Third-Rate Villain Of Fantasy Novel-Chapter 33: Late Night Visit [3]
Some moments in life had a cruel way of overlapping.
A single scene, a single expression, could drag the past back to the surface without warning. For someone who had already lived through the present once and returned to the past as a regressor, that effect was far stronger—almost merciless.
For her, seeing him bleed was the memory she despised the most.
It did not matter that she knew the future ahead of him would no longer be as bleak as before. It did not matter that fate had already shifted, that the path he would walk this time would be different. The image of him drenched in blood, collapsing beyond her reach, refused to fade. Along with it came the suffocating helplessness and the guilt she had never truly forgiven herself for—guilt over standing there, frozen, doing nothing when it mattered most.
Those emotions had settled deep inside her, buried but never gone.
Maybe that was why she lost her temper, if only for a moment.
It was nothing more than a shallow cut, barely worth concern. And yet, her reaction was so excessive that even she was startled by it. She hovered over him with the same panic she once had when staring at a patient afflicted with a terminal illness, hands trembling, breath uneven, eyes locked onto the thin line of red as if it were a death sentence.
She knew it was irrational.
But emotions did not listen to reason.
So when his face suddenly leaned in close—too close—the fragile restraint she had tucked away in some distant corner shattered without warning. Everything she had been holding back spilled out all at once, raw and unfiltered. Only after the outburst did clarity return, and she pulled herself together, waiting for the next chance to explain.
What she had mistaken for that chance, however, turned out to be nothing more than one of his careless jokes.
"Damiaaaaaaaaaaaaan!!!"
"Huh? What’s wrong? Elena?"
Her shoulders sagged as she exhaled sharply, frustration and relief tangling together.
"Phew... never mind..."
She turned her head away, cheeks faintly warm, eyes burning with a resentment she did not bother hiding. At that, he finally stopped poking her cheeks, his hand hovering awkwardly in midair before retreating.
For a brief moment, he studied her expression—confused, a little amused, but also faintly concerned.
Elena clenched her fists in her lap, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress as if to anchor herself.
It wasn’t a bad feeling.
If anything, it was strangely warm—comforting in a way she hadn’t expected. There was no way she could hate the smile or the gentle touch that had pulled her back from the shadows of old memories. Still, it was a little different from what she had imagined. Not worse—just different. That small discrepancy left behind a faint, lingering disappointment she couldn’t quite explain.
He noticed her silence.
With a soft, almost hesitant movement, he reached out and gently stroked her cheek. It was the same hand that had fumbled earlier, awkwardly apologizing, unsure of where it belonged. Now, the touch was steadier, careful, as though he were afraid she might disappear if he moved too quickly.
Elena relaxed without realizing it.
As she set the things she had brought onto the table, he busied himself preparing the space for her—pulling out a chair, straightening the tablecloth, adjusting the small details with quiet diligence. When everything was finally in place, he sat down across from her. Without much thought, he picked up one of the macarons she had prepared in advance and took a bite.
The familiar sweetness filled the brief silence between them.
"Come to think of it," he said casually, though there was a trace of guilt beneath his tone, "I couldn’t attend dinner. Did I make you wait for no reason?" 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺
Elena shook her head.
"No. Ken informed me in advance, so I didn’t wait," she replied. Her lips curved slightly as she continued, her voice lighter than before. "Thanks to that, I was able to get a little closer to Lord Alphonse."
"...Alphonse?"
The moment the name left her mouth, she noticed the change.
His expression stiffened—just slightly. It wasn’t as severe as before, but it was unmistakable.
The ease he had built up moments ago wavered, like a fragile surface disturbed by a single drop of water. Whatever lay between him and Alphonse clearly hadn’t been resolved yet.
Elena watched him quietly.
For a brief, foolish second, a thought crossed her mind—that perhaps he was jealous. The idea of him imagining her alone with Alphonse, talking, sharing space. The thought barely had time to settle before she dismissed it herself.
Absurd.
She knew better than to indulge in something so unrealistic.
Still, as she studied his expression, she couldn’t deny that the name alone carried weight—enough to pull him away from the present, enough to remind her that there were still unspoken things between them.
Elena took a deep breath.
She let it fill her chest, then released it slowly, pressing down the heat that threatened to spill from her heart. Only when the tension eased did she look at him again.
"Is it because of what happened at the Isilia Pavilion today?"
Damian hesitated.
For a brief moment, it seemed as though he might brush it aside, the way he always did. Then his shoulders loosened, and he gave a small, awkward laugh.
"...Yes. Ah—yes. That’s right."
He looked away, fingers tightening around the rim of his teacup.
"It’s embarrassing, but I realized something today. I’ve been a lacking older brother to Alphonse."
Elena’s brows knit together.
"But how can I be a good older brother?" he continued, voice quieter now. "No matter how much I think about it, I can’t figure it out."
Silence settled between them, broken only by the faint clink of porcelain and the soft murmur of the pavilion outside.
Elena studied him for a moment, then spoke carefully.
"Then... wouldn’t it be alright to just be yourself? The way you usually are?"
"As usual?"
Damian tilted his head slightly, confusion written plainly across his face.
At that expression, Elena almost forgot to breathe.
