Chapter 5: Falling to the Ground, Fierce
Since the communication incident, Eric’s suspicions toward Angus had only deepened.
He began secretly observing her every move.
When eating, she no longer picked at her food like before but finished quickly and quietly.
Her gait had become awkward, lacking the light, cheerful steps of old.
This left Angus feeling suffocated and anxious, aware that her credibility in Eric’s eyes was on the verge of collapse.
Each day, she lived cautiously under his ever-present gaze, terrified of making another mistake.
That day, Angus was carrying a pot of soup to the table, her mind distracted, drifting to how she could prove to her family that she was now in a female body.
She grumbled inwardly.
As a man, she could run and jump without issue, but now, as a woman, every step made her chest sway three times, every jump nine, the weight either pulling her back, making it hard to breathe, or tipping her forward, risking a fall.
This time, leaning too far forward while holding the pot, she slipped and crashed to the floor.
“Ouch!” Angus couldn’t help but cry out.
She hit the ground, her body spared from much pain thanks to the cushioning fat of her chest, but a sharp ache radiated from it.
Eric emerged just in time to see Angus sprawled on the floor, hands clutching her chest, fingers digging deep into her skin from the effort.
Her chest was soaked with soup, the thick broth trickling down her clothes, pooling into a murky puddle between her legs.
The wet fabric clung to her, outlining the curves of her chest, revealing pale skin and white undergarments beneath.
And amid the soggy chaos, a fish was inexplicably lodged upright in the middle of her chest.
Panicking, Angus instinctively tried to squeeze the fish out.
She pressed hard, her face flushing red, veins bulging on her forehead.
But instead of dislodging it, the pressure caused the soup in the fish’s belly to erupt, spraying her face with a forceful stream.
Caught off guard, Angus was drenched, the broth sliding down her cheeks, dripping into her collar, some clinging to her eyelashes, blurring her vision.
She froze, hands still pressing her chest, eyes wide, staring blankly at Eric.
Her mouth hung slightly open, as if to speak, but the shock left her speechless.
The soup trickled down her face, mingling with her expression of disbelief and embarrassment.
Seeing this, Eric’s face flushed, and he quickly cast a cleaning spell on Angus.
After tidying up, they sat at the table to eat.
Angus picked up her utensils absentmindedly.
She mechanically shoveled food into her mouth, tasting nothing.
Lost in thought, dissatisfied with the meal, she failed to learn from her earlier mishap and zoned out again.
Her gaze grew vacant, her mind wandering.
Then, her elbow knocked the plate, tipping it over.
The food spilled onto the floor, soup splashing everywhere, creating a mess.
Eric frowned tightly.
“Zoning out again?”
Angus said, “No, it was just an accident.”
Eric didn’t buy it, staring into her eyes coldly.
“Just an accident? I think you’re plotting something you shouldn’t.”
Angus repeated, “I’m fine, it was just an accident.”
Eric wasn’t convinced, his gaze piercing.
“Really? Just an accident? I think you’re thinking about things you shouldn’t.”
Angus’s heart jolted, and she shook her head quickly.
“No, really, no. Brother, stop being so paranoid. I just got distracted for a moment.”
“Be honest. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in your head,” Eric said.
Angus replied, aggrieved, “Brother, I’m not plotting anything. Since I woke up from my injury, I haven’t adjusted to a lot of things. Can’t you give me more time?”
Eric stared into her eyes.
“Time? Haven’t I given you enough already? Your behavior just keeps getting stranger.”
Angus bit her lip.
“Brother, I really am your sister Elena. Why won’t you believe me?”
Eric sneered.
“Believe you? Your walk, your eating habits—where’s the old Elena in any of that?”
Angus groaned inwardly: Of course, I’ve only been a girl for so long. Missing something between my legs makes walking awkward.
But she couldn’t say that aloud.
She argued, “Amnesia changes people, Brother. You can’t be so rigid.”
Sensing the topic was dangerous, Angus quickly added, “Brother, can we just eat? Look, the food’s getting cold.”
Eric’s brows furrowed.
“Is my cooking so bad that you keep zoning out?”
Angus shook her head like a rattle.
“No, no, the food’s fine.”
Eric pressed, “Then you’ll cook from now on.”
Angus’s heart tightened, fearing cooking might be a trap to expose her.
“Brother, I’m amnesiac. I don’t know how to cook.”
Eric’s tone was stern.
“Then learn. Got it?”
Left with no choice, Angus nodded reluctantly.
That night, Angus lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
Thinking of her predicament, tears welled up.
Feeling her eyes dampen, she told herself it wasn’t her fault—after all, as a tough guy, she hadn’t cried since her old servant died.
It must be this body, so prone to tears.
Just then, she heard Eric’s footsteps outside, pausing at her door.
Terrified, she shut her eyes, pretending to sleep.
Eric gently opened the door, glanced at her, then softly closed it.
Angus exhaled, but she knew this tense existence couldn’t last forever.
The next morning, Angus decided to appeal to Eric’s emotions to ease his suspicions.
“Brother, I really don’t have any ulterior motives. You have to believe me,” she said cautiously.
Eric sneered.
“You think I’ll believe anything you say now?”
Angus bit her lip.
“What do I have to do for you to trust me?”
Eric paused, then said, “Prove you’re really Elena. Tell me secrets from our childhood that only we would know.”
Angus froze.
“Brother, I was injured. I don’t remember much. Don’t push me like this.”
Eric’s gaze grew colder.
“Amnesia doesn’t change habits. If you’re really Elena, how could you not remember a single thing?”
Angus said urgently, “Brother, can’t you be a little more lenient? I’m trying so hard to remember.”
Eric remained unmoved.
“Then keep trying. Until you do, don’t expect me to trust you.”
Tears welled in Angus’s eyes.
“Brother, you’re too cruel.”
Eric cut off her emotional plea.
“We’re late for school. Let’s go.”