with Percival’s driving by creating dirty air.

Of course, that was also a kind of strategy.

But Percival’s response was…

He fucking rammed him.

Seriously.

He just rammed straight into him as if he’d removed his brain entirely.

He didn’t care whether his own front wing flew off or not.

Naturally, the red flag came out.

And the moment the race was suspended, Percival dragged the other driver out of his car and got into a fistfight with him right there on the circuit.

No, you couldn’t really call it a fistfight.

Because only the other guy ended up looking like he’d been beaten to a pulp.

It was an unprecedented incident in F1 history.

A few years later, if you searched “Percival Blanchard” on a portal site, the image of his scowling face with blood on his fists—an expression that could easily have passed for a vicious criminal’s mug shot—would still appear at the very top.

Remembering that photo for the first time in a while, I began trembling.

“……”

In other words, this bastard would actually ram someone with his car if he got pissed off enough, beat the shit out of them with his fists, and casually throw F-words around in front of cameras as naturally as breathing.

Therefore…

That ashtray is absolutely going to land on those two people’s heads!

There had been times when I’d thought this bastard would eventually become a real criminal.

Then again, he technically already was one.

Assault, retaliatory driving, insults, and so on.

Even if none of it had resulted in actual imprisonment, he’d probably received fines for some of it.

Who knew?

Maybe he’d even secretly buried someone somewhere and had the Blanchard family’s power cover it up.

“That’s exactly why you’re arrogant, Arthur! When it comes to matters like this, you should have obtained the family’s permission and reported to us! Do you really think you could have achieved this much success without the Blanchard family?”

“That’s enough! My relationship with her is my private affair, and my son’s affairs are my personal responsibility as well. I won’t stand by and watch this any longer. Get out of my company right now—!”

At that exact moment, Percy muttered ominously.

“Hey. You. Come here.”

I knew it.

His target was Henry’s head.

“Huh? Ian? What’s wrong?”

Mom looked puzzled as she saw me trembling. She loosened her arms, which had been wrapped tightly around me, and tried to look at my face.

And at that exact moment, I had no choice but to break away from Mom’s embrace and run.

“You fucking bastards! Sticking your noses into someone else’s family business like this and making us—!”

“Stooooop!”

The moment the crystal ashtray gripped tightly in Percy’s small, twelve-year-old hand was thrown toward Henry’s head—

“Stop! No matter what, he’s still our elder relative! It’s wrong to throw something like that at him!”

I barely managed to wedge myself between them and stop it.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—it was only possible because Percy was twelve years old right now.

He was small too.

Crash!

The ashtray struck my hand and fell to the floor, scattering with a deafening sound.

“Eeeeeek! Ian?!”

Mom screamed.

She had every reason to.

I’d desperately flailed my arm around trying to block the ashtray.

In other words, my hand was now covered in blood, and blood was pouring from it.

In front of me stood a startled Percy Bastard.

Behind me were an equally stunned Arthur, Henry, and Charlotte.

Ding.

Huh? That sound…

As everyone froze in the midst of this utterly bewildering situation, I heard a notification sound.

Apparently, that sound played whenever a new message appeared.

Karma has increased by 18. Current accumulated value: 893.

A penalty will be imposed if Karma exceeds 900.

Complete Sub Quests to lower your Karma.

“Ah, fuck.”

At the same time, Percy muttered a curse.

He sounded like he was completely screwed.

“Ian!”

“My son!”

While Mom and Arthur rushed toward me, I fainted.

I thought I was fine…

But perhaps my young body had been shocked badly enough to cause hyperventilation.

And the last thing that entered my increasingly fading vision was a message.

Warning! If your Karma accumulates to the limit, you will be reset.