While the two of them exchanged words, those who had been persistently staring in their direction quickly averted their gazes the moment they locked eyes with Delroz. They climbed the creaking stairs and reached the room assigned on the third floor.
As soon as the door closed and his shoes were off, Delroz tossed Banteon onto the bed like baggage.
The jolt of being thrown down before he could even protest left Banteon dizzy. When his vision finally steadied and he lifted his head, Delroz stood over him with his arms crossed, looking down. He looked like he wanted to say something, barely holding himself back.
Who was really the one who should be angry here?
Feeling wronged, Banteon glared right back at him. All he’d done was take out money to pay and follow behind him.
Delroz’s eyebrow twitched as their eyes met.
“What exactly is the problem?”
“Can you knock it off with the formal speech?”
“Now even my tone bothers you?”
“No… I just—how the hell am I supposed to respond to this…”
Delroz, at a loss for words, raked his fingers violently through his hair and paced the room. He walked back and forth across the cramped inn room, filled with a jumble of emotion—frustration, suppressed anger, agitation. After circling the room three times, he finally let out a breath and stopped walking.
With a look of grim resolve, he stared straight at Banteon.
“Commoners don’t speak in polite formality like you do.”
He ruffled his hair again, more aggressively this time, and spoke.
“If you use that tone with someone your age around here, it basically means you’re a male prostitute.”
Banteon froze mid-motion, just as he was about to protest. It suddenly clicked—the stares he’d felt while walking up the stairs. To those people, they must have looked like a client and a male whore sneaking off to an inn in broad daylight.
That explained those openly lewd gazes.
His face flushed with a wave of humiliation and shame.
“With skin that pale, using that kind of tone is asking to be misunderstood.”
“…I don’t look that soft.”
“You really have no clue how you come across to others, do you?”
Who was he to say that? Coming from someone rude, blunt, and who couldn’t care less about what people thought of him.
“Look in a mirror. If someone who looks like you shows up in a place like this, you’d have a whole damn squad lining up to try something.”
It was the first time in his life he’d ever heard something so degrading. Banteon was stunned by the crude insult suggesting he looked like a prostitute. He forced himself to breathe evenly and responded as calmly as he could manage.
“You sure know a lot for someone who claims not to care about men.”
“Damn right. I don’t give a shit about that kind of filthy business.”
Delroz strode over to Banteon with a fierce look on his face. Banteon stood his ground, pretending not to be intimidated by the man’s imposing physique closing in on him. A strange tension crackled between them.
Delroz’s frown, now inches away, was even more pronounced up close. His golden eyes glinted like the early dawn as he looked down at Banteon.
“Now I think I get it. At least a little.”
Banteon clenched his teeth at Delroz’s words.
So even someone who wasn’t interested in men could see it—he looked like a damn whore. That’s all that line could possibly mean, and Banteon’s expression twisted with disgust.
He shoved Delroz’s chest with both hands, hard. He didn’t want to share a second longer with someone so insolent.
“Then let’s get another room. Now.”
“No.”
Banteon ignored Delroz’s firm refusal and headed straight for the door. But before he could reach it, his wrist was forcefully yanked back. Delroz’s thick fingers wrapped around his arm, locking it in place.
“So after being mistaken for a whore, I’m supposed to just sleep in the same room?”
“Well, someone pulled out gold without thinking, and now we’re in danger.”
In this remote town, flashing that kind of money could lead to trouble before nightfall. It made perfect sense, logically. And yet, Banteon couldn’t shake the feeling of being unfairly blamed. How was he supposed to know the customs of some backwoods village?
He didn’t understand the pathetic mindset of these commoners who harassed others just for being pale. He didn’t want to understand it, either.
As Banteon struggled to tamp down his rising anger, Delroz brushed past him and opened the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Sit tight. I’ve got something to take care of.”
With that, Delroz stepped out, his heavy footsteps thudding down the stairs. Moments later, crashing noises echoed through the creaky wood walls—things being knocked over, smashed, and a pig-like scream pierced the air.
The commotion didn’t last long. The chaos quickly died down, and the silence returned, broken only by the sound of the stairs creaking again.
When the door opened and Delroz stepped back inside, he glanced briefly at Banteon, then walked straight into the bathroom. The sound of running water and splashing followed.
Banteon had clearly seen it when Delroz walked in. He might’ve tried to hide it, but there were unmistakable flecks of blood scattered across his uniform.
A while later, Delroz emerged, drying his wet hair with a towel, and lazily slumped onto the sofa.
“What did you do to the people downstairs?”
“It’ll take a few more days before we reach a village with a working connection to the Center. Just hold out until then.”
The reply had nothing to do with the question. It was clear Delroz had no intention of answering Banteon. Still, the sounds alone had already told Banteon everything he needed to know, so he gave up and leaned back against the bed.
Maybe… maybe Delroz had done it to stand up for him after being mistaken for a prostitute? For once, it seemed like that bastard had done something halfway decent. Just as Banteon turned his body, mulling it over, a blunt voice cut through the air.
“There were some bastards with disgusting eyes, so I dealt with them. Like you said, can’t let them keep thinking that shit.”
Banteon stared at Delroz, unimpressed.
Of course. He hadn’t done it for Banteon. He just didn’t want to be mistaken for someone who’d sleep with a whore. He told Banteon to put up with it, yet the moment it offended him, he flipped the table.
Banteon turned his back and lay down, facing away from where Delroz was sitting.
He already knew this, but the more time they spent together, the less he liked the man.
***
The meal brought up to their room turned out to be better than expected.
The food had clearly been heavily spiced and overcooked to mask the poor quality of the ingredients, but the cook had skill—it was surprisingly edible. Or maybe anything would’ve tasted good after chewing on over-dried jerky. The meal even came with fruit, and satisfied, Banteon leaned against the bed.
Once full and relaxed, he finally noticed something he’d missed earlier: the bed was far too narrow for two adult men to sleep on.
He pressed the mattress with his hand, feeling the springs push back through the thin cushion, just as he caught a glimpse of Delroz spreading a blanket across the sofa.
“What are you staring at?”
“You’re going to sleep on the sofa?”
“It’s cramped for both of us to share the bed.”
That was exactly what Banteon had just been thinking. Still, if one of them had to take the sofa, it should’ve been him. The sofa looked too small even for Banteon. For Delroz, it would mean half-sitting just to lie down. After carrying Banteon all day, he’d no doubt burned through far more energy. Any way you looked at it, this arrangement made no sense.
It wasn’t about liking or disliking the guy. It was a matter of basic decency. Banteon wasn’t shameless enough to hog the bed after everything he’d already owed him today.
“Let’s switch. You’ve been walking all day.”
“That’s nothing.”
If he was willing to give up the bed, then Banteon would take it without complaint. After soaking in warm water provided by the inn, his body felt light for the first time in a while. The bed might be hard, but it would still be his best sleep in days.
Yet his conscience wasn’t entirely silenced. He asked once more. When Banteon offered again to take the sofa, Delroz shook his head firmly.
“I’m not so gone in the head that I’d let a sick Guide sleep in a dump like this.”
That was the end of it. Delroz leaned back into the sofa without hesitation, as if there was nothing more to consider. For someone who’d once claimed Guides didn’t need protection, he seemed to have grown a little as a person. Strange, but Banteon accepted the gesture gratefully. He shook out the dusty blanket and laid it neatly across the bed.
“Tomorrow will be rough. Get some sleep. Don’t keep me up.”
Even when he did something nice, he had a way of making it sound off-putting. Just when he seemed tolerable, he’d go and ruin it. With a sigh at the thought, Banteon lay down on the bed. The worn springs groaned under his weight. The pillow beneath his head was nothing more than a rough sack stuffed with wood shavings.
Through the window, he could see a sky littered with stars.
It was a rare sight—impossible to find inside the Royal Esper Center, where streetlights and emergency power always stayed on. It had been a long time since he’d seen the stars. He stared out the window, dazed, as more and more faint lights revealed themselves, twinkling with every passing second.
Perhaps curious about the blank look on his face, Delroz spoke from where he was slouched on the sofa.
“You that eager to go back?”
“Of course.”
“Ever thought about leaving the capital?”
“Not once.”
From birth, Banteon had lived in the heart of all modern conveniences and technological advancement. A comfortable estate. Attentive servants. A world built entirely around him. That hadn’t changed at the Center either. Machines replaced the servants, and his daily life was one of ease.
The thought of living away from that kind of environment had never even crossed his mind. Even if he eventually left the Center, he’d only move to an even more luxurious estate. A future far from the capital simply didn’t exist in his life.
