Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 195: The Calvin Family

Chapter 195: The Calvin Family

The castle loomed before Lyra, towering and grand, but when she looked closer, its corners told a different story.

The faded and cracked walls whispered of years gone by, a physical reflection of the decline of once-mighty noble families.

On the surface, they were still impressive, but beneath the glamour, they were slowly falling apart, their influence stolen by the military and government long ago.

Albert bent down slightly, holding the car door open with a practiced hand.

Standing at the entrance, a maid and a young butler bowed in perfect unison, greeting Lyra with a formal, "Welcome, Miss Lyra."

Lyra seemed completely mismatched with her surroundings.

The maids were dressed in lacy caps and traditional uniforms, while Lyra was the picture of modern efficiency. She was wearing a sleeveless white chiffon blouse, army-green pants that hugged her frame comfortably, and sturdy black ankle boots.

Her look was simple, functional, and seemed almost out of place in the refined vibe.

Albert watched her closely, hoping to catch a glimpse of emotion, but all he saw was a distant, unfamiliar expression—as if she were walking into a place she barely recognized.

"Miss Lyra, your grandfather awaits you," Albert said, his voice taking on a more formal edge.

Lyra caught the shift in his tone but only nodded, her eyes focused straight ahead as she walked into the grand estate.

Inside, the entrance hall was dominated by an extravagant bronze staircase, intricately designed and topped with a lush crimson carpet that seemed to cascade like royalty itself. It stretched up and out, leading to the upper floors.

Albert guided her to a door on the right, its detailed carvings hinting at the craftsmanship of another era. He opened it to reveal the parlor inside.

"Your Lordship, Miss Lyra has arrived," Albert announced.

On the far wall facing them, there was a massive portrait of the Calvin family, each member dressed in full aristocratic attire.

Benedict Calvin stood before it, his gaunt face a storm of unspoken emotions. He turned quickly at the sound of her entering.

For a moment, his deep-set eyes flickered with a thousand thoughts, but he masked it with a warm smile.

"Come, sit down," he gestured toward a plush sofa. Then, as if remembering something important, he called to Albert, "Quick, bring out the Glacier Cake and the fruit pie from this morning."

These had been Lyra’s childhood favorites during her visits to the Calvin estate, but now, the memories of them felt distant and hazy.

Lyra sat without hesitation, her movements deliberate and calm. "There’s no need for that," she said, her tone blunt and cool. "Just tell me why you called me here."

Her lack of warmth was expected, but it still cut deep. Benedict’s enthusiasm faltered, and his face fell into a sad smile. He sighed softly, "You’re still upset with me, aren’t you?"

"I’m not," Lyra replied, lifting the teacup in front of her and taking a sip. "I survived, didn’t I?"

Benedict’s lips quivered ever so slightly. "I’m so sorry... I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I should have been."

His words were filled with remorse and affection, but they meant little to her now. "There’s no need for apologies," she said flatly. "Blood doesn’t dictate people’s choices."

"No... I couldn’t even protect my own daughter," Benedict whispered, his voice laden with sorrow.

"And I’m not here to forgive or condemn you for that," Lyra responded, sitting stiff and straight as though she were speaking to a stranger.

Unable to remain silent, Albert stepped forward, "My Lady, you misunderstand—"

"Albert, that’s enough," Benedict interrupted, turning his focus back to Lyra, though hesitation colored his voice. "I assume you’ve come to Elden Prime with plans to join the direct forces. However, there are powerful people in the Alliance Military Council... those who would block your path. They won’t make it easy for you to enlist. I wanted to offer another route—through your uncle’s recruitment channel."

He understood the uphill battle she faced and knew this was the most he could do for her.

His offer hit home. Lyra had intended to pay her way into a position and slowly claw her way up, but now, the Calvin family had just opened up a more direct path.

She found herself seriously considering it.

Seeing Lyra remain silent, Benedict misread her pause as reluctance. He let out a low, bitter laugh. "It’s hard these days, even for nobles, to form their own regiments. Your uncle’s had his own struggles climbing the ranks. He’s still stuck in the direct forces. This is all I can offer you. If you’re unwilling—"

Lyra’s eyes narrowed, her stare as sharp as a dagger. "What’s the catch? What price are you asking for this ’favor’?" Her voice was icy, slicing through the old man’s attempt at goodwill.

Benedict’s face faltered, his eyes flashing with a flicker of hurt. His lips trembled slightly before he spoke. "I... I just want to help you, Lyra. That’s all. No strings attached."

His gaze, almost pleading, begged her not to turn this moment into another wound. But Lyra had long stopped letting her emotions get tangled up in family matters. Still, she knew how to play the game.

"I understand," she finally said, offering a faint, almost sarcastic smile. "Thank you, Grandpa."

Benedict’s face brightened instantly, a look of pure relief washing over him. His wrinkled cheeks creased into a beaming smile. "Good, good! Then stay for a while. Your cousin Kritt is on leave tomorrow. He can take you with him when he returns to the military."

Albert, pleased with how things were unfolding, quickly nodded in agreement and motioned for two maids to attend to Lyra.

"Miss Lyra, if you’ll follow us, we’ll take you to your room," one of the maids said with a bow.

They led her toward the elevator hidden behind the grand staircase—an architectural masterpiece built more for display than function.

As the elevator glided up to the third floor, familiar paintings and decorations from her childhood flashed before her eyes, stirring memories she thought she’d buried.

When they reached her room, it was as if time had frozen—the space was exactly as she remembered from years ago.

"My Lady, would you like a bath first?" the maids asked, clearly nervous in her presence.

Lyra nodded, not particularly interested in pleasantries. "Yes."

The maids hurriedly wheeled out a rack filled with luxurious dresses and formal attire, but Lyra barely glanced at them. "Pick a pantsuit," she instructed coolly.

They scrambled to obey, selecting a sleek riding outfit. As Lyra stepped into the bathroom, the maids exchanged whispers, giggling softly.

"She’s so serious, but not as scary as I thought," one of them muttered.

Meanwhile, downstairs, a commotion erupted at the entrance.

The maids stole a glance out the window, their expressions shifting dramatically.

Something—or rather, someone—had arrived.

Lyra emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, dressed in a plush robe. The maids quickly helped her into the tailored pantsuit, fastening the last button just as the sharp clacking of heels echoed down the hall.

The door burst open with force, revealing a girl with wild brown curls and a puffed-up blue lace gown, her head topped with a massive bow. She marched in with all the grace of a tempest.

The maids immediately curtsied. "Miss Isadora," they greeted her in hushed tones.

Isadora’s eyes darted to Lyra, a mocking grin spreading across her face. "Well, well, Lyra! After all that time rolling around in the dirt on Voidstar, it seems you’ve managed to clean up just fine, huh?"

Lyra calmly adjusted her cuff, her gaze barely lifting. "Isadora, is that you?" Her voice carried a distinct edge of indifference.

This was the same cousin who had bickered with her incessantly as children, always picking fights she couldn’t win, then running to cry about it when she lost.

"Surprised you even remember me, COUSIN!" Isadora huffed, flipping her skirt dramatically as she strutted around the room like she owned the place.

Without warning, she snatched the teapot from the bedside cart and tipped it over, spilling tea across the freshly made bed.

She tossed the pot aside, crossing her arms with a smug smile. "How dare you act like you belong here? Sleeping in MY house?"

It was the same petty drama from their childhood, just with bigger skirts and louder tantrums.

Lyra, however, was neither surprised nor fazed. She merely turned to the maids. "Change the sheets."

Then, without missing a beat, she stepped toward Isadora. The smug look on her cousin’s face faltered as Lyra closed the distance.

Isadora’s voice wavered. "W-What are you doing? I’m warning you, this is my house—"

Lyra didn’t even let her finish. In one swift motion, she grabbed a fistful of the lace gown, spun Isadora effortlessly, and tossed her right into the hallway.

Isadora hit the ground with an unceremonious THUD, her elaborate dress sprawling out like a deflated balloon.

Stunned silence followed, with Isadora staring up in shock, completely thrown off balance.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, Lyra smirked. "You’re right—it is your house. But that doesn’t mean I can’t show you your place."