Chapter 07: Is It Wrong to Have a Crush on My New Sister?

Under a piercing glare, Luke remained on his knees, too frightened to lift his eyes toward the woman who regarded him with icy disdain. And yet, despite his trepidation, he forced a smile that reached deep into his eyes.

Because the woman before him was Eryn Wynter—Errol Wynter's older sister and, secretly, Luke's biggest crush.

Bathed in the gentle flicker of candlelight, Eryn stood with impeccable, graceful poise. Her slender form exuded the refined aristocracy of gothic nobility, seamlessly fused with modern elegance.

Long, sleek black hair cascaded just past her shoulders; subtle hints of golden brown shimmered in her inner strands, perfectly echoing the sharp brown of her eyes. Those eyes, framed by black-rimmed glasses, burned with an intensity reminiscent of a tigress stalking its prey.

A delicate, melodic fragrance emanated from her, slicing through the musty air and instilling an unexpected calm.

Her attire was a masterpiece: a form-fitting black dress paired with a tailored, jacket-like bodice adorned with intricate golden snowflake embroidery across the chest and shoulders. 

The long, slim sleeves ended in golden trim, and her asymmetrical skirt flowed behind her like a regal cloak while revealing the graceful contours of her legs. Dark stockings and sleek high-heeled shoes completed the look, reinforcing her poised and commanding presence.

Luke longed to meet her gaze, yet he kept his head bowed, unable to bear the weight of her commanding aura. 

It was as if her very presence pressed him down, forcing him to shrink away. And the emotions in her eyes—an unmistakable simmer of anger aimed at Errol Wynter—did nothing to ease his torment.

'Damn it! Why Errol's body? Why couldn't I have transmigrated into someone lesser... or even into her future husband?'

Luke silently cursed himself, biting his lip in bitter frustration.

Finally, breaking the stifling silence, Eryn's voice cut through the gloom in a cool, measured tone: 

"I can't even enjoy banquets anymore without your name being whispered at royal meetings."

Luke's heart skipped a beat—her distinctive contralto voice was even more enchanting than he'd imagined.

'Holy shit, her voice is just like I imagined. So cool!'

Yet, beneath its mesmerizing tone, her words carried a sharp edge of exasperation that unsettled him further.

However, it was Eryn who wore the most surprised expression.

Errol Wynter, her troublesome, hot-headed brother, wasn't interrupting. He wasn't scoffing, rolling his eyes, or launching into one of his usual rants. 

Instead, he was silent—listening to her words with patience.

That was new.

After a few moments of silence, Luke gathered his courage, Luke slowly rose and dared to lift his eyes. 

In that instant, Eryn recoiled, her gaze flashing with something unsettling—a wide, almost unnerving smile that made her step back. 

'What's wrong with him? Did Arryn knock some sense into him?' she wondered.

"Hi!!! My name is Errol!" 

Luke blurted out in a nervous, halting introduction—as if they were meeting for the first time. To him, it was—but to her, it wasn't. He raised his hand awkwardly, his shyness unmistakable.

Eryn tilted her head in mild confusion. 

But when their eyes finally met, his tentative smile vanished, replaced by a look of raw hurt that pierced her stoic facade. The unmistakable distaste in her eyes stung him, echoing Arryn's predatory judgment from before.

In a moment of despair, Luke clenched his fist—an involuntary reminder of all the times he'd been looked down upon. 

Without thinking, he slapped himself hard across the face. The unexpected self-inflicted blow startled Eryn, and despite her icy exterior, a trace of genuine concern seeped into her voice.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly.

Luke pressed his hand against his stinging cheek, mortified to realize he'd struck himself more fiercely than intended. Still, he lifted his other hand in a clumsy gesture of reassurance, stuttering, 

"Nothing! I'm alright… just reminding myself."

"Reminding yourself of what?" 

Eryn pressed, her tone a curious blend of kindness and caution.

'Just how pathetic I am…' 

Luke thought bitterly. Yet as he met her gaze once more, determination sparked in his eyes—a glimmer of resolve that both intrigued and puzzled her. 

Still, she maintained her cool, unreadable expression.

Breaking the silence, Luke asked directly, 

"Why am I here in this prison?"

Eryn's reply was crisp and unyielding. 

"You're under arrest for conspiring with Masym Rete to steal Prince Arryn Rocheford's divine sword—and for killing an innocent bystander named Geoffrey Floray."

"What?!" 

Luke staggered, his legs buckling in shock before he exploded in protest. "What are you talking about?! Geoffrey Floray is innocent! He is Ma—"

Before he could utter Masym's name, Eryn raised a steady hand to his face, silencing him. Her eyes were stern and unwavering, leaving no room for argument.

'What is she doing?' 

Luke thought as she slowly lowered her hand.

Eryn tilted her head slightly to the right, her gaze flickering back before settling forward once more. Then, with an air of calm authority—she remarked as if nothing had just transpired. 

"Keep your excuses to yourself and save your breath. The High Council convenes in two days—save your chatter for there."

Eryn gave a slight nod, her expression carefully composed.

Understanding flashed in Luke's eyes. His breath hitched for a moment as a thought crept into his mind.

'Is someone watching us?' he mused silently.

His gaze flickered around subtly, scanning his surroundings with quiet urgency. He searched for unseen eyes, for the weight of a hidden presence lingering nearby—but he saw nothing.

Ignoring those watchful eyes, Eryn extended her left hand with deliberate grace.

A soft white glow blossomed on her palm, coalescing into a small, blue-crystallized bottle. In a gentle, measured tone, she said, 

"Take this as our parting gift."

Without a moment's hesitation, Luke lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her in a silent, impulsive embrace. Pressing his face close to her ear, he murmured, 

"Thank you, and…"

Eryn's eyes widened in shock—her notorious brother had never seen her treated with such unexpected tenderness. 

After a brief, awkward pause, she gently pushed him away and said, 

"Take care. And mind your tongue—don't say anything that will sully our family name, understood?"

Without looking back, Eryn turned and strode out of the cell, leaving Luke clutching the small bottle as her lingering fragrance enveloped him.

For a long moment, Luke stood alone as the mechanical sounds of the prison walls resumed—a grim reminder that he was once again trapped in darkness. 

Despite the crushing weight of his predicament and the certainty that the High Council would soon condemn Errol Wynter to death, a faint smile played on his lips. 

Luke stared at the bottle, hesitated, then gripped it tightly and took a cautious sip.

His eyes widened in recognition—it was alcohol, the very drink Errol had cherished in the novel. A wistful smile touched his face as he whispered to himself, 

'Thank you, sister. You're as kind as I always imagined.'

In the original story, Errol Wynter was a reckless, self-centered brother, tolerated only by Eryn's unfailing devotion. Even when their family shunned him, she remained steadfast by his side. 

Eryn had given Errol control of the famous underground market in Lestead City—on the surface, it seemed like nothing more than tossing a bone to a troublesome brother to keep him occupied and out of her way.

But in reality, she had stepped down of her own volition, quietly taking on the role of his assistant. Not because she doubted her own abilities, but because she believed it was her duty as his older sister to protect him. 

Deep down, she carried a silent guilt, an unspoken responsibility for the way Errol had turned out.

When Errol ultimately died at Arryn's hands for his audacious theft of the divine sword, Eryn had rallied the High Council and the underground lords in a plea for vengeance against Arryn. 

Her fierce love for her brother only deepened Luke's admiration for her. 

That unyielding strength—like a lone woman standing against the entire world—captivated him. It was that very trait that had made him fall in love with her character.

Not just him—every reader had once dreamed of an older sister like Eryn Wynter.

Even now, with his usual stalking tendencies, among the many maps he had meticulously drawn, one stood out—Lestead City. 

It was irrelevant to his plans, nothing more than a dot on a grander scheme. And yet, he had sketched it anyway.

Not for strategy. Not for convenience.

But to pinpoint the exact location of one place.

Eryn Wynter's mansion.

Luke had idolized her from afar—immersing himself in every word of her story, yearning for her happiness.

Yet in the novel, everything had crumbled. 

Eryn had perished at Arryn's cruel hands, her fate shrouded in mystery. That final, tragic twist only fueled Luke's resolve. 

Clenching his fists in anger, he recalled her last words from the novel, a promise that now soared in his heart: 

'I won't let you die this time.'

[The Hero's Journey Continues…]