Anger doesn't demand action,when you act in anger ,you lose self control
...
Elya's face was a painting of restraint no smile, no snarl, just the eerie calm of someone one blink away from stabbing something. Or someone.
Probably me.
Naturally, I poked it. Gently.
"What? Never been scolded in your life? Then consider this your first lesson, free of charge. This is what happens when people say dumb things. The universe bites back."
Her blade twitched like it had feelings too.
She raised it slowly, theatrically, like she'd just remembered she was both armed and emotionally unstable.
"Dumb things?" she echoed, her voice colder than before.
"Yeah. Like blaming people without proof."
I kept my hands in my pockets, voice casual maybe too casual. "Look in the mirror sometime. One comment from me and you're already on the verge of tears."
Her eyes slashed into me small, sharp, invisible cuts that somehow bled anyway.
"Go to hell, you damned bastard."
Ah. There it was. Tone shift. Rage unbottled.
Still, I didn't move. Not out of bravery. Just fatigue. I was too tired to flinch. Too tired to pretend this house was anything other than a trap with wallpaper and furniture.
"Gods, you're touchy, Miss Elya."
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Pulling blades over a guy who cursed once? Either your ego's fragile, or you think I'm a big deal. I'll take either."
She flinched,barely. But I saw it.
Everyone hates being called weak, especially those who spend their lives proving otherwise.
And I knew I was tempting fate. Maybe even offering it a seat at the table. But something about pushing buttons on people who think they're always right… it's addictive.
Since morning, I'd had the gut feeling I was about to be roasted like ceremonial meat. And here I was—seasoned, spiced, and apparently the main course in a haunted house of vendettas.
"Hey," Elya barked. "You blank-faced bastard. What are you even thinking about?"
I blinked. "Nothing important. Just remembered a joke. In hindsight, maybe not the best time."
I exhaled. Then went for the bluff.
"You do realize I'm still technically part of this house, right? My father… well, he'd probably react if something happened to me. You wouldn't like the consequences."
I regretted it the moment it left my mouth. Even I cringed. Gods, did I really just say that?
Elya blinked. Then—
"Zzzppfftt…"
Was that a spit-laugh?
She lowered her blade, shoulders shaking like she'd just heard a joke involving noble fathers and terminal idiocy.
"You're lucky you've got a face" she wheezed, gesturing with the blade again.
"Because that line? Pathetic. Still… I'll give you this: your delusion is entertaining."
Then her eyes narrowed.
"Sure, your father might take action. But whether it's to save you, a bag of cowardice stitched together by sarcasm or someone like me? That's the gamble, isn't it?"
I kept my voice even.
"I'll convince him. He has some brain cells left. Probably enough to pick me over a guilt-ridden flame-thrower, an annoyingly beautiful sister, or a brother I didn't know existed but somehow already wants me dead."
She stared like I'd just declared war on gravity. Then laughed. Low. Bitter.
"You ever try seeing yourself through someone else's eyes?"
I smirked. "Maybe. But I'm a terrible artist. I prefer letting people misunderstand me. Saves time."
The grin on my face was a mask. And the cracks were forming.
I took a slow step back, hands open.
"Look, we've tossed enough garbage words around. Let's call it. You win, alright? I'm unarmed. Clearly unwell. And frankly, I don't think I'm the reason your friends are dead."
The air shifted.
Elya didn't move. But her eyes,yeah. That was it. Hollow. Not fiery. Hollow like the fire burned too long and had nothing left to consume.
"You're good at keeping your pride stitched together" she said. Voice soft, cold. "Even now. I'll give you that. Most people would at least feel guilty by now."
She stepped forward. Just a breath closer.
"But that last line? 'Let go'?"
She tilted her head.
"Let go of what, exactly? Be specific."
The smile that followed could've carved marble.
"Instead of saying 'let go,' you should be saying 'please let me go.' Much more accurate. Don't you think, Blake boy?"
Beyond saving.
Her. This house. Maybe even me.
But I had one card left.
I stood straighter. Cleared my throat.
"Miss Elya," I said, tone level.
"This is the first and last time I'll say this. I'm sorry. For what you think I did. For your friends. I mean that.
But here's the truth: I'm not responsible."
Her brows furrowed.
I didn't stop.
"If you're going to kill me, fine. But do it after you look again. Properly. I didn't kill your friends. I don't even have the capability. Scrambled memories or not, I know myself."
Silence.
The real kind. The kind that makes you wonder if breathing counts as a crime.
I turned. Slowly. The hallway ahead looked like freedom, or at least a break from being yelled at.
Then—
CLANG.
Metal. Loud. Sharp. Close.
A blade slammed into the wall beside me.
Another sound—THUNK—at my feet. A silver tray, bent like a crumpled note from death itself.
Then came the crash.
I turned slowly.
Elda stood between me and murder, holding the tray like a knight would a shield. Immaculate. Calm. And her eyes.
Her eyes were knives dipped in frost.
Elya had both blades drawn, chest heaving.
The blade in the wall? That had been for me.
Elda had blocked it.
With a serving tray.
What kind of madhouse was this?
"Enough, Elya" Elda said, voice low, final.
Elya didn't lower her blades.
"He insulted them. He doesn't even care—"
"And you almost killed him."
Elda didn't yell. She didn't need to.
"This isn't a battlefield. And he—" she glanced at me, "—is still under the house's protection."
"You think he deserves it?" Elya snapped.
"No" Elda said. "But you don't get to decide who dies."
More silence. It weighed heavier than before.
"Thank you" I muttered.
Elda didn't look at me.
"Don't thank me yet" she said. "You're not safe."
"I know." I coughed. Raised a hand. "So… just one question."
She looked at me, slow and sharp.
"What?"
I thumbed over my shoulder.
"Where's the exit?"
Her glare could've disassembled furniture.
I raised both hands higher.
"Okay. I'll stay here quietly."
And I did.
...
They stood like seasoned enemies.
Tension hung like a noose, tight and waiting.
I didn't move. I didn't even blink too loudly.
The tray lay in pieces by my foot. The blade still quivered in the wall behind me, like it was eager for round two.
Then Elya spoke.
"You're not going anywhere."
The blade stayed still. Her voice didn't.
"I just want to know where to stand without dying," I replied.
No answer.
She stepped sideways, blocking the hall.
I shifted.
CLANG!
Elda's tray was gone. Now in her hand
a blade. Clean. Short. Deadly.
Where the hell did she keep that? Her apron?
She moved like flowing water unbothered, precise.
"That's far enough" she said.
"Why are you standing in my way?" Elya asked.
"I'm doing my job." Elda said.
"You mean protecting him."
Elda didn't blink. "I protect what remains."
"That's not enough reason."
"It's the only reason left."
Elya's fingers twitched.
Then the air changed.
Pressure. Heat. Magic.
Runes glowed beneath her skin.
Her blade shimmered violet.
Mana.
Me ,who saw these kinds of things in movies and anime, genuinly felt silent excitement instead of fear.
But the fact that such interesting things were happening to get rid off me kinda ruined my thoughts and current situation was not working out in my favor.
So I just kept quiet and observed.
Elya wasn't yelling anymore. The magic had taken over.
Elda didn't flinch. She shifted. Braced.
Steel rang against steel. The corridor shook.
Elya fought with fury and magic.
Elda with precision and silence.
Then Elya twisted mid-strike, and a dagger burst from her hand.
Straight toward me.
It screamed through the air—
CLANG.
A blur stepped in front of me.
A man.
The man in the blue coat.
He stood calm, untouched. His coat fluttered like it had choreography.
He looked at them, then me.
Then smiled.
"As much as I love a dramatic hallway duel" he said, voice pleasant, "I believe that's enough fighting for today, ladies."
He dusted off a cuff.
"Let the boy catch his breath. He's had quite the morning."