The Snake's Gaze
In the center of the oval-trimmed garden trees stood a small fountain. The fountain, meticulously carved, was so exquisite one could easily believe it was a work of art. The well-tended flowers surrounding it showed clear signs of someone’s long and devoted care. Behind them rose an old-fashioned grand mansion. From within that mansion, a pair of golden eyes gazed out at the garden, settling with calm intensity.
“Cact.”
Like a loyal dog that had been waiting for his master’s call, Cact spoke at once.
“The Romania matter has been cleanly resolved. As of this morning, they’ve become fertilizer for the vineyard.”
His tone was composed, yet it carried an undercurrent of fury—as though anyone who dared disturb his master’s peace deserved exactly the punishment they received.
“Not that.”
Cact’s gaze, which had been lowered, slowly lifted toward the man watching the garden. He studied his master carefully, as if gauging his mood, before speaking with caution.
“The church has been thoroughly cleaned.”
The man finally turned away from the garden. Even though Cact had watched over him since childhood, he still found it difficult to grow accustomed to this presence. Whenever those oppressive eyes met his, it felt as though the breath was being squeezed from his lungs.
Tezman von Pavard. The son of Michele, the boss of the Pavard family—once notorious for its mafia operations, now transformed into a respected household through philanthropy and politics.
“She was sleeping soundly.”
At his words, Cact’s expression turned puzzled.
“The nun, I mean.”
Nun. Only then did Cact recall the Eastern nun he had seen at the church last night when he went to find Tezman.
“She was Asian.”
It was a sight Cact had never witnessed before. The way Tezman had held someone so protectively in his arms. Even after Cact arrived, Tezman had not taken his eyes off the Asian nun. He had not set her down from his embrace until the church cleaning was finished. Only when the stained glass began to glow with ethereal light did he gently lay her on a chair. Even then, he had stared at her for a long time, as if reluctant to leave. He had departed exactly one hour before Father Vincenzo entered the church.
Cact’s eyes flickered. His master had always been cold and cruel—never once showing warmth or tenderness to anyone. This was a side of him he had never seen.
“Shall I bring her here?”
He didn’t need to specify who. Cact, who had served him for many years and was quick to read his thoughts, knew exactly what his master wanted.
“No.”
The terrified face refused to leave his mind. More precisely, he was captivated by the way those clear eyes had reflected only him. Perhaps he possessed a perverse streak he hadn’t even noticed himself. Otherwise, he wouldn’t keep thinking about making that nun cry again.
He slowly lifted his eyelids in a languid motion.
“She seems to startle easily.”
Licking away the tears that had rolled down from beneath those red-rimmed eyes had been purely impulsive. Even now, he couldn’t understand it. Just thinking about her frightened gaze fixed on him made blood rush hotly to his lower abdomen. His swollen penis strained painfully against his pants, as if it might burst through the fabric. It was the same organ that had refused to rise no matter how many women stripped and tried to seduce him. A man who had found women repulsive was now consumed with lust for an Asian nun.
“Blood truly cannot be denied. Look at me getting hard like a dog in heat.”
He was a textbook Caucasian—snow-white skin, hair of an enigmatic shade that hovered between dark brown and something more mysterious, and brilliant golden eyes that looked as if amber gemstones had been set into them.
Because he so closely resembled his father Michele, he had nearly forgotten one fact. The same blood flowed in his veins. Asian blood.
“So…”
As if the memory displeased him, Tezman wiped it from his mind.
“I plan to take my time with her. Slowly. Carefully.”
The words sounded almost unreal coming from his lips, yet Cact simply nodded and decided to obey his master in silence.
“I will look into it. Thoroughly. Every last detail.”
Satisfied with the answer, Tezman gave a slight nod and turned away. In the gaze he once again directed toward the garden, an inscrutable heat burned.
He stood above all things. If he wanted something, he could take it. If he desired it, it would fall into his hands. A small spark of curiosity and interest was reason enough. Especially if it meant he could once again face those red-rimmed eyes that kept intruding into his thoughts every hour.
Meanwhile, as Cact left Tezman’s study, his own eyes shimmered with excitement. It was something he had never imagined possible. Michele’s two sons—eldest Mateo and Tezman—had always been bitter rivals. If the two shared any common ground at all, it was their shared aversion to women.
Whether it was from watching their father Michele’s promiscuous lifestyle since childhood, Mateo only ever slept with women when it served his interests. Even so, Mateo was the better of the two. Tezman had treated women as if they were nothing more than air.
To Cact, who had watched over Tezman since he was a boy, it had been a source of quiet sorrow. More than anyone, he had hoped Tezman would one day meet someone he could love—and learn how to give and receive love in return.
Yet of all people, that someone had to be a nun. And not just any nun—an Asian woman, just like his own birth mother.
The excitement in Cact’s eyes gradually cooled. Knowing how his master’s mother had met her end made his heart even heavier.
Cact was the only one in the entire Pavard family who still believed in God. He quietly clasped his hands together and murmured.
May God watch over him.
＊＊＊
Someone had died. Even though she had watched a person die right before her eyes, Sua had kept her mouth shut. Clutching her skirt as if trying to tear it, she lowered her head.
Even if she wanted to report it to the police, there was no evidence. The inside of the church was spotless—too clean for a murder to have occurred. The only thing missing was one of the crosses that had decorated the holy water font. Yet it had been far too vivid, too real to dismiss as a mere nightmare. Sua instinctively licked her dry lips, only to remember that she had kissed him.
It had been a kiss that felt as though he were stealing everything from her. The way his tongue had explored every inch of her mouth had blurred even the cross she tried to picture in her mind. How vulgar and corrupt it had been. She felt guilty for even having dreamed of becoming a nun all this time.
“Ha…”
She wanted to believe it was a nightmare, but she couldn’t. She could still feel the sensation of his lips on hers. Endless guilt dragged her down into the depths. Feeling as though she were falling endlessly, Sua unconsciously reached out her hand. She needed something to hold onto before she plummeted any further. She turned on her phone and scrolled through her contacts.
There were only three numbers saved in Sua’s phone. One belonged to Father Vincenzo, one to the orphanage where she had grown up, and the last to Sister Agnes. Her thumb hovered over the screen for a long moment before finally pressing Sister Agnes’s number. The longer the dial tone continued, the harder it became to breathe.
“…Sua?”
When Sister Agnes’s voice finally came through the receiver, emotion surged in Sua’s throat.
“Sister…”
“Yes, it’s me, Sua. Why do you sound like that? Did something happen?”
The endlessly gentle voice made the weight of her sin rise all the way to her throat.
“Sister… I have something I need to confess to you.”
Recognizing the seriousness in Sua’s trembling voice, Sister Agnes spoke calmly.
“Go on, Sua. It’s alright. It’s okay. Take your time and tell me.”
Sister Agnes simply waited in silence, gently soothing Sua as she struggled to speak. After several fragile, shuddering breaths, Sua slowly began.
She confessed everything she had seen and endured the night before. Sister Agnes listened without a word, completely calm. She didn’t seem surprised at all. It was as if she had already guessed what Sua was trying to say while trembling like this.
“I couldn’t tell Father Vincenzo… That right in front of me, a person died… and that I had become defiled.”
The moment she spoke her sin aloud, her body began to shake. Fear and guilt consumed her at the same time.
“S-Sister… I really…!”
“Sua.”
The calm way she was called brought clarity back to Sua’s chaotic mind.
“Sua, it wasn’t your fault.”
Perhaps those were the exact words she had been longing to hear.
“It might have been nothing more than a nightmare. How could someone clean up a body without leaving a single drop of blood in such a short time?”
Cleaning up a corpse at dawn and thoroughly cleaning the church was not something one person could do alone. It really might have been a nightmare. The cross from the holy water font might simply have gone missing by coincidence. In a few weeks, someone might even show up holding it, saying they had found it on the ground.
But for Sua, the memory remained painfully clear. The soft, heavy pressure of lips against her own.
“…It was too vivid to be a nightmare.”
Sua asked the question with more desperation than ever, as if seeking confirmation.
“It really could have been a nightmare. People can have incredibly vivid dreams sometimes. I’ve had them too, you know?”
Yes. A nightmare.
It would be better if it had been a nightmare. She had wanted to become someone like Sister Agnes. That was why she had wished to become a nun—without ever considering any other path. That was why she hoped so desperately that it had all been nothing but a dream.
“Sua. Don’t worry too much. Even if it wasn’t a dream, as I said, it wasn’t your fault. Do you understand?”
“…Yes, Sister.”
“Call me anytime if anything happens. And Sua…”
There was a trace of sorrow in Sister Agnes’s voice.
“I want you to see and experience more of the world. Even if you don’t become a nun.”