It was that place again. The space of unconsciousness. Mikhail let out a sigh, brushing his forehead with a troubled look. He was inside the lion’s subconscious, but for some reason, he was still dressed exactly as he had been just before falling asleep.
“……Then, is that still the same too?”
Mikhail quickly undid the buttons of the shirt he’d fallen asleep in and looked down at his bare chest. There it was—a golden, hastily scrawled sigil that marked its presence loud and clear. Hm. The same symbol that had been engraved on his skin in reality was still visible here as well. What could this possibly mean?
Just as he fell into silent contemplation—
“Hi.”
“Hi—hmm?”
It wasn’t the lion waiting for Mikhail this time. Instead, it was a child with tousled golden hair, loosely wrapped in a white cloth. Mikhail tilted his head and leaned in slightly, observing the boy with a blank expression. He looked like the epitome of the perfect angel that often appeared in the masterpieces of painters and sculptors.
Judging by the length of his hair—flowing down to his waist—it was clear he’d never once cut it in his life. Mikhail had initially thought of him as a boy because of the voice. The boy’s voice was low and deep—the exact same voice as the lion’s from their last encounter. And in that moment, Mikhail finally realized something.
The lion and the boy—they were one and the same.
“The lion from last time… was you?”
“Yeah. We meet again.”
“But your appearance changed. Or… did you change it?”
“…”
“Why?”
The boy’s gaze turned sharp as a blade, slowly scanning Mikhail’s face from top to bottom. After a long pause, he tilted his head slightly and parted his lips.
“……Because you realized something.”
“Realized what?”
The answer Mikhail received in return to his question about the change in appearance made no sense. Wearing a confused look, he asked again, only for the boy to sneer and mock him coldly.
“Do I have to explain that too? You idiot.”
“…”
What? Idiot?
To think he’d get called an idiot by a brat who barely reached his chest—even in a dream. Mikhail let out a scoff, curling one corner of his lips in disbelief. Then, without a word, he abruptly turned on his heel and began walking in a random direction. If he wasn’t going to get anything out of talking to that little bastard, then it was time to figure things out on his own. With long, purposeful strides, Mikhail pushed forward through the vast emptiness, determined to explore as much of it as he could.
“Hey!”
The boy’s loud voice rang out from behind. Mikhail didn’t bother to look back. He kept walking straight ahead, deliberately ignoring him. Visually, the space seemed nothing more than a blank white void with no discernible floor or ceiling—but if he kept going like this, maybe he’d eventually reach something. And besides, it was just a dream. There was no risk of exhaustion.
“You’re not gonna stop?”
Like hell he’d stop just because someone called out to him like that. With no interest in responding to the brat’s rude tone, Mikhail decided he’d just keep walking until the dream ended.
Letting out a faint, sarcastic chuckle, he completely tuned out the boy’s continuing shouts. A few steps later, however, the noise abruptly stopped.
Did he finally give up after I kept ignoring him? Mikhail thought.
“Urk!”
A chilling, squishy sensation made him furrow his brow. The white ground beneath his foot had suddenly turned soft and sunken. What should’ve been solid now felt like liquid, and his foot had slipped straight down to the ankle. When he shifted his weight to his other leg to try and pull himself free, that foot only sank deeper into the floor as well.
“Haah.”
The reason for this was so blatantly obvious that Mikhail simply sighed and glanced over his shoulder. There stood the boy with the radiant golden hair.
“Did you really have to go this far?”
“You were the one who ignored me first.”
“……Fine, let’s say you’ve got a point.”
There was no point arguing. It’d only waste time. Even with his ankles buried beneath the white floor, Mikhail still stood taller than the boy, leaving the kid looking up at him. This place belonged to the boy, after all. That was the only reason he could pull something like this.
Right.
Mikhail looked down at his feet, still submerged in the white floor, and finally opened his mouth. He didn’t like this situation—but for now, he had to play along and win the kid over.
“Sorry, but I’m kinda busy right now. I don’t have time to play with you. I need to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“Why?”
“…What?”
At the boy’s clear and direct question, Mikhail’s eyes widened slightly. The boy, wearing an expression devoid of any emotion, repeated his question nonchalantly.
“Why do you want to leave so badly?”
“……I told you last time.”
As Mikhail began to answer, the boy looked up at him, listening intently.
“This is your unconscious space… and I need to go back to where I came from, don’t I?”
It was simple logic—obvious, really. But the boy frowned slightly, as though it didn’t make sense to him.
“What’s there that’s so important?”
“…A lot. Everything I have is there.”
Mikhail could feel the boy’s sharp gaze sweeping down his body, from head to toe. It was probably the kind of look that said, ‘What the hell do you even have?’ And sure, Mikhail had never once suffered or gone without since the day he was born—but judging by how he looked now, maybe that didn’t come across. Deciding to overlook the brat’s arrogance, Mikhail reminded himself: this wasn’t the time to get into petty squabbles.
The boy, still staring up at him with that stubborn look, finally spoke again.
“Don’t be vague. Tell me exactly what it is you have.”
“If I tell you…”
Looks like he’s close to giving in. A subtle glint sparked in Mikhail’s eyes.
“If I tell you, will you let me go?”
The boy made a face like something was bugging him—annoyed, somehow displeased—but eventually gave a reluctant nod. Mikhail gave a faint smile.
“The first thing that comes to mind right now is……”
Come to think of it, he’d placed his sword by the bed before lying down, which left his waist feeling strangely bare.
“The sword I always carry with me…?”
He answered smoothly at first, but then a question inevitably rose up at the end.
“But why are you asking about that?”
Something suddenly darted into his field of vision, and Mikhail instinctively shifted his body, easily dodging it. It wasn’t an attack—but his reaction was the natural reflex of someone who’d been rigorously trained in combat.
“……What was that?”
“This?”
The boy didn’t look too pleased that Mikhail had avoided his hand.
“……The sword. Is this the one you were talking about?”
Only then did Mikhail start to take a proper look at the sword the boy had extended to him.
“The one I always carried?”
He took the sword, still in its scabbard, and held it up with both hands. The familiar weight and feel in his grip were unmistakable. There was no way a knight wouldn’t recognize a blade he’d swung thousands of times.
“It is, right?”
The boy looked smug, clearly satisfied—like he already knew he was right and there was no need to waste any more time. Mikhail’s reluctant response filled the space between them.
“Yeah… it really is.”
His brow, which had been slightly furrowed in doubt, gradually relaxed back into place. Just as the boy had said, the sword now in his hands was Mirachs, the least known of the renowned Renato Masterwork Blade series.
Still, this wasn’t the issue at hand.
Mikhail stared down at the sword and murmured in a low voice,
“You said if I answered, you’d help me.”
The boy tilted his head, eyes blank and indifferent.
“Did I?”
Then, the boy glanced down at Mikhail’s feet, still deeply embedded in the white floor, and a sly grin curled his lips.
“When did I ever say that?”
“…”
The words triggered an odd sense of déjà vu.
…I’ve heard that line somewhere before!
Mikhail fell silent for a moment. It wasn’t just the words that gave him that eerie sense of familiarity.
And that expression… That smile…He’d seen it before.
Just moments ago, the boy had looked like an emotionless doll—cold and detached. But the instant he smiled, he transformed into a cheerful, innocent child. There was only one other person in this world Mikhail knew who could smile like that.
“Adrian.”
The name slipped from his lips as he stared down at the floor, lost in thought.
A spark flickered in the boy’s eyes.
“Adrian?”
That bright, smiling face froze completely as he echoed the name.
“Who’s that?”
His voice had turned sharp.
“Huh? No, just… someone popped into my head all of a sudden…”
The boy’s twisted expression filled Mikhail’s entire field of vision. And now he could clearly see it: the faint lift of his lips, the tension behind his brows, and the pulse throbbing in his jaw.
It was the look of someone experiencing anger for the very first time in their life.
“Get out.”
The boy muttered curtly, then turned his back on him with a sharp whirl.
“Why are you suddenly so angr—”
—gry? was what Mikhail was about to say when—
The feeling hit him. That all-too-familiar sensation. Like trying to pull himself out of deep water after sinking into sleep.
Mikhail sat up in the plush bed, glancing over himself as he returned to reality. He ran a hand through his slightly tousled hair.
“…”
Thankfully, it really had been a dream. The sword he’d carefully placed by his bedside was still right where he left it.
Said he never made that promise, yet he kept it anyway…
Mikhail let out a soft, wry chuckle.
What a strange and surreal dream.
Then his eyes fell on Adrian, still sound asleep beside him. As Mikhail leaned in slightly, he could see the delicate sweep of Adrian’s eyelashes resting against his skin.
And just then—As if sensing Mikhail’s gaze, Adrian’s straight brows gave a small twitch. Mikhail instinctively froze, caught like a thief in the act.
Fortunately, Adrian didn’t wake. The creased brows slowly relaxed back to their original shape.
Haa…
Just as Mikhail let out a breath of relief, a single word slipped from Adrian’s lips as he lay there in bed.
