Chapter 8: You Gotta Oil Up While Living (4) |
Watching the Head Maid go to get my bowl, I fell into thought.
I thought it was only natural.
I was, after all, just an Adopted Son. An Outsider with no shared blood. It would be presumptuous to join a family meal.
But.
"Why are you just standing there? Sit."
The Godfather pointed to a side of the table.
Mother smiled.
"Yes, Yulian. Come and sit here."
"Older Brother, hurry!"
"..."
I slowly stepped back from the Cradle and stood before the table.
It was still awkward.
Even in the 21st Century, I rarely had such an experience.
When I was a Surgery Resident, eating alone was a daily routine, and it was the same after I became a Fellow.
Especially a dinner table with family.
'...Since when was the last time?'
The memory was faint.
"Please sit, Young Master."
The Head Maid had returned at some point and placed down a fourth bowl.
I slowly sat down.
I picked up my spoon and took the first bite.
It was a dish I had made, but it tasted strangely different.
"How is it?"
The Godfather asked.
"...It's delicious."
"Aren't you the one who made it?"
The Godfather chuckled.
"Yulian."
"Yes, Godfather."
"You can move your things out of the Annex now."
"...What?"
No way, am I being kicked out?
Why, in this atmosphere?
Was this The Last Supper?
But that was not the Godfather's intention.
"We should eat together like this every day, and it's not right to have to call you from the Annex every time. And..."
The Godfather exchanged glances with Mother.
Having reached a silent agreement with Mother, the Godfather spoke again.
"Let's do something about that stiff Form of Address. Are you going to call me Godfather forever? Call me Father from now on. It's so stiff I feel like I'll get indigestion just listening to it."
I stared blankly at the Godfather.
"..."
Because those words were, in effect, a declaration that he would adopt me.
Of course, the Godfather was already my Guardian.
But that declaration was no different from saying he would regard me as a Biological child who could inherit the family name, just like Freya.
As I stared blankly, the Godfather spoke calmly, as if pressing for an answer.
"Say so if you don't want to."
"No..."
I shook my head.
"I will... gratefully accept."
"Good."
"Then, shall I call you Family Head from now..."
"You're not at an age to be calling me Family Head."
The Godfather chuckled.
"Perhaps when you're older, in a Public Place, but for now, call me Father."
"...Understood."
"Good."
The Godfather picked up his spoon again.
Freya and Mother also picked up their spoons.
I followed suit and picked up my spoon.
'...'
The sound of spoons clattered once more.
I took a mouthful of Risotto.
The richness of the Cream and the softness of the Seaweed spread through my mouth.
It was the taste I had expected, yet it felt unfamiliar somehow.
'Is this... also part of the Convention of a Misunderstanding Genre?'
The thought suddenly crossed my mind.
Could this be the narrative of a Protagonist being accepted by his family?
A development where I don't have to cause a huge fuss just to call my father 'father', but can just quietly do my work, and everyone around me simply misunderstands and accepts me.
Organizing it that way was simple and comfortable, without any need for complex thoughts.
But today, for some reason, that interpretation didn't quite sit right.
'...Is it really okay to read it that way?'
Is it okay for a relationship like family to be formed out of a misunderstanding?
Because that uncomfortable doubt had begun to dominate my thoughts.
*
My Past Life Experience always warned me.
That there is no such thing as a perfectly pure Good Deed, and that every good deed can be interpreted through a cost-benefit analysis.
— [Anonymous: I hear Trauma Surgery makes good money these days, right? If you're getting paid that much, you should at least be doing that much.]
In that dry world, I learned cynicism.
How not to expect anything, how not to show weakness, and how to identify the bill that would follow any Goodwill.
And this world I was reincarnated into was not much different.
Nobles check each other, and commoners are desperate to survive.
A world where, even within the walls, people prey on each other, and Goodwill is returned with Malice.
It was a world where I had no reason to abandon the cynicism I learned in my previous life.
That's why I learned to interpret Goodwill through the framework of the Misunderstanding Genre.
When I was the Godfather's Godson, that was enough.
'But an Adoption...'
It's family.
Family shouldn't be that kind of relationship.
It shouldn't be formed out of misunderstanding.
At least, that's what I believe.
The moment even family becomes a lie, I would be destroying the one place where I can take off my Mask and rest.
'What should I do...'
The Risotto was getting cold.
A thin film was starting to form on the surface of the Cream.
'...As I thought, it's better to say it before the Adoption.'
They are misunderstanding the person I am.
I am not that noble of a person.
Not all of my Deeds were done for this family.
My Goodwill stems from a Sense of Duty as the Protagonist, not because I particularly love them.
Above all, I have skillfully used their Goodwill for my own benefit.
Therefore, I cannot become their family.
It would go beyond deceiving these people; it carried the risk of my own false Mask becoming permanent.
"Godfather."
"I told you to call me Father. Never mind. Let's hear what you have to say first."
"I am not the kind of person you think I am, Godfather."
"And how do you think I see you?"
"I..."
My throat tightened.
If I reveal this fact, they will probably reject me.
But it's better than things falling apart in the worst possible way someday after the Adoption.
I steeled myself and opened my mouth.
"Everything I have done in the Nihilrit Family was all for the sake of securing my own Standing within the family."
I squeezed my eyes shut.
The table became frighteningly silent.
I waited for the Godfather's reaction.
Finally, with a soft chuckle, he laughed.
"Thinking back, there was never a time since you came to this house that you weren't trying to read my mood."
The Godfather stopped his spoon.
"Then how much of it was your Conduct?"
"..."
"Giving me Malaria medicine and Nursing me all night, was that also Conduct?"
"..."
"Devising a dish like this for Linier, is that also Conduct?"
"..."
"In the bowl of Freya, who has no influence in the family..."
The Godfather's eyes lingered on Freya's bowl.
"...is removing the Carrots only from this child's bowl also Conduct?"
"..."
The Godfather let out a deep sigh.
"To think you were festering like this. It's all my fault for being inadequate. I only just realized it when they brought only three bowls, leaving yours out."
"No. As an Outsider, it was only natural..."
"Don't run away behind the word 'Conduct'."
The moment I heard that, the tips of my fingers clutching the spoon turned white.
His gaze swept over my Risotto, which had no Toppings on it.
"Yulian. To my eyes, you look like a child who pulls back in advance for fear of getting hurt, who gives up first before being rejected, but at the same time, can't stop his hands from moving."
And then the Godfather scooped the Abalone Topping from his own bowl and placed it on top of my Risotto.
"That's why I'm trying to fix things, even if it's late."
"Fix things...?"
"I know this will sound like an excuse, but I was aware things were awkward between you and your mother. But I thought meddling rashly would only complicate things further. I figured you would adapt on your own."
The Godfather pointed at the Abalone on my Risotto.
"But even after seven years, nothing was being added to your bowl."
"..."
"If it were just Conduct, you could have done it in moderation. Look good enough, keep a moderate distance, use it moderately, and that's it. A clever boy like you couldn't possibly not know moderation."
The Godfather met my eyes.
In that gaze, there was pity and Guilt...
And a glimpse of Affection.
It was a look I might have seen from my Biological Father.
"But you couldn't do things in moderation. The Nursing, the Cooking, even a piece of Carrot. It was all either excessively sincere or excessively withdrawn. There was no middle ground."
"..."
"You seem not to know because you're young, but that's not what you call Conduct. Conduct is about staying in the middle."
The Godfather's hand rested on my shoulder.
"The things you've been doing were actions one would only do for family."
Pat, pat.
"This Adoption isn't about creating a new place for you. It's just moving what you've been putting in my bowl for ten years into your own bowl."
"..."
"So stop with all this 'Godfather' business and call me Father."
"That is..."
"If it were just Conduct, you would just call me what I tell you to. Can't you even do that in moderation?"
Just then, Mother, who had been listening quietly, interjected.
"Darling."
Mother (Formal) spoke, as if chiding the Godfather.
"This is Mealtime. Why are you giving such a Lecture that could cause indigestion? And... the way Yulian is acting is all our fault, isn't it?"
"Ahem."
The Godfather let out a Dry Cough and drank from his water glass.
Mother's gaze fell on me.
Her gaze, which had been wandering over the Risotto bowl containing the Abalone Viscera, slowly met my eyes.
Her hesitation was palpable.
The Pride of a Noble Lady and the Feeling of Guilt as a mother.
Perhaps it was a silence born from choosing the right words between the two.
Soon, having finished her internal struggle, Mother opened her mouth.
"Yulian."
"...Yes, Mother (Formal)."
"I, too..."
Her words trailed off.
Mother fidgeted with the stem of a Wine Glass filled with water.
"I should have accepted you when you reached out, but my old feelings got in the way and I put up a wall. I was not very adult-like."
"..."
"From now on... I will try. So you, too..."
Mother paused for a moment and gave a faint smile.
"If there's anything you need, just show some Childish Behavior. It's late, but I want to see that side of you."
It was a clumsy confession.
She was trying to restrain her emotions like a Noble Lady, but her voice was trembling slightly.
I mulled over the raw emotions they were sending my way,
and finally, let out my own feelings.
"...Thank you, Mother (Formal), Father (Formal)."
Mother gave a small nod.
Fearing my throat would close up if I said more, I gave a short reply and lowered my head.
Clink.
The sound of cutlery clinking once again filled the silent table.
Just then, I met the eyes of Freya, who had only been rolling her eyes at the suddenly serious atmosphere.
"Um, Older Brother?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry, too."
Freya had nothing to be sorry to me for.
So at her sudden Apology, my parents' and my gazes all gathered on her.
"...For what?"
At my question, Freya fidgeted and avoided my gaze.
"I-I'm sorry. I just felt like I had to..."
She seemed to sense that the situation was serious, as she clutched her spoon with her small, fern-like hands, gauging the mood.
It seemed that since her parents were apologizing, she felt she had to as well.
This isn't some Apology Singing Round.
At the ten-year-old girl's Art of Getting By, jumping on the bandwagon without even knowing the reason, the taut String of Tension snapped.
"...Thank you."
Mother let out a soft laugh and stroked Freya's head.
"Yes, our daughter is the kindest."
"Hehe."
Freya preened. She didn't know why she was being praised, but she seemed to be in a good mood regardless.
Father (Formal) also scratched the bridge of his nose and picked up his spoon.
"Ahem. Let's end the talk for now. The food is getting cold. Let's eat."
The clattering sound filled the dining room again.
I took a large spoonful of the cooling Risotto.
The flavor of the Cream and the soft texture of the Abalone filled my mouth.
Only then did I realize why I had felt a sense of unfamiliarity with the first bite.
Because it had a distinctly different Temperature than the Gimbap or Sandwich I used to swallow alone in the cold On-Call Room of my previous life.
I slowly, very slowly, chewed and swallowed that warmth.
*
In the middle of the meal.
Father, who had given all his Abalone to me, frowned.
By passing all the butter-seared abalone to me, the element that had masked the bitter taste of the viscera was gone.
After bringing the Risotto to his mouth a few times, Father asked me.
"Yulian. But why does only my plate have a greenish hue?"
"Godfather, no, thinking of Father's (Formal) health, I added a few more Ingredients."
"...I think it would have been fine to show a little Conduct in matters like this."
"How could I do that to my beloved Father (Formal)?"
In the East, Abalone Viscera was a delicacy, so it's love, anyway.
It was definitely not me Passing off Leftovers to the head of the family.
"... I see."
Father nodded reluctantly at my words.
