Home/The Ice Age Came? And I Just Got Married?!/ch 26

Chapter 26.

To cut to the chase—I went with Senior Marcus, not Logan.

So Logan seemed sulky about it, but what could I do? The real prior engagement was with Marcus.

We carried all the ski equipment up to a small hill near the village. It looked like the best spot nearby for skiing practice.

"Junior, can you actually ride this thing?"

Marcus's voice was full of concern.

That made sense—people from the south wouldn't have had much exposure to "skis."

But as I'd said, my second brother had been involved in the Department of Northern Snow and Ice Environmental Change Studies for a long time.

So as a child, I'd learned to ski with him.

Skis, he said, were a familiar mode of transport and hunting aid for northerners—like sleds.

Nathan had never skied either during his expedition, so I dredged up memories of the special training I'd received from my second brother back then.

Ah—and hunting, I learned from my eldest brother.

"This will be useful for you someday, Eve."

My eldest brother's voice suddenly came to mind. I'd forgotten, but he'd definitely said that.

Why?

I didn't know the reason—but everything I'd learned and studied with my brothers was proving immensely helpful now.

It wasn't for nothing that I'd graduated with honors in the "Hunting and Gathering" course, which Logan had somehow remembered.

What exactly happened to my second brother?

And my parents and eldest brother?

Would they be disappointed to see me surviving on my own, not even searching for them?

After absorbing enough Winterstones to protect someone, I thought I'd look for my family with Logan. The problem was that I couldn't go right now.

My second brother had gone missing in the north, and my eldest brother was in a neighboring country—so finding them right away would be difficult.

It might be better to first follow the trail of my parents, who had gone looking for my second brother...

"Eve."

Marcus's voice brought me back.

"Are you okay? You were deep in thought."

"Ah—sorry. I was just thinking about my missing family..."

At my answer, Marcus nodded with an understanding expression.

"In times like this, family does come to mind first."

A brief silence followed Marcus's words.

"Senior, what about your family...?"

"I don't have any."

"Huh? Then who was that person who came to the academy back then?"

"My adoptive father. He's passed away now."

Ah. Now I remembered—Marcus's family background.

Marcus had a miserable childhood.

He was neglected under an alcoholic, abusive father and a mother who never came home and paid no attention to her young son.

From the age of seven, he sold evening newspapers on the streets—but every penny he earned went to his father's drinking.

One day, as he sat on the street, starving, someone dropped a piece of hard bread in front of him.

He looked up to see a noble boy about his age, tossing him a piece of bread as charity.

The boy looked him up and down like a pitiful creature and said,

"It's leftover—eat it. I heard kids like you eat other people's scraps, right?"

Even at that young age, Marcus felt humiliation and degradation. And yet, he frantically picked up the hard bread and stuffed it into his mouth.

It was then, he said, that he began to wonder.

What made that boy—who had thrown him a piece of hard bread—different from him?

They were both just seven-year-old children. How much could they really differ?

The only difference was status. The only difference was their parents. The only difference was where they lived.

From that day on, Marcus decided he would be adopted by a wealthy patron—and ran away from home.

After selling newspapers and shining shoes, he eventually caught the eye of a wealthy benefactor and became his adopted son—

Thus gaining the name "Rutland."

"Was your adoptive father a good person?"

"Yes. At least to me, he was."

His adoptive father had even declared he would disown Marcus if he didn't prove his worth.

Yet Marcus called him a good person—"at least to me."

There was no pretense in his eyes when he said it.

Sometimes I wonder if the justice and convictions I uphold are just narrow perspectives based on my own limited experiences.

Marcus's adoptive father may have given him exactly what he wanted most—unlike his biological father. What lay behind that, I cannot know.

So I shouldn't judge rashly.

Wearing the ski gear, I looked down the sloped hill and spoke quietly.

"To be honest, right after the world ended, I felt a kind of relief."

At the same time, I felt ashamed for having thought that way.

"You felt that, Junior?"

Marcus looked at me in surprise.

He seemed to think of me as some untouchable, noble young lady.

"I told you—my family fell. I was buried in debt. An unimaginable amount of debt."

"...I'll say it again—I'm sorry."

"Well—it's all in the past now."

Both Marcus and I fell silent. The fierce wind cut between us.

"Senior, do you know why I majored in Northern Snow and Ice Environmental Change Studies?"

"Wasn't it because of Assistant Professor Julian?"

Julian was my second brother's name.

"That was part of it, but ultimately it was my own choice. I was fascinated by extreme environments. I've always liked that—surviving in extreme situations. One day, I wondered why I liked it."

The wind died down, and the sun, hidden behind clouds, revealed itself.

"I think I like talking about human nature in extreme conditions. The romantic things—like humanity in the midst of it all."

Then I pulled my hood down low.

"In the end—isn't it only a hymn to humanity that can save this ruined world?"

"...I feel like I'm asking for the second time—are you sure you don't want a divorce?"

At Marcus's flippant answer, I picked up my poles.

"No. You know how crazy I've been about Logan."

It wasn't the same feeling as Logan's—but I was definitely obsessed with him. For quite a long time. I'd lived only staring at his back.

Marcus smiled bitterly.

"I know."

Then, realizing he was ready to go down, he waved.

"Junior—see you at the bottom."

"Yeah. See you at the bottom."

I waved back at him, then pushed off with my poles, gliding forward smoothly.

The skis had been made well—they slid down the slope cleanly. Almost frighteningly so.

But the slope was gentle, and my skills hadn't rusted as much as I'd feared—eventually, it became fun.

Of course, it was so cold that snowflakes clung to my eyelashes.

With the snow piled solidly up to my thighs, skiing was clearly the better option.

If I practice properly, it'll come in handy later.

So I spent the next while going up and down the slope, practicing.

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