Chapter 29 : Can I Trust You?

Chapter 29: Can I Trust You?

The afternoon sun hid behind thick clouds as horse-drawn carriages passed by the grand architecture of the museum. Its marble columns and beauty, usually alive with visitors, now stood sentinel over a different kind of crowd—dozens of officially dressed police officers moved with purpose across the grounds, their formal shoes pressed against the streets carrying swords in their waist. Red warning tape fluttered in the breeze, keeping common citizens at bay while an investigation proceeded within.

Conrad sat inside one of the passing carriages, his thoughts as heavy as the clouds above. The sound of horses' hooves against the streets created a steady rhythm that matched his troubled heartbeat. Rain clouds that had been threatening all day finally released their burden, droplets falling in an unhurried rhythm that transformed the city's usual bustle into something more subdued. The slow rain mixed with street dust while people run for cover, their hurried footsteps and occasional shouts creating a symphony of urban chaos that somehow felt melancholic rather than jarring.

The streets of Prismara took on a different character in the rain. Usually sharp-edged buildings softened in the gray light, their windows reflecting the cloudy skies. The scent of wet stone and horse dung rose from the streets, mixing with the metallic tang of rain and the ever-present coal smoke from the factories in the distance. Here and there, gas lamps were being lit early to combat the premature darkness brought by the storm.

Even though it was an act, it hurt hearing those words from my girlfriend's mouth. It sucks to have secrets. Conrad's reflection stared back at him from the carriage window, his blue eyes troubled. Wait, am I getting too caught up in this boyfriend role? I don't even know if these feelings I have for Xie are mine or Conrad's. Even if they are mine, what happens if I find a way to return to my world? Isn't it selfish of me to—

"Sir, we have arrived," a voice cut off Conrad's inner turmoil. He looked up to see they had stopped before the Church school's gates. The driver, an elderly man with weather-beaten features, waited patiently as Conrad donned his raincoat and opened his umbrella. The coat was well-worn but still serviceable, a reminder of the family's precarious financial situation.

Conrad handed some sili coins to the driver, the silver-colored metal catching what little light penetrated the clouds. "Thank you, good sir."

The driver's eyes widened slightly at the generous tip, but Conrad had already turned away, his gaze fixed on the majestic entrance gate of the Church school. The institution's architecture spoke of older traditions—gothic spires reached toward the heavy clouds while grand statuses gazed down with their eternal stone stares, rain water streaming from their open mouths like eternal tears.

"Still some time before her classes end," he murmured, finding a spot in one of the covered walkways where senior students were absorbed in their studies. Young men and women in crisp uniforms sat at wooden tables, their books spread before them like offerings. The scratch of pens and rustle of pages provided a counterpoint to the sound of rain hammering against the slate roof above.

The rain intensified, its crushing sound drowning out nearby conversations and turning the world beyond the walkway into a gray curtain. Water cascaded from the roof in sheets, creating a transparent wall that separated Conrad from the rest of the world. I didn't expect such heavy rain. No spare umbrella either. I wonder if Clara remembered to bring hers. His sister had a habit of forgetting such practical matters when she was focused on her studies.

As Conrad's mind drifted through these mundane thoughts, a change came over him. His deep blue eyes suddenly sharpened, pupils contracting as his other senses heightened. The background noise of rain and studying students seemed to fade as he picked up something else—Brahman fluctuations, rippling through the air like invisible waves.

Essentia? One? No... there might be more. But where?

He scanned his surroundings with practiced precision, his eyes moving in a systematic pattern he'd learned through training. But the heavy rain obscured his view beyond the walkway, and the chattering students disrupted his focus. Their voices, usually easy to filter out, seemed to bounce off the stone walls with unusual intensity, creating a disturbance that made it difficult to pinpoint the source of the disturbance.

The rain's intensity began to ease, changing from a roar to a steady patter. Through the thinning curtain of water, a figure caught Conrad's attention. A young woman was entering a new car—one of those expensive automated models that only the wealthy could afford. Even in the gloomy weather, she seemed to glow with an inner light, her crimson hair cascading down her back in a high ponytail secured by a black ribbon that danced in the damp breeze.

Her emerald eyes, visible even at this distance, held a hint of melancholy that seemed at odds with her confident bearing. The structured outfit she wore would have looked more at home on a military officer from one of the foreign nations—all clean lines and practical cuts, with none of the ornate flourishes currently in fashion in Prismara. The number "32" was embroidered on her arms in thread that seemed to shimmer slightly, even in the dim light.

Something's off about her. That outfit—definitely suited for combat. The way she moves, too... no wasted motion, always aware of her surroundings. And that number 32 on her arms... some kind of unit designation? But not from any military force I recognize.

The car departed with a quiet hum, but Conrad's narrowed eyes lingered on its path long after it had disappeared into the rain. He made a mental note of the direction it had taken, though he knew following it would mean leaving Clara waiting.

The afternoon wore on, the rain eventually settling into a gentle drizzle that left the world looking cleaned and somehow more vibrant. When Clara finally emerged from her classroom, her face was etched with worry lines that had no place on someone so young. She rushed to her brother with an urgency that drew curious glances from passing students, her usually neat appearance slightly disheveled from her haste.

The entire day, she'd been unable to focus on anything else, her mind playing out increasingly terrible scenarios. She'd already lost both parents—her father's face was becoming harder to remember with each passing year, and her mother's absence was still a fresh wound. The thought of losing her brother too had made it impossible to concentrate on her lessons.

"Conrad... are you alright? Are you hurt? Are they still around? Did they threaten you?" The questions tumbled out in a rush, her hands reaching out as if to check him for injuries.

"Hey, hey—stop! Clara, I'm fine. You're not even giving me a chance to answer," Conrad smiled reassuringly, catching her hands in his. They were cold, he noticed, probably from nervous fidgeting during class.

"No... I need to hear everything. Are you really fine? Tell me now. Right now." Clara moved closer, almost pushing against him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deception.

"Conrad, are you alright?" Maya asked from beside them, her own nervousness evident in the way she clutched her books to her chest. Her normally rosy cheeks were pale with concern.

Conrad turned, offering her a gentle smile that made her blush deepen slightly. "Yes, Maya, I'm fine as you can see."

"We can't see anything," Clara interrupted, circling Conrad to inspect him more thoroughly. Her eyes took in every detail of his appearance—the slightly muddy hem of his trousers, the way his coat sat on his shoulders, even the state of his hair.

"Clara, everyone's staring. Do you want to be known as the weird girl?" Conrad teased, though he noticed with some concern that she really did look exhausted. Her uniform, usually pristinely pressed, showed signs of distraction in its slightly rumpled state.

"Shut up, Conrad. I'm checking if you're hurt..." Her hands moved with surprising expertise, checking his arms and torso in a way that reminded him of their mother's medical training. "It seems like nothing happened. You really are telling the truth?" The relief in her voice was palpable, her shoulders finally relaxing from their tense position.

"How did you escape those violent mobs?" Maya asked, taking a small step closer. Her voice carried genuine concern, though Conrad noticed she seemed more interested in his face than his answer.

"Well, I explained about having a sister in the Nations Civil Guard. They got scared pretty quickly," Conrad laughed, the sound echoing off the wet stone walls around them. A few passing students turned to look, then quickly averted their eyes when they recognized him.

Clara eyed her brother suspiciously, her keen intelligence showing in her narrowed eyes. Growing up in this area, she knew full well that neither police nor Civil Guard held any real power here. The local gangs operated with near impunity, and a Civil Guard connection was more likely to invite trouble than prevent it. My brother's a terrible liar, she thought, but I don't mind as long as he's safe.

"Oh, I almost forgot—Maya, this Friday we're having a celebration party for my sister's promotion. Please come with Miss Nadeko," Conrad said, his voice carrying a careful neutrality that Clara had come to recognize.

"Is that so?" Maya glanced at Conrad, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her book.

"Yes, Maya. We'd be honored to have you there," Conrad said, maintaining that same gentle but formal tone.

Maya's face reddened further. "Okay..." she whispered, barely audible over the ambient sounds of departing students.

This girl will never learn to let it go. I told her she had no chance, Clara thought, watching her best friend with a mixture of sympathy and exasperation.

"Is Nadeko not coming today?" Conrad asked, his eyes still occasionally scanning their surroundings with that newfound wariness Clara had noticed lately.

"No, she's busy with an assignment. I'm going alone today," Maya replied, adjusting her grip on her books.

"Then let us accompany you to the carriage."

"Thank you," Maya's voice remained barely above a whisper.

After seeing Maya safely to her carriage, Conrad and Clara hailed their own. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Outside, the streets glistened under lamplight, rain-soaked and reflecting the evening glow. People hurried past with umbrellas, while others lay motionless on the sidewalks—victims of the sudden temperature change, awaiting the General Public Affairs Council's cleaning officers.

"Conrad, I know you're hiding something," Clara said without looking at him. The carriage swayed gently as it navigated the wet cobblestones, its rhythmic motion almost hypnotic.

Conrad remained silent, studying his sister's profile against the window. The passing gas lamps cast alternating patterns of light and shadow across her face, making her seem older somehow.

"You're so different from before, and we're so much happier even though our situation hasn't improved much. But—" she paused, her fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on the window. "Sometimes I fear everything will come crashing down. A storm will blow away our happy family. I fear so much that you—"

The words died in her throat as she turned to face him fully. "I don't know what secrets you're keeping. Sometimes you seem like a completely different person, no... it's like you are a different person." Her eyes met him directly, searching for something she couldn't quite name.

Conrad's blue eyes remained steady, but inside, his heart constricted painfully. He felt like an impostor, deceiving this family for his own benefit. The pressure in his chest made breathing difficult, yet his face betrayed nothing.

"Conrad, can... can I trust you? Can I trust my brother won't do something that will—"

"I don't know if you can trust your brother," Conrad interrupted, finally lowering his eyes, "but you can trust that I won't do anything to harm my sisters."

"Hmm." Clara nodded slightly. "Then I'll trust you, no matter what anyone says." Her usual smile returned, though tinged with something more—perhaps understanding, perhaps resignation.

Across the city, in a more isolated district, another conversation was taking place in front of the Valor residence. "Isolde, you should take better care of yourself," said a tall, slim gentleman in a hat and coat. His fair skin and blue eyes held an inherent allure, balanced between mystery and humility.

"Matt, you know I have my dear siblings to look after. I hardly have time for myself," Isolde replied with elegant charm, leaning closer. "Besides, aren't you there to take care of me?"

"Yes, my lady." Matt lifted her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss.

"Matt, you should go now. My sister's classes must be ending," Isolde said, her emerald eyes flickering as she moved to leave.

"When will you introduce me to them?" Matt's eyes held a plea.

"I will... I just need time to tell them." Isolde herself was uncertain how to broach the subject.

"I'll wait as long as you need, Isolde." Matt's patience seemed boundless but somehow to Isolde he felt like a kid running out of patience.

"Matt, are you sulking?" Isolde's smile turned mischievous.

"Huh? My lady, I'm not—" Matt's protest was cut short by Isolde's kiss on his cheek, surprising him with this break in her usually conservative demeanor.

"My lady, then please forgive me," Matt murmured.

"Forgive? For what—" Isolde's words were silenced as Matt pulled her close, his lips meeting hers in a tender kiss.

When they parted, Isolde remained quiet, her heart racing beneath her composed exterior. Matt adjusted his hat and spoke softly, "Isolde, I'll be leaving Prismara for a while. When I return, I want to propose properly. I know you wish to wait until your brother is settled, and I'll respect that. But I'd like to make our courtship official. My parents have been asking, and I want to introduce you to them."

"Okay..." Isolde gazed at him warmly before stepping into his embrace, inhaling his familiar scent of polish linen and special kalon only used by rich families in Prismara.

"I'll miss you. Come back safely," she whispered against his chest, her fingers gripping his coat slightly tighter than necessary.

I need to tell Conrad about Matt, but I don't know how he'll react. I'm afraid he might say something to Matt. I don't want them to argue.

"Goodbye, my lady."

As Isolde watched Matt's retreating figure, the rain began to fall again, as if the sky itself were expressing the melancholy in her heart. The streets of Prismara continued its dual life's of shadow and light while hiding many secrets under its grand structures.