Dad is Back From a Deserted Island - Chapter 5

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Father has returned from the Deserted Island
Chapter 5

Morning had arrived.
But Vivian had no desire to open her eyes.
‘I was having such a wonderful dream….’
A dream where Father had returned and scolded Ron, Mary, and Peter, then held me close.
The moment I opened my eyes, that beautiful scene would vanish, replaced by the cold, barren room that awaited me.
Then I would have to drag myself out to do more grueling housework.
“Siiigh—”
Soft.
As Vivian rolled onto her side, she felt something amiss.
‘Why is the pillow so soft?’
Warm—
‘Gasp. Why is the blanket so warm?’
The pillow Vivian usually slept on was rough and lumpy rather than soft, and the thin cloth she called a blanket was woefully inadequate against the cold.
But now everything was soft and warm, so Vivian was certain she had not yet awakened from her dream.
“Our little princess! It’s time for breakfast.”
If only it weren’t for that familiar voice and the arms embracing me.
“Hmm?”
At the warmth pressing against my cheek, I finally cracked open one eye.
My vision filled with Father’s face—utterly devoid of dignity, melting into a foolish grin.
“Did you sleep well?”
For the record, Jean de Lamber had been shocked by his daughter’s “Who are you?” the day before and had shaved cleanly.
His skin was darker and rougher than I remembered, but that only convinced me this was no dream. I had never imagined Father looking like this.
“Father…?”
“Yes, it’s me. Father made breakfast, so let’s eat.”
Still half-asleep, Vivian nestled into Jean de Lamber’s embrace as he carried her to the Dining Room. The delicious aroma of food made her mouth water.
“Are you really Father?”
“Of course! Is there a fake father somewhere?”
“No….”
Small hands ceaselessly touched his face—stroking it, pinching it.
Jean de Lamber did not stop her even as the food grew cold, waiting until his daughter was fully satisfied.
Even I feel like I’m dreaming, so how must Vivian feel?
Heh.
At last, as Vivian truly grasped that Jean de Lamber had returned, she broke into a delighted smile.
Jean de Lamber laughed foolishly along with her.
“Shall we have dinner now, my dear?”
“Yes. But… did Mary come back again?”
Vivian clung to Jean de Lamber as she gazed at the spread laid across the table, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
“…No. Mary won’t be coming back anymore. Your father made all of this, you see?”
“Father did?”
Vivian’s eyes widened in astonishment.
Even a nobleman with nothing but a title to his name was still nobility. Jean de Lamber had never needed to cook in the kitchen himself.
‘Father made something that looks this delicious?’
Jean de Lamber beamed with pride at the light in his daughter’s eyes and settled her into a chair.
“That’s right! Your father learned to cook so he could make delicious food for our Vivian.”
In truth, the spread was rather modest for boasting.
Only the freshly baked bread and soup could truly be called cooking; the scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and fruit were more preparation than culinary creation.
Yet for Vivian, who had subsisted on a single slice of black bread for an entire day’s meals, it was a feast fit for royalty.
The aroma stirred her empty stomach to protest its hunger. Like a predator eyeing its prey, Vivian wielded her fork with predatory intent toward the food.
“Oh my, princess. You’re drooling everywhere. Slowly now, slowly.”
“Thank you—”
Jean de Lamber didn’t touch his own fork, content to serve his daughter. Merely hearing her praise the food with her cheeks puffed full seemed to satisfy his own hunger.
“Huff, huff, huff.”
Only when Vivian had eaten until her belly protruded and she reclined in her chair, breathing heavily, did Jean de Lamber finally begin his own meal.
“Thank you for the meal.”
Jean de Lamber consumed every last morsel that Vivian had left behind, and as he rose to clear the table, something happened.
“Thank you for the meal!”
Vivian, who had been sprawled across her chair, suddenly sprang up and rushed toward the kitchen with her plate in hand.
“Vivian?”
“Just bring your plate, Father! I’ll do the dishes!”
Jean de Lamber’s hands froze as he gathered the dishes.
The dishes?
Vivian was only seven years old. And with a frame far smaller than her age suggested.
He had heard accounts of how she survived during his absence, but witnessing it with his own eyes was something else entirely.
No words could adequately express the anguish that seized him.
He wanted to storm into the prison that very instant and tear Ron to shreds.
Jean de Lamber bit his lip, suppressing the urge. He stopped just before the thin skin split and blood seeped through, managing only a strained smile.
“What’s this? My princess has other duties, doesn’t she?”
“Huh? Like what?”
“Eating snacks, of course! Go sit in the Living Room, and Father will bring them right away.”
“But—”
“The most delicious chocolate you can imagine! Vivian, remember what you had before? That soft, sweet brown treat?”
“Really?”
Indeed, Vivian hesitated, plate still in hand. Jean de Lamber swallowed the hot surge of anguish rising in his throat and playfully ushered his daughter out of the kitchen.
“….”
Clink, clink.
As Jean cleared the dishes, he made a vow.
Never again would he allow Vivian to speak such words.
Because of his own foolishness, the child had suffered far more than necessary—and for the remaining days of his life, he would ensure she walked only upon silk.
Chocolates, too expensive to purchase often, he would make her so satiated she’d refuse them.
Jean possessed the confidence to achieve this.
He had to.
He was no longer an ignorant country bumpkin who knew nothing.
“That’s right, I have—”
Memories brought back from the future.

* * *

Two years ago in the present, or rather, more than a decade ago by Jean’s reckoning.
Jean de Lamber set sail with ambitious dreams.
His aspiration was to import luxury goods from the New Continent and reap great profits.
There was only one reason why Jean, who had lived humbly his entire life, harbored such dreams.
For the happiness of his beloved daughter.
Jean’s Wife appeared to be the daughter of a rather distinguished noble house. In truth, Jean himself didn’t know which family she came from.
She had never asked, and he had never inquired.
It was enough that they loved each other deeply.
Yet lineage cannot be hidden, and Jean could read much from her stories.
An expensive debutante dress worth several years of the couple’s living expenses.
Jewels passed down through generations.
Countless balls and endless guests.
Servants whose numbers she herself could not properly account for.
His wife, who had abandoned all of it and come flying to his side, did not miss any of those things.

‘Jean. Look at me. Don’t cry. You must remember my final moment clearly.’

His beloved showed no regret even in that moment when she departed this world giving birth to their child.
Save for one thing—that she would not live to see the newborn grow into adulthood.

‘I’m curious how beautifully she’ll grow. Tell me later.’
‘Whichever of us she takes after, she’ll be beautiful.’
‘That’s true. Oh yes, I brought some jewels with me when I left home. Later, if Vivian wants a pretty dress, sell those and buy it for her. If she wants to make her debut… that might be difficult. I wish I’d brought more. Don’t you think?’

Understanding his wife’s intent to make him smile with her jest, Jean forced a laugh. Only after she had taken that smiling face into her eyes did his wife’s heart find peace, and she smiled.

‘Then please take care of our princess… I love you, Jean. I’m sorry….’

As I felt my wife’s hand growing cold, I made a vow.
That I would give our daughter the most magnificent debutante ball the world had ever seen.
Yet the House of Lamber was an impoverished noble family with scarcely any lands remaining. Such an extravagance was beyond our means, even if we sold every last possession.
To amass great wealth, one must be willing to take risks.

‘My dear princess, Father will be back soon!’

I waited until Vivian was old enough to remember me, and when she turned five, I liquidated what assets remained and embarked on a long voyage.
Life aboard ship those first days was tedious.
The seas were calm, and the only diversion available was fishing.
It was while I was gravely devising new card games with the crew.
That a demonic tempest descended upon us.
That hellish landscape—the screams, the thunder like the wrath of gods, the twisted faces of dying men.
Waves as tall as houses shattered our proud vessel and swallowed the crew whole.
Of all aboard, only one survived: myself.

‘…Where am I?’

The waves had cast me upon a Deserted Island.

‘Who… am I?’

When I awoke on that shore, I was a blank slate—all memory erased.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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