I Have A Damn Family Again - Chapter 97

Chapter 97:The Crumpled Report Card (2)

Finally, the hole was deep enough.

Deep enough to bury the paper, to conceal it from view. It was unlikely anyone would stumble upon this hidden grave, tucked away in a secluded corner of the conservatory, but Carsein was determined.

He’d dug with a fierce intensity, his hands caked in dirt, convinced that this… worthless piece of paper… needed to be erased, its existence a source of shame.

But just as he was about to bury it, his hand froze, his resolve wavering.

Perhaps, just perhaps, if he showed it to them, they wouldn't scold him. Maybe they’d embrace him, offer him the same warmth, the same affection they showered upon his sisters.

Perhaps this, this perfect score, would earn him their approval.

No, even a simple acknowledgment, a fleeting word of praise, would suffice.

That fleeting moment of weakness, that desperate yearning for acceptance, had paralyzed him, his hand hovering above the freshly dug grave.

He’d worked hard. No, he’d worked tirelessly, driven by a desire to prove himself, to earn their respect, their love. This report card, a testament to his efforts, a beacon of achievement, a symbol of his triumph over a system that had sought to diminish him, to keep him in the shadows.

He’d stared at it, this flawless report card, filled with perfect scores, a collection of A’s that represented hours of self-study, a victory snatched from the jaws of a biased, indifferent teacher. Hope, a fragile flame, had flickered within his heart.

And now, to bury it, to consign it to this unmarked grave, felt like a betrayal, a final act of self-sabotage.

His lips, pressed into a thin line, his mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions, he hesitated.

And then, a voice, sharp and accusatory, shattered the silence.

“Carsein? What are you doing…?”
“…!”

His eldest sister, her tone laced with disapproval, caught him red-handed.

He spun around, his hand instinctively retreating, his fist clenching, the report card crumpling further, transforming into a tight ball of paper.

The true nature of the object hidden within his grasp remained concealed, but Arina, her gaze fixed on something else entirely, didn’t even notice.

“You… you dare defile Mother’s conservatory with this… this…”

Her eyes, narrowed, her voice dripping with disdain, weren't directed at the crumpled paper in his hand.

She was staring at the disturbed earth, the freshly dug hole, a blemish on her mother’s carefully cultivated garden.

“Sister? What’s wrong?”
“Big Sister? What’s happening?”

Claire and Flora, drawn by Arina’s sharp tone, emerged from the house.

“Carsein has… defaced Mother’s conservatory. I can’t fathom why he’d do such a thing, to such a beautiful garden.”
“Honestly, is he taking out his frustrations on the plants now?”

Claire, her brow furrowed, her gaze fixed on Carsein, saw him as nothing more than a troublesome child, a nuisance. Arina sighed, her disappointment evident, while Flora, her eyes narrowed into predatory slits, offered a mocking smile, her usual response to his every action.

Claire, her temper flaring, was the first to react. She jabbed her finger at Carsein’s forehead, her voice sharp, accusatory.

“Are you that clueless? This is Mother’s sanctuary. Even the gardeners aren’t allowed to touch it. She tends to these plants herself, her personal hobby, her escape from… everything. And you… you dare defile it?”
“Claire is right, Carsein. Don’t even think about lying. You know exactly what this place means to Mother.”
"..."

His fist tightened, the knuckles turning white, his anger a simmering heat beneath his pale skin.

He’d hoped, foolishly, that this, this symbol of his achievement, would earn him their approval, their praise.

And instead, he was being scolded, their words a bitter rain that extinguished the fragile flame of hope that had flickered within his heart. His chest, once filled with anticipation, now ached with a hollow emptiness.

His anger, consumed by a wave of resignation, dissipated, leaving behind a bitter taste.

They didn’t ask why he’d dug the hole, what he’d intended to bury, if there was an explanation for his actions. They simply assumed the worst.

His hands, covered in dirt, deemed “unbecoming” of a noble. His actions, labelled “reckless” and “disrespectful.” His motives, questioned, their suspicions evident in their narrowed eyes, their words a veiled threat.

Even Isabella, emerging from the house, her task completed, her gaze falling upon the scene, offered no solace.

“…What’s going on, Carsein?”

Her voice, flat, devoid of emotion, a simple inquiry, sealed his fate.

The verdict was clear.

He shouldn’t expect anything from them. Approval, a distant dream. Praise? A laughable concept. He needed to abandon those foolish hopes, to bury them deep within his heart, to accept the reality of his existence.

Carsein Bagrand, no, Carsein, the outsider, the one who didn't belong. The warmth of family, the light of acceptance, would forever elude him.

-Thud.

The crumpled report card, a symbol of his shattered hopes, landed at the bottom of the hole, hidden from view, its fate mirroring his own.

That was the conclusion he’d reached, the bitter truth he’d unearthed within the confines of his mother’s sanctuary.

***

-Ding!

▶ The “Crumpled Report Card” Memorial has ended! ◀

The vision faded, the image of a heartbroken Carsein dissolving into pixels, the shimmering light of the Memorial receding, my surroundings returning to their familiar state.

The conservatory, unchanged, bathed in sunlight, its beauty a stark contrast to the darkness of that memory.

Sunlight streamed through the glass panels, illuminating the lush greenery, while shadows clung to the corners, a reminder that even in paradise, darkness lingered.

And as I observed the spot where that Memorial had appeared, the location where Carsein had buried his dreams, a wave of empathy washed over me, a visceral understanding of his pain, his isolation.

“Damn it.”

He’d been a fool, that Carsein. Clinging to the hope that his family, his tormentors, would finally recognize his worth, that his accomplishments would earn him their love, that a simple piece of paper, a collection of perfect scores, would bridge the chasm that separated them.

But I, the observer, the one who’d witnessed his pain, his vulnerability, was equally foolish.

I’d harbored the same hopes, the same desperate yearning for approval, for acceptance. I’d craved praise, those empty words that had held the power to validate my existence, to soothe the ache in my heart.

I’d wanted to silence my younger sister, her constant criticism a thorn in my side. To prove my worth to my older sister, her indifference a constant reminder of my perceived inadequacy. To show my eldest sister, her disdain a constant weight on my shoulders, that I wasn't the burden she believed me to be.

And most of all…

I’d wanted to make my mother proud. To show her that the boy she’d rescued, the one she’d welcomed into her home, wasn’t a lost cause, that he was capable of achieving greatness, of exceeding expectations.

I’d dreamt of presenting her with my report card, my top ranking in our prestigious school, a tangible symbol of my intelligence, my hard work, my potential.

I’d envisioned their reactions, their pride, their surprise, a shift in their perception, a glimmer of hope for a brighter future.

Looking back, how foolish, how naive I’d been. If I could travel back in time, I’d snatch that report card from my younger self, tear it to shreds, and tell him it was all meaningless, a futile pursuit, a path that led only to heartbreak.

And yet, here it was, the same scenario playing out before me, a cruel reflection of my own past.

The report card, a symbol of unfulfilled desires, buried, hidden from view. His acceptance of reality, a delayed but necessary realization, a bitter truth mirrored in my own experiences.

How ironic, how utterly… devastating.

But perhaps… perhaps it was this shared pain, this understanding of his vulnerability, that allowed me to detach, to view this situation with a newfound clarity. A wave of icy calm washed over me, my mind sharpening, my thoughts focused.

-Ding!

▶ Time will resume in 5 seconds! ◀

A timer appeared, counting down the seconds until this brief interlude ended, until I was thrust back into the present, the demands of the game, of this new reality, waiting.

Yes, back to the episode, back to the task at hand, back to Carsein’s world.

And I, the observer, the one who’d learned from past mistakes, agreed.

My future self, if given the opportunity, wouldn't waste time dwelling on the past. He’d urge me to focus on the present, to complete the episode, to navigate this treacherous path with caution and determination.

▶ Memorial effect has ended! ◀
▶ Complete the required choices! ◀

Movement returned, my body no longer frozen, my thoughts clear, my actions purposeful.

That report card, a symbol of Carsein's unfulfilled desires, a painful reminder of his place within the family… I’d retrieve it, carry it with me, erase it from existence. It was the least I could do.

I dusted off my hands, the crumpled report card carefully folded and tucked into my pocket, then entered the conservatory.

Isabella, just as I’d witnessed in the Memorial, was tending to her plants, a fine mist spraying from the watering can.

“You summoned me, Mother.”
“…You’ve returned.”

Her gaze, following the sound of my voice, met mine, her expression unreadable.

My own gaze, however, was drawn to her affinity box, its numerical value a beacon of hope, a potential shield against the storm I knew was brewing.

[ Isabella Bagrand ]
[ Affinity: 58% ]

Her last recorded affinity had been 50%.

A significant increase, for reasons unknown. Perhaps it was a glitch, a random fluctuation within the system’s intricate web of calculations. Or perhaps… Perhaps it was a genuine reflection of her evolving perception of Carsein. Regardless of the reason, her current affinity suggested she wouldn't be overly critical, but…

‘No, she’s definitely going to scold me.’

Her eyes, sharp, focused, held a glint of disapproval, a hint of disappointment.

She wasn’t looking at me with affection, or pride, or… anything remotely resembling warmth.

She was about to deliver a lecture, a carefully crafted reprimand, her words a weapon wielded with surgical precision.

“I understand you were… upset, Carsein. But your actions… they were unacceptable, and I must address them.”

As expected.

My instincts, honed through countless hours of gameplay, rarely failed me.

She’d likely summoned him to lecture him about his irresponsible spending habits, his disregard for the family’s resources, his… commoner tendencies.

“Go on, Mother.”

My voice, flat, devoid of emotion, offered no resistance.

I wouldn’t argue, wouldn’t offer excuses, wouldn’t attempt to justify my actions, even if I had a valid explanation, even if I hadn’t been the one responsible for those expenditures.

***

After the purge, the removal of the corrupt servants and disloyal knights, Carsein had received a lump sum payment, a reimbursement for the allowance Emma had stolen, a belated attempt to right past wrongs.

Isabella, determined to prevent a repeat of such incidents, had tightened the reins, her control over the family's finances now absolute.

She knew, with a chilling certainty, the extent of Carsein’s recent spending spree.

A significant sum, withdrawn from the family account, Carsein's name attached to the transaction, a record of his… extravagance.

She’d summoned him, intending to address the issue, to offer a gentle reprimand, to guide him towards a more… responsible… approach to money management.

“I understand you were… upset, Carsein. But your actions… they were unacceptable, and I must address them.”

She’d opened the conversation with a clear warning, a promise of discipline.

But she couldn’t simply accuse him, couldn’t repeat the mistakes of the past, couldn’t risk hurting him further.

She’d wait, allow him to explain himself, to offer his justifications, to share his perspective.

And then…

“Go on, Mother.”

His response, a simple, indifferent phrase, delivered with a blank expression, stunned her.

“…Don’t you have anything to say, Carsein?”

Her lips, parting as if to speak, then closing again, she tried once more, her voice softer, gentler.

And then…

“Yes.”

His answer, a single word, a confirmation of his guilt.

‘He’s… admitting to his… irresponsibility.’

There was no other way to interpret his words, his lack of protest, his… acceptance.

‘Then I have no choice but to… guide him.’

He needed to understand the consequences of his actions, his role as a noble, as a member of House Bagrand, his responsibility towards those who… supported their lavish lifestyle.

“Carsein, do you even know where your allowance comes from?”
“No, Mother. I don’t.”
“Then let me enlighten you. Your allowance, every single coin, is generated from the territories and vassals under House Bagrand’s control. And those villagers, those who toil tirelessly, their sweat and blood… they’re the ones who sustain our way of life, who support our… comfort.”

She set aside the watering can, her voice gaining strength with each word.

“To you, it might be just… an allowance. But to them, it represents months, even years, of their hard-earned income. To squander it, to waste it on frivolous pursuits… it’s shameful, Carsein.”
“…“
“A certain degree of… display… is necessary, to maintain our status, our image. But extravagance, Carsein, it’s the ultimate sin for a noble. Reflect upon your actions, and never repeat them. Remember your responsibility towards those who… serve you, who ensure your continued comfort.”

Surely, he understood now. The gravity of his actions, the impact of his choices, the burden of their privileged lifestyle.

The lecture, her carefully crafted words of disapproval, had served its purpose.

It was time for… kindness, for a gesture of reconciliation.

She’d summoned him not only to reprimand him but also to offer him a path towards redemption. To reinstate his participation rights, to allow him to prove himself at the Eastern Nobles’ Conference, to erase the stain of Shatrain.

She moved towards him, her hand reaching out, intending to ruffle his hair, to offer a silent apology, to ease the tension that had settled between them. She’d tell him about the funds she’d been sending to Shatrain, her attempt to alleviate his burden, to protect his reputation.

But he flinched, pulling away from her touch.

“I understand, Mother.”

His words, spoken with a chilling calmness, stunned her. Her hand, frozen mid-air, trembled slightly.