The Golden Retriever Also Has Fangs
I had often thought she resembled a golden retriever—one of those vigorous, people-loving dogs that follow their owners with boundless enthusiasm. It was the way her innocent face never lost its bright smile no matter the time or circumstance. Or her booming voice that sounded like she had swallowed a train whistle and made it her own. Or her clumsy side, where she failed to grasp just how strong she truly was and occasionally caused unintended accidents. If a golden retriever ate garlic and transformed into a human, I imagined this was exactly how she would speak and behave. That silly joke no longer felt like mere nonsense; their synchronization was so perfect that the comparison seemed entirely fitting. Angel dog. A truly affectionate nickname given to a breed that might possess the gentlest temperament in the world. Yet there was one fact that novice owners, distracted by such a harmless label, tended to forget. A golden retriever was still a large dog at heart—and a beast equipped with the hunting instincts to sink its teeth into the neck of its prey.
“Hoo… Ngh… Haa…”
Soft breaths leaked intermittently from the pale pink lips pressed tight against my collarbone. The insidious heat conducting directly into my skin carried the vivid aura of a predator with a feast waiting right before its eyes. With the Hero’s face buried in the hollow of my neck, reading her expression was impossible. Soon enough, however, I realized this was actually a blessing. There was no way I could have borne the sight of her lips—those lips that always wore a radiant smile as if gazing at a sunflower modeled after the sun—now twisted by unprecedented, murky desires.
“Hero… please… don’t…”
Desperately swallowing the pitiful groans that kept trying to escape, the best resistance I could manage was to move my dry lips twice and chew out a plea.
“Just a little… J-just a little more… Sss… Haa…”
“Ugh, ngh…”
Her breathing was fierce, as though she were trying to dig something out of my body. I could almost count every inhale, every exhale, every swallow. Nothing touched my bare skin directly. Of course her soft flesh clung tightly to every part of me, pinning me down without gaps, but its purpose was solely to restrain my freedom. I sensed no intent to do anything more. Therefore, in this moment, the only part of her that carried her own subjective will was the prominent bridge of her nose pressed against my collarbone, inhaling my scent.
Whether a sliver of reason remained or my pitiful plea had reached her heart, I couldn’t say. But from the careful way she moved so as not to touch me any more than necessary, I could vaguely tell she was desperately suppressing her own desires. Yet did she realize that the very restraint of that pitiful strength was driving me insane?
The sticky droplets that occasionally fell onto my collarbone. The sensual sound of flesh brushing against the bedsheets. Even the unique scent only a woman’s body could produce—fragrant yet dizzying. The collision between reason and instinct was exactly what this moment embodied.
I don’t know how much time passed like that. By the time I was barely—truly barely—clinging to the frayed end of the rope of sanity I had nearly let slip several times, the Hero finally released me.
“I-I’m sorry… Father…”
“Haa…”
It was obvious that thick reluctance still lingered in the Hero’s movements as she awkwardly pulled away from me, like a doll whose joints had rusted over.
“Hero… Have you calmed down a little now…?”
After massaging away the convulsions that had broken out across my body from the lingering pressure, I carefully observed her complexion and spoke.
Over the past two weeks, the Hero’s displays of physical intimacy toward me had been infrequent. It was true that I, wanting to grant her wishes as much as possible, had complied each time. But those instances had never gone beyond light skinship that could easily occur even between close family members—patting her head, offering a lap pillow, that sort of thing. Moreover, unlike the Saintess who would throw a tantrum if her demands weren’t met, the Hero had always respected the boundaries I set. So her current domineering attitude, forcing her desires on me, left me utterly bewildered.
That’s right! Kissing is not allowed! I’ll keep that in mind!
Why hadn’t I noticed the regret hidden in that clear reply back then?
The reason I had placed an upper limit on skinship with her was simple. Although I had resolved not to turn my back on the responsibility of taking her in any longer, accepting her affection at face value under the pretext of that sense of duty was not the act of a proper adult. After all, affection came in many forms, and clearly distinguishing between them would be too heavy a task for the Hero as she was now. Until she could fully realize what her feelings toward me truly were, I had intended to strictly forbid such intense contact.
“I-I’m sorry, sorry, Father. A-are you angry…?”
The Hero’s utterly dejected, pitiful figure reminded me of a timid puppy caught by its owner after doing something wrong. For a moment I could almost see fluffy ears and a tail drooping from her head and backside.
“I’m not angry. I was just a little surprised, that’s all. So please lift your head. It’s enough if you simply promise you won’t do this next time.”
“U-uu…”
There they were again. The ears and tail, so vivid I could even tell their color and breed. This was getting serious.
“I’m sorry… Father… Lately… I’ve been strange lately… Just until recently—just until recently—I was completely happy with you occasionally patting my head and gently embracing me… But ever since Apis told me you and the Saintess might have overlapped your bodies in the audience chamber, strange feelings keep sprouting inside my chest…”
“Ah…”
Guessing what emotion was clouding the Hero’s heart right now wasn’t difficult. Jealousy. The feeling that arises when the love one considers their own is stolen by a rival or faces the danger of being taken. It was inevitable that the Hero would feel jealousy toward the Saintess. It had already happened. The real issue was what kind of thoughts that jealousy stemmed from.
If it was simply a monopolistic desire to keep her one and only guardian to herself, there were ways to handle it. But if the emotion she harbored now was that—the polar opposite of such peaceful domesticity—then there was nothing I could do.
“When I come to my senses, my gaze keeps drifting to Father’s thick hands or your collarbone. There were times the urge to bury myself in your embrace and smell your scent all day made me unconsciously skip meals. And your dainty earlobes, Father—I couldn’t sleep at night, driven mad with curiosity about what it would feel like to touch or bite them. There were days when the impulse to slip my hand inside your thick priestly robes burned so brightly in my mind that I couldn’t focus on my training at all. And just yesterday, when I saw you hurrying off somewhere, a shameless thought of wanting to grab your—your backside with my hand surged up like a spring.”
“Uh.”
Her honesty and straightforwardness at any time were the Hero’s greatest strengths. But at this particular moment, that honesty felt slightly resentful.
Grind.
“Ugh!”
“H-Hero!”
It happened in an instant. The Hero suddenly squeezed her eyes shut and bit down hard on her lower lip. From the vivid droplets of blood pooling at the corner of her mouth, I could easily imagine the force of her bite. The pitiful sight looked as if she were punishing herself.
“Oh God!”
The moment I reflexively began to recite a prayer, startled by the sudden action, the Hero’s loud cry stopped me cold.
“Now is the time! Father! While I’m blocking my sight and senses! Please leave this room as quickly as you can!”
“What kind of nonsense is that?! First, sit still and let me treat you!”
“No! I have no right to receive Father’s kindness when I cannot even control my own anguish!”
An intense argument with no room for compromise. Around the time three or four drops of blood had fallen from the Hero’s lips and begun spreading across the bedsheet in dark spots—
“Hero! At your age, curiosity toward the opposite sex’s body is extremely—yes, extremely natural!”
“But I tried to satisfy only my own greed while disregarding Father’s will! That is something a hero must never do—something no human being should ever do! Is that not the act of a beast?!”
I was momentarily speechless at the sudden righteous declaration. If I had held a recorder in my hand, I would have recorded her words exactly and played them back in full for the Saintess to hear.
“I will gladly accept any punishment. For a criminal like me! For someone who has tarnished the honor she carries! I surely have no right to call myself a hero! I will turn myself in! And for the rest of my life I will chew over this sin, atone for it, and live in repentance!”
“Hero?!”
If left alone, she looked ready to commit seppuku in the nearest sunny spot.
“Ah, seriously!”
Grabbing the Hero’s shoulders with both hands was purely reflexive. My mind was burning with nothing but the sense of duty to calm her rampage somehow, for the peace of the world.
There was no time to weigh the success rate or logical coherence of the trivial idea that had just flashed through my mind.
“Please divide the assets I’ve accumulated so far into four equal parts! Give two parts to Father! Let Victim have one part! And please donate the rest to every orphanage across the capital!”
Swoosh. I carefully lifted the hand of the Hero, who was squeezing her eyes shut and delivering her passionate speech.
“Huu.”
After one deep breath, I slowly brought the back of that pure white hand toward my lips.
Chu.
“Huh?”
Right after, as if that tiny sound had been thunder itself, the Hero’s eyes flew wide open in shock and she finally fell silent.