Trouble

"You're right—"

Lawrence's voice was hoarse. Sweat rolled down his graying temples, and his cheeks were flushed with the color of someone recovering from a serious illness. In fact, that was indeed the case.

But Lawrence's eyes brightened. The air of utter defeat that had clung to him after his transformation of thought had vanished, and at his age, he even showed a few traces of youthful vigor.

"You're right, Amosta—"

Lawrence repeated, staring deeply at Amosta as though admiring a priceless treasure. "What matters—is... people!"

Amosta smiled in delight. He let out a breath and rose from beside the bed.

"I'm glad you were able to understand that, Lawrence. Well, then—"

Amosta looked gently at the old butler.

"Get some proper rest. I'll be leaving now. If you ever want to talk to me again, you can come to Hass Orphanage during the holiday season each year. Generally speaking, I'll be there during the holiday break—"

Excitement flashed through Lawrence's gray eyes. Though it was only during the holidays each year, Young Master Breen had permitted him to visit him at the orphanage. That was already wonderful. But amid his excitement, he recalled what Young Master Breen had just said, and a look of alarm appeared on his face.

"You're leaving!" Lawrence looked out the window in surprise.

Ever since Mr. Breen had passed away and the family assets had been sold off or donated, all the streetlamps and lights in the grounds were switched off after midnight to save expenses. Outside, the deep night had already descended, and only the faint, neatly arranged lights lining the paths of the manor could be seen.

"Stay here for the night, Amosta. Leave tomorrow."

Lawrence turned over and got out of his sickbed, grabbing Amosta's wrist with earnest insistence.

Amosta pondered