9-Family Talk

We gather in the dining room—André, Arthur, Celine, and me. An air of solemnity hangs over us as the conversation unavoidably turns to the events earlier.

"So, Dominic, where did you get those guns?"

Celine's voice breaks the silence. Her fingers gesture toward the two firearms now lying conspicuously on the table.

After our outdoor spar, Celine dragged André and me into the dining room with a maternal authority that was not to be contested. She demanded I place the guns on the table, leading to this inevitable inquiry.

I gulp, having anticipated this moment. Thankfully, I am ready for this.

"Mum, I—"

"You know what, stop."

The single word cuts through the air like a blade, halting me mid-sentence. Her abruptness leaves me blinking, unsure whether to feel relieved or dread what she'll say next.

Celine's gaze shifts toward Arthur, sharp and inquisitive. "Arthur, what do you know about those guns?" she asks, calm but probing.

Arthur freezes momentarily, clearly caught off guard. He gulps, his eyes darting to me. In that fleeting moment, our eyes meet, and I shake my head subtly—a silent plea for him to back me up.

Arthur's hesitation vanishes, replaced by a confident facade. He turns back to Celine, his expression resolute. "Auntie, my family keeps a few spare Aether-powered guns, and I gave them to Dominic as a gift," he says, his tone steady.

Relief floods me. Arthur has picked up on my silent signal and played along flawlessly. But beneath the relief lies a knot of unease—Arthur now knows the guns weren't a gift from André as I had originally implied. It's only a matter of time before he confronts me about this.

Celine narrows her eyes slightly, her scrutiny unrelenting. "Is that so, Arthur?" she presses.

Arthur nods without missing a beat. "Yes, Auntie."

Her expression remains unconvinced as she tilts her head. "I see. But why?" she asks, her tone both curious and concerned. "Why would you give him such a significant gift?"

Arthur doesn't flinch. "Doms told me he wants to become a Stargate Raider," he says smoothly. "Since he's Manaless, I thought the guns would help him train."

A contemplative silence settles over the room as Celine considers Arthur's words.

"I see..." she finally murmurs, her expression softening. A small, approving smile graces her lips, and the heavy tension in the room begins to dissipate. "Well, if it's for your training, Dominic, I trust Arthur's judgment. But promise me, both of you—be careful. I don't want anyone getting hurt."

"Yes, Mum," I reply quickly, nodding with what I hope is convincing sincerity.

Arthur echoes my sentiment. "Of course, Auntie. I'll make sure of it."

Celine's smile lingers as she rises from her seat, signaling the conversation is over. Relief courses through me like a tidal wave. Arthur's quick thinking and confident delivery shielded us from a much messier situation.

But as Celine leaves the room, I steal a glance at Arthur. He's still sitting beside me, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in a way that says, We'll talk later.

I sigh inwardly, knowing that the hardest part of this conversation may still be ahead.

André leans forward, picking up one of the guns to examine it closely. His sharp eyes trace the weapon's intricate details as he turns it over in his hands. "These guns are well-crafted," he muses. "The magical energy output isn't particularly high. If I had to guess… these are [D-] ranked weapons?"

Arthur, momentarily taken aback, hesitates before nodding. "Uhm… yeah!" he agrees, a little too quickly.

André hums thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. "Interesting…" The word hangs in the air as he tilts the gun slightly, his gaze contemplative. Then, without warning, his demeanor shifts, and he throws the gun directly at me.

!!!

My reflexes kick in instinctively, and I catch the gun—just barely. My heart pounds as I stare at André, who grins like this is all perfectly normal. What's with his habit of throwing things at me? First thing in the morning, and now this?

"Heh. You've got good reflexes, Dominic," André comments, his tone light but carrying a hint of approval.

"Uh, thanks, Dad?" I reply, still processing the sudden test.

I glance at the gun in my hand, my thoughts spiraling. My instinct stat is 747 [A+], absurdly high—almost unnatural. What could the original Dominic have done to make it that way? It's like he had to have been living on edge constantly, but why?

-DING!

The sharp chime of the oven timer interrupts my thoughts, drawing everyone's attention. The sudden shift from combat reflexes to domestic normalcy is jarring.

"Oh! The other blueberry pie is ready!" Celine announces cheerfully, standing up with a warm smile. She excuses herself and heads to the kitchen, leaving the room's tension to dissolve into the mundane.

Another pie? It's absurdly comforting after everything that's happened. Somehow, the simplicity of baking feels grounding.

As Celine disappears into the kitchen, I notice Arthur shifting in his seat. His eyes flick toward André, and his confident mask slips momentarily.

"Uhm, Uncle André," he begins hesitantly, his voice quieter than usual, "would it be okay if I stayed a little longer?"

André looks at him, his expression softening. "Of course, Arthur."

"Thanks, Uncle," Arthur replies with a gentle smile. Relief washes over him, and the vulnerability in his tone lingers in the air, making the moment feel oddly poignant.

Seeing Arthur's reaction, I can't help but think he might be grappling with family issues. He fits the archetype of someone born into wealth yet starved of emotional connection—a life of grandeur masking an absence of affection or attention. His preference for our home's warm, welcoming atmosphere over his opulent surroundings makes too much sense.

Arthur isn't even a character from A Magician's Path, the web novel I'm so familiar with, yet it's clear that every person here—whether a main player or a supposed extra—carries their own stories, their struggles. Even if his backstory is untold, the hints paint a picture of a life more complex than his easy-going exterior suggests.

Or maybe I'm reading too much into it, letting my imagination weave possibilities where none exist. Regardless, I resolve to stand by Arthur if my suspicions hold. In the short time we've known each other, he's been kind to me—to Dominic. The fact that he doesn't care about my Manaless status speaks volumes about his character. That alone is reason enough to support him, whatever the uncertainties ahead.

"Here's the pie!" Celine's voice draws me from my thoughts.

But it's not just a pie. Celine enters with a tray laden with an entire feast: golden-brown roasted chicken with crispy skin, a steaming bowl of rich seafood stew, a savory grilled sandwich oozing melted cheese and ham, creamy egg tarts, and, of course, the star of the meal—a beautifully baked blueberry pie.

The sight momentarily erases all lingering tension from the room. My stomach growls audibly, reminding me how hungry I am. With this spread, it's obvious that Celine is a master in the kitchen.

Cool, two blueberry pies now—one from earlier and this. I reflexively slide the remaining gun off the table to make space for the feast.

"Cool, we now have two blueberry pies!" Arthur echoes my thoughts, his excitement brightening the room.

"Well, someone told me my cooking tastes great today. Isn't that right, Dominic?" Celine teases, her playful tone drawing all eyes toward me. Her smile is warm, but a sharp undertone is a subtle reminder of the previous morning's mishap.

I freeze for a moment, caught off guard by her pointed comment. "Y-Yes!" I stammer. My agreement is both sincere and awkward. "A-anyways, Bon appétit!"

Eager to escape the moment, I grab my fork and dig into one of the dishes without thinking.

"Dominic, what did I tell you about table manners?" Celine's voice cuts through, her tone scolding but light.

Oops. I forgot. Again. But come on—good food is good food. For someone like me, who hasn't had many opportunities to enjoy dishes like this, it's almost impossible to hold back.

"Sorry, Mum," I mumble before taking a deliberate, quieter bite.

-Munch!

The flavors hit me instantly, and any lingering awkwardness faded into the background. Every bite is a masterpiece, the meal you'd expect at a fancy restaurant rather than a family dinner. Across the table, Arthur catches my eye, his lips quirking into a small, curious smile.

What's he smiling about?

Our gazes lock briefly, and he abruptly looks away. He clears his throat, turning toward André and Celine.

"Uhm, Uncle, Auntie, I changed my mind. Can I have a sleepover here?"

The room falls silent. Celine and André exchange a knowing glance, a wordless conversation passing between them before they smile.

"Sure," André says, his tone welcoming. "But won't Uther be worried?"

Arthur shakes his head. "Don't worry. He won't. He already knows I'd stay here."

His casual dismissal of his father's concern tugs at something in me. It reinforces my suspicion that Arthur doesn't get the attention or care he needs at home. Yet, I remind myself not to overthink. I have a habit of spinning wild theories, and this might be nothing more than Arthur wanting to spend time with us.

But then again, maybe it's more than that.

-Munch!

Another bite of Celine's delicious cooking temporarily overrides my thoughts.

"Doms, when did you develop such a big appetite?" Arthur suddenly asks, breaking the lull in conversation.

His question catches me off guard. It's probably strange for him to see Dominic eat with this much enthusiasm.

"Well, I'm just hungry," I say with a shrug. "Teenager metabolism, you know?"

I hope the vague explanation will suffice. After all, teenagers are supposed to eat a lot, right?

-Munch!

"Dominic, eat quietly," Celine gently reminds me, her voice laced with affection.

As the evening wears on, Arthur's request for a sleepover is accepted, and the dining room fills with laughter and light conversation. Between the flavors of Celine's cooking and the easy camaraderie around the table, the earlier tension feels like a distant memory.

Still, as I glance at Arthur, his earlier vulnerability lingers in my mind. I'll be there for him whatever's going on in his life. After all, that's what friends are for.