Those Dull Eyes

...‎MAY 1st...

‎

‎A slender figure sat in a wheelchair, staring up at the sky with sorrow in his eyes.

‎

‎"The name is Esteban Choi Dexter," said the butler standing beside the boy.

‎

‎The slave trader gasped. "Oh, my goodness! It is such a great pleasure to meet you, Sir Esteban. I must have done something pious to be granted the honor of seeing you with my own eyes."

‎

‎"Just call me Dexter," the boy replied with a faint, bitter smile. "No need to be so excited. I'm just the useless heir of the filth— I mean, the 'Esteban' family. Incapable of walking on my own two legs."

‎

‎He laughed quietly. "Pathetic, right?"

‎The butler, Rafael Hemdal, stepped forward to interrupt, but Dexter cut him off.

‎

‎"Hemdal, don't you—"

‎

‎Dexter grasped the wheels of his chair with long, thin hands, hands that spoke of both elegance and pain. He turned away and rolled toward the grand entrance, disappearing from sight.

‎Hemdal remained behind with the slave trader, Lady Meayy Yuzeri. They spoke briefly before she gathered her suitcase, opened her parasol, and made her way toward the outer gate.

‎

‎"I will inform you when I find someone who matches your criteria, Mister Hemdal," Lady Yuzeri said, her tone polite but firm.

‎

‎She had, of course, received her payment.

‎

‎Hemdal called for the servants to clean the table. As they worked, he gazed upward in quiet wonder. The clouds floated gently in the vast sky. Tiny birds darted between the drifting whites, and for a brief moment, Hemdal was lost in a peaceful trance.

‎

‎Then— a loud crash echoed from inside the mansion.

‎He turned at once and sprinted toward the sound, rushing to Dexter’s room.

‎He knocked frantically on the door.

‎

‎"Master Esteban Choi Dexter! Open the door! What happened?"

‎

‎He knocked again, faster, louder. Another loud sound—something heavy had fallen from the balcony into the yard below.

‎

‎"MASTER! MASTER! MASTER!"

‎

‎Just then, the door creaked open.

‎

‎Hemdal stood frozen at the threshold. White curtains billowed from the open balcony, caught in the wind. The soft rustling of leaves mixed with birdsong, creating an eerily tense atmosphere.

‎

‎With each step closer to the balcony, Hemdal's heart pounded louder.

‎He reached the edge, pulled back the curtains—and froze.

‎

‎Relief flooded his face.

‎

‎"For a moment, I thought I lost you. Thank God you’re safe, Master."

‎

‎Dexter sat curled up near the railing, clutching his legs tightly.

‎

‎"Hemdal," he said in a fragile voice, "why do you act like you’re my father?"

‎

‎Hemdal stepped forward, intending to lift him and carry him to bed. But Dexter pushed him away with sudden force.

‎

‎"STOP! Don’t come near me! I don’t care anymore. This time it was just the wheelchair I threw from the balcony. Don’t forget that next time, it could be your precious Master Esteban Choi Dexter himself."

‎

‎Hemdal’s voice trembled. "Master… why are you doing this?"

‎

‎Dexter’s eyes welled with tears. He leaned into Hemdal’s chest—and fainted.

‎

‎Hemdal gently ran his fingers through Dexter’s long hair. Sighing, he murmured, "Oh, my poor child."

‎

‎Calling for the maids, he stepped back, unable to lift the boy himself. As they laid Dexter in bed, Hemdal watched over him with rare tenderness.

‎"Those days are gone," he whispered. "Better ones are coming. Wait for your sunshine to rise."

‎He tucked Dexter in, checked the room, and then slowly, quietly shut the door, peeking in one last time.

‎

‎

‎

...****************...

‎

‎Midnight.

‎

‎Dexter stirred awake and reached for the medicine beside his bed. He swept the bottle to the floor.

‎Hemdal immediately opened the door.

‎

‎"Master certainly knows how to make a mess, doesn’t he?"

‎

‎Dexter chuckled. "Don’t tell me you were sitting outside my room again, fighting sleep."

‎Hemdal looked into his eyes.

‎

‎"Master… I know there’s something you’ve been meaning to ask. Go ahead. I’ll answer."

‎

‎A long pause.

‎

‎Dexter gripped the bedsheet tightly.

‎

‎"Why was the slave trader here? What did you talk about with her? Was she here for me? Did I displease Father? Are you going to report me to him? Just tell me!"

‎

‎Hemdal struggled not to laugh at the barrage of questions. This old man, with his wrinkled face and dark under-eyes, stood patiently before the young master of House Esteban—the only ducal family still loyal to the crown.

‎

‎He replied with a warm grin:

‎

‎"Master, you’ll have all your answers tomorrow. Hahaha."

‎

‎"Why did you laugh?!"

‎

‎"Nothing… it’s just that you’re actually quite cute."

‎

‎Dexter huffed and yanked the blanket over his face.

‎

‎"Enough for today. Now go. I need to sleep."

‎

‎Silence.

‎

‎A few moments later, Dexter slowly pulled the blanket away from his eyes and peeked.

‎

‎Hemdal was gone. Without a word.

‎

...****************...

‎

‎May 2nd

‎

‎Bright rays of sunlight streamed into Dexter’s room through the windows and balcony. The air was fresh, a gentle breeze stirred the curtains, birds chirped outside, and the leaves and flowers swayed in rhythm with the wind.

‎

‎Dexter was already awake. In truth, he hadn’t slept at all. He had spent the entire night lying still, consumed by the unanswered questions that plagued his mind. Hemdal had told him more than once not to overthink—but how could he simply follow someone’s advice when the weight of the unknown pressed so heavily on his chest?

‎

‎A knock echoed from the door.

‎

‎With a dull voice, he said, “You may come in.”

‎

‎A maid entered, then snapped her fingers. Several more maids followed behind her, moving swiftly to clean and tidy the room. Afterward, a smaller, more refined group arrived—maids responsible for preparing Dexter personally. Their demeanor was elegant and professional, a testament to their high rank within the house staff.

‎

‎An hour or two passed. Dexter was dressed and groomed with the usual care and precision.

‎

‎He called for Hemdal and asked, “Is there something special today?”

‎

‎“Yes, Master,” Hemdal replied. “Today, your answers begin to arrive.”

‎

‎Dexter remained still in his wheelchair, as expressionless as ever. Whatever surprise Hemdal was hinting at, it meant little to him. Each day felt the same—just another repetition of the life he had grown numb to.

‎

‎Hemdal stood quietly beside Dexter as the two of them waited in the mansion’s grand hall.

‎

‎Suddenly, the main gates creaked open. Several guards entered, struggling with a large sack.

‎

‎“You may let him out now,” Hemdal ordered.

‎

‎The sack moved, twitching with restless energy, as if someone were trapped inside. Dexter’s face didn’t change. No excitement, no curiosity.

‎

‎The guards untied the bag, and a boy tumbled out onto the marble floor. Before anyone could react, he sprang to his feet and began to fight off the guards, trying desperately to flee.

‎

‎“LET ME GO!” he shouted, panicked and furious. “Rotten bastards!”

‎

‎From atop the staircase, the head maid of House Esteban—Miss Marrie—watched the scene unfold with calm precision. She slipped one hand into the opposite sleeve, drew a poisoned dart, and hurled it with practiced ease.

‎

‎The dart landed in the boy’s neck. He collapsed at Dexter’s feet.

‎

‎Their eyes met.

‎

‎“I’ve seen those dull eyes before…” the boy murmured, before fainting.

‎

‎Dexter was frozen in place, completely stunned. His mind raced. This was the first time he had seen someone his own age—someone real, someone alive in the way he never felt himself to be.

‎

‎Hemdal stepped forward and said with a subtle smile,

‎“This is Eric Choi Caspien, your new companion. A gift from Lady Yuzeri.”

‎

To be continued.....

‎

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***