After All

The History of the Sage

The Marino Mansion had always been large, but tonight it felt cavernous—every footstep echoing too loudly, every breath lingering too long. The chandeliers glowed dimly, their light softened as if the house itself was mourning. Guards stood posted at every archway, silent and immobile, but even their presence couldn't chase away the heaviness that pressed down on the air.

Grief had many shapes in the Marino household. Tonight, it wore the mask of confusion, sarcasm, and restraint.

The arrival of Lia, Riria, Akiko, and Anju did not come with ceremony. No grand announcements. No raised voices. Just the quiet opening of the main doors and the collective stilling of the room.

All the Marino siblings were present.

Rafael stood at the front, shoulders squared but eyes tired. Nozomi remained close by, one hand resting on Aurora's shoulder. Katarina leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. Bianca, Rina, Sahoko, Mako, Jessica, Natsume, Rumika, and Aurora filled the room in small clusters—some seated, some pacing, some staring into nothing.

Karl's absence was a presence of its own.

Lia entered first.

She moved with a composed, regal grace, dressed in black not for show but for inevitability. Her face was calm, but her eyes carried the unmistakable weight of someone who had delivered bad news too many times in her life.

Behind her came Anju, posture straight, expression unreadable. Akiko followed, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, eyes distant. And finally, Riria—chewing gum, hands in her sleeves, gaze sharp and irreverent as ever.

The doors closed behind them.

Silence stretched.

Rafael broke it first.

"Aunt Anju," he said, voice steady but strained, "how is Dad?"

Akiko spoke before anyone else could.

"He colonized life on Venus."

Several heads snapped toward her.

"What?" Bianca blurted.

Anju sighed softly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Let's say he ascended somewhere and seated himself where he was always supposed to sit."

There was a beat.

Riria tilted her head. "Just tell them he's in an ice cream box."

"Riria," Lia warned quietly.

Rafael's jaw tightened. "Auntie," he said carefully, "what happened to Dad?"

Lia folded her hands in front of her.

"Let's say," she began, choosing her words with surgical precision, "that the night he left in his wheelchair... he never came back."

A ripple of unease moved through the room.

"The next day," Lia continued calmly, "the neighborhood children were seen racing a go-kart with two unusually large back wheels."

Jessica inhaled sharply.

Mako muttered, "Oh no."

Sahoko closed her eyes.

Rina whispered, "That's not—"

"I'm fairly certain," Anju added dryly, "you've all read between the lines."

Silence fell—thick, suffocating.

"We were supposed to bring his ashes," Anju continued, voice even, "but the mourners mistook them for coffee powder. Or tea. The remaining ashes were... accidentally spilled."