LIGHTNOVELONLINE Chapter 3
Chapter 3
“As a doctor with a bodyguard, I assume you have a fair amount of money.”
He said, fiddling with the mirror, fingers tracing the delicate patterns etched into the wood.
“T, that’s right, but still…”
Doctor Happy's voice trailed off, her confidence wavering as she bit her lip, a gesture that revealed her unease. She shifted nervously in her seat, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. Finally, she shut her eyes tightly, as if trying to block out the world around her.
“Okay! I don’t know why you would want to do that, but okay!”
She declared abruptly, her tone reflecting both resolve and acceptance. In a quick gesture, she placed her hands over her ears, pressing her fingers against them as if to protect herself from the impending events.
“Proceed!”
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settled around them. The air was thick with anticipation, and he could sense that this was a turning point, a moment that would change everything.
With a steady hand, he reached for the mirror again, ready to reveal the truth hidden within its depths.
The bodyguard in the back signaled for him to break the mirror on the other side to keep the doctor safe from the sharp shards. He did as asked and shattered the mirror. As he thought, it was just an ordinary mirror.
“Hmm…”
Doctor Happy crossed her arms, trying to seem calm, and looked at him with worry in her eyes.
“What now?”
“It's a mirror.”
He stated in a straightforward manner.
“Obviously! What did you think it was!?”
She seemed angry with him. While her reaction made sense, he was too confused to worry about her anger.
He looked at the doctor and answered with no emotion.
“I smashed it to see if it was a real mirror.”
“What!? You broke my mirror for no reason!? I let you borrow it! How could you do that!”
The doctor's voice rose, a mixture of disbelief and anger coloring his words. Her hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if she were trying to physically contain her frustration.
“I'm so tired. I'm going to bed. Goodbye.”
Not wanting to hear more of the doctor's talk, he set the mirror down with a dull thud on the bedside table, the sound echoing in the small room like a finality. He lay back on the bed, the mattress giving way slightly under his weight, and wrapped himself in the comforter, basking in its warmth. The heaviness of the fabric felt both comforting and protective, acting as a barrier against the outside world.
Turning his attention to the window, he chose to gaze at the blue sky instead of interacting with the doctor.
“What…?”
She seems surprised by his bold actions, but he remains indifferent. He is not interested in engaging with them right now.
Please honor my request for space.
“I believe we should give him some time.”
The bodyguard suggested, his tone measured and thoughtful as he assessed the situation. He understood the importance of giving him space to collect his thoughts and emotions.
“My contact mirror-”
“You will be compensated.”
“I get that, but he looks troubled. He seems very pale. I need to assess his condition again.”
“He appears to be in good health. He broke the contact mirror with considerable force.”
The man replied politely, his voice steady.
A disagreement was unfolding in his presence, which was atypical for a bodyguard to argue with their superior.
‘I mean, I don't see him just as a bodyguard.’
The doctor's reaction and her treatment of the man suggested that he was there to witness the situation. It became clear that when they realized he had regained consciousness, the mysterious man acted like a "bodyguard" to remain in the room unnoticed.
‘I made the right choice in sending them away.’
“Yet, leaving him by himself—”
“Doctor, your responsibilities have concluded. Let us return.”
“…Understood.”
His tone was firm and icy for just a bodyguard. It's surprising that the doctor obeyed and walked away. Quite intriguing.
Doctor Happy was the first to leave the room, while the bodyguard lingered behind.
“I will come back to clean up your mess after escorting the doctor out.”
The “bodyguard” declared.
He shifted his position on the bed, the creaking of the mattress breaking the stillness.
“…Is it possible to do it tomorrow instead?”
He ventured, his tone almost pleading, as if he were trying to negotiate a reprieve from the inevitable.
“I will attend to it later.”
Came the reply, curt and dismissive, leaving no room for further discussion.
‘He is not listening at all!’
He thought, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. It was a familiar feeling, one he had grown accustomed to, but it never failed to irk him.
With that, the bodyguard closed the door firmly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. He remained motionless for a moment, his back against the cool surface of the door, listening intently as their footsteps gradually faded away down the corridor.
Once silence enveloped the room, he opened his eyes and sat up once more. He gazed at the door for several minutes, lost in thought, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on his mind.
“Is it magic?”
He softly spoke in the serene room.
Magic had always seemed to him a fictional concept, a narrative rather than a tangible phenomenon. Throughout his memories, he had never encountered anything akin to magic. But now, as his eyes fell upon the shattered mirror lying on the ground, a flicker of doubt began to creep into his mind.
He seized the handle and endeavored to shatter it to gain a glimpse inside. It took considerable time, as the wood was resilient, but in the end, it was simply wood—nothing extraordinary. This realization suggested that his previous observations might hold some truth.
“Could it be…”
Magic is real?
This was the sole thought that appeared to make sense.
‘I need to learn more about this.’
He feels uneasy around others until they share details about what happened after his near-fatal incident in the hospital.
Regrettably, he finds himself in a situation where leaving his room is not an option as the bodyguard had made it clear that he would be returning soon. Stepping out of his room might raise suspicions with the bodyguard's superiors or those responsible for his putting in this place.
From his vantage point, he observes that the surroundings are vast, and he even notices a maze in the distance.
Escaping from this place will not be an easy task. Although he is not prepared to make a break for it at this moment, he understands the importance of considering future possibilities. Moreover, he knows that his body is not yet ready for the demands of flight. His physical state is still delicate.
Even if the duration of his coma was not as lengthy as the physician had informed him, it is still true that his limbs show signs of weakness and unresponsiveness. They lack the necessary strength and coordination for quick movements, and at present, they feel almost incapacitated, as if they are disconnected from his body.
‘I planned to investigate the room.’
There might be hidden cameras around. It's unlikely that he isn't being watched, which is unfortunate.
Knock. Knock.
He was surprised when the bodyguard quickly returned. He had meant to pretend to be asleep, but the door opened without waiting for his response, and the bodyguard walked in with a tray. The delicious aroma of the food filled the room, making it hard for him to maintain his act of sleeping.
He took a seat and waited for the bodyguard to bring over the trolley. The meal consisted only of soup and water, rather dull, but it looked quite appetizing.
‘Perhaps because I am really hungry right now.’
The particular food he eats doesn't matter much, as long as it satisfies his hunger.
“Doctor Happy advises that you should refrain from solid food for the time being.”
He gratefully accepted the tray from the bodyguard.
“Thanks. I didn't realize just how hungry I was.”
He admitted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice.
The bodyguard paused briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
“It seems you can exhibit politeness on occasion, young master.”
What does that supposed to mean?
Without awaiting a response, the man promptly began to clear away the shattered glass and wood that littered the floor. The sound of crunching glass echoed in the silence.
The bodyguard raised his eyebrows when he saw the mirror handle being broken into pieces. It was not broken before.
Oblivious to the bodyguard's scrutiny, he leisurely sipped his soup with his right hand while occasionally turning his attention to watch the long-haired man tidy up the room.
The man seemed familiar with the task, yet he carried an air of elegance and refinement. It became clear to him that he was no ordinary person, he likely had a hidden story.
After finishing his soup and drinking the water, he turned his full attention to the man.
“May I ask, bodyguard, what your name is? I didn’t catch it earlier.”
“I did not catch yours either, young master.”
The man responded, avoiding direct eye contact.
“… .”
That's true, he had not introduced himself either. Caught up in the whirlwind of his own mind, he had missed this detail.
“Let’s take a moment to introduce ourselves. My name is—”
Hold on. Should he reveal his real name? A flicker of hesitation crossed his mind. It wasn’t about trust, it was more about feeling embarrassed.
“Just call me Patient.”
He finally said, the words tumbling out before he could second-guess himself.
The man flinched, clearly surprised.
This reaction left him feeling confused. Had he said something wrong? Was it the name itself that had elicited such a reaction?
“Why did you react that way? My real name feels too feminine, so just call me Patient, since I’m a patient here.”
He explained, trying to brush off the awkwardness with a casual tone.
“…It’s nothing, young master. You merely remind me of someone.”
“Are you sure? And could you please stop calling me young master?”
The title felt a little too fancy for him.
“I will not refer to you as Patient.”
The man firmly stated his refusal.
“A, alright.”
His voice was flat when he replied. The bodyguard seemed tired of life before he faced him again.
“Simply call me Alistair.”
“Is that a fake name?”
“…Sort of.”
The man held back from saying anything more and began to collect his cleaning supplies. He took his tray and loaded all the items onto his trolley, the clinking of ceramics breaking the silence of the room.
Just as he was about to ask about the other person, that individual handed him a warm cup filled with a green drink.
“…What is this?”
He asked, eyeing the cup with skepticism.
“Please drink it.”
The man replied casually, as if he were simply offering a cup of coffee instead of something that looked like it had come straight from a swamp.
“…Drink?”
He repeated the words, his voice laced with doubt. His eyes were drawn to the green liquid swirling in the cup, which appeared both unappealing and thick.
‘Could it be poison?’
The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He questioned whether they would be so bold as to poison him, yet perhaps they underestimated his judgment, thinking he might accept it without question.
The mere notion of being tricked into drinking something harmful sent his mind racing.
Alistair took a deep breath as he noticed his hesitation.
“It is a medicinal concoction. You mentioned that you suffer from persistent headaches, so the doctor prepared it specifically for you.”
“Medicine…”
“We have attended to your needs for three years, young master.”
Do you genuinely think we wish to cause you harm?
“That is a fair point.”
They must have some ulterior motive. It would be irrational to hurt him now after waiting so long for his healing.
He lifted the cup to his nose, and the smell was revolting. He couldn't bring himself to drink such a disgusting mixture.
He placed the cup down without taking a sip.
“Do you have any pills?”
“I apologize, but what do you mean by pills?”
“…Forget it.”
He muttered, frustration bubbling up inside him. The last thing he needed was to explain the concept of modern medication to someone who seemed to exist in a realm where such things were foreign.
‘I've already died once, so this can't be that bad.’
Gathering his courage, he shut his eyes and pinched his nose. He gulped down the ‘medicine’ all at once. He felt a rush of warmth spread through his body, a stark contrast to the chilly room.
“What?”
He murmured to himself, bewildered, as he looked inside the cup that had held the green medicine. Despite its foul smell and strange look, it has no noticeable flavor. Its texture is similar to water.
‘That's surprising…’
Even modern medications still carry that awful medicine scent and taste that he dislikes. His surprise is valid.
“Here you go.”
He handed back the cup, still struggling to comprehend the situation.
Alistair stares at the cup, confused by his own response.
“Are you alright?”
He coughed and gave an awkward smile.
“Alistair, can you tell me where the Fides Empire is located?”
He asked, trying to sound casual.
Is it to the North, South, East, or West?
Alistair straightened up after placing the cup on the trolley and looked him in the eye. He seemed unbothered by the shift in conversation as he asked.
“You are not from around here, are you?”
“Isn't it clear? I don't recall the Fides Empire. It might just be a small country in a rural region.”
He shrugged, trying to downplay his ignorance, but the truth was, he felt a growing sense of unease.
He doesn't travel, which has led to a narrow perspective of the world. In fact, he hasn't left his country in almost twenty years. His knowledge comes exclusively from the internet, a vast source of information that can be both enlightening and overwhelming.
He often feels lost in the endless stream of articles, videos, and social media posts, picking up bits of culture and geography without ever experiencing them firsthand. The world outside his window seems like a distant dream, a place filled with vibrant colors and sounds that exist only in his mind.
The man let out a deep breath and settled into the chair that Doctor Happy had just vacated.
“You did not pose any questions to the doctor earlier. What prompted you to dismiss her?”
“That…”
He hesitated, searching for the right words to articulate his thoughts.
In reality, her energy was almost too much for him to handle. Her enthusiasm was infectious, yet it seemed to create a barrier between them. He tried to engage with her, making an effort to match her lively spirit, but it was a struggle.
Furthermore, she reminded him of someone who made him uneasy, a figure from a past he had worked hard to leave behind. Every time she smiled at him, he felt a pang of discomfort.