After Inas left, Nigel, now alone, fell into a deep sleep—and woke in the early morning burning with fever. His head throbbed, his body boiled with heat, and he could barely move a foot off the bed.
He didn’t recall being sick at this point in the previous timeline, but it wasn’t anything strange. For a weak body, falling ill under stress was common enough.
And truthfully, being sick was easier. It kept him from spiraling into complex thoughts. All he had to do was endure the pain in front of him.
The one thing that bothered him was that every time he drifted in and out of consciousness, Inas was right there beside his bed. Even though Nigel had clearly said they were breaking up, Inas relentlessly stayed by his side. Naturally, Nigel snapped at him every time.
“Why the hell are you still here…?”
“I was worried about you, Nigel. Please rest.”
“I don’t need you. Just go…”
He’d scowled openly, but Inas had only smiled like someone who hadn’t heard a thing. And the next time, as always, he was still there—sitting calmly at Nigel’s side.
“What the hell… why are you here again…?”
“Don’t mind me. Just sleep.”
“Go. Go!”
He hadn’t even bathed properly and was sweating through his clothes. He must’ve looked filthy, a mess. Why did Inas keep coming back?
Nigel yelled at him, but Inas just laid a cool hand on his forehead. Whether he used magic or not, that icy touch felt soothing. Nigel didn’t have the strength to push him away and soon drifted off again.
Next time he woke, Inas was gone—replaced by the palace physician. The doctor must’ve woken him to get some food and medicine into him. As Nigel chewed reluctantly, he wondered if Inas had finally stopped coming.
But no—when he woke again, Inas was right there.
“Go away. Why do you keep showing up…?”
“You said I could stay at your side even if we weren’t together, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t mean this. Not like this, you fucking stalker…”
“Don’t use such language, Nigel. Rest.”
What part of “fucking stalker” even qualified as harsh language? Nigel muttered a few curses he’d overheard in the past, then passed out again.
That same thing happened six or seven more times.
Apparently, Inas only stayed away when someone else was right next to Nigel. Otherwise, he remained close all day long—cooling his forehead, holding his hand, smiling softly every time Nigel stirred. Of course, Nigel hurled insults and snapped at him every time.
…If only he’d realized someone might be watching, he never would’ve acted that way.
He’d completely forgotten that his father would never leave his sick son unattended. Or that Inas happened to be the most powerful mage alive.
Inas had cloaked himself in invisibility and silence magic, appearing only to Nigel. Nigel, unaware, feverish, and dazed, had spoken freely. So to the physician or servants nearby, it had looked like he was shouting profanities into thin air.
He’d noticed the staff stealing glances at him, but when the fever finally broke and he was back to normal, Ruder came to see him—his expression grave.
“Nigel, has someone been speaking badly to you?”
“Huh?”
“They said you were… talking strangely in your fever. Where did you even learn those words?”
Only then did Nigel realize his blunder—and had to physically resist the urge to shoot himself and reset the whole timeline again. Instead, he forced a grown-up smile.
“It’s nothing, Father. I must’ve just been having a nightmare.”
Ruder looked surprised.
Before meeting Inas, Nigel had always been sensitive and irritable, owing to his frail health. He hadn’t wanted to show Inas his weak side, so he’d tried to act mature—and eventually become mature. No wonder his father found the change unfamiliar.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“Where’d you learn those words?”
Nigel glanced aside.
“I don’t really remember…”
“Hmm.”
Ruder stroked his chin. He didn’t seem suspicious of Nigel—just like he was deciding who to punish first. Nigel forced a sheepish laugh.
“Sorry for using bad words, Father.”
“No… it’s not your fault. Just don’t say them again.”
“Okay.”
“And if anyone does say something like that to you again, tell me. I’ll deal with them.”
“Yes, Father.”
Nigel replied obediently to his father’s careful advice. As a child, he used to believe every whisper and insult was somehow his fault and shrank under the weight of it. But now he knew—it wasn’t his fault Etna had died. And if he was going to live through this life multiple times, there was no point in staying quiet. He might as well get ahead of it and crush whoever needed crushing.
“Nigel.”
“Yes?”
Ruder gently clasped Nigel’s hand between his own. The typically stern expression on his face softened into a warm smile.
“It hasn’t been formally announced yet, so you can just call me however you like.”
“…Huh?”
The sudden comment left Nigel blinking in confusion. Ruder gave a slightly awkward cough.
“You don’t have to be so stiff and call me ‘Father.’ Uh, well… ‘Dad’ is fine, too.”
“……”
Nigel’s face flushed red in disbelief. Even Ruder’s stoic ears turned pink.
Ruder had always been overly authoritative, willing to use any means to achieve his goals. That was precisely why he and the old Nigel had constantly clashed. He’d once yelled that his father was a relic of a bygone era—then gotten grounded for days.
Layer by layer, those moments had built up until Ruder had become the Duke of Magnus in Nigel’s eyes—not his father.
But looking back, Ruder had always loved him. Whenever Nigel was sick, his father stayed up all night holding his hand. When Nigel, burning with fever, begged to go outside, Ruder carried him to the window to soothe him. Even the cold and stubborn parts of him had, more often than not, been for Nigel’s sake.
This was the man who’d loved him so fiercely… and all he was asking was to be called “Dad” again. It wasn’t much. Nigel’s lips moved, his face still flushed.
“D-Dad.”
“Good.”
“Dad…”
It was sweet that his father liked it, but… acting like a kid again and calling him “Dad,” after ten years of not saying it, was deeply embarrassing from the perspective of a 23-year-old man. Nigel’s voice practically disappeared into his throat, but Ruder smiled uncontrollably. When Nigel squirmed and reached out with his arms, Ruder eagerly leaned in and wrapped him in a tight hug.
Nigel melted into the embrace. The steady rhythm of his father’s heart calmed his own.
***
When Nigel got out of bed, he was informed it was time to visit the temple. After several days in bed, he figured the time had come. The only reason his frail body had made it this far was thanks to the temple priest’s healing—bought with heavy donations.
Today, Ruder would accompany him. After finishing breakfast, Nigel hurried to get ready. Since they’d be seen in public, he put on a neat black formal outfit.
Standing before the mirror, he saw a pale face staring back at him. Pretty, but he looked like a dead flower. Scowling at his reflection, the servant beside him gushed.
“You look so handsome, Master Nigel.”
“Cut the crap.”
Nigel snapped. The servant, looking embarrassed, fell silent.
Nigel didn’t particularly like this boy—couldn’t even remember his name. Not that it mattered. According to his memory, the kid wouldn’t be around for much longer. He’d run off with some stolen jewelry.
No way Inas killed him… right?
Nigel dismissed the fleeting thought with a shake of his head. Inas had no reason to go that far—not for a lowly thief.
Still, since he remembered it now, he figured he should make sure the jewelry was kept safe. Among the stolen pieces had been a keepsake from his mother, which had enraged Ruder. The boy was never caught. People whispered he’d probably been eaten by monsters while fleeing. Years later, the jewelry was recovered, damaged, from an auction house—so he must’ve died after all.
That would be a task for later. But where had those items been stored again? He remembered some had gone missing, but the specifics were hazy after more than a decade. They should still be somewhere in his room—he’d search when he returned.
“Nigel.”
He turned at the sound of Ruder’s voice from the doorway and ran to him.
“Dad!”
He smiled brightly and held out his arms. Ruder scooped him up, visibly pleased. After doing this a few times, Nigel had gotten used to it. Sighing inwardly, he let himself be carried down the stairs.
Outside, he spotted Inas standing beside the carriage. Their eyes met, and Inas bowed.
“……”
Apparently, Ruder had ordered him to be there—maybe hoping that seeing Inas would help Nigel warm up to him. But the idea that Inas might’ve been standing there in the cold long before Nigel even came out chilled his blood. He’d let go of Inas, yes—but that didn’t mean he wanted to see him treated like garbage.
To avoid snapping at his father, Nigel said nothing, simply leapt into the carriage and sat down.
Soon Ruder joined him, and the carriage began to move. Ruder tapped Nigel’s knee to get his attention. When he spoke his name gently, Nigel reluctantly turned his head.
“Is Inas Idenbach still bothering you? He’s young, but truly a fine swordsman.”
“No, I’m fine now.”
“He’s someone you need right now. If you’re still uncomfortable, I’ll find another solution—but he’s the best option.”
Remembering his promise to Inas, Nigel shook his head.
“No, I’m really okay now… Last time was just a bad dream. I was ashamed of how I acted.”
Ruder gave him a stern look.
“No need to be ashamed. Servants are tools to be used. You need to get used to things like this.”
“…Yes.”
The words hit like a bucket of ice water.
Right. This is where I never saw eye to eye with him. He sees people as tools.
Even now, Nigel answered meekly. He wouldn’t be with his father forever—he didn’t want to waste the little time they had. Besides, he didn’t entirely disagree with what his father was saying.
He glanced down at his thin wrist poking from his sleeve. The frailest body in Magnus family history. He couldn’t fulfill any duties, couldn’t even stay alive without massive spending. Ruder probably just wanted to toughen up his fragile son.
Instead of showing his gloom, Nigel closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. Thankfully, Ruder didn’t speak again.
When Nigel woke for real, the carriage had already arrived at the temple.
The Temple of Glarus in Montstein had long maintained a cooperative relationship with House Magnus. In this generation, Ruder had made enormous donations—enough that the high priest personally came out to greet him.
“Welcome, Duke Magnus. May the blessing of Glarus be upon you.”
“And may His blessing be with you as well, High Priest.”
The formal exchange dragged on, though it didn’t say much. Following his father, Nigel stepped into the temple.
And the moment he did, a burst of white light swallowed him whole.
“What—what the hell?”
“Nigel!”
The brightness intensified until everything else vanished. Sounds turned distant, like echoes from underwater. But just as suddenly, the blinding white faded—and color returned to his vision.
Blinking in confusion, Nigel realized he was no longer in the temple.
The place he now stood in was pure white—no walls, no ceiling, no floor. Just an endless, seamless, blank world.
And at the center of that world stood a man who looked exactly like Nigel at age twenty-three.
Like seeing a doppelgänger. The only differences: the man’s skin had more color, and unlike Nigel’s short hair, his golden locks flowed all the way down to his waist.
“A monster?”
He muttered without thinking. The other raised his brows in clear annoyance. Nigel never realized how punchable his own face was.
[I merely borrowed this form.]
The man didn’t move his lips. His voice rang directly in Nigel’s head—a strange, echoing tone. Even the voice was his own.
“Who…?”
[Do you truly not know?]
Nigel’s lips trembled. He’d entered the temple, been engulfed by light, and now stood before this man. It couldn’t be a monster. He knew that. But still… maybe he just wanted to escape the truth.
“You’re… Glarus?”
[Correct.]
He’d hoped for a denial. But the man answered without hesitation.
