Chapter 96: Crying Voices

Empathy made Broly feel no goodwill whatsoever toward the woman before him.

And her identity as Hill's mother kept him from turning that ill will into the act of killing her.

The commotion rising in the courtyard also drew the attention of those inside the house.

Upon seeing the scene in the courtyard — his wife sitting on the ground with a swollen face, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth as if she had been beaten — Hill's father grabbed a clothes-drying pole and rushed out.

"Who hit you?"

Hearing her husband's question, the woman, somewhat frightened by Broly, subconsciously raised her hand and pointed at the boy before her.

"You bastard, you actually dare hit my wife?!"

Hill's father flew into a rage at once; not caring whether the person his wife pointed at was a child, he raised the pole and swung it at Broly.

"Crack!"

Completely unsurprisingly, the oncoming pole snapped directly.

"Ugh—"

And the man who had launched the attack took one of Broly's small fists to the belly.

The severe abdominal pain forced the man's mouth open, like a salted fish gasping for air.

Retreating bit by bit, he suddenly knelt down — magic kneel, magic but — the pain too great to let out a loud sound.

"I imagine no one will come questioning me now, right?"

The man could not speak; when Broly looked over, the woman hurriedly shook her head.

"Then let us continue the topic from just now. Your son stole my clothes; as his parents, how do you intend to handle this matter?"

The woman had just prepared to say something when a small hand got there first and pinched her mouth shut.

With his other hand Broly pressed a finger to his lips and hissed.

"Don't interrupt; I haven't finished. I give you two choices to choose from. One, return my clothes to me. Two, if you truly want to give my clothes to your son, that's fine too — I've taken a liking to your daughter; hand her over to me as compensation and we'll call it even."

Having laid out the two choices, Broly released his hand, leaving the woman to make her decision.

Just at this time, a boy looking to be in a cheerful mood hopped into the courtyard from outside, and he was wearing the very clothes Broly had gotten dirty with soup yesterday.

After entering the courtyard, the boy saw his parents on the ground over there and immediately exclaimed, "Dad, Mom, what happened to you?"

"No, nothing. Hill's Younger Brother, quickly take off the clothes on you and return them to your sister's customer."

Hill's father had already caught his breath and grasped the situation; being knocked down with one punch made him realize Broly was no ordinary person.

As just an ordinary family, he did not want to offend someone he could not afford to offend over a piece of clothing, so upon seeing his son return home he immediately said this to him.

"What, make me take off the clothes, give the clothes back?"

The boy could scarcely believe it; today he had worn this outfit and shown off in front of his friends.

"Wasn't it agreed that this clothing was given to me by that idiot?"

The boy looked to his mother for help.

"Hill's Younger Brother, quickly take it off. The clothes' owner has come seeking us out; if you don't return the clothes, your sister will be taken away as compensation."

"Eh, there's even such a good thing?"

Hearing his mother's words, the boy's eyes brightened, and his inner thought spilled straight out.

"What nonsense are you spouting? Hurry up and take off the clothes on you."

"I'm not taking them off. Let that idiot be taken away by someone else."

"That's your sister!"

"I don't have such an idiot sister. Dad, don't you also dislike that guy for being clumsy, unable to do anything right, a burden on the family?"

Children's words hold no guile; the words the boy spoke were all hurtful.

"Trading this idiot for this piece of clothing — too good a deal!"

The boy thought so, but his parents did not. "Stupid goods, your sister in the future will……"

The words stopped there; Hill's father abruptly halted.

Exchange marriage — trading a daughter's happiness for a son's happiness — is no honorable thing.

"In any case, right now you must take off the clothes on you. I said so."

The man climbed up from the ground; though his abdomen still ached, he could not care about that much.

He had to grab his son, strip the clothes off him, lest he bring disaster upon the household.

The boy dodged his father, slipped around him twice in the courtyard, then ran to the woman's side.

"Mom, Dad's being fierce to me!"

The woman fell silent; only after seizing the boy's hand did she persuade him: "Obedient son, as for clothes, Mom will buy you more later. This piece we'll return."

Hearing this, the boy stared wide-eyed at his mother, disbelief at betrayal in his eyes, and the next instant the temper of a spoiled child flared up.

"No, I won't. I want this piece of clothing."

The noisy clamor made the already-beaten woman a bit annoyed; she could not hold back.

Two sharp slaps — pa pa — landed on her son's face.

"Was it me who spoiled you rotten before? Now you won't even listen to your mother? Take it off for me!"

The woman commanded.

"Wah—"

The boy, struck, went dazed for a moment; when he reacted, he burst into loud wailing.

"No!"

Crying, he lay on the ground trying to preserve the clothes that had let him show off before his friends today — or rather, his comparative vanity.

And this resistance further enraged his parents; at once one dragged the boy on the ground, the other tugged at the clothes on him.

The eleven-year-old boy's crying clamor rang through the courtyard; Chitong and the other children, average age seven or eight, watched from the side feeling somewhat incredible.

They couldn't understand this kind of unreasonable crying and tantrum behavior from a boy bigger than themselves, but the principle was actually simple: those who are favored always act without fear.

Their parents died early, they were abandoned, and in lives not too long, those tragic experiences meant Chìtóng and the others couldn't act like real children and throw tantrums.

Even though they were now favored by Broly, given the maturity of Chìtóng and the others, they wouldn't allow themselves to cause trouble for Big Brother.

"Your little brother's crying sounds very pleasant, doesn't it?"

Listening to the boy's crying, Broly, who had always been expressionless since arriving at Hill's home, slowly curled the corners of his mouth, and he suddenly asked Hill beside him.

"Ah, this..."

The bespectacled naturally airheaded girl was stunned, carefully sensed for a moment, and actually felt that it was indeed so.

"It is quite pleasant to hear."

She answered Broly's question.

At this moment, the two seemed to have reached a consensus.

In Broly's consciousness, the emotions belonging to his previous life as an otaku were surging.

'He' treated Hill's little brother as his own little brother.

Thus, at this moment, Hill's little brother's crying became an exquisite piece of music.

Nothing could make a child who received unfair treatment from their parents feel more pleased than this.

Thanks for the reward

(Chapter End)