“The appetizer is a salad topped with lots of honey and nuts. The leaves are still young and tender—it should taste delicious.”
“I, um…”
“Here, say ‘ah—’”
“Ah—”
As promised, he barely had to chew before it slid down his throat. Even after swallowing the fresh greens, the sweetness of the honey and the nutty aroma lingered richly in his mouth. Blaine, dazed by the flavors dancing across his tongue, shook his head rapidly.
It’s fine, it’s just salad—it’s fine because it’s salad! Just this… really, just this…
“Blaine prefers thinner dough, so I rolled it out crisp and thin, and piled on lots of cheese and honey instead. Here, try it.”
“Mmm… there’s so much cheese…”
This—this isn’t right. This can’t be happening.
“Haha, slow down. Look at your cheeks—completely puffed out.”
It’s salty… chewy… sweet… gulp …and it just keeps going down…
“Makes me want to poke them. Oh, you like this one? Have some more. Go on.”
Blaine had done nothing wrong. In all his years, he had never once gone back on a promise or failed to follow through on something he’d resolved to do. This wasn’t his fault—it was because that damned beautiful spider had cooked too well with those damned graceful hands. It absolutely wasn’t Blaine’s fault.
“I-I should stop eating now—”
“Kukuk, if your cheeks burst, what’ll you do? Don’t shove it all in at once—ahh, this is driving me nuts.”
“I’ve already eaten so much…”
Even after that, Blaine couldn’t stop opening his mouth like a baby bird. Finally sensing true danger, the bee grabbed Hurel’s pale wrist and shook his head frantically, unable to shut his own traitorous mouth.
“Hmm? You’re done? Why?”
Almost caught by another bite heading toward his mouth, Blaine decided on drastic measures. He convinced himself that Hurel must be trying to fatten him up to eat him—yes, that had to be it. The horrifying thought triggered his instincts, and he barely managed to refuse another bite.
“Hmph. Alright then.”
“Th-thank goodness…”
“What do you want for dessert? There’s walnut pie drenched in honey and a brandy pound cake topped with fresh cream.”
Dear heavens, why are you doing this to me…?
“Blaine?”
“B-both… is probably not okay, right?”
“Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Blaine’s already puffed cheeks lifted even higher as he broke into a helplessly happy grin. And that’s how things ended up like this.
Now, wrapped in a blanket on the bed, Blaine was a crumpled mess of regret—the kind that pierced the heart and left a sting.
Why did I eat all that…?
“I’ve gotta exercise or something…”
If he couldn’t give up both, he had to at least compromise with one. Skipping meals was clearly out of the question—an undeniable fact. Tragically, there was nothing else he could do now. At the very least, he needed to move his lazy body around a bit.
Bracing his hands against the floor, Blaine started doing push-ups, exhaling hot, heavy breaths.
“Ugh, no way…”
He used to handle a hundred without breaking a sweat. Now, after barely pushing past eighty, his arms trembled and sweat dripped down to the floor. The gravity of the situation hit him all over again.
It felt like a biting northern wind was tearing through his chest.
If this goes on, I really will end up in the Hell of Sloth. I can’t let that happen.
Feeling the tight pull in his thighs and biceps as he strained like he was tugging against resistance bands, Blaine thought in dismay. Collapsed pitifully on the floor like the tragic lead of a melodrama, he slowly got to his feet, determination etched on his face.
***
Hurel’s home was perched dizzyingly high in a tree, but for a honeybee with proud little wings, climbing down was nothing. The problem was the robe—it kept flaring open at the sides, exposing his chest no matter how much he tugged it shut. Rude as it might be, it was one of Hurel’s nightrobes he’d found lying around the house and hastily thrown on.
I really must’ve gotten fatter, Blaine thought gloomily. Still, instead of curling up and digging a hole of shame, he chose to move his feet.
He couldn’t keep mooching off Hurel, freeloading honey like a freeloader with no shame. At the very least, he should gather enough food to feed himself. That much was common decency.
Gripping the ever-loosening robe tightly closed, Blaine craned his neck upward and looked around for flowers. But being the lair of a spider, there wasn’t even a single ant in sight—let alone a flower field.
How did Hurel even get honey in a place like this? He couldn’t imagine. One thing was clear—it couldn’t be easy. He must have been a burden.
Still, Blaine was a honeybee. Even rotting, a bream is still a bream. After walking aimlessly for about twenty minutes, he finally stumbled across a flower field and couldn’t help smiling in relief.
He’d been gathering nectar six days a week ever since becoming a full-fledged Worker Bee—if he couldn’t even manage this, he had no right to that title.
The field wasn’t very large, and the blossoms were strange—even Blaine, with all his random knowledge, had never seen this kind before. But the sweet fragrance that drifted all the way to where he stood suggested they weren’t just for show.
“What kind of flower are you, anyway?”
Murmuring to himself, he carefully reached out and grabbed the unknown stem. Unlike stiff stems covered in coarse hairs or thorns that scraped and scratched your hands, this one was smooth—almost polished. It was thick and sturdy too—practically a tree branch.
Running his hand up the stem, Blaine touched the base of the blossom and felt an incredibly soft, tender texture.
Inexperienced honeybees on their first harvest often rushed things—scraping the stem violently or pawing the blossoms. Some even used their tongue or lips to stimulate the buds and stamens, trying to extract nectar quickly.
But the faster you forced it, the worse the quality. The longer you teased the flower, the thicker, richer the nectar would be.
Of course, if you dragged it out too long, the firm stem could cool and go limp—ruining everything. Good nectar required careful skill and timing.
Blaine always did his best—but even he had his off days, nights when he was exhausted and just wanted to get it over with. He’d rushed more than once.
But not today. Today’s harvest might go into Hurel’s mouth too. He couldn’t afford to do it sloppily.
If he gathered high-quality nectar with his expert touch, Hurel would definitely be pleased. He might even roll up his sleeves and cook something amazing.
Despite the way he looked, Blaine had seen firsthand—many times—just how much that spider could eat when he was in the mood.
Wearing a serious expression, Blaine picked up the pace of his hand movements. With one hand, he gently scratched the blossom with his nails, and with the other, he softly stroked upward along the petals as if gathering them together.
The stem gave a sudden jolt, trembling violently, and the bud swelled as if soaked with moisture. Blaine swallowed. He was almost there.
And that’s when it happened.
“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
Startled by the sudden shout, Blaine froze, hands mid-motion.
He turned toward the voice and saw a tall, lean man standing with his arms crossed, glaring daggers at him.
“Who said you could come in here and steal nectar like that?”
“Uh, um—?”
Stealing nectar? Then was this—was this area already claimed by another Hive?
Blaine quickly pulled his hands away from the stem and started to apologize, but then something fluttering behind the man caught his eye.
“…Butterfly?”
“Who the hell are you calling a butterfly?”
To an outsider, butterflies and moths might look similar. But to the two species, being mistaken for the other was practically a mortal insult.
Blaine himself had once gotten into a fight with Bertie when they were larvae— and just one offhanded insult, “You look like a moth,” had earned him a punch in the jaw.
Of course, Blaine later paid him back by pummeling him so hard a dust cloud rose in the flower field. Ever since, he’d made a firm vow to never confuse butterflies and moths, and to never suffer the consequences of such a mistake again.
“Sorry! I didn’t realize this was private. I thought it was common ground…”
“Hah. There’s literally a sign posted right there. Are your eyes broken?”
He must’ve seriously pissed the guy off by calling him a butterfly. His tone was sharp enough to cut, and it definitely felt like it would hurt if it did.
