HEO 98

Stuffy-Nosed Mouse kept staring at Silver as he kneaded the dough. He blinked repeatedly. He looked like someone who couldn’t tear his eyes away from something that had briefly flashed into view through a window that had opened and closed for just a moment.

“Were you originally a warrior? From a fallen tribe like me?”

“I don’t want to answer that.”

Silver drew a line.

“It’s a pain to talk. Just keep kneading the dough.”

Stuffy-Nosed Mouse’s expression turned stiff. His lips moved a few times but he said nothing. It looked as if he had forced down some words that already were on the tip of his tongue. He immediately turned around and roughly opened the iron door of the oven. Dry heat spread into the room.

Stuffy-Nosed Mouse placed the loaves of bread one by one onto the stone shelves inside the oven. A dull thud sounded each time a loaf hit the shelf. The sound of the oven door closing and the clang of a knife hitting a cutting board followed in quick succession. Irritation seeped through the sounds.

To throw such a tantrum just because he was refused an answer. He’s a guy who hasn’t been ignored enough. Though, given his looks and skills, it’s only natural.

Silver placed his chin on his hand and stared at the floor. Rainwater that had dripped from his robe pooled in a crescent shape beneath the chair. A belated question came to mind.

Why am I doing this?

He followed Stuffy-Nosed Mouse out. He even spilled the beans on personal matters he’d always [visit our site]guarded as closely as a miser guards his coins.

There were several answers. He was curious if that loud, chatty giant had kicked the bucket. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to tell him about his lineage and the origin of his name. All of that was true. The problem was that there was one more, more fundamental answer, hidden like the daggers concealed in his robe.

It was because of what happened that night.

Silver swallowed. The scent of sandalwood lingered stubbornly in his memory. The terrible heat that had overwhelmed the sound of the rain and pressed against him with the man’s body still seemed to weigh down on his side.

He should have pitied a dying man. Or perhaps treated him like a burden he’d been forced to shoulder. But at that moment, for just an instant – and it was absurd – Silver felt a thirst. The heat radiating from the man had awakened something deep within him that he’d never felt before. He wanted to know what lay beyond the boundary he’d already crossed. He wanted to keep going further.

He wanted that. From a dying man.

He had never experienced such a feeling before. That thing people usually call desire. He hadn’t even harbored curiosity. Not toward the women strutting through the bathhouses, nor the half-naked men staggering through back alleys and bars, nor anyone else, not even once.

To Silver, desire was a legend passed down through the ages. Or a ballad sung by a minstrel, or the ramblings of a drunkard. But one night, as torrential rain poured down, a single, fleeting kiss from a man driven by fever caused his body to suddenly rebel.

But why a man? Was I the type to be attracted to men?

Silver frowned. The people of Stoll didn’t really care which gender you did that with. The problem was the specific person. Why did I have to be attracted to a guy who looked just like that servant? Why!

Could it be because he looked like the servant…?

But the servant is the bastard who killed my biological father…

…….

After racking his brain, Silver came up with the best possible explanation. The order was wrong. Long before he met Wolf, he had already unconsciously made a person who looked like Wolf his ideal type! Amber eyes and blond hair with a hint of silver, a straight nose and strong brow bones, a face that suited a bright smile!

In other words, the reason Silver reacted to Stuffy-Nosed Mouse was because he resembled his ideal type. It wasn’t because he looked like Wolf! Phew, that’s settled!

Shit. I’ve lived as a virgin for way too long.

This whole mess happened because he, of all people, a Stoll, kept his virginity for no good reason. If you leave the cork in for too long, the wine goes bad. If he’d just hooked up with anyone and gotten it over with in his early teens like the other Stoll teens, he wouldn’t be floundering like this.

As soon as I get back to the mainland, I’m grabbing whoever I can and losing my virginity. Damn it, what’s the big deal about virginity? I’ll spit it out like phlegm!

Some time had passed, and the sweet, warm scent of bread wafted through the air. From inside the iron door of the oven came the sound of bread crusts crackling. The sweet smell of milk and spices also rose into the air.

Stuffy-Nosed Mouse snapped his fingers right in front of Silver’s face.

“Eat.”

Silver looked up. Two steaming loaves of bread on a wooden cutting board. Beside them, a bowl of milk porridge exuding the scent of honey.

Silver looked away. He stared not at Stuffy-Nosed Mouse, but at the wall blackened by the oven’s smoke.

“No thanks. You eat it.”

A brief silence followed those words.

“Why, you–”

Stuffy-Nosed Mouse started to speak harshly but stopped short. The voice that emerged after a pause was, in contrast, calm and soft.

“You eat it. I made it for you.”

It was a tone of voice that anyone raised in a harsh world would have encountered countless times. Even Black Weasel would speak in that voice when barely suppressing the urge to throw something at him.

“You made it. So you should eat it.”

Silver stared at the wall while speaking.

“If you made it for me, you wasted your time. You picked only things I hate.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Bread, milk, honey. All of it?”

“Yes. I hate it.”

“Was I mistaken?”

Silver paused and finally looked at Stuffy-Nosed Mouse. Anger lingered in the man’s eyes. The red glow from the hearth behind him faintly illuminated the contours of his solid physique.

“Mistaken? About what?”

At Silver’s question, Stuffy-Nosed Mouse closed his eyes. He took a slow breath, held it, and exhaled. The thick veins on his forearms twitched.

“I–”

Stuffy-Nosed Mouse opened his mouth. He looked as if he were forcing out words he didn’t even want to say.

“I thought we’d gotten a little closer.”

At those words, Silver realized something. Even in moments of extreme embarrassment, the blood in his body could run cold.

The man continued before Silver could even find a reply.

“I stayed up all night nursing you. You came looking for me through the rain. I thought that meant something.”

It was a good thing he was wearing a mask. If he’d been bare-faced, his crimson complexion would have given him away.

Stuffy-Nosed Mouse’s words meant nothing more than that they’d grown a little closer as companions. It was, so to speak, like a stone tossed carelessly.

The problem was that a passing ladybug had been crushed by it. It struck with the same precision of the perfect, lethal blows that had dispatched the prisoners, and exposed the truth Silver had been desperately trying to ignore. It felt as though his own desires had been laid bare by the man’s words.

Moreover, the man himself was staring at him from close range. His golden hair glistened with moisture, and white flour was smeared across his upper body. That firm, half-naked body was enough to remind him of the heat that had lingered on Silver’s lips that night.

Silver was overcome with fear. The heat spreading across his face was already running down his neck.

He will see it. He will notice.

I don’t want to be found out!

“Yes. It’s just your imagination.”

Silver jumped to his feet. The chair legs scraped against the floor.

“Now that I’ve made sure you are not dead, I’m leaving.”

The stairs leading to the exit were slippery with rainwater. Silver took two steps at a time. He didn’t look back until he was outside.

The alley was filled with torrential rain and fog. Silver trudged forward while desperately searching through his thoughts. He needed another thought to drive away the longing, the amber eyes, and the brief kiss.

The substitute Silver pulled from the drawers of his mind was a man. His mother’s last lover.

He took a deep breath, and forced his thoughts toward that substitute. His thoughts, trembling like the fingertips of a drunkard, didn’t find their target until he had walked another twenty paces or so.

He was a wealthy merchant who traveled between Atania and Stoll. A widower who had lost his wife without having children, he was kind to Silver. He was sincere with Silver’s mother. He wanted them to marry and build a happy family. Had things worked out back then, Silver’s life would have taken a completely different course. The stepson of a wealthy merchant. His mother would have given birth to two or three of Silver’s younger siblings.

But one night, the merchant was murdered by a giant clad in a wolfskin. Silver’s mother, who shared the same bed, was killed as well.