NovelBookChapter 843: Kristian followed Freya's guidance like a ship heeding its lighthouse.
"When did you start mimicking Freya's playing style?" Lionel asked, eyebrows arched in suspicion. “Have you been practicing with her in Alerith all this time?" "I knew you missed her,” Kristian replied smoothly, "so I studied her approach. Thought I'd play in her place, keep you company in her stead." "Hmph," Lionel huffed, though his tone had softened into something resembling affection. "Had you listened toback then, you wouldn't be picking up broken pieces now. Foolish." "You're right," Kristian agreed, his tone respectful.
Lionel shot him a glare.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtOnce, he could scold Kristian and vent his anger, but now the young man's placid replies turned every sharp word into a boomerang.
It only made Lionel more exasperated.
They played two more rounds.
By the end, Lionel's tone wavered with unspoken feeling. "Do you... still want Freya back?" "Yes." "You're not afraid of failing?" "I messed up before," Kristian said without hesitation. "No matter how many hurdles lie ahead, I'll do everything I can to make it right." Lionel's heart ached with absence. Since Freya left, something in the rhythm of his days had faltered. "She was a treasure,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “And you drove her away." He had often wished Freya had been born into his family. Then, she would've been by his side always. And Kristian, as his grandson-in-law, would often cto see him while pursuing her.
Whether the two young folks were together or not wouldn't matter then.
But fate had written a different script.
"Kristian." "I miss Freya," Lionel said quietly, fingers fiddling with a chess piece as he stared beyond the board, seeing instead the memory of Freya—her laughter, her quiet presence, the games they used to share. Those soft, golden days were gone. Freya had vanished with them.
Kristian froze.
Even Freya, listening in, felt her breath catch in her throat.
"Why did you let her go?" Lionel's voice quivered, each word tinged with age and regret. "She was... such a good girl." Something inside Freya stirred, a sudden urge to book a ticket to Jeucwell and meet the old man.
But she held back.
"Would you like to call her?" Kristian asked after a beat. "I can help."
"No," Lionel said firmly. His care for Freya ran too deep to risk burdening her. "She might be busy. Besides, you hurt her. I wouldn't even know what to say."
What words could convey the ache of missing someone without asking them to dary it?
"Don't use Freya's playing style anymore," Lionel added "Every move remindsof her.” Kristian agreed without protest.
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