"Great..." I muttered under my breath, rubbing the back of my neck. "Just great."
Not only had I inherited Rin's life, but apparently, I had also inherited his tangled mess of unresolved family drama.
And, by the looks of it, I had already made things worse without even realizing it.
A cold pit had settled in my stomach ever since Lena brought it up—Rin's parents, their attempts to reach out, and my silence in return. All of it painted a pretty depressing picture. To them, I probably looked like a wounded, angry kid who was lashing out by ignoring the people who cared about him.
Which, ironically, wasn't too far from the truth.
Things were still manageable.
After all, all I had to do was apologize, right?
Just show up, mumble something half-decent, pretend I meant it, and move on.
Would that be enough, though?
But that was a problem for future me to deal with. Future-me could handle awkward family reunions and emotional baggage. Present-me had bigger things to worry about—like not dying.
So for now, I'd just put off saying sorry to Rin's—now my—family.
It wasn't like I was planning to go to their house anytime soon anyway.
And it wasn't as if skipping out on the family visit would leave me homeless. The dorms at the academy were already prepped and waiting. No tearful reunions, no guilt-tripping parents, no awkward dinners.
Just me, a bed, and access to one of the best training facilities in the continent.
I forced out a casual shrug, feigning confidence like a mask I'd grown all too used to wearing.
Because I was heading straight to the academy dormitory after being discharged today. That was always the plan—early admission. Get ahead. Train harder. Grow stronger.
This flimsy, underdeveloped thing Rin left behind?
It wouldn't survive the things I knew were coming.
Not unless I fixed it.
To be honest, I hadn't even considered visiting my family in the first place.
Lena's voice was soft, but it carried that familiar firmness beneath it—a professor's tone. The kind that said, I know you're pretending, but I'm going to let you get away with it… for now.
"You should talk to them eventually, Rin."
I flinched—just slightly—at the name.
Not the one I grew up with, anyway.
But it was the one etched onto the hospital forms, the one Lena knew, the one everyone else recognized.
So I forced myself to nod.
"I'll think about it," I said, making an effort to sound sincere. The words felt like hollow wood in my mouth, but Lena didn't comment on it.
She just gave me a long, searching look—clear concern in her eyes. She was reading between the lines, trying to gauge how much of the boy she knew still remained.
The person sitting in this bed wasn't Rin.
"Fair enough," she finally said. "But don't let it sit too long, alright? Bottling things up never ends well."
I hummed—a noncommittal sound that could mean anything.
Let her interpret it however she liked.
But I caught the shift in her eyes.
That faint glimmer of pity.
It twisted in my gut like a dull knife. I'd seen that look a hundred times—back in my old life, in the eyes of strangers, mentors, even enemies.
It was a weakness I couldn't afford to accept.
"Professor. I'll be fine on my own."
I kept my voice calm, but let the firmness bleed into my tone. I didn't need comfort. I didn't need concern.
What I needed was strength.
And to get that, I needed her to treat me like a real cadet.
Not some tragic kid she had to protect.
"So, Professor... please treat me like any other student at the academy."
Her eyes narrowed slightly at that.
For a moment, I thought she might argue.
Might try to tell me I needed time, or healing, or some other useless crap people say when they think you're too broken to know what you want.
But instead, she paused.
Her arms crossed over her chest, and she leaned back slightly, gaze sharp.
Her fingers tapped against her elbow—a steady, rhythmic motion I'd already come to associate with her when she was thinking seriously.
"I can't promise I won't go easy on you," she said at last, her voice quiet. "But I can promise to treat you fairly."
But the look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. That doubt was still there. She still saw me as fragile.
'Yeah... you're not fooling anyone, Professor.'
I forced a smile, more for myself than for her. Polite, steady, practiced.
She wouldn't believe it. That didn't matter.
What mattered was that she thought she was helping.
And for now, I could live with that.
She took a step back, her expression softening, and offered me a faint smile.
"I have something to do today, so I'll be going now. Let's meet again at the academy, prospective cadet Rin Evans."
There was a warmth in her voice, but also a clear line drawn between us now—professional and student. Mentor and trainee.
I gave her a small nod.
"Of course, Professor."
She turned and walked away, each step carrying her further from the quiet hospital room. She didn't look back.
I waited until the door clicked shut behind her before exhaling softly, the tension in my shoulders easing.
My smile shifted—faintly mischievous now.
'Please do take care of me, Professor. We promised to be secret allies, right?'
The thought floated through my mind like smoke.
She might have tried to draw a line, but it was already too late.
Whether she knew it or not, she was already on my side.
And I planned to use that.
Because if I was going to survive in this world, I'd need allies.
The kind that trusted me.
The kind that underestimated me.