Chapter 31: Return To Normal Life (1)

"Eugh." Nicholas groaned, feeling like a complete mess—which, to be fair, he was.

Fortunately, his father was at work, and his brother was still asleep. A golden opportunity. Wasting no time, he stripped off his filthy clothes and headed straight for the bathroom.

The warm water felt like heaven, washing away the grime, sweat, and blood clinging to his skin. He wished he could stay under the stream forever, but he knew his window of peace was small. Reluctantly, he turned off the water, dried off, and threw on fresh clothes.

Stepping into the backyard, he eyed the pile of ruined garments in his hands. His favorite blue jacket—now stained beyond repair—stood out among the mess. He sighed.

"Eh, I have more," he muttered.

With a flick of his fingers, the fabric ignited, burning to ash in mere seconds. He watched the flames dance before vanishing completely.

Satisfied, he tried to whistle—only for spit to fly out of his mouth.

"Ew… Gotta learn how to do that properly," he grumbled, wiping his lips as he headed back inside.

His stomach growled, reminding him of his next task. Breakfast. If nothing else, at least his brother would have a decent meal waiting for him.

Normally, he would've loved to crawl back into bed after a night like this. But sleep felt impossible. His mind was on edge, his body tense, as if unseen eyes were watching his every move.

He shook his head, pushing the thought away. He was just being paranoid. Right?

Still… exhaustion weighed heavy on him.

"This might be the perfect time to try coffee," he muttered, making his way back to the kitchen.

Filling the pot with water, he set it on the stove and waited for it to boil. Once done, he scooped in some coffee powder, stirring until it blended into the dark liquid. A single spoonful of sugar followed, though he had no idea if that would actually do anything.

"That's how Dad likes it… I think." He eyed the beverage warily, then blew on it to cool it down.

"Well, first taste test. Cheers."

The moment the bitter liquid hit his tongue, he nearly gagged.

"Bleh! So bitter!" He recoiled, scrunching his face in disgust. "I don't know what I was expecting, but bitter was not it."

Despite himself, he took another hesitant sip, this time eyeing the drink as if it had personally offended him.

"People drink this every day? Ugh." He considered dumping it in the sink, but a mental image of his father scolding him—probably with a firm bonk to the head—made him think twice.

With a resigned sigh, Nicholas downed the rest of the coffee, forcing himself to tolerate the taste.

"Ugh..." he muttered, just as the sound of creaking stairs caught his attention. His brother was awake.

"Yo. Morning, Ev," Nicholas greeted from the dining table as his younger brother shuffled in, still in his pajamas.

Evan yawned, rubbing his eyes. Nicholas had to fight back the urge to yawn as well. "Morning, big bro."

Then Evan froze, sniffing the air. His expression twisted in disgust. "Ew. You drink coffee now?"

Nicholas raised an eyebrow at how fast his brother had figured it out. "One-time thing. Not for me." He said it like it was an indisputable fact. "I'll stick with milkshakes."

Evan gave him an odd look but shrugged it off, sniffing the air again. "Did you make breakfast?" he asked, a hopeful glint in his tired eyes.

Nicholas chuckled. "Yeah, I made your fill. Go ahead and eat."

He barely blinked before Evan disappeared into the kitchen, only to reappear seconds later with a plate piled high with food. Without hesitation, he dug in.

"Eat slowly, you'll choke," Nicholas warned, picking up his own fork.

The meal was simple—an omelet, a few strips of bacon, toast, fluffy pancakes, and a side salad.

"Ish sho gud," Evan mumbled through a full mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full. Bad table manners." Nicholas took a sip of milk.

Evan stopped mid-bite and shot his brother an exaggerated glare, arms crossed.

Nicholas blinked. "What?"

"You need to stop nagging. Otherwise, the food will taste bad." Evan puffed out his cheeks, pointing his fork at Nicholas. "Don't ruin good food!"

A couple of awkward seconds passed before he went back to eating, still looking grumpy.

Nicholas chuckled—then started choking.

Evan froze, concern flashing across his face. "You okay?"

Nicholas waved him off, coughing before managing to get words out. "It's nothing, I'm fine. Just..." He tried to suppress a laugh. "I just remembered how, a couple of years ago, you swore you'd never admit my cooking was good."

Evan stiffened, his face turning red as he averted his gaze. Mumbling something under his breath.

Nicholas grinned. "Oh? What was that just now?"

"I—I just said the food's good! Not your cooking! Don't get it twisted!" Evan snapped.

Nicholas smirked, still amused. "But I made the food, so the compliment comes back to me."

Evan hesitated, looking deep in thought. Then, as if struck by divine inspiration, he brightened and smirked.

"Nope," he declared. "That compli… erm… compliment was for the chickens who laid the eggs. And the farmers who gathered the ingredients. You just... changed the food's shape. They enriched it to perfection." He puffed out his chest proudly as if he had just delivered the ultimate counterargument.

Nicholas stared for a moment before bursting into laughter.

It was obvious—Evan was imitating him, trying to sound clever. But it didn't suit him in the slightest.

Evan Darklight. Brown hair, amber eyes. The youngest son of Niko Darklight. Almost five years younger than Nicholas.

Unlike his older brother, Evan was open with his emotions, except when embarrassed. He was far more social and had a knack for reading people, knowing how to shift the mood in a room to make it better. He wasn't the top student in school, but he got by—and when it came to emotional intelligence, he was leagues ahead of Nicholas.

In many ways, Evan was the opposite of his older brother, yet he still tried to emulate him.

"Why did I say I'd never admit you're good at cooking? No, when did I say that actually." Evan suddenly asked, tapping a finger to his lips. Then he glanced at Nicholas expectantly.

Nicholas's gaze turned serious.

Evan shivered slightly but held his ground.

Then—

"I forgot," Nicholas said, flashing a dumb smile.

Evan groaned, face-palming. "Ugh, you're the worst. I'm done." He scarfed down the rest of his food and bolted upstairs, presumably to his room.

Nicholas watched him go, a faint, almost melancholic smile on his lips.

"...Guess I'm doing the dishes again, huh?"

His brother was a bit of a brat, but overall, a good kid. A bundle of joy, as some would say.

"Eh, at least he's cute enough to get away with it."

Sighing, Nicholas cleared the table, washed the dishes, and, feeling oddly productive, went on a cleaning spree. He vacuumed, swept, mowed the lawn, cleaned the garage, and even wiped down the windows. Put the laundry in the washing machine.

Oddly enough, he finished everything much faster than usual.

He decided to rest a little and play some games on his phone while lying down on the couch.

Afterward, he stretched, his joints popping. It was almost time for lunch, and their father would be home soon.

For lunch, he decided to make spaghetti with meatballs and vegetables—his favorite. (And totally his family's favorite, no matter what they claimed.)

As he cooked, the doorbell rang.

"Evan! Can you get the door?!" Nicholas shouted.

"On it!" came the enthusiastic reply, like a soldier heading into battle.

Nicholas peeked out of the kitchen just in time to give his brother a mock salute.

The moment Evan opened the door, he was tackled into a crushing hug.

"Gack!" Evan wheezed.

"My son! My son!" their father cheered dramatically.

"Let me go! You're suffocating me!" Evan flailed.

"Ah, just a little longer... I need to recharge my batteries. Too many idiots at work today," their father muttered as he ruffled his youngest son's hair before finally releasing him.

Evan staggered back, whispering, "Freedom... Have to get away, quickly."

Nicholas, somehow hearing this from the kitchen, frowned. Then, he shook his head in amusement and focused back on cooking.

Soon, their father entered the kitchen, arms wide open. "How's my oldest son?" He asked with a blinding smile. Nicholas felt the need to cover his eyes as he genuinely felt light coming out of that smile.

Slouching, he trudged forward and accepted the inevitable bear hug. Oddly enough, it didn't hurt.

Huh. How about that? he thought.

Shoving that thought aside, he smiled. "Hey, Dad. I'm doing great. How was work?"

"Ugh, don't even get me started—" His father suddenly pushed him back, holding him at arm's length.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow.

"...Something's different about you," his father muttered, scrutinizing him. "And I don't mean your eyes. There's no saving those."

Nicholas's eyebrow twitched. "Oi."

His father chuckled, but then his gaze sharpened. "No, really. Something's changed. Did something happen?"

Nicholas involuntarily swallowed. "...Nothing's different. I'm still the same old, same old boring Nicholas." He tried to ease the tension with a self-deprecating joke, but his father didn't look convinced.

Then, suddenly—

"You've grown taller!" his father exclaimed.

Nicholas blinked. "...What?"

"I'm certain. Stand against that wall. Take off your slippers."

His father vanished and reappeared within seconds, tape measure in hand. "C'mon, c'mon."

Nicholas sighed and complied.

"Straighten that back, young man! If you keep slouching, you'll end up like the Hunchback of Notre Dame."

Nicholas squinted. "Huh?"

"Old movie. Has a book, too. Want me to get it for you?"

Nicholas ignored that and waited for the measurement.

"Aha!" his father declared. "180 cm! You've entered the 5'10'' category! The tragic height where women start rejecting you for not being six feet tall." He clapped Nicholas on the shoulder. "Speaking of girls—when are you getting a girlfriend? Ah, but don't feel too pressured. Your old man didn't experience romance until he was in college."

Nicholas rubbed his temples. Why is this man like this?

"Slow down, Dad. One thing at a time. First of all, how the hell did you notice I grew a centimeter?"

His father grinned. "A parent's job is to notice changes in their children."

Nicholas gave him a long look. "Uh-huh. I guess I was just surprised you mentioned… that."

His father's smile faltered slightly. "'That'? Is there some other 'that' we need to talk about?"

Nicholas hesitated, then shook his head. "…No. It's nothing."

His father studied him for a moment, then let it go. "So, what's for lunch?"

"Spaghetti."

His father winced.

Nicholas narrowed his eyes. "Is there a problem?" His tone dangerous.

"It's just... we had it a few days ago."

"Yeah. A few days ago. And?"

"...No objections here." His father sighed.

"Good."

His father had no right to complain. In the kitchen, the best he could do was use his phone to order takeout.

That was how it had been for years—until Nicholas decided to learn to cook and make actual meals for his family.

Lunch passed with comfortable ease. They chatted here and there, nothing too deep, before eventually going their separate ways. Their father went off to take a nap, and Evan ran outside to play with some neighborhood kids.

Now, Nicholas was alone.

He played a few computer games but quickly became bored. He tried reading a book, but after ten pages, he realized he wasn't absorbing the words.

At some point, he ended up on the living room sofa, staring at the ceiling.

"Now what?" he muttered to no one in particular.

He had returned to his old, regular life.

Everything was normal again.

He did his chores, joked with his brother, chatted with his father, and played games. He would talk with his friends and repeat it all over again the next day.

The same routine. The same life.

He returned to his normal life.

But had he really returned?

The memories lingered at the edges of his mind—dark, vivid, inescapable. Those three weeks... The things he had seen. The things he had done.

Could he really go back? Could he live as if none of it had happened?

As if those memories didn't exist?

…As if that power didn't exist?

…

Nicholas exhaled, long and slow. Then, without another word, he slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped outside.

"Mondays… my favorite."

Usually, he would've said it with sarcasm.

This time, he might've actually meant it.

Nicholas glanced back at his house before heading off to school. It was a two-story building, primarily white and gray, with a deep blue roof and a garage.

It was a nice house. A pain to clean, sure, but he couldn't complain. It was home.

His walk to school was peaceful. He didn't run into Rose, Philip, or even the two idiots. For once, he had some time to himself to sort out his thoughts.

He arrived just before the bell rang, knocked on the door, and stepped into the classroom—his first class of the day: English.

The moment he entered, something slammed into his stomach.

Nicholas barely held back a curse, feeling an odd sense of pride at his self-restraint.

"Ms. Heath," he grunted, rubbing the sore spot, "even if it's you, my patience has a limit."

A rough yet oddly soft voice responded. "Oh, Darklight, it's you. I thought a villain had just entered my classroom, so I acted accordingly. Sorry, sorry."

She didn't sound sorry at all.

Standing before him was his English teacher—Ms. Skye Heath. A beautiful, mature-looking woman with fair skin, long, silky black hair, and piercing green eyes. She wore her usual relaxed smile as she looked at him.

Nicholas deadpanned. "Aren't you supposed to lie on the floor and put your hands behind your head?"

"Ha!" She laughed. "Only if there's nothing I can do. I know quite a lot of martial arts, you know." She casually boasted.

Nicholas winced, rubbing a different sore spot this time. "Don't I know it…" he muttered before slumping his way to his seat near the wall.

His seat was strategically chosen—on the opposite side of the windows. Each classroom had three rows of tables, usually with six desks per row. Nicholas always prioritized the ones closest to the wall, specifically the third or fourth desk.

It was the perfect blind spot.

Teachers usually had their desks placed near the windows and focused their attention on the farthest tables or any students directly in their line of sight. Thanks to the middle row of students blocking their view, Nicholas could easily get away with napping.

At least, that was the plan.

Unfortunately, this strategy never worked in this class.

Ms. Heath seemed to have an unusual obsession with him.

By that, he meant she made it her mission to bother him to no end—always making sure he was paying attention, never letting him slack off.

Nicholas understood why.

Unlike the other teachers, Ms. Heath had gotten a glimpse of his rotten personality—his sharp tongue, his tendency to slack, and his general disinterest in school. And for whatever reason, she had decided it was her duty to turn him into a productive member of society.

Didn't mean he found it any less annoying.

As Nicholas took his seat and got ready for class, he noticed something odd—the classroom was completely empty.

Except for Ms. Heath.

He checked his phone. There were still ten minutes until class started, so where was everyone?

Not even the Scary Lady? he thought, glancing at his teacher before looking back at the time.

Then it clicked.

Oh. Right. It's Ms. Heath's class.

Yeah, that checked out.

Ms. Heath wasn't a bad teacher by any means. In fact, she was one of the better ones in the school. She was good at her job, and being young and attractive certainly helped students feel more at ease around her—at least compared to someone like their grumpy old biology teacher.

Nicholas clicked his tongue just thinking about him.

"Hm? Oh, Darklight. Come here for a moment."

Ms. Heath's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. She was flipping through a stack of papers at her desk, her tone casual.

Nicholas shivered.

He knew better.

Slowly but surely, he made his way over. And, as he predicted, he got another gut punch—this one hard enough to knock him to the ground.

"Gah! Seriously, Ms. Heath?! You do know there are laws against teachers getting physical with students, right? I will report you one day," he grumbled, rubbing his stomach.

She snorted. "Hah! As if they can afford to fire me. You do know I handle three different classes, right? And I'm also a guidance counselor."

She smirked, but then, suddenly, her expression shifted. Her eyes darkened ever so slightly, and the smile on her face no longer matched the sadness behind it.

"I'm so overworked…" she muttered. "I don't even get any time for myself."

Nicholas froze.

Uh oh. He had unknowingly triggered a piece of dialogue he had zero interest in hearing.

"S-so why did you call me over?" he asked quickly, raising his hands slightly in defense. "Surely it wasn't just to take your frustrations out on me, right?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "Ah, right." She picked up a paper from her desk and held it out to him. "I wanted to talk to you about this essay you wrote. Tell me, Nicholas Darklight, what exactly was the point of this?"

Nicholas stared at the paper.

Oh. That essay.

"To, uh… write about our goals for the future?" he answered cautiously. "And what kind of jobs we'd like to have?"

She smiled. "Yes, that's correct." Then her expression immediately soured.

"So why the hell did you write about wanting to become a househusband?!"

Nicholas barely stopped himself from flinching as her voice rose.

Covering his ears, he sighed. "I don't see the problem. If a woman says she wants to be a housewife, no one bats an eye. But if a guy says he wants to be a househusband, suddenly it's a problem? Double standards, Ms. Heath." He shook his head in exasperation, a smirk on his face.

That smirk disappeared the moment he saw the dangerous look in her eyes.

"Wait, wait, wait! Don't hit me again!" He took a step back, raising his hands. "Seriously, Ms. Heath, that habit of yours is really bad. No wonder you can't get married, then again with how old you are—"

Her fist stopped just before his face.

"…Didn't anyone ever teach you not to mention a woman's age?" she asked, her voice eerily calm.

Nicholas sighed in relief. He hadn't been hit this time.

"Look, I still don't see the problem," he continued. "I already clean, do laundry, make food, and handle all sorts of other chores at home for two guys. I don't see an issue if I were to do it for a woman instead. A nice, safe, cozy life."

Ms. Heath's eyes narrowed.

"…The, uh, two guys I take care of are my younger brother and father," he quickly added upon noticing the strange look she was giving him.

She let out a loud sigh. "What am I gonna do with you, kid?" Then, in a flat voice, she added, "Unfortunately, you're not good-looking enough to become a stay-at-home househusband. Especially with those eyes. Not to mention it's socially frowned upon."

Nicholas's eye twitched.

Oi. Why was the main argument that I wasn't good-looking enough? Why point that out, Teach? I already know I'm not good-looking, y'know~?

He was very tempted to bring up her age again but decided against it. She wasn't even old—only twenty-six, if he remembered correctly.

Ms. Heath suddenly seemed deep in thought. Then her eyes lit up with an idea. "Oh, I suppose I'll have to punish you accordingly."

Nicholas blinked.

Oi, Teach. Don't say such suggestive things to a minor.

If it were anyone else besides him, she might've been hit with a lawsuit.

He wisely kept that thought to himself.

"Go take your seat and wait for class to start," she said with a smirk. "I'll reveal it at the end of homeroom."

Right. She was also his homeroom teacher.

This is gonna suck, isn't it?

Just two minutes before the bell rang, the other students finally started trickling in. Among them were two familiar degenerates who immediately made a beeline for Nicholas.

"C'mon, Nicky-chan! Let's go to the prom party thingy," Dick whined, practically begging.

"Hai, Nicky-chan, let's go to the party," Haru echoed, nodding enthusiastically.

Nicholas didn't even look at them. "No. I have no reason to go."

Haru wasn't giving up that easily. "But Nicky-chan, we'll be there," he pointed at himself and Dick as if that was supposed to be a selling point.

Nicholas gave him a blank stare. "I have no reason to go."

"That's a bit too harsh, don't you think?!" Haru groaned.

Before Nicholas could shut them down again, the door to the classroom swung open. A girl walked in.

Immediately, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations quieted into whispers, and even Ms. Heath looked a little on edge.

Sydney Foster.

Their class president.

The Scary Lady.

Her sharp, onyx-colored eyes scanned the room, her rectangular glasses making her appear that much more menacing, searching for something—or rather, someone. When they landed on Nicholas and his two idiot companions, her frown deepened. Her medium-length black hair swayed as she marched straight toward them. 

Nicholas sighed. He really didn't want to deal with her today.

As soon as she reached their table, Dick and Haru both suddenly found themselves very invested in their notebooks.

"Nicholas Darklight," she said, voice tight with irritation. "Do not cause any trouble."

And just like that, she left.

Nicholas let his head fall onto his desk with a dull thud and stayed there.

For some reason, Sydney seemed to have it out for him. Sure, she wasn't fond of Dick or Haru either (a rare opinion they actually shared), but for whatever reason, she was especially intent on singling him out.

"I already wanna go home," he muttered.

And class had only just started.

The period passed without issue, and just when Nicholas thought Ms. Heath had finally forgotten about his so-called punishment…

"Oh, right! Before I forget—Darklight, you'll be volunteering to help out with prom. We'll be counting on you."

She threw him a wink and a smile.

You evil woman.

Nicholas scowled. He probably would have helped out regardless, but being forced to do it was an entirely different matter.

The class erupted into murmurs.

"Wait, who's Darklight?"

"He's in our class?"

Nicholas sighed, forcing a weak smile. Ahaha… At least his skill in blending into the background was still top-tier.

Then, as if they all realized the answer at once, every single person turned to look at him.

Twenty-nine students and one teacher.

Nicholas shrank a little in his seat.

From across the room, Sydney narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't mess this up, Darklight."

Faced with all their stares, Nicholas sighed again.

"What misfortune."