Chapter 3

Dylan’s POV

Cold; I feel cold.

Slowly, a gush of pain reaches my consciousness, making me groan. I also perceive the familiar taste of metal in my mouth while I hear continuous ringing in my ear. The familiarity of simultaneous throbbing made me open my eyes. There, I realize I’m beaten up.

“Seems like he’s awake. Let’s leave.”

A familiar voice, yet I can’t tell whose it is. Their footsteps vanish almost immediately as if they’re afraid of the rain; I scoff. I seethe in agony when I try to move.

I remember seeing a car rushing towards me, so how am I in this state? Did I survive it? If I did, are people heartless enough to leave an injured boy alone?

F*ck. This doesn’t seem right. Clearly, I was chasing Tristan while the sun was still out. There’s no possible explanation for how I’m left alone while wounded on a rainy evening. Seeing my condition, I’m reminded of when my peers discarded me— the day when I unconsciously stopped Tristan, which led to his death a few days later. Soon, heavy rain began to pour, and somehow, the rain cooled my aching head. I’m finally able to compose myself.

It’s delusional of me to assume it is so, but if this is indeed the past, a few more moments and Tristan will appear. If I act differently and don’t stop him, I’ll be able to save Tristan; Tristan won’t die.

I wait a few minutes, but Tristan has yet to pass by. Baseless assumptions ridicule my heart hammers in anticipation. What if he had already gone on his way while I was unconscious? What if I won’t see him because my return affected the newly present’s settings? What if he got caught in something I can’t control due to my ignorance and pride?

“Tristan…” I mumble. My eyelids are heavy, and they’re slowly closing with my consciousness. The pain, too, is gradually numbing me. But, Tristan, he’ll come here soon. I grasp the air with weak hands and mumble again, “Tristan… I’m sorry.”

“Ugh…” I cup my head.

Clattering echoed in the background, followed by numerous voices. As for me, I open my eyes and see a familiar ceiling— my room.

“The young sir is awake. Call the doctor.”

I roam my view and see the head maid rushing to my aid. She helps me sit and gives me water.

“Thanks.”

Her face grew shocked, but regardless, she nodded and made some distance. The doctor soon arrived.

It took the doctor a few minutes to check my condition before diagnosing me. “Aside from your beaten-up legs and facial bruises, nothing else is wrong. Although I suggest that you stay here to get sufficient rest.”

I nod quietly. Judging by the sounds outside, I’m in my father’s other house.

“Before I go, here’s a report regarding Mr. Tristan’s history that your father told us to investigate.”

My heart stings upon hearing his name. “W-When did he ask for this?”

The doctor looks at me. “Your father took an interest in him when he saw you not letting go of him. You were half-unconscious but still were able to persuade Mr. Tristan to get treatment.”

I don’t understand what’s happening. But of how the events differ from my previous life, I once more stopped Tristan that night. “Where is Tristan now?”

“He went home.”

My eyes widened. “You saw how vile Tristan’s condition is, yet you allowed him to go home?!”

He sighs and sits beside me. “Look, I’ll keep it blunt as you’re my younger brother. It was our Father’s order. Since Father already cleared up the mess you made, did you think he’s kind enough to baby someone’s b*stard of a son?”

I clench my hands.

“This is your doing, Dylan. I can help you with injuries, but the wounds you gave to that boy, you should heal them on your own.” He places the folder on my lap. “Set things right, bro. That is what Mom wants for you.”

Once he left, I looked down, and my heart began thumping loudly. On my lap is a folder containing Tristan’s history. Yet, in some way, it feels like I can breathe. Was it because I’ve already seen a more gratifying report? After a big sigh, I open the folder and read its contents.

“Young Master! You should be in bed, resting!” The head maid says as she sees me descending the stairs.

It was still early morning when I arrived at my father’s main house. And like the typical adult, he’s already awake and drinking his coffee quietly. I clench my hands, making the folder crumple slightly.

“Why did you make him go back to that house? Are you that unkind?!” I shout, tears building up in my eyes. “You said I was better off dead in a ditch somewhere. Considering my actions, yes! But not Tristan!” I vigorously slam the folder on the dining table as I await my father’s reply. But instead of saying something, he stands up and leaves.

“You’re good to go. But remember not to strain yourself, especially your legs.” The doctor, my brother, says.

“Got it.” I grab my bag and stand up. He stared at me, and I did the same. But he was staring too much— it irked me. “What?”

My brother smiles. “You’re glowing—”

I throw him a pillow. “Assh*le.” And I leave.