Episode 34
There were only a few enemy fighter planes in the sky.
But no one could have predicted that fewer than ten planes could inflict such catastrophic damage. They bombed unpredictable locations, and soldiers fell helplessly.
“…Cast!”
“It’s urgent!”
He clutched a terrified boy in his arms. The young soldier’s helmet, too big for his not-yet-fully-grown head, rattled as he trembled.
The boy whimpered in fear, his voice muffled against his chest.
“Ahhh… Mom, Mom…”
Hearing the boy’s cry, he instinctively looked down at him. Their eyes met.
“It’s okay. I’ll make sure you see your mom. You’ll go back to her.”
The boy stifled his sobs and buried his face deeper into his chest.
The next moment, a bomb exploded nearby. The ground shook violently, and a deafening roar rang in his ears.
The explosion reverberated through his body, like being trapped in a giant bell hammered relentlessly from within. Dust and dirt filled the air as his body tumbled like a piece of paper in a storm. Despite it all, he tightened his grip on the boy, refusing to let go.
“We’ll have to amputate—it’s rotting!”
“No! I’m alive! The wounds are just deep!”
Debris and shrapnel pelted him repeatedly, bruising his head and body. The bunker had long ceased to be a sanctuary.
Another bomb detonated just meters away. A searing pain erupted under his eyes.
He instinctively covered his face, screaming as hot liquid trickled down his cheeks. His vision blurred, and his surroundings faded. He realized his bag was empty.
“Ludwig!”
He forced one eye open, scanning desperately. His body, weak and battered, rolled deeper into the rubble of the bunker.
Dirt clogged his mouth, but he didn’t stop shouting. “Ludwig! Ludwig!” His cries echoed, but no response came.
His hands groped wildly in the darkness until they found something—a small, motionless body. A helmet, askew, obscured the face beneath.
He hesitated, his trembling fingers hovering over the helmet before pulling it back.
Another explosion erupted, and his world plunged into blackness.
—
“It’s okay. You’ll be able to open your eyes.”
The nurse’s soothing voice stirred him awake.
Her gentle tone reminded him of his own words to the boy. It’s okay. You’ll go back to your mom. But the boy never made it back.
He wanted to respond but found his throat dry, his voice weak. Rough fingers brushed his forehead. He flinched, trying to pull away, but the nurse only patted his shoulder gently.
“Do you miss your mom?”
He scoffed inwardly. Who do you think I am? A child longing for their mother? Besides, his mother was the source of all his shame and humiliation.
“Does it hurt too much? I’m sorry, but I can’t give you any more painkillers…”
Stop talking.
“Shall I sing you a song? The children at the orphanage used to like my lullabies—”
“Master!”
Enrique’s eyes flew open.
Andrei stood over him, his face a mix of confusion and concern.
“Did you sleep here all night?”
“Overnight?” Enrique repeated, his voice hoarse.
He glanced around. The sunlight streaming through the frosted windows illuminated the familiar yet oddly unfamiliar living room.
“Yes, overnight,” Andrei confirmed. “I found you lying here when I returned after escorting Miss Monica. I assumed you were taking a short rest.”
Enrique frowned. It wasn’t unusual for him to wander the house during his sleepless nights, collapsing wherever exhaustion caught up with him. But to sleep so deeply, so soundly—it felt foreign.
He shifted upright on the sofa, and a bonnet fell from his chest onto the floor. Andrei bent to retrieve it.
“It seems Miss Monica left this behind. I’ll return it to her the next time she visits.”
“Next time?” Enrique echoed, his voice tinged with hesitation.
“Yes…?” Andrei tilted his head. “Shall I handle it instead?”
Enrique shook his head. “No. Let me know when you plan to meet her.”
Andrei seemed puzzled but nodded without pressing further.
“By the way, did you really sleep through the night without waking?”
Enrique hesitated, then lied. “No, I woke up in the middle.”
“Well, it’s still a progress.”
Andrei left to prepare breakfast. Alone, Enrique leaned back on the sofa, staring at the table. The cigar from the previous night remained in the ashtray, a reminder of Monica’s visit.
His head, unusually clear, throbbed faintly. Did I dream? He couldn’t recall.
—
Monica spent her morning helping the mansion’s maids clean the dining area. Though her employer, Martinel, typically woke late, Monica preferred not to idle after breakfast. She enjoyed chatting with the staff, knowing it helped build rapport.
The maids appreciated Monica’s friendly demeanor and included her in their lively conversations.
“Are you on bad terms with Miss Riella?” one maid asked, her tone casual but curious.
Monica froze, startled. Did someone suspect the tension between her and Riella?
She quickly realized the maids were merely gossiping about how Riella often inquired about Monica’s whereabouts but never summoned her.
“How could I be on bad terms with her? I’m just a tutor,” Monica replied with a wry smile.
The maids giggled. “True. You’re not in a position to be.”
The group laughed, but Monica’s thoughts lingered on Riella’s increasingly irritable behavior.
“She’s been acting odd,” one maid murmured.
“Maybe she’s jealous,” another suggested playfully.
Monica brushed off the remarks with a laugh, but her unease grew. As the maids shared stories of past employers, Monica wondered how long this uneasy balance would last.
Suddenly, one maid turned to her.
“Monica, do you have a lover?”
“Excuse me?”
“Hans said he saw you last night…”
Monica’s cheerful mood evaporated.
Her smile faltered. “Saw me? Where?”
The maid tilted her head, clearly intrigued. “On the road late last night, walking back. He said you looked… different. Like you’d won a lottery or something.”
Monica quickly composed herself, letting out a small laugh. “Oh, that. I was just happy to be done with my work.”
The maids exchanged knowing glances, their curiosity unabated.
“Come on, Monica,” Maria teased. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
Monica shook her head, her hands busy with the dishes. “There’s no one. Just work and home.”
But her heart raced. She knew she couldn’t let them pry any further—not about the check she had hidden away or about the mysterious relationship with her employer that had begun to feel far more complicated than she’d intended.
Still, as the chatter shifted to lighter topics, Monica couldn’t shake the uneasiness. For all the camaraderie she’d built with the maids, secrets like hers were heavy, and the mansion’s walls seemed to grow tighter around her every day.
