The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character
Chapter 40 - 40: Ultra-rich Villain Dad [3]

"…And now here you are, looking me in the eye while greeting me," he said, eyes steady on mine. "I have to admit… you've changed, son."

I held his gaze, forcing myself not to look away.

Inside, my thoughts were going haywire.

So Rin didn't talk to his sister properly? He avoided eye contact with his father? What kind of antisocial wreck had I inherited this body from?

No wonder everyone kept looking at me like I was a circus act learning to juggle for the first time.

Still, I couldn't afford to show nerves now.

"Change isn't always a bad thing," I replied, steady and calm.

His smirk deepened—subtle, but unmistakably there. Like he was sizing me up again, recalibrating whatever mental model he had built for his 'son.'

"You're right," he said after a pause. "Change can be useful. Especially when it comes with competence."

He leaned back, fingers interlaced on the table, gaze unreadable.

"Let's have a light breakfast."

"Yes, sir."

The meal was mostly quiet. Neither of us said much, and the only sound between us was the occasional clink of silverware.

But as I neared the end of the soup, I caught it again—a flash of surprise in his eyes.

Seriously, what was with everyone giving me that look?

First Leona, then the butler, now my own dad?

Did Rin used to act that differently?

After finishing the soup—served as a simple appetizer—I set my spoon down and met his gaze.

He stared at me for a moment, then said, "You ate the soup quickly."

I froze for a second.

Was that supposed to be a subtle jab? A critique about manners or something? Come on, we just saw each other for the first time in years and he's starting with this?

Sorry, but I grew up in an orphanage. I've had tougher breakfast conversations with kids who'd just learned how to throw a punch over cereal.

Still, I kept my tone light. "Yeah, well. Hunger doesn't really care about table etiquette."

His eyes narrowed slightly—more intrigued than offended.

"I see," he murmured. "You never used to eat it at all. You'd just stir it. Push it around. Let it get cold."

Oh.

That… explained the surprise.

He wasn't criticizing me.

He was comparing me.

To the old Rin.

The version of me that used to sit here, barely touching food, barely speaking, barely looking up. No wonder this man was trying to decode me like I was some long-forgotten puzzle box that suddenly started ticking.

"Well," I said with a shrug, "guess my taste's improved."

He didn't reply immediately.

Instead, he tapped his index finger once on the velvet-covered table, as if weighing a decision.

Then he spoke again.

"I'm not sure."

I blinked.

"What?"

He looked at me steadily. "I'm not sure if you've just decided to accept everything and treat us like strangers… or if you've actually started to forgive us, even a little."

I didn't know what to say.

For the first time since I sat down, he didn't look like the cold, distant man I'd always imagined. He looked like… a father. A father quietly hoping for something from his son.

But I didn't have the answers he was looking for.

When I glanced up, his crimson eyes—those almost vampiric eyes—held something unexpected: a mixture of hope, longing… and sorrow.

I inhaled slowly, trying to steady myself.

This wasn't something I could brush off. Something must've happened—something heavy, maybe even painful—between him, Rin's sister, and the old Rin… me.

He wasn't just asking out of curiosity.

He was asking because he needed to know.

But I couldn't give him anything—not yet. Because I wasn't the Rin he remembered.

And without knowing what happened between them, without knowing the full story… I had no right to speak on Rin's behalf.

So there was only one thing I could do.

Put this conversation on pause. At least until I could understand the past.

"To be honest… I don't know."

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "What?"

I met his gaze—those blood-red eyes that mirrored mine.

"I'm not sure how I feel right now. It's… complicated. I don't want to pretend everything's fine when I don't even know what 'everything' is."

My words weren't rehearsed. They came out raw, unpolished—maybe even too honest. But that was the truth. I couldn't play the role of a son in a family drama I didn't even have the script for.

His expression didn't change much, but the atmosphere shifted.

He leaned back slightly, like he'd expected a fake answer but got a real one instead.

"I see," he said quietly.

Silence stretched again, but this time it wasn't awkward.

It was thoughtful.

Measured.

"…You sound different," he said after a while, tapping a single finger against the edge of his plate. "More grounded. Like you're finally standing on your own legs."

Was that a compliment? It sounded like one—at least for him.

"I guess I had to grow up a little," I muttered.

He gave a faint chuckle. It was brief, almost inaudible, but it was there.

"You look better than the last time I saw you… healthier."

Healthier?

I wasn't just healthier. I was built different now.

Ten-kilogram dumbbells? Child's play.

But then came the food—and that's where things got weird.

The main dish arrived, and I was staring down at a bowl of clear soup.

Across from me, he was already cutting into a thick, juicy roast beef.

What the hell?

Discrimination in real time?

Was this why he ended up so emotionally repressed?

Okay maybe old Rin wouldn't have said anything against this discrimination.

But that was the old Rin Evans.

This was Rin Evans.2.

And this upgraded version? He was starving—for protein.

Meanwhile, sitting across from me was a man who'd clearly never missed a day of protein intake in his life.

Come on. Wasn't it about time he shared some of that abundance?

I cleared my throat. It was time for a secret weapon—my ultimate technique.

"Faaather~ why are you the only one eating meat? What about me, Father? Is there no meat for your poor son, Father?"

Yes. I was pulling out the legendary "guilt trip used by children aged five to ten."

I knew it was cringe. The whole thing felt ridiculous coming out of my mouth, but the tension in the air was way too thick, and honestly? I just really wanted some meat.

He paused, blinking at me in disbelief.

"You want meat? And what's with this 'Father' stuff? You've always called me 'Dad.' And even that was barely passable—you never said it with that much… drama."

For the first time since we sat down, he cracked.

His usual cool, composed mask slipped just a little. He looked genuinely flustered.

Oh?

So the cold-blooded Rin Evans' father actually liked being called 'Father.' Noted.

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

"…You're mocking me," he said slowly, eyes narrowing.

I gave him the most innocent look I could muster. "Me? I would never mock my beloved Father."

He stared.

I widened my eyes.

He exhaled sharply—more of a sigh than a laugh—but it was there.

Then, without a word, he carved off a generous slice of his roast beef, placed it onto my plate, and said, "Fine. Take it before I change my mind."

I blinked. "Wait, really?"

"You're clearly determined to make this breakfast impossible unless you get your meat."

"Damn right," I muttered under my breath, already forking the slice before he could retract the offer.

The moment it touched my tongue, I nearly moaned. Tender, juicy, perfectly seasoned. The kind of roast that made soup feel like water flavored with disappointment.

He watched me eat it, arms crossed now, his expression unreadable again—but softer somehow. Less tension in his shoulders. Less calculation in his eyes.

"Is it good?" he asked.

I nodded, swallowing. "Incredible. If I had to eat this every day, I might've actually stayed home."

He gave me a look. Not amused, exactly—but not irritated either. It was somewhere in the realm of fondly exasperated.

"I'll let the kitchen know," he said dryly. "Assuming you don't insult the chef with your 'orphanage survivor' comments next time."

"I make no promises."

A faint smile tugged at his lips again. It didn't last, but I saw it. He was trying not to show it, but I could tell—some part of him was relieved.

Maybe he didn't expect this meal to go well.

Maybe he thought I'd storm out.

Or worse, sit here like a mute ghost, just like the old Rin.

But I wasn't a ghost.

I was here.

Awkward, confused, winging it—but present.

And somehow, in spite of everything I didn't know… that seemed to be enough for now.

Every. Last. Piece.

He even gave me a small smile. Not a smug smirk. A real smile.

He didn't take his eyes off me. Just stared.

Unblinking.

Observing like I was some rare creature that had started talking.

I tried to ignore him. Pretend like his intense gaze wasn't burning holes through my soul.

…Fine. Maybe I was a little bothered.

But not enough to stop eating.

Free meat was free meat.