Chapter 57: Death of Marcellus Severan (1)

"Haa~" Maeve sighed.

She was against Marcellus’s chest again, carried the same way as before, with one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. But she had just accepted her fate in defeat.

She wore a red oversized hoodie, black high-rise shorts. Paired with high-knee black stockings, and red-and-black sneakers. Even if blind at the moment, she had put herself together. She never seemed to compromise with her fashion.

Despite the looks, cadets who passed at a distance would be more impressed by Marcellus than Maeve.

He was in all black. Trousers, shirt, a clean suit underneath a long overcoat that fell into a straight as he walked. No tie, as usual, but the overcoat was new to him.

Maeve then broke the silence.

"When can I take the bandages off?" she asked.

"A few hours," Marcellus replied.

"What about Recovering force?" She asked again.

"Same answer," he replied.

"Your vessels were just repaired; and not to mention the fragile core. Even if you’re healed, your brain needs time to adjust to sudden changes in the body. Push early, and you risk facing severe issues," Marcellus added.

.-.-.-.-.-.

The engines of the Black Severan Aircraft were already running with a steady roar. Their sound carried across the private departure lane, where the ground crew had begun clearing the final preparations.

Beyond the marked upon, the runway stretched towards the pale evening sky. The winds were strong, but refreshing.

Less than five minutes remained before the scheduled departure. Marcellus should have arrived by now.

Niccolo Barolo stood beside the boarding stairs, his black coat fluttered in the strong evening winds. He checked the golden pocket watch at his waistcoat, closed its lid, and returned it to his pocket.

A flight hostess approached him in moments. She had been checking the passenger manifest, and his presence beside the aircraft had caught her attention.

"Excuse me, sir," She had long black hair tied in a ponytail. A slight of light blue in her eyes, but Niccolo could tell her combat grade fell short to even six.

"Are you travelling with Mister Severan?" She asked.

"Not yet," Niccolo replied.

"Not yet?" She deliberately got a little close and asked again, but stayed professional.

"I’m Karl Henson," Niccolo said. "From the Union, I have some business to attend to at the Severan estate, I was hoping to travel there with Mr. Severan."

The hostess glanced towards the aircraft, then back at him.

"May I see your identification, please?" she asked.

"Of course." Niccolo took out his identification card from his inner pocket, and handed it to her.

She examined it, checked the details against the information, and returned it.

"Thank you, Mr. Henson. But I’m afraid you’re not listed among the passengers." She replied.

"I’m aware of that, I was hoping to speak with Mr. Severan when he arrives." Niccolo nodded.

"I see." She accepted that response. "May I ask what happened to your original flight?"

"An unfortunate accident during maintenance, I’ve been informed that the delay may extend for several hours, and the alternative departures aren’t particularly convenient to visit Severan estate as a representative of Union," Niccolo replied.

She glanced towards the runway, she didn’t want the conversation to end yet. She had been eyeing him for a while for it to just end like this.

"That happens rather often here, with only one major runway serving the entire island, and the only way in and out. Even a small disruption can affect several departures. Private aircrafts have their own schedules, of course, but they still have to wait for an available slot," she said.

"Which is why I find myself standing beside someone else’s aircraft and being interrogated by a beautiful woman," Niccolo replied.

"Uh, it’s not interrogation, just some normal questions...but you’re taking it rather well," The hostess smiled.

"Well, there’re not many options left for me, so I suppose I don’t mind waiting here,"

She laughed softly, and the exchange had finally begun. But she no longer seemed particularly concerned about his presence.

She remained beside him, asking about his work with the Union and whether he often visited the academy.

Niccolo answered her questions without hesitation. He was courteous, and his manner made conversation easy. His snow-white hair moved with the evening wind occasionally revealing the few black strands near the centre and back. The golden line on his tie caught the light whenever he turned his head.

The hostess found herself looking at him more often. Niccolo noticed that, but he didn’t mind.

She was a pleasant company, and there was no reason to discourage her.

Karl’s attention shifted beyond her shoulder.

A young man had emerged from the terminal and was approaching the departure area. He had dark hair, but his description did not match Marcellus.

He walked carefully, as if he was still not used to his body’s physical extent.

The hostess followed Niccolo’s gaze.

"Do you know him?" She asked him.

"No...not particularly. But he looks like the heir of Pretoria family who was on the verge of death weeks ago," he replied.

The young man stopped a short distance away, he glanced towards the aircraft, looked down briefly, and took in a deep breath, and sighed.

"He does look a little distressed," she remarked.

"Perhaps he has something important to say." Niccolo added.

"Would you like me to ask whether he needs assistance?" she asked.

"I don’t think there’s any need to bother yourself. He appears to know where he’s going," he replied.

"So what about you?" Niccolo then shifted his attention back to her. "How long have you been working for the Severans?"

"For five years, but oh they’re usually so strict about timings. But I’ve never been assigned to Mr. Severan," she replied.

The conversation continued for another minute, with the engines running steadily behind them and the ground crew preparing to close the boarding area.

"Ah, there he is," finally, the hostess looked past Niccolo.

Niccolo turned once again, and this time, he got the first look at Marcellus Severan in real life.

All he had were his recordings and profile, but he has experienced enough to not completely believe the profiles. Especially those of the heirs.

"Oh my," His golden eyes moved noticing the anomaly.

Marcellus was carrying a girl in his arms, dressed in a red hoodie, black shorts, high-knee stockings, and red and black sneakers. Those were definitely not the clothes any assistant chooses to wear.

White bandages covered her eyes, one arm rested against Marcellus’s chest while he carried her without any apparent concern.

"Girlfriend?" Niccolo leaned in to the hostess and asked in a whisper.

"That is Maeve Eira. She’s his assistant..." the hostess replied. "But she sure doesn’t look like one," and whispered.

Niccolo’s expression remained pleasant, but his interest had sharpened. He had expected the Severan heir to arrive alone, or perhaps be accompanied by someone responsible for his arrangements.

There were several possible explanations for the situation. Perhaps he was simply comfortable with people and did not mind the hierarchies. Perhaps the girl was an exception.

It was hard to determined from a single glance, and he had no intention of arriving at a conclusion without further information.

Just when the hostess was about to move towards Marcellus, Niccolo placed his hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

His gaze remained on Rafe as he was already moving. The intention was clear, Niccolo wanted to observe as much as he could about Marcellus.

The lady thought Niccolo had stopped him so that she wouldn’t disrupt Marcellus’s conversation, which was partly true.

"Marcellus," Rafe reached him. He had been waiting near the runway for a while now. Which was out of his character.

"You are..." Marcellus was about remember the exact word.

"Rafe Pretoria," Rafe continued for him. He looked somewhat uncomfortable. He glanced at Maeve, then back at Marcellus.

"I wanted to speak with you before you left," he said.

"Then speak," Marcellus said.

Rafe took a breath.

"I wanted to thank you for what you did. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t repaired my core."

Marcellus watched him.

Rafe continued, apparently determined to finish what he had come to say.

"My family had already considered me beyond repair. There was no reason for them to keep investing in me. I knew what that meant, and I had accepted that. If you hadn’t intervened, I would have been discarded."

He then paused.

"You gave me the chance to recover, and I don’t intend to forget that."

"..." Marcellus didn’t like this.

It just irked him. He didn’t know why, it just made him angry.

"Wait..." even though Maeve was blind at the moment. She could feel the sudden change in his stillness.

’He just simply thanked him...now even that is a problem?’ she was confused.

"I didn’t repair your core because you were miserable, Pretoria," Marcellus said, and stepped forward. His hold around Maeve had tightened slightly.

Rafe blinked.

"I just wanted to know whether I could repair it or not. Your condition presented an opportunity to test my ability on something conventional healing couldn’t fix."

"You...were just a test subject. An interesting one, that I have to admit, but a test subject nonetheless."

"For me, you are as useless as you are to your family,"

"It doesn’t matter if you owe me or not. Your debt is not worth paying. Besides that very moment, you present me no value, and honestly I don’t need you to."

"..." Rafe didn’t know how to reply to that.

He lowered his eyes briefly.

"I underst-"

"No you don’t," Marcellus cut him off.

"People have a habit of turning an outcome into a story about the person responsible. I have no particular interest in being thanked for something I did for my own reasons."

"But then again, what can I even expect from someone whose life is established around other people’s control over them rather than them themselves."

"You might be a heir but your actions are of a lowlife--"

"Marcellus," Maeve finally whispered, indicating him to stop.

And he did. He sighed once, breathed for a moment in silence.

He looked down at her bandaged face and walked past Rafe.

"You could’ve sent a letter of gratitude which I could just ignore instead of coming and interrupting me," he said one last time while leaving.

"..." Now Rafe felt even worse.

’...What the fuck was that?’ Even Maeve was unsure of what she had heard.