Chapter 7

Being a little kid again was unbelievably {frustrating.}(#yfpg7503kwmm)

"Hm... still coughing, you say?"

"Yes. We've kept the room warm and made sure he takes his medicine."

"The fever's down... and the throat's much better. I'll just prescribe more cough syrup. Once the cough clears, he won't need it any longer."

The doctor scribbled the prescription on his notepad.

"Until the weather warms up further, please keep him out of the cold air. Is there anyone in the family with weak lungs, by any chance?"

"No, there isn't."

"Then just take care that he doesn't overexert himself."

Edgar Bertholdt swallowed the urge to swat the doctor's hand away and muttered to himself.

Living as a small child was hard.

When he'd realized he was back in his childhood, he hadn't imagined he'd have to put up with this kind of thing....

"Is it normal for a cough to last this long?"

"It varies from person to person... but the weather has been particularly dry lately."

The doctor offered the kind of line he gave every cold patient. His uncle, restless, kept pestering him with questions, but the doctor's answer never changed.

Nothing seriously wrong. Just a common cold. Medicine and plenty of rest.

"But he's still coughing...."

Unable, apparently, to raise his voice at a noble worried for the child, the doctor repeated himself, looking unimpressed.

"That's why you keep an eye on children."

"Even so...."

Finally, unable to bear the tedium any longer, Edgar broke in.

"Uncle. I'm fine."

"Edgar...."

"It wasn't even a bad cold. I'm just coughing a bit."

The doctor took the chance to hand over the prescription, then gathered up his bag.

His uncle must have finally realized that pressing the doctor would only get him the same answer; he didn't try to stop him from leaving. Edgar sighed in relief — at least he wouldn't have to sit through any more discussion of his own health that he was completely shut out of.

His uncle, Harold Bertholdt, looked down at his nephew with worry written all over his face. The twitch at the corner of his eye made it clear he still didn't believe the doctor.

Whether or not he realized his nephew was eyeing him skeptically, Harold patted him gently on the shoulder.

"...?"

Not understanding what the gesture meant, Edgar looked up at him blankly. When their eyes met, Harold smiled softly.

It wasn't the tearful smile from when they'd first met again after Edgar came back to childhood... but it wasn't the silly, easy grin from those distant memories either — the one his uncle used to wear whenever their eyes met.

It was more....

"...."

More like he was... proud. Pleased.

As if praising him for sitting through the examination so well....

Only after his uncle's hand fell away did Edgar realize that wasn't a guess. It was true.

And he couldn't believe it.

If he'd really been an eight-year-old, maybe the praise would have been earned. But! But!

When he'd opened his eyes in that room — the room where everything had gone wrong, fifteen years ago. When he'd thanked a god he didn't even believe in for the chance to save his family.

Edgar had never imagined this would be part of the price he'd have to pay.

"Snrk."

Behind their uncle, Edwin let out a smothered laugh. He'd no doubt picked up on exactly what his twin was thinking.

Edgar had never been able to hide anything from Edwin.

That was why, the moment he'd opened his eyes in the cold playroom that had been the starting point of so many of his nightmares, the first thing he'd done was tell Edwin everything.

"You believe me?"

"Of course."

His twin had answered without a moment's hesitation.

How much help an eight-year-old twin could really be was another question, but those words alone had been enough to make Edgar smile.

But seeing his brother snicker at him like that, maybe it had been the wrong call.... Maybe he'd just given his ever-imaginative twin one more flight of fancy to feed on.

Edgar felt his uncle's hand pull back and let out a sigh. Harold seemed to take even that sigh the wrong way.

"Edgar. I know you don't like taking the medicine.... But you have to, or you won't get better quickly, right?"

Did he think he was talking to a real child?

He must look like one.

He knew. He knew.

And to his uncle, his nephews were going to look like children no matter how old they got.

Even though his uncle hadn't lived long enough to see Edgar and Edwin grow up.

"But Edgar — how did you even come back to the past?"

"...I don't know. But."

If this wasn't a dream, it was an opportunity he couldn't possibly let slip.

He was too late to save Father, but he could fix other things. He didn't have to lose his uncle for nothing.

"Okay, Edgar. I'll help you. You don't have to worry about a thing."

He knew his uncle was coming. Inside the room, he couldn't tell the exact date, but that much was certain — so Edgar had drawn up a plan.

He couldn't repeat his mistakes.

"Young master. There are too many people out there who want to hurt you."

A month after Father died. His memory of that month wasn't very clear.

Cold, hungry, dark. The only familiar faces in that room had been Edwin and Adrien.

"I'll drive off the wicked men and come back, so just stay inside and hold on a little longer. All right?"

By the time he'd realized those gentle words had all been lies, it had been too late for any of it.

So this time, he and Edwin had done their best, desperately, to give Harold clues about Adrien Renard.

"Edgar, Edwin... were you on your own? In the house?"

What his uncle was thinking had been written plainly across his face.

Edgar had barely managed to swallow his laughter, watching his uncle ask the question with that simple, earnest look. If he'd cracked a smile, tears would have come right behind it.

"Adrien said we weren't allowed out."

Edwin had said his lines diligently, just as Edgar had told him to.

"Strangers came to the house sometimes."

"When they came it smelled weird. I didn't like it."

That part hadn't actually been for their uncle and Mattheus.

But anything they said to those two would reach Captain Anne Archibald. Little details like that didn't change, even at moments when everything else did.

The way his uncle had broken down the door and come in for them — that didn't change either.

Body aside, Edgar's mind was still an adult's, and this time he'd pulled himself together so as not to miss his first meeting with his uncle. Last time, his memory of that day had been hazy. He hadn't been clearheaded enough to remember it, and frightened by the unfamiliar grown-up, he'd grabbed Edwin and hidden in the wardrobe.

In the end, his uncle, worried about the boys' health, had pried the wardrobe door open by force.

"Sorry I'm late, Edgar."

After all those long years apart, his uncle had called for him and Edwin with an expression that didn't suit his huge frame at all — like he might burst into tears at any moment.

This time it was going to be different. This time he was going to save his uncle. He wasn't going to lose him without lifting a finger, like last time.

He'd sworn it over and over, with his arms around his uncle. He'd sworn it. And yet —

"Edgar. You need to take the medicine, all right?"

"...."

"Edgar?"

Harold tapped the spoonful of medicine against Edgar's lips.

"Edgar, come on, say ah."

Beside him, Edwin chimed in unhelpfully.

Edgar reminded himself that his twin was still eight. And that he himself really wasn't.

Taking the medicine wasn't the problem.

It was putting up with all this that he couldn't stand.

"Uncle, Edgar doesn't like taking medicine."

"Th-that's... but he still has to take it...."

"Edgar, don't be a baby — take the medicine."

"I'm not a baby."

It was just the truth, but it sounded unbelievably childish out loud.

His uncle must have felt the same way, judging by how his face went stupidly soft.

Edgar glared at the spoon hovering near his lips for a moment, then looked up.

"I'll take it if you tell me what's happened to Adrien."

"Hmm...."

His uncle's brows drooped in a troubled look.

"That's, uh... mmm."

"Edgar. Stop making things hard for Uncle, take the medicine."

The twin who'd always promised to be on his side had betrayed him.

Edgar glared at Edwin. Edwin shamelessly snatched the spoon from their uncle's hand and held it out to Edgar.

"Aunt Anne said she'd help Uncle. Uncle and Auntie are going to make sure Adrien can't hurt you anymore."

"...."

"Right, Uncle?"

"Right. Of course."

Harold nodded, his face hard.

Edgar looked between Edwin and his uncle. His uncle would do anything for his nephews — but he wasn't the kind of adult who'd actually let children do whatever they wanted.

No matter how much Edgar pressed, his uncle wasn't going to tell him about Adrien unless he had a solid reason.

That was... going to be a problem.

Especially with adults around him twenty-four hours a day using the cold as an excuse.

"Uncle, Edgar likes candy."

Edwin poked their uncle as he spoke.

His uncle's face brightened. Edwin snickered and held the spoon out again.

"Edgar, take the medicine and Uncle will give you candy."

Was falling for a trick this obvious also part of the price of being a child again?

"Hm? Edgar."

His uncle was halfway to a pleading expression as he begged.

A man who would be remembered as a legendary knight of steel even fifteen years on, reduced to wheedling his young nephew over a dose of cough syrup.

Whatever people said, the uncle Edgar remembered had always been exactly like this.

In the end Edgar gave up and opened his mouth. The moment Edwin shoved the spoon in, their uncle clapped.

"There you go — good boy!"

This was the very kind of everyday moment Edgar had longed for right up until he died, and even so, somehow a snort almost escaped him.

"Here, water. Yes, drink lots of water, too."

A week since Edgar Bertholdt had returned to the past.

Four days since Harold Bertholdt had rescued his confined nephew from the estate.

Unaware that Harold was inwardly delighted at how close he was getting to his nephews, Edgar fell deep into thought.

"Uncle. Candy."

It wasn't the candy he was thinking about, but a promise was a promise.

"Hm? Right, right. Candy. What flavor do you like?"

His uncle rummaged through the basket of treats the Archibald staff had set on the table.

"Let's see. Strawberry, lemon... grape, too."

"Uncle, I want strawberry!"

Edgar shot Edwin a sidelong glare.

"Edwin didn't take the medicine!"

"Uncle, I want candy too!"

"Uh — uhh...."

Looking at this, who would believe he was the notorious Lord Bertholdt?

Just as Harold was caught between his two nephews with candy in hand —

Knock, knock.

A knock at the door. The servant didn't come in but raised his voice from outside.

"Pardon me, Lord Bertholdt. His lordship the count is asking for you."

Harold's eyes shifted.

"Boys, I'm sorry. Uncle has to go take care of something.... Here, here's your candy. Don't fight, share nicely, all right?"

A rough hand stroked his hair carefully, then was gone.

Watching his uncle's back as he left, Edgar pressed his lips together in frustration.

Who would have guessed living as a small child again would come with this many restrictions? He knew exactly how to cut straight through all of this, and yet, because he was a small child, no one would listen.

Edgar watched his twin pop the candy their uncle had left behind into his mouth, and spoke.

"Edwin. We're changing the plan."