Side Story. Lennox side
* * *
Astofor Iberich.
That was the name of Lennox’s father.
When he was young, his father, who always paraded around the mansion with women clinging to his side, would not hesitate to kick his little son whenever he found him.
“Son of a bitch.”
To Astofor Iberich, he had been a thorn in the eye from the moment he was born.
Thwack! Thud.
The violence began as soon as he could distinguish objects. He learned fists before he learned letters. Every day was filled with kicks and punches, but at some point, the pain stopped registering.
When he was hungry, he was given scraps barely fit to be called food, and his clothes were rags worse than those of the servants. His hair, never properly managed, was tangled and messy, but his father wouldn’t let anyone care for him.
“Your Grace, shouldn’t you at least give the young master a name…?”
At ten years old, the boy learned for the first time that he didn’t even have a name. But the old butler who dared suggest to the Grand Duke that he name his son was beaten so brutally he didn’t survive.
The boy stared at the pitiful corpse of the old man, then ran to his father’s study and opened a book.
‘Name.’
Flowers, trees, servants, maids—all had names. Why was he the only one without one?
It felt strange to be the only one without it.
“There’s no need to give a name to a son of a bitch.”
His chest tightened. He didn’t know the name of the liquid that welled up in his eyes, nor why his heart felt pricked as if stabbed by a needle. It was a pain that would fade if he waited. He grew numb to it.
Fine, a name. People said fathers were the ones who gave names, but his father had given him nothing and certainly wouldn’t give him one now. So he named himself.
Lennox.
Lennox. Lennox. Lennox.
The child repeated the name excitedly, but toward the end, his face twisted. The name he gave himself tasted bitter.
It felt like someone should be standing in front of him when he said it. His chest felt empty.
He didn’t know why. He didn’t understand sorrow, sadness, or pain. He didn’t understand why the servants who were beaten by his father cried. Even when blood dripped from his own wounds, he didn’t feel pain.
So when his longed-for name finally belonged to him, he didn’t understand why his chest ached with a dull, stabbing pain.
He didn’t know it, but this was emptiness.
The boy grew into a young man. Eventually, people began calling him a madman—emotionless, cold, willing to trample over anything for his own success.
Astofor Iberich, the Grand Duke who had shaped him that way, never once called him by his name, not even when his life ended at Lennox’s hands.
“You are not my child.”
Astofor called him the seed of a demon.
“You’ll destroy the Iberich family, you son of a bitch.”
He cursed him, saying that one day he would wipe out the Iberich line entirely… even though the color of his son’s eyes mirrored his own.
“Like a beast… In the end, you really sink your teeth into my throat, huh?”
Even in the final moment, as he drove his sword into his father’s stomach, Lennox felt no regret. He only thought it tedious that he had taken over the ducal house more easily than expected.
But years later, after being ambushed by the Crown Prince and struck in the head by an assassin’s blade, Lennox lost all memory of it.
When he opened his eyes, there was a strange girl before him.
Where am I? Why am I here?
Even in darkness, his vision was as clear as in broad daylight. That’s how he could tell the girl subdued before him had hair the bright orange of sunlight and wide, round eyes.
“Um, I… I’m the homeowner here…”
Her pale pink lips trembled as she spoke softly.
“Could you… at least let go first? Nox, my arm hurts.”
“…Nox?”
Again, Lennox remembered nothing.
“Your name.”
But the moment the girl mumbled those words, a scene seized his mind.
“A son of a bitch doesn’t need a name.”
The man who kicked him. That man’s voice echoed clearly in his head.
Ah. Had I lived a life where I didn’t need a name?
Though he remembered nothing, the emptiness was vivid even in his subconscious.
“I named you.”
“…You named me?”
He soon acknowledged it. He realized he was happy over a name someone had arbitrarily given him.
Light streamed like a Milky Way. The light flowed—to the girl.
“…Um, Nox. Could you please move away just a little?”
“…Nox.”
He had lived a life desperately craving a name. Yes. That much was certain. He had needed a name.
Lennox stared blankly ahead, his mind empty.
“I asked you if I’m special to you.”
His subconscious stirred him. Before him was someone who had given him what he had needed his entire life of solitude.
He didn’t know why, but if she had given him something he had always needed, then—don’t let go. Take it. The impulse urged him. Though he didn’t remember his old self, he was sure that version of him would have taken anything he wanted.
Lennox closed his eyes tightly.
I want her.
He didn’t know what to call this, but it was selfish and abnormal.
But so what? Another part of him whispered. He thought it was abnormal, but he had no intention of correcting it.
The fact that he could only see her at night made him even thirstier. His world was halved, and that half-glimpse only made her shine brighter.
To him, Amy was special because she was a girl picked up from the forest—that was what he told himself. But that wasn’t enough. That’s why, after shaking off the pursuit of the Gllylus, he finally said it aloud:
“I’m not a child.”
They were so close their noses might bump if either of them moved. His vision blurred, but other senses sharpened. From the hand holding the girl, he could feel the pounding rhythm of his heartbeat. He could hear her shaky breaths.
He longed for it. Even without his memories, he knew his past self had longed for something. He wanted complete emotions. Not keeping a distance, not hesitating—he wanted to look, listen, and speak. A compulsion he couldn’t explain followed.
Because he had no memories, he clung blindly to this warmth.
“Y-you’re… not a child. I-I know that.”
“You picked up an adult man, didn’t you?”
“Uh, y-yes… That’s true. He’s an adult. An adult, but…”
“Right. I’m not a child like during the day. I don’t even remember the way I am during the day that you talk about.”
He could feel how familiar he was becoming with the name Nox. Just last night, only one night, yet he had felt her absence in the bed she had left.
He smiled faintly.
I want her to hold my hand more. I want her to be there when I open my eyes.
Just for naming him, he realized he was beginning to follow someone he could only see at night blindly. He devoured the affection she gave like a starving beast.
“The only person I know, with my memories gone, is you. Did you not know? Or are you going to pretend you didn’t?”
He thought his past self must have lived taking anything he wanted.
“I won’t do anything… Just sleep beside me.”
Maybe he could fill what his former self had longed for.
He was clever. Cold and clever. Even without memories, his nature as a wolf that never let go of what it bit remained unchanged.
Why am I drawn to you?
Yes. He didn’t know why. But the desire to see the girl he could only see at night was real.
“A son of a bitch doesn’t need a name.”
Though he had lost his memories, sometimes he still heard that voice. Sticky, swamp-deep, thick like mud. So vivid it made his head pound.
The only thing that made him forget it was the name she called him by.
Like a wolf stretching and staring at its prey, Lennox looked at the girl and slowly repeated to himself:
I won’t let go.
In place of his lost memories, his instincts awoke first. Bit by bit, he stepped closer toward what he wanted.
He didn’t know why he was drawn.
But the pull was real.
2. Between a Dog and a Wolf
What is this?
What is this really? I held my cheek in one hand, deeply troubled. Before me, the book I had brought back from the secluded house lay open haphazardly.
“What the hell is this… seriously.”
I fiddled with the necklace. If my eyes hadn’t deceived me, then this morning, Nox had turned into a child long after sunrise.
“That’s impossible.”
This much I was certain about. Magic transformed him exactly at sunrise and sunset. That was why, during the time he was flirting with the heroine, he would suddenly transform, and right before his critical duel with the Crown Prince, too. It had almost felt like Serenada had purposely let the curse drag on to trouble him.
So Nox being an adult by morning? Absolutely impossible. Then why?
Why did the last moment when I held his hand feel so unsettling?
No way… could it be because I held his hand? That’s ridiculous. That white light I saw in the secluded house? No. It can’t be. But for some reason, I felt as anxious as a protagonist who had chosen the wrong branching route in a book.
The suspicious thing was this necklace. I couldn’t ignore that sudden white light. But why had it appeared? My head felt like it would burst from thinking.
“…Amy?”
Just then, a small hand tugged at me. Startled, I looked at the little fingers at the edge of my vision.
“Nox! You’re awake?”
Nox didn’t answer, only nodded. Huff, huff. His breathing was obviously rough. I quickly soaked the towel on his forehead again, wrung it tightly, and placed it back.
“Nox, you’re very sick today.”
“…Sick?”
Nox, who hadn’t even noticed when he got cut by glass, repeated the word. I explained his condition to him slowly, step by step. He didn’t seem to fully understand, but he kept looking into my eyes and nodded slowly.
“Sick…”
“Yeah, you’re sick. So let’s lie down and sleep for a while, okay?”
As expected, Nox lay back down obediently. His wounds had been bad enough to make him faint when he was in his Grand Duke form; now, in a child’s body, it was naturally harder for him.
This morning, I had nearly had a heart attack cleaning the blood pouring from his wounds. If I hadn’t had the experience of treating my sister before, I would have panicked.
“Nox, is there anywhere that hurts? Your back, your hands… hmm?”
“…”
He shook his head.
I couldn’t tell if that meant “I don’t know” or “no.” Honestly, at times like this, the Nox in his Grand Duke form—at least the one who threw out blunt remarks—might have been better. Seeing him blink those clear eyes, not even understanding why he was hurt or that he was in pain, made my chest ache.
Tap.
“…Where are you going?”
“Hmm? Ah… I’m just changing your towel and bringing some porridge. Wait a bit, okay?”
“…”
“Nox? You have to let go, or I can’t go.”
He shook his head.
Huff, huff. Even struggling to breathe, Nox clung to my sleeve.
“Don’t go.”
…Why does he look at me like that, making me feel soft? It’s not like I’m running away; I’m just going to the kitchen. But he looked at me like an abandoned dog staring at its owner, and I couldn’t tell him that my heart hurt a little because of it.
Scratching my cheek, I straightened the sheets. Then I lifted Nox, sheets and all.
“Ugh. Is this heavy or light? I’ve never carried a child before, so I don’t know.”
“Amy?”
“Yeah. Don’t move. Your wounds might reopen. Honestly, even moving like this isn’t good.”
Huff. I let out a breath and headed to the kitchen.
A friend once told me her dog would whimper whenever left alone in a room, so she couldn’t even close the bathroom door when she went in. Why was I remembering that now?
“Am I raising a kid, or am I raising a dog…”
…But hmm.
No, the way he bristled at my sister before reminded me more of a cat raising its fur.
So which was he, canine or feline? Thinking about it, I suddenly pictured Nox in his Grand Duke form and came to a conclusion. Right. …Let’s just call him a beast.
“This morning’s meal is porridge. Boiling porridge with herbs. Have you ever eaten porridge?”
He shook his head.
Apparently, he still remembered nothing. At this age, he probably ate something closer to leftover scraps rather than proper porridge.
I felt a pang of guilt as I prepared to feed him. Once he got better, I’d have to cook him something really good.
His injured back made it hard for him to move his arms, so I fed him spoon by spoon.
“Does it taste good?”
“…Yeah.”
Still wrapped up in sheets, Nox met my eyes, then quickly lowered his head shyly. His ears flushed pink.
“Amy.”
“Yeah?”
“…I wish I could stay sick.”
“Huh? Why?”
What’s good about being sick? Tilting my head in confusion, I watched as Nox grabbed my pinky finger and whispered softly.
“Because… because you stay by my side.”
“…”
“Amy.”
His eyes sparkled in the light, holding only me in their reflection.
“…Can’t you stay by my side always?”
…Is it just me, or does Nox seem to be throwing fastballs—whether day or night—more and more often?
I looked at the boy, his cheeks red, and awkwardly shifted my gaze, finally opening my mouth while looking at the steaming pot.
“…Want some more?”
Relieved that he seemed to be eating well, I reached for the ladle—when Nox grabbed my hand.
“…Amy, are you hurt?”
Nox looked down at my palm.
“Huh? Oh… yeah, a little? I went out somewhere last night.”
“…Where?”
“Hmm. Nowhere special. Just a night walk.”
I pulled my hand gently out of his small grip, stood up quickly, and scooped another bowl from the pot.
But Nox didn’t glance at the steaming bowl. His bright amethyst eyes stayed locked on me.
Clink. Nox touched the spoon and opened his mouth slowly.
“If you’re sick at night, every night…”
“Hmm?”
“…then Amy won’t get hurt, right?”
He whispered tensely, letting out a small breath, his gaze flicking between me and my hand.
“So… you mean I shouldn’t go anywhere or get hurt because I’m taking care of you, right?”
He nodded.
I rolled my eyes, then looked at the slightly damp hair on his forehead.
“If that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be. Nothing like that will happen again.”
I had gone to that secluded house only once, and among the two books left there, only one had been useful; the other was basically a history book. There was no reason to go back there again.
Thinking that, I spoke lightly.
“This time, I only went out specially to help you.”
“Specially?”
For a brief moment, Nox’s face scrunched up. He looked sulkier than before for some reason, but I didn’t know why, so I tilted my head.
Thankfully, after that, Nox finished the rest of the porridge without leaving a single drop. He even swallowed the bitter medicine I handed him without complaint.
“This stuff is really bitter; my sister cried a lot taking it. You’re amazing, Nox.”
“…I did well?”
“Yeah. You did well. Get better soon.”
I crouched down, buttoning his new shirt, and smiled faintly. Looking at his face, flushed with fever, I accidentally let my true feelings slip out.
“Honestly, it bothers me when you’re hurt.”
If Nox had been running alone, if his hands and feet had been free, he might not have gotten injured like this. I had never blamed myself for not having combat skills before, but seeing someone pale and injured always made me feel gloomy—just like when I saw my sister hurt herself hunting and gathering for me.
“So don’t get hurt.”
The boy hesitated, then timidly reached out a hand.
“Amy too.”
Clutching my sleeve tightly, Nox carefully lifted his head.
“Don’t get hurt.”
Then his cheeks flushed lightly.
“…I’ll get hurt instead.”