In front of Grace's house, Rowan paused and took a deep breath. Staying meant a possible relationship… the thought scared him even more than accepting to be a count.

[Cory]: C'mon, hero, it can't be so bad… She's nice, if a bit loose.

Loose?

[Cory]: You know… having sex with a stranger the first day you met… a child out of wedlock… that's what the Multiverse calls—

"Tell me you're joking."

[Cory]: The Galaxy is a wide place, so it depends. In some places—

We're not in some places, and I'd appreciate you being polite and using the local standards, Rowan cut the AI short, entering the house with large strides. Inside, Grace and Dmitri were setting the table for lunch, with Lizzie helping.

“Oh, look who’s back!” Grace giggled, then curtsied. "I bid you welcome, your Lordship.”

“Don’t go there, I beg you. I had no idea about the vote and stuff,” Rowan waved his hands.

“Neither did I, I was sleeping,” Dmitri said. “Just for the record, I would have voted for you. And I'm glad you accepted.”

After exchanging a handshake with Dmitri and hugging Grace and Lizzie, Rowan sat at the table, resting his forehead on his arm. “I’d help, but I’m still exhausted. Isla almost k— broke me.”

“Oh, God. That’s why you look like you survived a mugging. Please change, your clothes are filthy.”

Taking a look at his clothes, Rowan noticed they were torn and dirty. So only my leather jacket gets repaired… He had left the item in his room.

"You can have some of my spare shirts," Dmitri said.

“I have a spare change, it’s OK.” Albeit he traveled light, he did have a pair of bermudas and a T-shirt in his small backpack. Ten minutes and a brief shower later, Rowan was back downstairs.

“That’s not what a Count should wear,” Dmitri exclaimed, pointing at Rowan’s shorts. “Come, I’ll lend you a pair of trousers.”

“Err… What if they don’t fit?” The art teacher was a head shorter than Rowan, about Grace’s height.

“Nonsense. Come.”

There was another stair at the southern end of the house, leading into a sort of refurbished attic. Dmitri’s apartment was a little on the untidy side, but full of colorful and pretty landscape paintings and an easel in an alcove.

“Don’t mind the mess,” Dmitri said.

“What mess? You should have seen my old man’s studio.”

“Wait! Allinder… Of course, how stupid of me. You’re Johan’s son?”

“Adopted... but yeah…”

“What a pleasure!” Dmitri rushed and grabbed Rowan’s hand, shaking it with enthusiasm.

“You knew him?”

“I sold a couple of my works through his gallery, long ago. Is he… still around?”

“He passed away two years away, in his sleep.”

“God rest his soul,” Dmitri crossed himself. “What a good man he was!”

“Yeah… Annoying but nice.”

“In his honor, I’ll offer you my best pair of pants.”

Five minutes later, after changing in the bathroom, Rowan looked in the mirror with dismay. The pants were top-notch, but a few inches shorter, as expected. “I’d better change back.”

“Wait!” Kneeling, Dmitri pulled on the cuffs, making the trousers descend a little. With the T-shirt covering the belt part, which was now low, Rowan started to look acceptable. Back downstairs, his stomach growling with hunger, he looked forward to eating something. Grace must have read him because she said:

“You look like you could eat a horse.”

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All of a sudden, the experience of the 'sparing' session came back to life in his mind. Albeit his previous gracious attitude, in the hills, a bit of resentment and grudge washed over Rowan. And it looked like a good occasion to complain and grumble in front of a nice woman who could reward his suffering with a hot sex session. Maybe starting with a massage?

“An elephant, maybe. That psycho gave me the worst beating of my life. I'm aching everywhere.”

“I-Isla? N-nah… she’s tough but n-nice. She trains our high-school wrestling team, and the girls l-love her.”

“What do kids know,” Rowan sulked. “She’s demented… why are you looking at me like that?” Grace was winking like there was no tomorrow, Lizzie was giggling, and Dmitri gasping. “She’s behind me, isn’t it?”

“Hi,” Isla said, hugging Grace. Behind her, Thomas carried a cake box.

She was in my back, and you said nothing? Stupid AI!

[Cory]: Isla’s here for Lizzie’s birthday, she’s turning six today. First grade. She acts more childish to lure potential fathers into liking her. I’ve read the school’s shrink files on her. Also, Isla and Grace go way back, high-school besties. They are both twenty-seven now. They had a third BFF, older, who died in an accident, together with her husband. Isla adopted their kid.

Grace started to bring in the courses, and they ate. The food was delicious, but Rowan was too embarrassed to enjoy it fully.

Why should I feel embarrassed? he said to himself. After all, she’s the one who almost killed me. He threw a frown at the woman and froze, realizing for the first time Isla wore a dress instead of her police uniform and looked stunning. Her arms and legs, tanned and fit, had lots of muscles, only not of the bulky kind, but lean and shiny, like a panther’s. And her eyes… gray-blue, going through him like a laser.

“I’m sorry, OK?” Isla blurted.

“It’s all right,” Rowan hurried to say, happy she misunderstood his ogling. “I’m just not used to training at this intensity.”

“Mom doesn’t know the meaning of the word easy. You should see my training routine. True hell,” Thomas raised his eyes from his smartphone for a second. "Worse than a Chinese tiger mother."

Is there a phone connection to the outside, Cory?

[Cory]: No, I built a local network. The Internet connection to the outer world works, but I'm restricting the access until you decide what information to allow in and out.

Clinking, Rowan put his glass on the table. He had eaten and drank with the rest, even participating in the conversation, he realized, like a second personality had split from him for a while.

[Cory]: Your WIL and first DEX perk are buffing your INT. Normally, you need the first threshold to be able to multitask like that. I’ll leave you be. They’ll sing Happy Birthday soon. I'll go install some US-standard plumbing in your mansion.

“Get up, we’re singing Happy Birthday,” Dmitri whispered in his ear at the same time, pulling him by an elbow.

“Haapy Birthday to—”

“ME!” Lizzie yelled over the choir.

“Haapy Birthday to—”

“ME!”

“Haapy Birthday, dear Lizzie… Happy Birthday to you!”

Hugs, gifts, pats, ruffled hair. Even Thomas, a gender enemy, at that age, embraced her. Lizzie, though, was searching with her eyes for only one target. Rowan. He felt his heart breaking, melting, and then putting itself together. That kind of eyes, and the need to be loved, to belong, he had them too as a kid. He kneeled in front of Lizzie, fondling her shoulder. “Sweetie?”

“Y-yes?” she looked at him with suspicion.

“I like your mother, but adults need time to see if things work,” he said then continued before Lizzie had time to react or cry. “But… I have an idea… I'm a Count now, that must give me some sort of clout here, right? If your mother allows it,” he searched for Grace’s eyes, “I want to adopt you as my… a sort of… honorary daughter? With your mommy keeping full custody, of course.”

“Mommy?” Lizzie looked up, with hope blossoming in her eyes.

"That's… too all of a sudden," Grace said hesitantly. "I—"

"It didn't take me more than a second to know I want to adopt Thomas," Isla said, looking into nothingness. "When Miriam, died, that was my first thought, even before I cried… The old world is gone, Grace. You didn't see those monsters… Nine feet tall, all muscles, claws, and fangs… Rowan took them on with only a knife, and he killed the last one with his bare hands. Castles grow overnight, the government nukes us… For what it's worth, I think he's weird, but goodhearted." She searched for Rowan's eyes, and he understood. It was her way of apologizing for going overboard during the sparing session.

Grace nodded, then came and hugged Rowan and Lizzie.

“Thank you, thank you!” Lizzie beamed. “It’s my best birthday ever!”

“Bwhaaaa….” Dmitri erupted in sobs, running out of the room.

“Don’t mind him, Russians are sentimental,” Grace smiled. “Welcome to the family, Rowan.”

"Err…" Rowan tried to speak, but the blue notification made him gasp.

You are now officially a parent of Viscountess Elizabeth Garcia Larmontel.

Seriously? I was thinking of giving Lizzie an honorary daughter diploma and taking her biking once a week...

[Cory]: For goodness’s sake! Can't I take my eyes off you for a second? You're a Count! Your words matter.

But I said 'honorary', didn't I?

[Cory]: With Lizzie yearning for a dad, Grace for a partner, and Isla's remorse for almost killing you?

Hey, relax… I'll sort it out… Maybe two sessions of bike riding and some help with homework—

[Cory]: I wish you the best of luck at parenting. You're 99% percent there.

You're sarcastic, aren't you?

[Cory]: Have to go, a lot of plumbing to sort out.

The inner dialogue had taken no more than a few seconds. Meanwhile, the conversation had moved on.

“Hm… so it's official… no more paperwork needed…” Isla said, checking her phone. “Very well… But you’ll have to go to a shrink I’ll choose. I still think you're a bit weird.”

“If you don't mind, I’d like to relax on the porch, with a piece of cake and a glass of whiskey. I had quite a hard couple of days,” Rowan excused himself, ruffling Lizzie's hair to make his exit more acceptable.