Good Couple’s Day (Second time in a year)
The setting continues from earlier.
The absurdity of family can only be understood once you become an adult.
“Oh, you’ve come home.”
Seeing my mother’s face after a long time made me feel deeply emotional.
I’ve gotten used to her rather curt remarks, which are barely fitting for addressing her son. Unlike my father, who occasionally becomes annoyingly attentive, this mother has hardly interfered in my life.
It’s not that I’ve been abandoned. My sisters received a similar treatment.
“Such a warm welcome, mother.”
In fact, compared to my rather salty mother, I believe I deserve to be praised as a dutiful son. Instead of my homebody mother and my busy father, I’ve taken the initiative to fill the gaps in the social scene, causing trouble everywhere I go—just the other day, the recovery of my sister Chii’s complicated engagement was incredibly challenging. I’ve been cleaning up after my sisters. Under normal circumstances, I would be fed up and probably either run away or seek a match elsewhere.
Today, I visited various salons and connected with those who wish to form ties with my father. Can you believe it? I’m still not even of legal age, yet I’m working this hard.
Then, thinking I would relax in a café before the events, I was met with the familiar words from my mother upon seeing her again after a long time. Even though I’ve spent months sequestered in the library, she speaks so freely.
Or rather, has she forgotten? I specifically adjusted my schedule to return home for a reason.
Scratching my head to dispel my irritation as I shed my noble airs, my mother rose from the couch where she had thrown herself and came over to my side. Closing the distance, she leaned her striking beauty against my neck, momentarily making my heart skip a beat.
“Wait, what…”
“Even at this hour, you reek of perfume. How luxurious.”
I was startled for a different reason.
No, that’s not it. Look, if the daughter had a good impression, it would make connections easier…
“Honestly, why have you become such a playboy?”
“I’m not making any advances here…”
“Still, if you’re ‘receiving’ them, the discussion changes.”
With a scoff, she returned to the couch and began examining letters. However, even though her gaze was on the letters, her consciousness seemed to remain fixed on me.
“Play with humans in moderation.”
“How do you know…?”
“It’s usually because they are humans who burn incense with such desperation.”
Being able to pinpoint the subject was quite chilling. I wonder how others manage to interact with their mothers. Just thinking that I was brought forth from such a fearsome being makes me squirm.
“…And what about you and father?”
Since being repeatedly hit was getting tiresome, I decided to fight back, only to be met with a derisive chuckle.
“I’m fine.”
After laughing, she added that she had taken care of him until he passed away. I can’t help but wonder how my father would react if I told him that. Perhaps he’d have the same expression as one who unknowingly bites into spoiled strawberries—one of bitter disgust.
“Humans are much more sentimental than we are. Their perception of time is different.”
Continuous letters weren’t enough to halt my mother’s lecture. Her somewhat academic views seemed to articulate her sentiments toward humans, particularly those with human lifespans, in logical terms.
Humans are fragile, and their lives appear to us long-lived species to be brief as a blink. Watching children born around the same time as me who have already matured, grown old, retired, and been buried feels overwhelmingly hectic.
Is that why, while we can share thoughts with humans, it’s difficult to share feelings?
The emotions of humans seem explosive to us, leading one to wonder why they would throw everything away for just a fleeting moment or a single day.
“Humans are creatures inclined to attachments. If they like you, they will pour all of their blink-of-an-eye existence into you… Do you have the capacity to handle that?”
Upon hearing that, I couldn’t help but let out a sound of contemplation.
Indeed, I have experienced many such attachments.
For your sake, because it makes you happy, if that’s what you desire, it’s nothing. I have vivid memories of many gifts and conveniences offered to me by my mortal friends and acquaintances—and sometimes even transient lovers.
Among them, there were surely some who would genuinely offer their hearts if asked.
Being asked to hold someone’s hand until the end, on a deathbed, over family is quite a rarity.
“If you aren’t prepared, treat it casually. After all, you don’t want to take over the title, do you?”
“Well, that’s… maybe.”
“That’s fine. Though that one seems to have expectations, a head of a noble family in the Threefold Empire can be either male or female, provided they have the ability. Especially for a small family like ours that is solely comprised of direct descendants.”
As I listened to my mother, who was methodically processing letters—occasionally jotting notes for responses—I could only respond ambiguously.
The title of head of the Starl house weighs heavily, to the point where it feels like localized gravity has altered.
It’s not that I’m saying it lightly, but I find it hard to reconcile the weight of the term “small” with what is actually a significant power. Our bloodline is small, yet in terms of political influence, we possess strength rivaling or even exceeding that of the Seven Electors, despite just the two of us.
Our ties to the imperial family are deep, having once been regarded as unmatched loyalists; our relationships in the social circle are vast and extensive. The only downside being… due to my floundering sisters, we have yet to forge any alliances, even though we’re of age.
In terms of financial power, undoubtedly, we rank among the top ten in the empire, and compared to my production supervisor—reflecting on my oldest sister who is almost unmanageable—our military strength is quite considerable. The rapid response forces my father had developed, which others deemed madness, have led to a general military presence of exceptional quality.
Whenever an “Ash Wielder,” a combat mage, makes an appearance, the opponents typically turn pale, as they’re treated as a frightening force more so than the usual military.
Well, putting aside the existence of our family’s walking strategic weapon, becoming blood relatives with Baron Fore is going to significantly reinforce our political standing.
Being the head of such a family would be daunting without a strong mental fortitude.
In that regard, my older sister, who is currently considered a strong candidate for successor, is quite impressive. She possesses a harmonious blend of traits from both my mother and father, has vast magical power needed to maintain her extensive protective barriers, and holds formidable combat skills that keep her safe from assassination, all while bearing a name that inspires both fear and awe.
Even with a dozen fearsome nicknames circulating, she appears blissfully unconcerned, with mental resilience comparable to magic alloys. I’m sure she will handle the role of head better than anyone in the family.
At the same time, it is a slight fault that she seems neither aware nor inclined to inherit the headship.
“If you want to surround yourself with those you favor, the title helps considerably. Whether you wish to take a partner or simply have them serve you, it allows you to do as you wish.”
“…I’m not that ambitious.”
Even if time does pass fleetingly, I don’t particularly wish to witness the entirety of a mortal life. It’s fine if they live their lives freely, leading to friendships with me.
However, like my father, allowing someone to confine my mother for their entire life—wait, isn’t that too cruel to consider a single life?
Let me speak plainly: I love mortals, especially humans. Their emotions, excessively fleeting, appear as bright as fireworks and can vividly dissolve feelings that would rust away in an instant if left unexamined.
That said, I don’t want to treat them like ornamental roses or chrysanthemums in a greenhouse.
They bloom realistically and beautifully only within that brief, harsh window.
I recognize that my beliefs may reflect an arrogant attitude toward mortal lives. They endure trials of their own, grappling with emotions, and I understand how impossible it is for me to empathize with them fully.
And that lack of understanding makes them beautiful. Because I can’t comprehend them, they become endearing and frustratingly radiant because they are unattainable.
How in the world did my mother manage to keep my father so close? Someone who, if left alone, might have lived a more entertaining life. It pains me to think of him as a father, reading books with me on his lap.
How could such a vibrant person… end up as a specter?
“Oh, you’re back already?”
As I was left fumbling with emotions I couldn’t quite grasp, I sensed a presence behind me without even having to turn around.
I didn’t need to look back to know. A calm voice, a quiet presence, it seemed they had floated through again, tired of the mundane.
“Welcome home. Did you enjoy the salon?”
“Yes, welcome back, father.”
He wore a gentle smile, appearing much younger than when I was born. How different the specter of my father, partially visible, who once embodied flesh during my childhood—what manner of person was he? What emotions bloomed beside my mother, what colors did he wear standing next to her?
Seemingly dissolving several elements into his faint smile, I bent slightly at the waist.
“Oh dear, what brings you here too?”
“What do you mean, have you forgotten?”
“…Did something happen? Well, fine, if you’re here hand it over.”
Mother, seemingly exasperated, rose from the couch, thrust a bundle of letters into my father’s hands, and then threw herself onto his lap. This person truly has no intention of working. Even if noble friends were to pass the title of head, the father’s nagging would still be bothersome, but that’s clearly not a concern in our household.
On that note, my father accepting it without a second thought isn’t right either. If he didn’t want it, he could always disperse himself and give her space. By accepting it with a sigh, he’s affirming that behavior. By pampering her, he has fostered the current state of my mother.
“A lot of invitations have come in… and they hardly ever decline when they have the chance. It would be awkward not to attend the wedding ceremony of Viscount Verdian, especially when matters regarding trade routes are being discussed.”
“Come on, what’s the big deal… it’s just a wedding for the second daughter… just sending a congratulatory message would suffice. They’re such minor players…”
“Don’t belittle a collateral member of the imperial lineage. Plus, she’s the one I spoil the most; it’s clear she wants to brag about her wedding gown through her writing. Besides, it seems our children would like to come, so it’s a perfect opportunity.”
“I don’t like it because it’s so obvious they want to establish relations… They know we have no money for flood control…”
The atmosphere relaxed, and as my mother started saying embarrassing things, I found it hard to respond as her son. Isn’t this person becoming more ridiculous since my father returned? It’s like she has grown increasingly laid-back as if reclaiming the time she spent vigilant as the head over the past several decades.
When father was resting in the afterlife, he would without hesitation catch us and lavishly embellish us, parading us with elegant smiles at events. It seems he didn’t throw away opportunities as politically advantageous as this just to indulge in his hobbies.
Oh, my aged father behaved better even when he had leg problems. If his presence reduces her effectiveness inversely, then he ought to rein her in and make her fulfill her noble duties properly. Then she could have done what she wanted.
Honestly, it is hard to believe that two different influences flow through our blood.
Grumbling about various letters while quickly organizing them, my father sighed as he pulled items from his isolated space. Suddenly, I sensed three distinct magical wavelengths in the corridor… unmistakably, it was the presence of my capable yet thoroughly inadequate sisters. Even those who can ignore a summons from our mother seemed unable to disregard a call from our father this time.
“…What’s this?”
Seeing a small box thrust into her hands, my mother frowned. However, I knew the truth. She was likely feeling embarrassed at being celebrated and was feigning forgetfulness as a jab at her own mind. When you’ve spent nearly a century as mother and child, such instincts become second nature.
Well, it’s quite debatable that my father, having been married for more than a hundred years, remains unaware of this.
“Mother, happy anniversary! Let’s enjoy a feast! Hey, father, since it’s a celebration, can we open the 544-year-old from the Seine?”
“Is this even a celebration? After all, it is the day we were conceived.”
“Congratulations, mother, and condolences, father. You haven’t brought any troublesome engagements with you this time, right?”
While greeting them with inadequate pleasantries—being this rude to one’s parents may lead to some reckoning in ordinary households—I sensed my mother’s unimpressed demeanor as she picked up the small box and muttered, “Ah, I see.”
It was apparently tradition for my father to host a small dinner gathering on our anniversary, meant partly to seek revenge against some grievance. I hadn’t heard it from anyone, but it was clear from reading his diary from back then. I hope he never found out that I read it after his passing.
“Well, that’s how it is. Congratulations, and I look forward to future years.”
“Yes, yes, thank you very much.”
Responding dismissively, but cautiously unwrapping the small box, my mother brought out a hairpin and held it up to the light.
Inside was a new hairpin—a beautifully shiny wooden piece adorned with small, ruby-like jewels resembling blood, strung together at the end, producing a lovely candy-like sheen.
The remnants of my father’s magical wavelength echoed within it, verifying it as a handmade piece. It was immediately clear that it contained strong protective magic and was made of materials befitting the nobility.
So that was it—when he disappeared the other day saying he had “some business” to take care of, he was out procuring this.
Truly, I can never understand my father.
Now, worrying about a celebration after that makes me slightly apprehensive.
“Managing this will be a pain…”
Watching her hastily insert it into her hair, I feel completely incapable of ever winning against that…
