RAGNA POV...
While everything on the surface seemed to be moving smoothly, I couldn’t stop myself from noticing the subtle but increasingly unsettling details that crept into my daily life, especially how every single time Oge’s treatment session ended, an odd, almost heavy atmosphere would settle between my mother and my eldest sister.
The way their gazes would first linger on Oge—as if measuring her, comparing her to something unseen—before slowly shifting to me with looks I couldn’t quite decipher, looks filled with hesitation, curiosity, and something dangerously close to expectation.
More often than not, they would open their mouths as if they were finally going to ask the question burning in their minds, only to close them again at the last second, leaving behind nothing but suffocating silence that stretched for the rest of the day, and no matter how hard I tried.
I couldn’t figure out what exactly they were thinking, which only caused my thoughts to spiral further and further out of control.
’Have they noticed?
Did they realize the red portions weren’t herbs or medicine, but my blood?
Maybe they already guessed... and just don’t know how to bring it up?’
The more I thought about it, the worse it became, until my paranoia swelled so much that my head throbbed violently, as if it might split open at any moment, and their strange behavior planted endless doubts into my mind, one chasing the other.
Especially when I started hearing whispers—low, hushed conversations that abruptly stopped whenever I got close—making it painfully clear that something was definitely off.
It took every ounce of courage I had to crush all the excuses my mind desperately tried to feed me just so I wouldn’t have to confront them, but in the end, avoidance only made things worse, and so the confrontation finally happened in my parents’ room, where we usually gathered for Oge’s treatment.
"Ragna," Elina, began, her cheeks puffed slightly as she spoke.
"Have you noticed how much your sister has changed in such a short time?"
"Yes," I replied honestly, "Sister Oge is much healthier now. She’s doing far better."
"Of course she is," she said quickly, waving her hand slowly from Oge’s head all the way down to her toes, "but don’t you notice anything... different?"
"...Did she grow taller?" I asked after a brief pause.
"Yes, but aside from that?" she pressed, clearly hinting at something deeper.
"My treatment helped stabilize her health," I said carefully, choosing my words with caution, "at least now we don’t have to worry so much about the weather or her frequent relapses."
For the first time in my life, I found myself genuinely confused, standing there and listening without knowing what to say next.
"Really, son?" my mother sighed.
"Don’t you see that her complexion has become softer? Smoother? That she looks almost... divine?"
It wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed—being half of the same family, every change in Oge resonated faintly through our connection—but I simply hadn’t paid attention to it, and now that it was pointed out.
I couldn’t deny it anymore, because while Oge had always had lighter skin compared to my parents and Ada, ever since her treatment began, her skin had transformed into something unreal, like the polished, glowing complexions I used to see advertised on luxury spa commercials back on Earth.
"And that’s not all," my mother continued, growing more animated, "her skin is rosier, delicate, flawless—no blemishes at all—and she’s become more slender than girls her age. If she actually played outside, I would’ve suspected something improper!"
I scratched my head, genuinely lost, because I knew absolutely nothing about being a girl, and everything they were describing sounded to me like natural side effects of her halfling constitution—or worse, the early signs of an evolution I had feared might happen soon and strangely enough, I wasn’t panicking, because through our faint connection, I was certain I’d feel it the moment something like that began.
"Why is that a problem, Mother?" I asked calmly, trying not to raise suspicion. "Aren’t those all good things?"
"Big idiot," Oge suddenly cut in, rolling her eyes. "They just want you to do the same thing for them."
I was completely flabbergasted.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to—it was that I couldn’t, not properly, not safely, because the system had only given me a single slot to demonize one relative, and if I repeated the same process on them.
There was a real chance my household would soon be crawling with actual demons, and at that point it wouldn’t just be our lives at stake—the villagers would wipe us out the moment they found out.
The thought alone made me feel an odd sense of pity for them... and an even stronger urge to facepalm.
’So that’s what all the hints were about...’
"Seems like I’m going to get very busy soon," I sighed internally, resigning myself as I listened to my mother and sister’s relentless pleas, unable to escape the coming storm.
Everything they said sounded both right and terribly wrong at the same time—right, because I couldn’t deny the guilt I felt over giving Oge special treatment, but wrong, because what they were asking for could easily doom us all—and in the end, after a long silence, I decided to tell them the truth.
I couldn’t give them the same treatment Oge received... but I could give them something else.
A weaker, controlled beautifying effect.
And that was how I fell prey to them.
The days that followed were sleepless ones, spent calculating exact amounts, limits, risks, and tolerances, until I finally settled on blood potions diluted just enough to enhance appearance without triggering demonization, disguising them as harmless treatments so no unnecessary suspicion would arise, allowing both my mother and Ada to soak in blood-infused wash tubs without ever realizing how close they were skirting danger.
With all that practice, combined with daily meditation, my body improved rapidly—my Mana core growing denser, my recovery speed faster—until before I even realized it, Father had joined the beauty frenzy as well.
As the weather improved and villagers began interacting more frequently through trade, John started losing his mind.
"Son, you have to help me," he pleaded desperately one evening. "Your mother looks ten years younger than me! People are whispering that she was unfortunate to marry me!"
After a long pause, I sighed.
"Fine," I said, "but under one condition—no one ever finds out. Not a word to anyone. Not even Gustav."
Father hesitated only briefly before nodding, the worry in his eyes making it painfully clear that he understood just how dangerous the truth really was.