A Story That Becomes Someone's Nightmare -3-
There are times when you hate someone for no reason at all. Because of a boy lingering in fuzzy memories who had the same hair color. Because he acted in ways a boy never should. For no reason, I hated him even more.
The boy I remembered was always upright and steadfast. Maybe it was because of my selfish wish that this man, who looked just like the boy who'd vanished like morning dew, would be upright like the one in my memories. Of course, the man really was a villain, too.
He valued personal gain over justice. Killing over the sanctity of life. The guy who shunned Yuria and committed all sorts of evil was evil incarnate. He was someone whose ideals clashed completely with mine. We were incompatible, impossible to mix.
Mikhail, having unpacked in his dorm, sat on the bed gazing at an old photo.
"Come on, what're you doing alone? Hurry up!"
"...I don't wanna take a picture with you guys."
"Shut up and get over here!"
Mikhail stared at his wrist, where the boy who'd pestered him to pose for the photo had grabbed him. It still felt like that day's warmth lingered there. The gentle touch of the boy smiling as he pulled Mikhail's wrist—the one who couldn't fit in with the group—seemed to remain right in that spot.
"Okay, smile!"
"I don't wanna..."
"Smile!"
Click.
"..."
Mikhail's memories were all captured in that one faded photo. The harsh slum life. The boy's face. His own child self. All preserved in a single worn snapshot. It wasn't a good memory, but one he'd never forget in his lifetime. A bitter smile crossed Mikhail's face as he looked at it.
"Idiot."
Mikhail held the photo up to the moonlight filtering through the window and bowed his head.
Am I doing okay...?
I'm trying my best.
What would that kid have said? Would he have patted his back and told him he was living right? Or kicked his ass and called him a fool? Pointless fantasies, but Mikhail wanted answers to the questions he murmured to himself. Even harsh words would do—just once, he yearned to hear that kid's voice again.
Bowing his head through the night, Mikhail clutched the photo tight and tried to sleep. Hoping against nightmares this time.
The dark night, hard to drift off in, brought a breeze rustling the curtains like a gentle mountain wind. About ten minutes passed like that.
Tok.
A small pebble flew through the window into the dorm. Mikhail sat up and peered out. Curious who was calling him so late.
Slowly, he stuck his pale forehead out the window.
"Kyaa!"
A scream of agony escaped as Mikhail clutched his forehead. The stinging pain made him look down at the floor, where he spotted a pebble the size of a fingernail. Someone outside must've thrown it at him. Not hard enough for an ambush or attack, but it still soured his mood. Even with his kind heart, he couldn't just take getting pelted for no reason.
Grabbing his throbbing forehead, Mikhail glared out the window. Wondering who the hell would do this so late—and ready to chew them out if caught—he leaned forward.
His expression hardened at the face he saw.
"Nice shot...! Oh crap, he spotted me?"
Ricardo, arms full of pebbles, waved enthusiastically like he'd bumped into an old friend. Mikhail let out a deep sigh and reached for his sword.
Ricardo...
The man he hated most. The one guy in this world he could probably kill without a shred of guilt was grinning brightly.
In the quiet Hamel tavern, I smiled at Mikhail, who glared like he wanted to murder me.
"Why the death stare? Something sour your mood?"
"...Shut up."
"Such harsh words...!"
I teased Mikhail a bit before signaling the waiter for an order of sweet-and-sour chicken and beer.
"Beer for you too, Mikhail? On me."
"Pass."
"Why? Nights like this call for a drink and some chatter to reminisce."
"Sitting with you makes me sick. That's why."
"Is that so...? Not 'cause I'm a guy, right? You lolicon freak!"
Mikhail looked ready to draw his sword any second. I flashed a wry smile as the waiter brought my beer, mouthing, This guy's always been a prickly asshole. Bear with us. Painting Mikhail as the temperamental one.
The waiter gave an awkward smile. I slapped a tip on the table, demanding his sympathy. Money well spent to isolate Mikhail.
"Thanks!"
Money's the best. I nodded at the waiter's bright grin, then shot Mikhail—still stone-faced—a mocking He's got personality issues. Bonus: the waiter's cheeks flushed.
Mikhail gave me a pathetic look and said,
"So, what's the point?"
I felt a twinge of hurt at his stiff demand to get to it, sighing heavily.
"When have I ever just asked you for favors? I'm just happy to see you after so long."
"...Spit it out without the bullshit."
"It's true?"
I resented Mikhail for not seeing my heart. Well, he wasn't wrong.
I dropped the smile and got serious.
"You're right—we're not exactly buddy-buddy."
"Exactly. Get to the point."
I sighed deeply, eyeing him. It was 9 p.m.—late if late, early if early. One reason I'd dragged him here this hour.
"I've got a favor to ask."
A trivial one for him, but vital and weighty for me. No chance it'd happen, but just in case—I sat here prepared.
Mikhail's brow twitched at "favor."
"A favor?"
"Nothing tough."
"You asking me?"
"Can't I? We synced up at the ball, remember? I'm hurt."
"Synced? You unilaterally slaughtered people."
"I had my reasons."
Mikhail clenched his fists, grinding his teeth like he was shaking with rage.
I shut my mouth tight against his fury. No point—only lectures awaited.
"Reasons...? You think that makes sense?! Fifty people... Fifty. That's how many you killed then..."
"Enough."
"Enough what? I haven't even started."
"You know talking ethics to me changes nothing."
"You bastard..."
I shook my head at Mikhail's boring moralizing and cut him off. We weren't here for dull debates. I hated his lolicon face; he hated mine. Wry smile again, I said,
"Straight to it, then."
"Spit it out."
Deep sigh.
"Don't come to our mansion."
Mikhail frowned like Why the hell would I? His blatant disgust actually relieved me. I pressed on.
"As you know, our relationship's the worst. Especially with the young lady."
"You brought that on yourselves."
"That's why I'm asking. Stay away."
"I wasn't going anyway, even without you begging. Who knows what Olivia might pull."
I dropped the smile, voice icing over at his slight against her.
"Watch your mouth, Mikhail."
"..."
"She's not for you to badmouth."
Silence hung. Then Mikhail, face hard, hit the nail on the head.
"Don't meet Olivia. That's it, right?"
"For life, if possible."
"Hah."
Mikhail grabbed his sword from the table and stood. Ignoring the arriving food, his steps were resolute.
"Nothing for you to worry about."
"Good."
"I never wanna tangle with you lot again."
I waved as he stormed off.
"Take care."
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Before exiting, Mikhail paused, turned.
"One favor from me too."
"Shoot."
"No funny business in this field trip."
"..."
"And."
He yanked the door open.
"Don't interfere with me, no matter what. Makes me sick."
I gave no reply. Just toyed with my beer mug, a subtle smile playing.
After Mikhail left, alone, I sipped and muttered softly,
"That one's tough."
Hard to grant his favor. As a possessor, unavoidable. And old ties wouldn't let me.
Scrape.
The moment Mikhail exited, patrons shoved chairs back and rose. No-account types skipping the bill. The waiter panicked; I slipped him a tip with a go nod. He bolted. I slammed my mug down.
To the awkward tails following Mikhail dumbly, low voice:
"Sit."
"If you wanna live."
At the spot where Ricardo had chucked the pebble at Mikhail.
"..."
Dozens of heretics' corpses littered the dank alley, cold and lifeless.