I Became the Daughter of a Disgraced Duke - Chapter 12

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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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Chapter 12
“Damn it. If I drink like yesterday again, I’ll lose my mind.”
Kasian wiped his mouth and cracked his neck.
His shoulders felt heavy with the kind of grim resolve he’d once carried on a battlefield.
Today, when he went to the orphanage, he planned to march straight up to that staff member who’d glared at him like he was human garbage last time, thrust the infertility certificate in her face, and declare loudly that the child wasn’t his daughter after all.
Once he handed the kid over and left, he’d be free, and the child would get three meals a day, play well, and everyone would get a happy ending.
Armed with this noble intention, he’d skipped breakfast and left the house.
“(Mister, where are we going?)”
The moment the small child looked up at him with those round, innocent eyes, his words caught in his throat.
“It’s the… hand.”
It was the hand, exactly.
It was Monday morning, the streets crowded, and before they’d even stepped through the gate, the child had firmly grasped his hand.
Probably worried about getting lost in the flow of pedestrians.
‘This is driving me insane.’
What kind of parents raised a kid to casually grab the hand of some adult they barely knew?
The child was so small, so impossibly soft, so delicate—like a crumb of bread fresh from the oven.
Barely chest-high to him, so tiny her hips didn’t even reach his, and the breath he could hear beside him was so faint it was almost heartbreaking.
Kasian scrubbed his dry face with his other hand.
His stomach churned worse than it did the morning after diving headfirst into a barrel of alcohol.
“Damn. This is harder than I thought.”
He dropped to one knee to meet the child’s eyes.
“Make a fist like I do.”
When he released her hand, the child’s eyes went wide and she curled her tiny fingers into a ball, mimicking him.
Her fist was the size of a bean.
So this is what a soft fist actually looks like. Soft fists actually exist.
His head pounded. He smacked his own forehead.
“With a fist that small, how the hell do you expect to survive in this cruel world?”
“(Why is my fist like that?)”
“Throw a punch at my hand.”
“(What?)”
“Quickly.”
He spread his palm flat and waggled his fingers in invitation, but she just stared blankly at it.
Kasian, who had vivid memories of brawling with his twin brother Jenovion so fiercely he’d left bruises on his shoulder by biting it, felt his mind slipping.
Were all girls like this? Or was he just some kind of anomaly?
“I said throw a punch. Like this!”
Whoosh.
He drove his fist through the empty air and the sound of his knuckles cutting through space echoed.
Her already-round eyes grew even rounder, and they began to shimmer with moisture.
“(Friends are supposed to stay close… Are you a bad man? Are you going to hurt me?)”
“No, no, no—I don’t dislike you. Don’t cry, don’t cry.”
Kasian soothed the trembling child, her lip quivering, by pressing his fingertips gently against her eyelids.
“I’m losing it.”
She was supposed to learn to bare her teeth when someone picked a fight—instead this kid was so innocent, so defenseless, she didn’t even know the world could hurt her.
After his parents died, Kasian had spent some time in a facility too.
Back then, he’d had his twin brother Jenovion with him.
Jenovion was built and had a mean streak, so people didn’t usually start trouble with him, but whenever anyone tried to gang up on Kasian, Jenovion stood and fought beside him.
So at least he’d never felt the loneliness of facing things alone.
‘But this little thing will have to fight alone.’
Toss a speck of dust into this cold, harsh reality?
Was that even supposed to be allowed?
It didn’t make sense. The world was brutal.
And if he took her in and raised her himself? That was like pushing a child off a cliff because she was scared of the autumn wind.
“When someone teases you or hits you and says mean things, what will you do?”
“(Friends are supposed to stay close to each other, I said!)”
“Right! Keep shouting like that! What else do you need to do?”
“(Share the good food, give compliments and show kindness! That’s what friends do!)”
“Wrong! You can’t just yell. You have to do this! Wham! Wham! First punch to the face! Then here, the solar plexus—smash! Got it?”
“(Mister, you really are a bad man. And I’m just a gentle little kid…)”
When he saw her head drop, shoulders sagging, the alcohol he’d drunk two days ago suddenly sat heavy in his chest.
“St-Stockholm Syndrome! No wait, Stockholm Syndrome? Stockholmism? Whatever! It’s a disease. A sickness!”
Kasian, now aware of his own state, stopped pounding his chest and instead tore at his hair.
A silent scream tore from his throat.
But the moment he saw that dejected face, his heart clenched inexplicably, and a suffocating feeling gripped him.
“You, you… won’t get hurt wherever you go. That’s right, that’s how it’ll be.”
Someone who could wrench a heart like this would surely find allies anywhere and live well wherever he went.
Yes, he’d dared to worry about another when he had no right to.
Kasian’s resolve hardened again, and he took the child’s hand once more, as he had before.
The softness of that small hand beneath his palm made his own heart soften in turn, and an old conscience he’d abandoned long ago began to ache.
So on the way to the orphanage, he bought a Cake for the little one.
If he sent the child off with a Cake, the other children would share it, and surely that would spare him some of the teasing.
* * *
“(Where are we going?)”
“Oh, you’ll see when we get there. You’ll see.”
Hmm. Where have I heard this before? My friends used to say things like this.
They said that when adults talk about going somewhere to eat something delicious, it’s usually a lie.
They said adults promise Lemon Candy and then take you to the dentist.
So I didn’t follow and just stood there, but the mister grabbed me by the back of the neck and lifted me up.
“Already being stubborn, you little runt?”
“(Nngh! Put me down, put me down!)”
Hoisted onto the mister’s shoulders and carried along, we arrived at:
“There! She’s not my daughter, I’m telling you!”
The Cave Orphanage — a place I’d never wanted to live in.
I’d come straight to the Sunlight Orphanage from home, but the other kids had passed through several orphanages before ending up here.
That’s why I’d heard so many stories about the other facilities.
“At the last place, they only gave us that gloomy gruel every single day.”
“Yeah. And there was no pocket money, so we couldn’t even eat Cloud Candy.”
For someone like me, who ate meat and vegetables and fruit in proper balance, the idea of not being able to eat Cloud Candy and having to subsist on nothing but gloomy gruel was as unbelievable as if Michael had stopped giving us candy just because we greeted him.
‘I, I hate gruel. I like delicious food!’
I also hated the empty lot with no playground equipment at all.
“She can’t be my daughter, what are you talking about? Who does she look like? It’s ridiculous.”
“Oh, well. That is quite something. It’s surprising how similar you look.”
“There are so many black-haired people in the world. Honestly.”
Did the monstrous mister dislike me?
Or didn’t he know how to get along with children because he wasn’t a good adult?
“(Mister. I really am a good child. I can teach you how to be a kind grown-up again.)”
So couldn’t I just stay at the mister’s place a little longer?
It smelled bad and was dirty, but the mister gave me meat, I could eat Egg Sandwiches, and there was even a huge bar of Milk Chocolate.
“Yes, well. I’ve reviewed the documents you provided. Still, I’ll need you to fill out these forms here. We need a record of where and how you found the child so we can locate the biological parents later.”
“Ah, yes. You’re keeping me busy, so why don’t you eat some Cake while you wait.”
While the mister filled out the paperwork, the caregiver at the orphanage cut the Cake he’d brought.
Hungry as I was, I glared at the mister while shoveling the Cake into my mouth.
As the soft, sweet peach flavor spread across my tongue, the sadness seemed to ease a little.
“Yes, well. It must have been trouble, but thank you for bringing the child here. And for looking after him these past few days. You must have had a hard time.”
“Yes, well. It’s been no small ordeal.”
The mister nodded and glanced down at me.
I quickly clung to his legs.
Whether the goddess disliked me being with the mister, something felt scratchy in my throat and an unbearable itch spread through my body.
But I held on to the mister anyway, clinging tight.
When the mister tightened his grip on the back of my neck, I gripped harder too.
“(Mister. I’ll make you dance every day. I’ll praise you, tell you you’re pretty, pretty, and more, more… I don’t want to be here. Sniff.)”
“Hey, what’s wrong with you? Listen. I’m not your father, I’m telling you.”
The mister tried to peel me off by lifting his leg, but the more he did, the tighter I clung.
“The child seems to have grown attached.”
“No matter how cool and impressive I am, this shouldn’t happen. I’m committed to a Solo Life.”
“(Mister…)”
“Come on, let go. Shoo, shoo.”
As he waved his hand, sorrow flooded in.
And then breathing became hard.
My eyes felt like they might burst into tears, but my nose ran first.
‘You’re so mean!’
I asked the goddess for a father—I never said I wanted to leave the Sunlight Orphanage. If she won’t give me one and I’m going to be cast out anyway, then I’ll just have to make a father myself!
So I squeezed my eyes shut and cried out.
“Father!”

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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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