“Why…”
The honeybee, pale with pain and terror, nevertheless opened his mouth with unwavering resolve. Even though Hurel’s violent outburst had nearly driven him mad with fear, he had to ask. With a fragile bee’s body, it was nothing short of extraordinary courage.
“Why… did you do it?”
“What?”
“Why did you do it?”
His voice trembled pitifully, but the bee clenched his thin lips and stared silently into the spider’s eyes.
Under the sharp, piercing gaze, Hurel gritted his teeth. Why is he looking at me like that? His vision blurred with rage, and his insides churned as if he’d swallowed fire.
“…Because I never said anything, you thought you could just do whatever you wanted to me? Did I seem that pathetic to you? I did it all for you…”
Do you even realize what I sacrificed for you? His voice rose with a surge of emotion he couldn’t contain. He thought he’d be met with a scoff, but instead, the spider looked utterly shaken. Letting go of Blaine’s nape, he grabbed the bee by the shoulders with both hands. His grip was so tight that a stifled moan slipped out between Blaine’s clenched teeth.
“Why… why are you talking like that? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“……”
“Do… do you hate me now? You said you liked me. Is it that unbearable now? That disgusting?”
The veins in his hands bulged as he gripped Blaine’s shoulders, arms trembling. Though Hurel’s nails were rounded and neatly trimmed, the pressure was enough to pierce skin—it hurt.
“Answer me. Right now. I said answer me! You ran your mouth so well before—what, now you’ve got nothing to say? Speak!”
The low, guttural growl of a wild beast. His eyes gleamed with a cold, predatory gleam. His grip so forceful it felt like he might rip Blaine’s arms out of their sockets. But Blaine wasn’t afraid anymore. Not like earlier. That calm, unwavering gaze meeting Hurel’s head-on—it was enough to drive the spider insane.
“I asked you if it was that bad. Was I that revolting? That horrifying?”
“That’s not it.”
Slowly, but with certainty, Blaine raised a hand and placed his palm against Hurel’s cheek. The spider visibly flinched at the touch. Blaine gently caressed the smooth, pale skin and replied, each word crisp and firm.
“I didn’t hate it. You’ve misunderstood.”
“What?”
“I know you had no choice. I’d lost my stinger—I was on the verge of death. I get that. What I’m angry about… is that you didn’t say anything to me.”
Hurel stood there, lips slightly parted, his expression blank and stunned—utterly out of place on such a breathtakingly beautiful face.
“Why do you keep hiding the truth from me? Why do you keep lying to me? You said you liked me. If you really do… isn’t this the last thing you should be doing?”
Hurel had no idea what the bee was saying. Never mind that Blaine had tried to run away—that alone had been enough to push him to the brink. And yes, Hurel had filled him to the brim with his seed on his own terms—surely Blaine had every right to be furious.
But this? He was mad because Hurel had lied?
Why? What even—how does that make any sense?!
“I…”
“Don’t tell me… were you lying when you said you liked me?”
“What?”
Hurel’s pale face turned even whiter with rage. For the first time, Blaine, who had until now kept his composure, wavered. His light blue eyes rippled with shock.
“No way…”
“Do you even realize what you just said?”
The air grew heavy with clashing emotions—two beings paralyzed by different kinds of shock and fury. A charged silence settled around them.
I should’ve known. Words weren’t going to be enough. Hurel felt his vision spin, his mind going blank with fury. He’d had so many chances. Why hadn’t he ruined this damn bee and locked him up from the start? If he’d acted sooner, he wouldn’t have had to deal with this humiliating mess or hear these awful words.
The fact that he wasn’t choking the bee to death right now—that was a miracle of restraint.
Hurel bit down on his trembling lip, so hard it nearly bled, then slowly took a step back.
In the distance, angry shouting echoed through the grass, but it didn’t matter right now.
The next moment, Blaine lunged.
The spider’s eyes widened, but he didn’t resist. Not because he was frozen with surprise—but because he knew, this bee couldn’t possibly hurt him.
“……!”
Blaine reached out with hands the size of pot lids and seized Hurel’s pale, graceful neck, shoving him down with his full weight. Hurel didn’t resist being pushed to the ground—he hadn’t expected what came next.
Instead of punching or strangling or slapping him—Blaine pressed his broad, muscular chest against Hurel’s face, smothering him.
God—what a ridiculously effective attack!!
“Gghk…!”
Hurel’s nose was buried deep in Blaine’s chest, the sweet scent of honey overwhelming his senses. It was so strong he wondered if he’d lose his sense of smell entirely. Enraptured for a moment by the bee’s scent, Hurel momentarily lost track of reality.
But soon, his instincts flared. Something was wrong.
It was a chilling, animalistic intuition—like being stabbed by hundreds of tiny needles. A wild creature’s primal sense of danger.
Hurel’s eyes snapped open. He grabbed the limp weight on top of him and hauled Blaine upright.
“Ah… ugh…”
“Bee-Bee!”
There was a scorpion’s stinger—no bigger than a thumbnail—embedded in the juncture of Blaine’s neck and shoulder. The surrounding skin had already turned a deep purplish-blue, hardening with a spiderweb of violet veins.
When Hurel cupped Blaine’s cold face in his hands, the bee’s pale blue eyes darted aimlessly before rolling back. His lips turned blue and quivered violently.
Moments later, a gurgling sound escaped his throat as foam-filled saliva spilled from his parted mouth.
“Bee-Bee? Bee-Bee, wake up!”
A bloated, mangled scorpion—its milky eyes rolled back—was limping toward them with its joints bent at strange angles. Normally, Hurel would’ve sensed the venomous attack before it landed. But he’d been so blinded by rage, he hadn’t seen anything.
Blaine had been facing him, of course. He would’ve seen the scorpion charging.
“H-Han… safe…”
Blaine mumbled something with his stiffening tongue before going limp, collapsing like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Hurel flipped him over and pulled the heavy body into his lap, gently slapping his cheeks and lifting his eyelids. No response.
The blood drained from Hurel’s already pale face.
“Blaaaaiiine!!”
A thunderous shout tore through the clearing as the rhinoceros beetle—Gen—shifted out of his humanoid form, revealing his massive horn. He charged, slamming the scorpion with his full weight.
The barely-standing scorpion flew through the air, crashing into a fig tree with a dull thud.
“Hey! General! You can’t just charge like that!”
“Waaaaah, Blaine! You can’t die! Don’t die!”
Shane—who didn’t give a damn whether Hurel lived or died (in fact, he’d secretly been a little excited)—finally came rushing over.
Sure, a rhinoceros beetle was far tougher than a honeybee and usually avoided by predators, but if flipped over and stung in its soft underbelly, it was as good as dead. And yet the big idiot had charged in headfirst without a second thought. Unbelievable.
Shane grimaced.
“Sage! Sage, what do we do? Blaine’s gonna be okay, right? You can fix him, right?!”
The foaming bee was still breathing—barely.
Blue Scorpion venom wasn’t designed to kill outright; its main purpose was to paralyze prey to make them easier to eat. And this particular scorpion wasn’t in good shape, either. So it wasn’t entirely hopeless.
Shane tried to explain as calmly and clearly as possible—especially considering he was talking to one crying creature barely holding it together, and another who looked like he was about to completely lose his mind.
“We don’t have time to stand around—we need to move him.”
The rhinoceros beetle, who’d been bawling loud enough to shake the trees, snapped back to his senses. He moved to lift the limp, corpse-like bee, and was instantly struck by something like a bolt of lightning. Gasping in pain, he jerked his arm back.
It took him a moment to realize that searing shock had come from Hurel’s eyes.
Wait, what? Is he using magic now?!
“Sniff… fine… you carry him, then…”
“You—pick that thing up and follow me.”
That thing? What thing?
But Hurel didn’t waste time explaining. He picked up the bee and marched ahead without even glancing back.
Still crying, still confused, the beetle turned—and went pale.
Shane, the gray spider, was dragging the broken, limp-legged scorpion by the ankle through the grass.
