The lingering marks still visible on his body kept bringing that day back to mind, but in the end, it was over. What had happened between Delroz and Banteon concluded as nothing more than a transaction, and they had returned to being merely a temporarily matched Guide and Esper.
“I’d like for you to stay longer, but are you sure you’re okay? It hasn’t been long since your body recovered.”
“You’re the one who kept telling me to pay more attention to family affairs.”
“That’s when you were healthy. I wouldn’t ask someone who’s still recovering to work. I’m not that heartless.”
The Finance Officer slumped his shoulders, looking genuinely wronged. Banteon tried to recall a time like that, wondering if it was true, but nothing came to mind. Had he really been told to rest when he was sick?
“Why don’t I remember any of that?”
“Because you’ve hardly ever been sick, Lord Banteon. You’ve always been naturally healthy.”
“…Right.”
He’d forgotten for a while, having recently spent too much time bedridden. But Banteon had been a robust child, never even catching a serious cold. In truth, it was more accurate to say he’d never had time to get sick. With a chronically ill mother, the mansion had always been stocked with every kind of medicinal herb and tonic. His constitution had been strong to begin with, and with medical facilities superior even to the Royal Court’s, he’d grown up without a single chance to fall ill.
Now, all of that felt meaningless. His overworked lower back still ached every time he moved. His thighs, stretched mercilessly wide, were sore with muscle pain. It still felt as though Delroz’s hands were gripping his waist.
He glanced back one last time at the laborers bustling about. Beyond the Finance Officer, who had returned to scanning his list, a strange reddish light caught his eye. Banteon tapped the man on the shoulder.
“Bring that to me. The red box.”
“Huh? You mean that small one?”
“Yeah. The one in the hand of the man wearing grey.”
The Finance Officer tilted his head as he asked again, scratching the side of his head with the pen he was holding. He looked puzzled.
“He’s holding a white box though.”
“Doesn’t matter. Bring it.”
Without blinking, Banteon fixed his eyes on the box. The Finance Officer, sensing something was off, quickly ran over and took the item from the laborer. It was a narrow, elongated box—plain, with simple wrapping and no markings.
“It’s unusual, that’s for sure. No seal or indication of where it came from. Should I just throw it out?”
“No, leave it. I’ll take care of it.”
It was a light box, seemingly meant to hold just a single small item. Up close, red energy was visibly leaking through the white, opaque wrapping. Banteon’s expression darkened as he held it. He hadn’t expected them to back down easily, but to send an invitation this blatantly…
The box, white and semi-transparent, appeared tinged with red only to Banteon’s eyes. He clicked his tongue at the now all-too-familiar, almost tiresome situation.
“Is something wrong? You look troubled.”
“I can head back now, right?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll send you the final report later for confirmation.”
Banteon turned away and walked toward the garden lit by the dull winter sun. The chilly autumn winds had now fully turned into the cold of winter. As a gust brushed his neck, he zipped his thick jacket all the way up.
The bare branches swayed feebly in the passing breeze. At this rate, it might snow by tomorrow. Unlike the slow wind, Banteon’s steps quickened.
He rushed back to his study and locked the door. Pulling the curtains shut and flicking on the desk lamp, the room dimmed, making the box’s red glow stand out even more vividly.
He’d been racking his brain trying to figure out how to track down Rohan, who had vanished without leaving so much as a shadow. And now, the bastard had the nerve to drop him a clue. Damn it—he should’ve been grateful.
Banteon opened the box and flipped it over immediately. The sudden motion sent a beautiful brooch tumbling to the floor. He heard the sound of shattering glass but ignored it as he reached for the letter tucked inside the bottom of the box.
His brows knit as he read the neat cursive on the delicate stationery—so ill-suited to its sender—line by line.
[If you’ve found this, you already know who I am without an introduction, don’t you? Nice to see you again. I wanted to meet in person, but the timing wasn’t right. So next time, I’d really like it to be just the two of us. Would you grant me that? Just the two of us. If you’re up for it, next Friday night at 10, under the old tree on Forsha Hill—I’d love a fun little date. I’m sure you’ll say yes.
P.S. I’m a shy type, so if you bring someone else, I can’t promise your safety.]
The sly, shameless intentions bleeding through the flirtatious tone made the corners of Banteon’s lips twist into a crooked smile. Of course someone this brazen would dare sneak into the Center and pull off that stunt. He carefully unfolded the letter and placed it on the desk.
If things went the way Rohan wanted and Banteon went alone, the outcome was obvious. This was someone who had once insisted on going with him and even offered to pick him up—if Banteon showed up alone, he’d be all too eager to shout with joy and try to abduct him on the spot.
But if he didn’t go, who knew when the hidden Rohan would strike again? He had the ability to slip through the Center’s defenses without a sound. There was no telling what method he’d use next.
What was the right move? Only two people knew Rohan’s exact appearance—and only Banteon had spoken with him. Sooner or later, Banteon would have to step up. The chances of anyone else catching that dangerous man were nearly zero.
The invitation to a private meeting was obviously risky, but it was too valuable an opportunity to pass up.
He lightly tapped the fluttering letter with a fingertip. In truth, the answer had already been decided the moment this shameless note arrived. This was a meeting he couldn’t refuse—and one he absolutely shouldn’t.
Banteon irritably tore the letter in half and burned it over a lit candle. The blackened paper curled and turned to ash, vanishing into the air like strands of thin, charred thread.
***
The hill, now deep in winter, was desolate and still, the chill of the night air thick in the silence. He fastened his heavy outdoor coat and walked in silence, weaving between the dark tree trunks. The moonlight was unusually bright, making even the sparse, stone-studded ground clearly visible with only a small lantern.
Climbing the stone steps, their surfaces glinting under the light, he finally arrived at a clearing bathed in a single beam of moonlight. It was a time when no one else would be around. In the center of the clearing, where only weeds swayed quietly, stood a lone black silhouette.
“I didn’t really think you’d come alone.”
Despite the words of surprise, Rohan wore a broad, beaming smile. With the moonlight casting him in silhouette, he spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. Banteon furrowed his brow and approached slowly.
“Didn’t seem right to back down from an invitation to come catch you.”
“Good. Good. Excellent choice. Of course, assuming things go your way.”
His tone carried absolute confidence that Banteon wouldn’t get what he wanted. The boldness, devoid of even a sliver of doubt, made Banteon scowl with displeasure as he continued forward. As he drew nearer, Rohan’s features came into clearer view.
As always, in Banteon’s eyes, Rohan had golden hair darker than moonlight and crimson eyes that seemed to reflect blood itself. But accounts from those who had seen Rohan varied—some said he had black hair, others said red. Yet from the very beginning, he had looked exactly like this to Banteon.
His footsteps gradually slowed.
“Won’t you come just a little closer? I’ve been waiting so long for this moment, I’m a little excited.”
“You called me out here to take me, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Then let me ask you one thing.”
At Banteon’s question, Rohan tilted his head and nodded casually.
“Ask away.”
“Why are you trying to take me?”
At the simple question, Rohan tilted his head again and laughed as if he’d just heard something amusing.
“Why else would an Esper want a Guide? Obviously, for Guiding. Ah—of course, it’s not without some personal interest. That arrogant attitude of yours is exactly my type.”
If Banteon allowed it, Rohan grinned slyly, he might just ask for a little more. But Banteon, who had not even the slightest intention of going with him, merely crossed his arms and let the ridiculous remark slide past his ears.
“If all you needed was Guiding, you didn’t need to go through all this trouble. If you’d just registered with the Center, they would’ve matched you with a compatible partner.”
“The Center? Don’t tell me you’re suggesting I throw myself into that arrogant pit of fools who think they can control everything? Please. At least keep your jokes to a tolerable level. That one’s just offensive.”
It wasn’t just a feeling. Just as he’d sensed before, Rohan harbored a deep, hostile disdain not only toward the Center but toward the entire kingdom’s institutional structure. Unlike other Espers, whose red aura was easily visible, Rohan’s lacked that signature hue—he was fundamentally different.
“Why do you hate the kingdom so much?”
“Hm. That’s something I’d rather not say.”
The cooperative attitude Rohan had maintained thus far shifted abruptly as he turned curt and evasive. His aversion to the kingdom didn’t seem like mere personal distaste—it felt visceral, almost instinctive.
“There’s no need for you to know. No long speeches needed—I just need to take you with me.”
“Who knows? If your reason is convincing enough, I might even cooperate. If I go with you quietly, wouldn’t that be a win for you too?”
“Hmm…”
Given that Banteon had come this far alone, there weren’t many escape routes left for him. Even Rohan wouldn’t have expected him to show up here unarmed and unguarded. He’d likely be suspicious that something was being hidden. To confirm his suspicions, Rohan cautiously scanned the surroundings. After ensuring it was just the two of them in the darkness, he gave a slight shrug.
