Reborn as a side character with a system

The ones I choose to trust.

Chapter 21

Layla got up without a word, walking out of the room. She paused at the doorway, her hand on the frame, her back to her son. The morning light caught the gold in her hair, making her look like a statue carved from grief and grace.

"Your decision better be a good one in the end."

Then she walked out, her footsteps fading down the hall, not waiting for a response. Not needing one.

Nolan stared at the empty doorway, not uttering a word until he released a long, shaky sigh. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think about what he had just done, the line he had drawn, the people he had chosen between.

"I can't lose Isabella at the moment..." he thought, his fingers clenching the bedsheets tight, twisting the fabric until his knuckles turned white. "And yes, my decision is right..."

His eyes burned with a determination like never before, his aura flowing around him in a relaxed state, purple and gold mingling like fire and sunrise. But beneath the calm, his heart hammered against his ribs.

"All I need now is to level up more... Then I will save him."

---

Hours later, Nolan entered the training ground and froze.

Dozens of knights filled the yard, swinging swords, clashing shields, running drills in perfect formation. Sweat gleamed on their foreheads. Grunts of effort filled the air. It was a Sunday. They should have been resting. Drinking. Sleeping off the week.

"What the..." Nolan muttered between his lips, his brow furrowing. "Why are they doing this on a Sunday?"

"After what you did yesterday..." A familiar voice came from behind him, low and warm. "To them, it was a sign of a strong leader in place. So they want to prove themselves useful to you."

Nolan turned with a smile already forming on his lips. "Is that so, Ralph... Well then, now I get why you never came to my room. Well then, deal with them."

"As you wish, my lord." Ralph bowed slightly, the gesture still foreign on his broad frame, still carrying the weight of a knight who had once doubted. "Let me get to it then."

He walked toward the knights, his boots crunching on gravel, only to be stopped midway by Nolan's voice.

"Hey, Ralph... Where is Isabella?"

Ralph paused. His shoulders tensed, just for a moment, before he turned back. His face was dark, his eyes shadowed with something that looked like worry. Or guilt.

"You should find her by the garden."

"Okay..." Nolan muttered slowly, watching Ralph continue toward the knights, his movements brisk and efficient. Something in Ralph's expression nagged at him, a splinter under the skin.

He walked out of the training ground, heading toward the garden path Ralph had mentioned. But as he stepped inside the mansion, he came to a halt.

Hilda stood in the hallway, a bag slung over her shoulder, her hand on the door handle of her room. She wore traveling clothes, simple and practical, not the training robes he had expected.

"What the heck is going on today?" Nolan thought, his mind reeling. "First, Mom finds out about Isabella. Second, Ralph has subordinates who suddenly want to take their jobs seriously. And now her..."

"Miss Hilda!!" He shouted, waving a hand, his voice too loud, too cheerful, trying to mask the panic climbing his throat.

Hilda's eyes shot up for a split second, sharp and startled, before she gathered her composure. Her face smoothed into the cold mask he knew too well.

"Sir Nolan." She greeted him with her cold expression, her voice flat and formal. "How may I be of help to you?"

"Well, I believe you know how..." He stepped closer, his smile faltering at the edges. "We still have mana practice today, don't we?"

"I'm sorry, but there is nothing I can be of help with." She turned away, her hand tightening on the bag strap. "Your mana is high and balanced as it is."

Nolan quickly grabbed her wrist, stopping her. His fingers wrapped around her skin, warm and firm, and he felt her pulse racing beneath his thumb.

"There is no way I've already reached the level you want me to reach," he replied, his tone dropping into something darker, something desperate.

Hilda turned back to face him. Her eyes were shining, wet with tears she refused to let fall. She looked down at his hand on her wrist, then up at his face, her lips trembling.

"Even so..." Her voice cracked, just barely. "Would you trust someone like me? Someone who was once one of the gang that wanted you dead?"

Nolan's eyes widened for a moment, caught off guard by the raw pain in her voice. Then they cooled, softened, filled with something that looked like understanding.

"I don't care what your past is..." He said it slowly, each word deliberate, a promise carved in air. "Nor do I care if you were once one of them. It's all in the past, isn't it?"

He stepped closer, his hand sliding from her wrist to her fingers, holding them gently.

"I need the person who is now standing in front of me. The Miss Hilda I know. The Miss Hilda I love and adore."

Hilda's eyes widened, her breath hitching in her throat. She bit her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, her free hand clenching into a fist at her side. She closed her eyes, forcing the tears back, wrestling with the sob that wanted to break free.

Words failed her. They stuck in her throat, heavy and sharp, too many to choose from, none big enough for what she felt.

"So please..." Nolan's voice dropped to a whisper, his fingers squeezing hers. "Teach me what I need to know."

Hilda stood there, trembling, her bag forgotten on her shoulder, her whole world narrowed to the boy in front of her who saw her, really saw her, and chose to trust her anyway.

The tears won. One escaped, tracing a silver line down her cheek.

But she did not wipe it away.