Chapter 6 Bruise and bandage

The Kyros estate lay still under the night sky. Moonlight streamed through the tall hallway windows, spreading a soft silver glow over the polished floors. The servants had long since retired to their quarters, leaving only the rare guard making slow rounds through the far-off corridors.

Amos E. Kyros strolled through the quiet, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other balancing a small plate of snacks, it was almost a routine now.

Because apparently, according to Amos himself, “visiting someone’s room empty-handed lowers your reliability as an older brother.”

“I am such a good older brother.” Amos muttered under his breath.

“Lame.”

Amos nearly jumped.

“Elena?!”

The black-haired maid stood behind him soundlessly.

As always.

“You need to start walking louder.”

“No.”

“And why are you here?”

“You are currently approaching a young lady’s room at night.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds suspicious.”

“It is suspicious.”

“It’s not suspicious! I am just visiting my sister.”

“Yes.”

Amos narrowed his eyes.

“I came here because Ambrosia might be feeling lonely.”

“You are using that as justification.”

“You truly have no faith in me.”

“Correct.”

Amos clicked his tongue quietly.

“Go away already.”

“Elena.”

A second voice interrupted them.

Ambrosia stood a short distance away, near the partially opened door to her room. Her pale blonde hair framed a pair of eyes that watched them quietly. A light night robe, bought in the capital, draped over her smaller frame as she blinked sleepily at the two of them.

“And Brother Amos?”

For a brief moment, Amos forgot what he was going to say.

Because Ambrosia looked oddly soft compared to her usual composed behavior.

“Why are you awake?” he asked.

“I was reading.”

She lifted the book slightly.

One of the books they have bought.

Amos immediately straightened a little.

“Good choice.”

“Yes.”

A pause.

Then her gaze shifted downward.

She moved toward him—more precisely, toward the space beneath his loose shirt. Her brows knit slightly.

“Brother Amos.”

“Yes?”

“Did something happen to you?”

Amos blinked once.

“What?”

“You are injured.”

Silence.

Elena slowly looked toward him.

Amos immediately realized the problem.

Ah.

Right.

The bruises.

The goblin champion from a few days ago had left a dark mark along his side and ribs, usually hidden.

Unfortunately, He’d shown up dressed casually and the loose collar of his shirt must have shifted just enough to reveal the bandages beneath.

“This?” Amos replied calmly.

Ambrosia stared.

“Why are there bandages?”

“New Fashion Trend?”

Silence.

Elena looked disappointed.

“That was pretty bad, even for you, young master.”

“I panicked.”

Ambrosia stepped closer.

Her expression had change to concerned.

“You are hurt,” she said quietly.

“It is nothing.”

“Then why are there so many bandages?”

“It has personality?”

Elena closed her eyes.

“Young Master.”

“Yes?”

“You are losing trust.”

“I noticed.”

Ambrosia kept staring at him.

Her crimson eyes narrowed slightly.

“Did someone attack you?”

“No.”

“Did you fall?”

“Yes, that’s the one. I fell down a flight of stairs.”

Ambrosia’s gaze lowered again toward the visible wrapping beneath his clothes.

“Does it hurt?”

The question was asked softly. Amos met her gaze for a moment, then gave a shrug.

“Not really.”

That was a lie.

It absolutely hurt.

The goblin champion had knocked him clear into a tree but mentioning it aloud would only stir up trouble.

Ambrosia stepped even closer before he realized it.

“…Can I see it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoy my own privacy.”

Ambrosia hesitated briefly before reaching toward his sleeve carefully.

“Wait—”

Too late.

The loose fabric shifted just enough to reveal the edge of the bandages wrapping his ribs, with faint purple bruises blooming beneath. Ambrosia stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening.

“…Brother Amos…”

Ah, that reaction definitely bad.

“It looks worse than it actually is,” Amos immediately said.

“You are covered in bruises.”

“Covered is a strong word.”

“There are many.”

“Just a few.”

“Many to be correct.”

“Et tu, Elena?”

“I do not know what that means.”

“I think you absolutely do know it.”

Ambrosia seemed unusually quiet now, clearly upset.

“Who did this to you?” she asked softly.

Amos rubbed the back of his neck.

“Flight of stairs is rough.”

“Did Father know?”

“No.”

Ambrosia glanced at the bruises once more, her fingers tightening slightly around the book in her hands.

“Brother Amos.”

“Yes?”

“Please stop getting hurt.”

The hallway fell silent. Amos blinked. That tone totally wasn’t fair to his heart. He had no defense against such genuine request. None at all.

“I’ll try,” he answered.

Ambrosia lowered her gaze slightly.

“Please.”

A brief silence followed.

“Anyway,” Amos coughed lightly. “I brought snacks.”

He lifted the plate awkwardly.

Ambrosia blinked once.

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Yes,” Elena answered.

He maintained a calm expression with immense effort.

“Naturally,” he said with fake composure. “My kindness is overwhelming.”

Amos held his dignified stance for all of three seconds before strolling past Ambrosia and stepping into her room like he owned it. Which, for the record, he absolutely did not.

“This room still feels nice.”

“You chose it.”

Ambrosia followed him inside; book tucked against her chest.

“You insisted that I change my room to here.”

“And I was right to do so.”

Elena quietly entered last and closed the door behind them.

The room was a far cry from the small guest space Ambrosia had first been given upon her arrival. It was larger, brighter, and filled with character—bookshelves lined the walls, a cozy reading nook sat by the window, a soft carpet from the capital lay underfoot, and a small tea table stood beside several charming decorative pieces.

Most importantly—books. Lots of books. So many, in fact, they could make a small library envious.

Ambrosia's gaze drifted across them.

"..."

Amos noticed.

His chest puffed slightly.

“Naturally, all according to my flawless wonderful planning.”

“You bought most of those because you thought I might like them.”

“Details.”

“Most of them are children books.”

“Unnessacary details.”

Ambrosia quietly moved toward one of the shelves.

Her fingers brushed across the spine of a familiar book.

A memory surfaced.

...

A few weeks ago, after returning from the capital, a carriage loaded with purchases arrived at the Kyros Estate. The servants spent nearly half a day unloading everything—books, furniture, clothing, tea sets, decorations, more books, even more books, and somehow, unbelievably, even more books.

Lord Aros had stared at the mountain of luggage in silence.

Then looked toward his son.

Then back toward the luggage.

Then toward his son again.

Lord Aros then just leave him be, as long as it made his children happy.

...

At the time, Ambrosia had merely watched from afar, assuming most of those purchases were Amos’s. Or so she believed—until later that afternoon, when Amos showed up outside her assigned room, stared at it for a moment, and frowned.

“This room does look terrible even after coming back.”

Ambrosia blinked.

"It is?"

“Yes.”

“It looks normal.”

“It is too normal.”

Silence.

Amos crossed his arms.

“Utterly unacceptable.”

Ambrosia had no idea what he was talking about.

Elena looked equally unsurprised.

Which somehow made it worse.

“Come with me.”

"Where?"

“Your new room.”

...

Ten minutes later.

They stood before a different room, a large one, right next to Amos’s.  

Ambrosia stared, then stared again,  before finally glancing at him.  

"Brother Amos."

“Yes?”

“This is next to your room.”

“Yes. I know.”

"..."

"..."

“Your point?”

Amos pointed at the door.

“This is now your room.”

Ambrosia froze.

“What?”

“It is closer.”

“Closer to what?”

“To me, of course.”

Silence.

Elena looked disappointed.

Ambrosia looked between them.

Then back at the room.

“Why?”

Amos blinked.

“As your older brother, I need be able to reach you faster.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don't know.”

“You just said it.”

“It’s what came to me.”

Elena sighed.

“Young Master means that if something happens, he can reach your room quickly.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

Amos pointed at Elena.

“See? She sees my genius.”

“That is not what happened.”

Amos ignored her and pushed the door open. The room was empty—quiet and spacious. A large window offered a view of the estate gardens, with sunlight streaming in.

Amos nodded approvingly.

“Yes.”

“Now this is a room suited for you.”

“...”

“Yes.”

...

Then the real trouble started. Amos had clearly already made up his mind, without asking anyone. Servants came in carrying furniture, then more furniture, followed by bookshelves, rugs, and lamps. And finally, enough books to last for years.

Ambrosia could only watch.

"Brother Amos."

"Yes?"

"Why are there so many books?"

"You like reading as much as I do, don't you?"

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It answers it perfectly."

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The worst part was the books.

Because every time Ambrosia picked one up—

“I bought that.”

Then another.

“That one’s mine too.”

And another.

“Also mine.”

And yet another.

“Wow, I really do have great taste.”

By the twentieth book, Ambrosia had stopped asking.

First came the reading corner, then the tea table, followed by the blankets and cushions. Finally, there was a small cabinet full of sweets. Ambrosia opened it—and froze.

"..."

"..."

"Brother Amos."

"Yes?"

"Why is this filled with sweets?"

"You said you liked sweets, didn't you?"

...

Back in the present, Ambrosia’s fingers rested lightly on one of those same books. The room around her felt warm, lived-in, and comfortable, every corner holding traces of that ridiculous day—the books, the reading chair, the tea table, the sweets, even the room itself—all because Amos had stubbornly insisted.

“See?”

Amos spread his arms proudly.

“Excellent room.”

“You forced me to move here.”

“You're welcome.”

“You kept asking.”

“Persuasion.”

“Bullying.”

“That's a strong accusation.”

Ambrosia looked around her room once more.

Then lowered her gaze slightly.

"Thank you."

Amos blinked.

“Hm?”

“For the room.”

A brief silence settled.

Amos immediately looked away.

“Obviously.”

His ears turned slightly red.

“As the reliable older brother, this is merely to be expected.”

“Your ears are red.”

“It is not.”

“It is.”

“It is not.”

And for a brief moment, the room felt very peaceful.

Until Elena spoke.

“Young Master should return to his room now.”

“Why?”

“It is late.”

“I was having a sibling moment.”

“You can have another tomorrow.”

Amos looked deeply offended.

“Ambrosia, save me.”

Ambrosia quietly hugged the book against her chest.

“No.”

“Traitor all of you.”

“Good night, Brother Amos.”

“Fine.”

He pointed at the cabinet.

“Remember to eat them.”

“There is enough sugar in there to supply a small village.”

“Exactly.”

Then he left.

Still muttering about ungrateful younger sisters.

Leaving behind a room that no longer felt lonely at all.