When someone who believes themselves to be the con artist of the century gets conned, the pain hits harder than it would for most. And even money that was never in your hands in the first place—once it vanishes into thin air—can feel more devastating than losing actual cash.
A moth, shaking with fury, shoulders heaving, even had tears welling up in his eyes.
Yeah. Right now, the moth was in a state of just let someone try me.
“Ugh, move! Why are you blocking the path!?”
So on a narrow forest trail flanked by thick, nameless bushes, it was inevitable that the moth would lash out in a way that could only be described as thuggish when he encountered someone head-on. He was ready to beat the hell out of whoever crossed his path.
“Are you deaf? I said MOVE!”
No response.
Cocky bastard. Not only was this guy blocking his way—he couldn’t even be bothered to reply?
Ever since getting his torn wing repaired, the moth had nothing to fear anymore. His good wing was coated in a trembling, lethal poison, and his newly “refurbished” right wing—compared to a normal moth’s delicate ones—was unbelievably sturdy. Reinforced with layers of some unknown material (which the moth neither knew nor cared to find out), the right wing alone could knock out a few lesser creatures with just a few swings.
He was ready to give this jerk a taste of his wing. As he raised his right wing, the wing, now casting a shadow like a canopy, momentarily shielded the stranger’s face from the last rays of the sun, which was setting behind the mountains.
And then, the moth’s tongue went rigid.
Even from barely an arm’s length away, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It didn’t feel like he was looking at a living creature.
If there were different types of beauty, then this one—this beauty—was so sorrowful and haunting that it was downright chilling.
The scarlet glow of the sunset dyed the whole sky red, and even that pure white face in front of him was tinged with the vivid blush of balsam flowers. Orange light spilled across the man’s hair, and beneath it, facial features so exquisite they looked like the gods had sculpted them without rest, day and night.
It was a face that rendered you speechless. Unfathomably beautiful—so beautiful it defied logic—and yet completely devoid of emotion. A cold, empty expression that made it seem like this being couldn’t possibly be alive.
“Guh…!?”
The next moment, a flash burst across his vision.
It was as if the sun had suddenly disappeared—everything went dark. He couldn’t see a thing. Not just his sight—every one of his senses seemed to vanish.
He was blind.
There was nothing but a loud ringing in his ears. No other sound, no sense of touch.
He couldn’t breathe.
That was the only thing he could vaguely grasp before he realized—he was flat on the ground.
“Agh, ugh… gahhh!”
A dull pain throbbed through his abdomen, and his eyes flew open. Backlit by the remaining light, he saw two glowing orbs of fire glaring through the darkness.
He couldn’t speak. His whole body trembled.
It was a horrifying sight, the likes of which he’d never witnessed in his life.
Was this the gaze of a sentry risen from purgatory?
Driven by sheer instinct, the moth clawed at the ground, trying to crawl away.
“Gaaagh!”
Of course, it was a hopeless effort.
His head throbbed like it was going to explode. He couldn’t breathe. Something hard was crushing his throat, pressing down as if to snap his windpipe in half.
A scream tore from his mouth, raw and broken, as his mind spiraled into panic.
“C-can’t… breathe….”
“…Seen a bee before?”
What?
The voice—low and freezing—barely reached his ears through the dull roar inside his head. But something told him he couldn’t miss this.
That voice—that question—felt like the only lifeline he had left.
“I asked if you’ve ever seen a bee before.”
“Kuh—guh? I-I have! I’ve seen one!!”
It felt like his skin was being peeled off his bones.
That low, chilling voice—barely above a whisper—rang clearly inside the moth’s skull.
“You’d better hope you have. Think carefully.”
If this psycho wanted him to think, it would help to get that boot off his throat. But with his crushed larynx, he couldn’t say that out loud.
“S-spare me… please….”
“Hm. You don’t look like you want to live that badly.”
At this point, there was only one way out: Give this crazed lunatic the answer he wanted.
“I-I saw one! I swear I did!!”
Air rushed into his lungs all at once. But the foot still didn’t lift off his throat.
Tears and other fluids soaked his cheeks as the moth coughed and wheezed.
“About… 500—no, 700 meters from here…”
“If you don’t speak clearly, I’ll snap that useless neck—”
“At the Adonis Flower Field! I saw a wasp there! I swear I did!”
Damn it. He hadn’t wanted to spill anything about the flower field—but there was no other choice. Life came first. Right now, getting this foot off his neck was priority number one.
“Adonis,” the man muttered under his breath, then gave a short, bitter laugh. His face remained cold and unreadable, his voice detached, but somehow… it radiated rage.
“Uhk?! W-wait! You said… you’d let me—”
“I don’t recall saying that.”
That emotionless voice, so flat it was eerie, made the moth’s blood run cold.
His eyes flew wide with terror.
In desperation, he clutched at the man’s ankle. But the man moved even faster.
The foot that had been pinning his throat shifted without hesitation, and with a sharp, bone-snapping crunch, a chilling sound echoed from beneath it.
***
In the end, all he got was a brutal beatdown and a whole lot of nothing. There was no saving face like this.
Blaine, his wide shoulders slumped, trudged along as he repeated what must’ve been the hundredth time now: stopping, fanning himself with one hand, and peeling his sticky clothes from his skin with the other.
Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t make sense of it.
The sun had already set—the sky had gone dark. So why was it still so damn hot?
“Haaah…”
Even his own breath felt scorching, like it could burn him if he touched it.
His back, thighs, even the crease of his ass—everything was drenched in sweat, and his face felt flushed.
His head was spinning like he had a fever. His vision twisted and blurred.
This wasn’t just normal heat—it had to be something else.
“What the hell’s happening to m—huh?”
Suddenly, the ground rushed up in front of him.
Blaine’s eyes rolled in confusion.
A big, clunky brown rock that looked just like him. A smooth, pale white pebble that resembled someone else. Dust clouds kicked up from the dirt, broken twigs scattered around. The burning sensation on his cheek. The grit in the wind scratching his throat every time he breathed.
Only then did Blaine realize…He’d collapsed.
“What the… what the hell is going on…?”
He tried to push himself up, bracing against the ground. But he failed miserably. His arms kept slipping.
And seriously, what the hell was with this heat?
Too hot.
Too tight.
Too much.
Hot. So hot…
“…Hhaah!”
It was like he’d swallowed fire.
Not just his skin. The inside of his body, every vein, every cell, every organ, everything felt like it was burning. It was as if molten metal, not blood, was surging through his veins. It hurt. It burned. It was so intense he couldn’t even speak.
