Chapter 49 - The Place Called Home (4)
"Green is all the rage these days. Look at this color! You won't find a shade this vivid and luxurious anywhere else."
"I'd prefer to see something in black or a deep blue."
"Well, with green being so popular right now, if you go with another color…"
"It's for the year-end party at the Military Academy."
"Oh, the Military Academy? In that case, black or deep blue is always perfect—they never go out of style, no matter the trend."
The saleswoman at the tailor shop, who had been desperate to sell them the latest expensive green fabric, changed her tune at once in response to Haires's calm, steady voice.
Ernest had never once had a suit custom-made before, so he simply looked around wide-eyed, quietly following instructions as told.
Haires expertly fended off all the staff's attempts to add gold or silver buttons or flashy embroidery to drive up the price, and successfully ordered a suit in a neat, understated design.
"With the best fabric you have."
"Yes, sir!"
Still, even if the design was simple, Haires insisted on choosing only the finest material.
Having been thoroughly bested by Haires and measuring Ernest's size with a slightly sulky expression, the saleswoman couldn't help but blush with delight.
They agreed to make the suit a little roomy to allow for Ernest's growth before winter.
If it didn't fit properly by the time of the year-end party, the tailor shop would take full responsibility for any necessary alterations.
Once the order was placed, Haires left the shop with Ernest in tow, not even pausing to pay.
"If I have a growth spurt, I won't be able to wear it much longer. Isn't it inefficient to buy something so expensive?"
Ernest spoke to Haires cautiously.
He didn't know the exact price, since they hadn't paid yet, but with the finest fabric chosen, it was surely well beyond anything he could imagine.
"If we alter it, you'll be able to wear it for next year's end-of-year party, too."
"Even for next year, it still seems a bit too much…"
"Don't worry about it. It's fine."
Ernest, who valued efficiency and practicality above all, found it a little bewildering that Haires—the very person who taught him those principles—was making such an inefficient and impractical decision.
Even with plenty of money, this seemed like a pointless extravagance.
Resources should be managed efficiently and spent based on rational judgment.
"Let's go home."
With his hand resting on his young son's shoulder, Haires spoke.
Home.
At the sound of that word, Ernest felt both happiness and a hint of nervousness.
He was returning home after a long time away.
Naturally, that made him happy.
But all the incidents and mishaps he had caused until now made him tense as well.
Haires looked down at Ernest quietly.
In that moment, his dark eyes seemed just a bit clouded.
After a long time away, Ernest returned home and first unpacked his few belongings in his room.
Since he had to go back to the Military Academy tomorrow evening, there was no reason to bring a lot of luggage.
"…"
Ernest felt as if he had gone back to the days before he entered the academy.
His room welcomed him just as it had been at the moment he set out for school, unchanged in the slightest.
In fact, everything in the house looked exactly the same as it did back then.
As far as Ernest could remember, only two things had changed about the house.
One was the small pieces of children's furniture that Ernest used long ago, and the other was all the candlesticks and lamps he'd stubbornly convinced Haires to install throughout the house.
After unpacking and stepping out of his room, Ernest began moving about almost like a machine.
To chase away the darkness, he lit every candle and lamp in the house, following the most efficient route.
"You've… gotten quite a bit taller," said Haires quietly, watching him.
"I suppose I have," Ernest replied, a faint smile on his lips as he realized the familiar sights in the house now sat slightly lower in his field of view.
"These candles—looks like you never lit them."
He lit a candle that was still the same length as when he'd left home. He tried to say it casually, but a hint of reproach crept into his tone.
"There's really no point in lighting them when you're not here."
Haires answered, his voice sounding almost defensive.
As Ernest made his way through the house, driving out every last shadow, Haires quietly followed behind him, almost as if he were mesmerized by the candle held in Ernest's hand and the flickering flame at its tip.
Haires blinked slowly.
He gazed at Ernest's back as he walked ahead, driving away the darkness—a back that was still small, yet noticeably broader than before.
Ernest entered the master bedroom.
Instead of following him inside, Haires stopped in the hallway, standing there motionless as he watched Ernest illuminate the room.
"..."
A twitch flickered at the edge of Haires's eyes.
After walking down a dim hallway, the sudden explosion of sunlight made the brightness seem even more intense, and the darkness deeper and more dense.
Morning sunlight from summer poured in through the window.
That fresh, vivid light, just for an instant, looked to Haires like a lightning bolt tearing through a downpour—striking him sharply.
A body hanging limply, swaying.
The stench of a rotting corpse tickling at his nose.
A scream, like the howl of some wild beast.
Pain too great for any flesh to contain.
A sense of despair so deep it threatened to swallow him whole.
"There's a lot of dust. You must have cleaned in a hurry, right?" Ernest said.
But as Ernest brought light to the walls that the sunlight didn't reach, to the wardrobe, to the desk, the lightning bolt seemed to soften, as if gently rubbed away by his fingertips.
The light slowly spread, bleaching away Haires's persistent, haunting memories.
Amid the dust sparkling in the sunlight, the young boy he saw overlapped with the image of his beloved wife swaying in death, hanging from the ceiling.
They seemed to merge together… No, rather, as if the memory had been erased and replaced, standing there now was only Haires's son, Ernest.
"…Alright."
Haires replied, his voice rough, carried along with his breath.
"The house is just too big for one person to clean in time."
"So that's why you just rushed to tidy up my room, the living room, and the hallway, but left the master bedroom like this, covered in dust?"
Holding a candle that glowed brightly, Ernest looked up at Haires as he spoke.
Facing his son, whose expression was a bit stern, Haires's face—once cold and lifeless as a corpse—softened in the sunlight, as if it were melting.
"I told you—the house is too big."
"It's only like this in the master bedroom, right?"
"Yes."
"Then let's get it cleaned up quickly."
"I have to head back tomorrow evening, you know. Can we really afford to waste time on cleaning?"
To the man who had lived in darkness, the boy holding the light answered with a smile.
"If we do it together, we'll be done in no time. The master bedroom isn't that big, after all."
At the boy's words, the man slowly surveyed the vast, bitter coldness of his own loneliness.
After a moment, he nodded.
"You're right."
The room where Ernest stood looked as if it were filled with light.
The room was too small to hold all that light.
"You lied to me."
"...."
They had only planned to clean the master bedroom, but somehow it turned into a full-on house cleaning.
Once Ernest started focusing on cleaning, he kept discovering more and more signs that Haires had just tidied up in a rush.
In the seemingly neat living room and hallway, there were clumps of dust hurriedly shoved into the corners, and brooms that should have been in the storage room were hidden between pieces of furniture.
He must have really been pressed for time.
After all, Haires was always obsessively thorough about keeping the house spotless—he would never have made these kinds of mistakes otherwise.
In the end, Ernest and Haires ended up cleaning the whole house together.
But there was one place they didn't need to touch: Ernest's room. As always, it was already clean.
As Ernest worked diligently, Haires watched him, looking a bit embarrassed.
He had never imagined that he would lie to his son about cleaning and then get caught and scolded for it.
They finally finished the deep cleaning long after lunchtime had already passed. While Ernest was putting away the cleaning supplies, Haires began to prepare a late lunch.
By the time Ernest finished tidying up, Haires was already bringing the food to the dining table.
Ernest helped him as well, carrying the dishes.
Once all the food was on the table, Ernest took his seat.
"...."
On the opposite side, Haires quietly pulled out a chair that had long lost its original owner, and then sat down in his own chair beside it.
"Let's eat."
"Yes."
The father and son began their meal in silence.
"..."
While eating, Ernest kept glancing at Haires. There was something Ernest needed to say, and something Haires needed to hear. But Haires did not ask anything.
In the first place, House Krieger made it a rule to eat quietly during mealtime whenever possible.
Conversation would wait until after the meal was finished.
It was considered improper to open your mouth to speak while there was food inside.
Haires was a father who was strictly insistent on proper manners.
"The medicine."
So when Ernest spoke up during the meal, it was as if some great upheaval had struck the modest Krieger household—something that had never happened before.
"I'm only taking half the dose."
Without looking at Haires, Ernest set down his utensils and spoke, gazing instead at the candle his father had lit himself.
Fortunately, Ernest had swallowed all the food in his mouth and taken a sip of water before speaking, so Haires had no reason to scold him. Haires also swallowed his food and washed it down with water before he replied.
"Are there any unusual symptoms?"
"No, compared to before."
Ernest, who had been about to reply hastily to Haires's calm voice, paused and spoke again, more composed this time.
"…I'm doing much better than before. The headaches have decreased a lot, and I can concentrate more easily."
"That's good to hear."
As Ernest continued staring at the candle, Haires spoke to him in a low voice.
"I've already checked. As long as there aren't any serious issues, you can keep taking half the dose from now on. But never any less. Absolutely not."
Ernest sensed the firmness in Haires's tone.
At the same time, he realized why Haires hadn't immediately sent a reply after receiving the letter saying Ernest had started splitting his medicine.
Instead of scolding Ernest right away for breaking his promise, Haires had first consulted a doctor or a pharmacist to confirm whether it was safe to reduce the dosage.
That was why his reply had arrived a day late.
"…Yes, I promise."
Ernest looked into Haires's eyes and made his promise once more.
Haires never made empty threats.
If Ernest broke this promise too, Haires would take action himself, one way or another.
"How is life at the Military Academy?"
After a brief silence, Haires asked Ernest in his usual tone.
"I'd like to hear a bit about your friend."
Ernest immediately understood who Haires meant by 'friend.'
He was talking about none other than Robert Jimman—the very boy Ernest had so colorfully described in his letters as frivolous, unpleasant, and a terrible kid who got his friends tangled up in trouble.
Ernest let out a small giggle, and Haires quietly observed this unfamiliar laugh from his son.
"Robert isn't a bad guy. Well, actually, he's the worst in the whole Military Academy."
Eager to tell his father all about his first real friend, Ernest excitedly chattered on about how great Robert was—so much so that he wound up explaining just how bad this so-called bad kid really was.
Haires listened in silence, his fingers interlaced, as his son carried on.
Unlike what he'd gathered from Ernest's letters, Haires wasn't particularly surprised or relieved to hear that his son's friend was actually a bright, cheerful, and good-natured boy who cared deeply for his friends.
Likewise, the fact that Robert was known all over for his mischievous pranks—and that, despite this, he wasn't disliked and always seemed to have something to say—did not faze Haires either.
"You certainly know your friend well."
"Yes. We haven't been apart once since entering the Academy, so of course."
"And that's why you needed those new clothes because of him."
"…That…"
Ernest, who had been excitedly babbling, suddenly snapped to his senses.
The moment he met Haires's quiet gaze, it struck him like lightning.
Had Haires already figured everything out?
…No, it was Ernest who had already said everything.
Haires was someone with the knack for gathering bits of information from even Ernest's most excited ramblings, then piecing them together and analyzing them until he arrived at conclusions even Ernest himself hadn't realized.
"…Yes, things ended up getting much bigger than I meant them to."
Ernest spoke honestly to Haires, and his father simply resumed listening in thoughtful silence.
"Yes, as long as it turned out well, that's all that matters."
Even after hearing the whole shocking story, Haires simply said that.
Ernest couldn't read any particular emotion on his father's familiar face.
But at least one thing was clear: Haires had no intention of scolding him.
He felt a sense of relief, but there was also a vague, indescribable disappointment.
As they resumed their meal, a gentle silence settled over House Krieger. But there was no tension.
For the Krieger father and son, this kind of silence was the most comfortable and familiar thing in the world.
Only after they finished eating and even the dishes had been washed did the two of them sit down in the living room to talk again.
There was so much Ernest wanted to tell his father.
And now, with the issue of self-medicating and the Cadet Corps debacle behind him, there was something he felt he had to say before anything else.
"This is the Silver Daffodil."
Ernest presented his father with the Silver Daffodil award he had received at the Silver Horseshoe Tournament.
His eyes shone with pride, and his face seemed to glow even brighter than the daffodil itself in the sunlight streaming through the window.
Haires accepted the Silver Daffodil carefully with his scarred hands and turned it over in the sunlight. In the moment when the light touched Haires's usually expressionless face as he admired the sparkling Silver Daffodil, Ernest saw a clear smile appear.
"I faced off one-on-one with Sebastian Neumann, the fourth-year, in the final race. Well, there were supposed to be ten contestants, but Neumann and I were so fast that…"
Excited by his father's smile, Ernest dove into his story of the Silver Horseshoe Tournament.
He told him how, unlike the other riders, they'd had only two horses, which made things difficult; how Robert's horse Bereter wouldn't cooperate and caused all sorts of trouble; and how, thanks to his outstanding performance, everyone had ended up chanting the Krieger name.
"And so, when I grabbed Neumann's hand…"
"You grabbed the hand of someone who was falling off their horse?"
"…Ah…"
In that moment, Ernest suddenly realized he'd been at the center of another major incident.
He hadn't just received the Silver Daffodil as an award—it was because he'd risked his life to save Sebastian.
"Ernest, I'm honestly a bit confused. I never imagined you'd do something so reckless and dangerous."
"I'm sorry…"
This time, Haires didn't just let it go.
Hearing his father scold him in a low, unyielding tone made Ernest shrink with guilt.
He had never been scolded by his father before and had no idea what to do in such a situation.
Yet, strangely enough, even as he felt the anxiety of possibly disappointing his father for the first time in his life, Ernest also felt a peculiar sense of relief.
That feeling of relief left him a little bewildered.
Haires, too, seemed a bit taken aback to learn that his usually well-mannered son had been involved in so much trouble.
Could the Military Academy have had a bad influence on him?
But that couldn't be, could it?
"Anything else happen?"
Haires, having gently but firmly scolded his son, asked him that.
Whether he wanted to change the subject or find out about any other incidents he didn't yet know of—only Haires himself knew the answer.
"…A girl named Marie visits me during free time in the evenings."
"..."
This time, Haires was so taken aback that he couldn't even bring himself to speak.
Marie was a girl's name.
Since Ernest had referred to her as a "child," that meant she was younger than him.
At the Imperial Military Academy, the only girls younger than Ernest was the Female Baltracher Cadets.
And since Ernest hadn't mentioned her family name, it must be that she was a Fiders, likely of commoner or slave origin.
So far, nothing seemed particularly odd. But the idea of a girl from the Fiders family coming to visit his son in the dormitory—an area filled with boys from noble families—during the evening's free time was something quite different.
Haires watched Ernest silently, his dark eyes unblinking. Thankfully, as he observed his son, Haires quickly realized there wasn't the slightest hint of romantic interest involved.
He felt truly relieved.
Haires Krieger was in no way prepared to advise his fourteen-year-old son about relationships with girls.
…Truthfully, he wasn't prepared to have that sort of talk even with a grown son.
After all, Haires had been with his beloved wife, Mia Krieger, ever since they were children. Before he even realized it, they'd promised to marry.
He had absolutely no idea how courtship was supposed to work.
Still, putting all that aside, Haires didn't want Ernest to become too close with that young Baltracher girl.
"So?"
Haires asked in a calm voice, prompting Ernest to start talking about Marie.
"She's a small girl, about this tall—probably around eleven. She's from Aeblon, and I first met her during the drill training for the city parade on Founding Declaration Day…"
Ernest began to tell him about Marie Haires was a bit surprised by the fact that his son had, even if only mouthed the words, encouraged a girl he'd never met before by saying, "Hang in there," but he showed no reaction at all.
Haires viewed this development in Ernest's mindset positively.
"I see. Understood."
After hearing about Marie, Haires decided that, while there were some uncertainties in Ernest and Marie's relationship, for now it was fine to simply keep an eye on things.
Fortunately, Ernest seemed to be maintaining just the right distance with Marie.
As long as he didn't allow himself to be swept up by misplaced sympathy and get overly familiar with her, things would be fine.
"And is there anything else?"
Haires calmly asked Ernest again.
Reflecting on his life at the Military Academy, Ernest spoke about a fairly recent event.
"A First-Class Baltracher from the Central Intelligence Agency came to teach us how to cope with mental attacks."
At that, Haires slowly turned his head and quietly gazed out beyond the dazzling window, where the sunlight was still pouring in.
Ernest couldn't read anything from his father's expression.
"What do you think?"
Haires's voice was low and dry.
But that was the usual tone of Haires Krieger, so there was nothing unusual about it.
"I think they're trying to monitor the sons of prominent families and high-ranking military officials from all over the Empire, to expand and exercise their influence by using fear of the Empire and the Emperor, and thereby maintain a firm grip on power."
When Ernest spoke softly and steadily, Haires turned back to look him straight in the eyes.
"It seems like the letters sent to and from the Military Academy are being censored. If a First-Class Baltracher with clairvoyance is involved, they could read the contents without opening the envelopes. I believe the Imperial Postal Service is also being used by the Intelligence Agency to keep an eye on the activities of their main clients, the nobles."
"A First-Class Baltracher from the Central Intelligence Agency, who can read people's thoughts and even launch attacks, must be an incredibly valuable asset, yet deploying someone like that just to educate Officer Cadets seems like an excessive waste."
Ernest spoke as he did when observing people with his father, or during their "games" together.
"Even though the Emperor has the power to dominate not only the Empire, but the entire continent, by monopolizing the production of Balt Batteries…"
Ernest paused for a moment, wondering if his thinking was correct.
Since he knew little about politics, he couldn't be sure if his judgment was right.
But since this was a "game," it was okay to be wrong.
"…Despite that, he's extremely wary of any risk that the power structure might collapse."
As Ernest fell silent, a chilling stillness descended over the humble Krieger family home, shimmering under the summer sun.
Haires said nothing.
He only met his young son's gaze and tilted his head ever so slightly.
"How was the Baltracher from the Central Intelligence Agency?"
Haires subtly shifted the subject.
"I'm not sure. She was difficult to figure out."
It was unknowable — that was simply the limit of Ernest, who was still only fourteen.
But even recognizing, as Liselotte did, that Major Kirchner was a hard person to read, was achievement enough.
"Did you get to experience her power?"
"Yes."
"What was it like?"
"Nothing really…"
Ernest glanced away, not to avoid his father's eyes, but simply to retrace the memory in his mind.
"It just felt like I could focus a bit better than usual. I didn't experience any kind of mental attack."
"I see."
Haires gave a brief, calm reply to his son's words.
"How are your other friends doing?"
Once again, the subject shifted to Ernest's friends. Ernest followed along, starting to talk about the friends he had made at the Military Academy.
Haires felt reassured to hear that his son seemed to be getting along well with the other cadets.
...Though he still wondered if maybe there was something problematic about Ernest working so hard to get on Wilfried, the Fourth Son of Duke Ravid's nerves.
Father and son kept talking, their conversation flowing endlessly.
Even after dinner, they sat facing each other in the living room, lit by candlelight, and talked late into the night.
Haires also shared stories about his own travels.
"The sea?"
"Yes, the sea. I wanted to see it again after such a long time."
"The sea…"
Having been born and raised in Grimm, at the heart of the Empire, Ernest had never seen the sea. Haires looked at his son, who was trying to imagine a sea he had never seen, then tilted his head slightly and said,
"Someday, let's go see it together."
"Yes!"
Ernest replied with a bright smile.
He tried to piece together the image of the sea from his father's stories as best he could.
The endless blue stretching all the way to the distant horizon. Waves crashing in foamy white, rising and falling with a soothing roar. The crimson hem of the sun carefully sinking over the water. The breeze, salted from the spray.
Telling himself that one day he would see it with his father, Ernest tucked away the most beautiful version of that scene into a corner of his young heart, knowing it was—at least for now—only a child's dream.
"Good night, Father."
"Yes, good night, Ernest."
Father and son chatted late into the night before finally heading to their own rooms to end the day.
Even after they left, the candle burning in the living room continued to chase away the chill of the darkness, filling the space with its gentle warmth.