TPWTL 67

#67. I Don’t Remember

“What?”

The one who reacted to his question wasn’t Cryer, but Olivia.

Her shoulders jerked up like a harpooned tuna, and she swallowed down a groan from the pain shooting up her heel. Isaac, on the other hand, gulped dryly as he faced Cryer—who was suddenly standing right in front of him without a single trace of his presence ever felt.

After a moment of groaning, Olivia shouted toward Isaac, who was hidden behind Cryer.

“Son? What do you mean, son?!”

Isaac’s survival instinct was screaming at him.

If he didn’t answer properly right this moment, he would not live to see the morning.

“Isaac!”

When Olivia flinched, looking ready to grab him by the collar and shake the answer out of him, Cryer’s blood-red eyes sank even colder than before.

Isaac, with no time to sort his words or choose them carefully, could only blurt out in desperation.

“I—I met a child with blood-red eyes!”

His desperate cry pierced Olivia’s ears with precision.

She blinked, unable to immediately process what she had just heard, and slowly tilted her head.

“What…?”

Isaac hurriedly continued, piling on the explanation he hadn’t had time to give.

“Blood-red eyes. It’s a color I’ve seen only once in my entire life. I can’t claim I’ve catalogued all the eye colors across the continent, but it’s an exceptionally rare and unique color, isn’t it?”

Pausing for just a breath, Isaac instinctively pulled in Boleshaik as an example to strengthen his case for survival.

“Just like how the only one with that vivid red hair and those pure, untainted blue—or sometimes violet—eyes is Boleshaik.”

As Isaac fell silent, Olivia, still dazed from the metaphorical blow to the back of her head, drew in a sharp breath.

During those few seconds she took to calm herself, Isaac felt as if he had crossed the line between life and death countless times.

Sweat drenched his back, and only after dozens of failed mental escape attempts did Olivia finally speak.

“So, in the end, you’re saying the child is Cryer’s because of the same eye color?”

“I did say it’s like Boleshaik.”

Olivia pressed a hand against her temple, her face flushed with frustration.

“Unbelievable.”

She leaned back deeply into the sofa, her blue eyes narrowing with suspicion as they rested on Cryer’s broad, solid back that shielded Isaac from her view.

“That explanation is flimsy enough to tuck right behind ‘just because their eyes match.’”

Isaac’s words might have sounded insane at first, yet when laid out, they carried a strange plausibility. After all, blood-red eyes were not common.

When Olivia nodded, light suddenly returned to Isaac’s path to survival, and he hurriedly added more.

“And the child was desperately hiding something about themselves. They claimed to be a descendant of the Rewir family, who had taken on the Taren family name until their debts were repaid.”

“You knew they were from the Rewir family and still said that?”

“I searched through every single archive in Tarenje, but I never found a record of anyone in the Rewir family with blood-red eyes.”

“So you think the child’s adopted? No—more importantly, whose idea was it that the child might be Cryer’s?”

The moment the words “Cryer’s child” slipped from Olivia’s lips, Isaac felt as if his head had been lopped clean off.

Well, he is Her Highness’s man, after all…

Ambreu’s words rang in his head with painful clarity.

Yes. Yes, of course. One should never throw out such questions in front of Her Highness.

But wasn’t it his master himself who had told him to speak openly before her, to keep nothing hidden?

Isaac flailed his arms in protest, looking deeply wronged.

“This idea didn’t come from me! Absolutely not!”

The theory—that Suga might be Cryer’s son—had first sprung up during a conversation with Ambreu.

“A child? That’s impossible.”

“But isn’t it important to keep all possibilities open?”

Ambreu had widened his eyes and tilted his head.

“I can’t say for sure if their faces are alike, but since the child is a girl, that could explain it. Daughters often resemble their mothers when they’re young.”

“That child—”

Isaac had stopped himself short.

Anyone passing by could mistake Suga for an ordinary young girl of that age, but in truth, Suga was male.

What the child was hiding wasn’t just their gender, but it must surely have been tied to their greater secret.

And unless someone tested it directly, Isaac could still be wrong.

“That child—?”

“Nothing. But why would you suddenly think of that?”

“Because their eyes were blood-red. A color I’ve never seen before in my life—other than his. And if she really were his daughter, wouldn’t that explain why the missing servant treated Suga with such devotion, stressing how important she was?”

“Now that you say it, it does sound convincing.”

“Right? That’s why we need to confirm it!”

“How?”

“We just ask!”

Ah, he should not have nodded then.

He should have engraved their ancestors’ wisdom deep into his bones: “Regret always comes too late. When you can run, run faster than anyone else.”

Now, forced to recount his entire exchange with Ambreu, Isaac could only drown in regret.

“So, I was just trying to confirm—”

“Wait. That’s an awfully big leap of—”

Olivia cut him off mid-sentence but stopped abruptly.

Because the person at the center of all this—Cryer—remained utterly silent.

Her gaze roamed over his wide, muscular back that was firm even through his shirt, filled with suspicion heavier than before.

No way. Could it really be?

She’d never thought she would use the saying “suspicion kills” so literally.

“Cryer—”

“I don’t remember.”

The moment Olivia called his name, his lips—until now pressed in a straight, unyielding line—finally parted.

And the moment those words left his mouth, Isaac’s face drained of all color.

How could he say that so boldly?

That couldn’t possibly be the right answer! Absolutely not!

Whether Suga really was Cryer’s son or not, that answer spelled disaster.

Either he was an irresponsible scoundrel who abandoned a child, or he was a fool unaware of what he had done. Both paths led straight off a cliff.

After keeping silent all this time, why choose an answer that could never be correct—not even close?

Isaac reasoned that his master simply had no sense for reading the atmosphere. Then again, perhaps he didn’t need such a skill—because he was far too powerful for it to matter.

Of course, Isaac’s misunderstanding was that he didn’t know Cryer had lost all memories of his past.

Still, Olivia’s expression—who did know—was uneasy.

“You… don’t remember?”

“That’s right. I have no memory of it.”

The two of them fell silent, and the office sank into a grave-like quiet.

Isaac felt like he would be crushed to death under the weight of it. His foot slipped halfway into the shadows.

I need to get out of here.

Whether it was permission to leave or a warning that he’d be disposed of later, Cryer’s glance in his direction was hard to read. Still, Isaac took it as the former.

Without even saying goodbye, Isaac melted into the shadows and vanished the moment Cryer gave the signal.

Once Cryer confirmed Isaac’s presence had disappeared from the office, he slowly turned around.

The air around him, now distinctly heavier, seemed to crackle and freeze as if about to shatter.

Olivia stared at him, frozen like a statue, then finally spoke.

“Come here.”

At her gesture, as if released from a spell, Cryer flinched at his fingertips before instantly appearing before her.

Sitting on the sofa, Olivia reached out to him. He naturally leaned down, and she firmly cupped his cheeks in both hands.

“Focus. If you don’t remember, then there’s no way you have a child that young. Don’t tell me you lost your memory even after your resurrection?”

“No. Since opening my eyes, I’ve never lost any memories.”

“And what if someone used magic to erase both your memories and the act itself?”

Cryer couldn’t immediately say no to that.

“Well, if it went that far, then I suppose it’s possible the child could be yours. But you know…”

Olivia’s lips curled faintly, though it was no smile that could ever be called beautiful. Yet Cryer couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“If it’s not in your memory, then that child can’t possibly be yours.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because of that sorceress’s daughter. What was her name again… Gwendel? Gwendolin?”

Forgetting the name, she kept tossing out guesses, tilting her head.

“Greta.”

“Yes, that one. She’s still clinging to you, isn’t she?”

The moment Olivia said that, a razor-sharp gleam slashed through Cryer’s blood-red eyes.

“Ah, I see.”

“Right? She doesn’t love you—calling it love would insult the word itself.”

Olivia shook her head and went on.

“She’s obsessed with you. Do you really think she would just sit back and watch you father a child? And besides, the timeline doesn’t add up. Even if you had a child immediately after resurrection, you’d have had to revive at least ten years ago.”

“It’s only been a few months.”

“Exactly. So you see.”

“A child may have blood-red eyes, but they can’t be mine.”

When Cryer nodded at her reasoning, Olivia shrugged and added,

“Besides, a child only has a fifty-fifty chance of inheriting their parents’ eye color. Unless it’s Boleshaik.”

“Not Boleshaik, then?”

At his question, Olivia flicked her gaze toward the tips of her own hair as she answered.