This Isn't Love, It's Creepy
"Yeah, I want to etch her face right here on my chest. What's the problem with that?"
Problem? The problem is your lowbrow, creepy mindset, you creep. But Tolstoy was far too wealthy to say that outright.
"Hmm... First off, if I may ask one thing."
So I dredged up what little altruism lay dormant deep in my heart, summoning it with all my might. It was the only way I could keep the conversation with Tolstoy going.
"That woman from the East Continent you mentioned. If she's repulsed by Your Grace's tattoo, wouldn't removing it be the better option? Last winter, when Your Grace got the winter serpent inked on your face, I couldn't explain in detail, but with the Beauty Tower's state-of-the-art medical equipment combined with my skills, we could restore your face as much as possible to how it looked before the winter serpent—"
"I know that much. Before coming to the Beauty Tower, I was even more set on erasing the tattoo completely."
Tolstoy Lancaster, the Northern Duke, cut me off before I could finish.
"But after coming back to the Beauty Tower, I started thinking differently. A woman who can love and cherish me just as I am, no matter what—that's the kind of woman worthy to be the lady of the North."
"......"
A customer's words suddenly flashed through my mind: There are people who never get tattoos, but no one who gets just one.
'She came in after getting some shitty tattoo elsewhere, had it removed at great effort, then got another one right on top.'
And Tolstoy was clearly worse than that customer. At least she'd erased hers before getting a new one, but Tolstoy's head was already a flower garden of plans for fresh ink before even removing the old.
What made Tolstoy's behavior the creepiest was planting the face of some stranger—a woman he hadn't even begun a relationship with, let alone married—right in the middle of that flower garden.
"Hmm... Your Grace, if I may be so bold, I don't think tattooing that woman's face is advisable."
"I know. It won't be easy."
Tolstoy was putting on a perfect show of madness, but at least he seemed somewhat aware of how creepy he was being. Just as I thought that was a small mercy, unexpected words spilled from his mouth.
"The sternum area hurts like hell during tattooing, right? I can endure it. That's the power of love."
No, not a mercy at all. A profoundly creepy aura slithered up my spine at his words.
This isn't love. It's chills.
As thoughts of steering him toward laser removal instead of more ink swirled in my head, Tolstoy's mouth moved half a beat ahead.
"And on my left arm, Ailene Calendar year 562, January 6th; 562, February 3rd; 562, March 3rd; 562, April 7th; 562, May—"
"One moment, Your Grace! If I may, are those mysterious dates you're listing also ones you want tattooed?"
"Exactly. I want to fill my left arm with every date we've met so far. And on my right arm, Sia Min."
"Sia Min...?"
"Isn't even her name beautiful? That's her name."
Sia Min. What the hell did that mana stone do to get tangled up with this guy?
"......"
My mind swirled with thoughts of rescuing her—a woman whose name I didn't know, no, whose name, face, and features I'd now learned crystal clear, even if I'd never met her in person. Money aside, letting Tolstoy's actions slide was just too creepy.
"Your Grace, I'm sorry, but if we do the tattoo as you request, I doubt Sia Min—that woman—would appreciate it."
"Not appreciate it? This is me expressing my feelings for her across my entire body—how could she not love that? Etching her image on my chest, our memories on my left arm, her name on my right? What's not to love?"
All of it. His entire behavior gave me the chills. But seeing him stroke his arms fondly, it was clear he had no clue what was wrong.
"If Your Grace and that woman were married, I wouldn't object. But inking someone's portrait on your body without their consent won't win you any favors. Not to mention portrait rights issues."
"Portrait rights? What's that?"
I'd thrown it out as a long shot, and sure enough, the concept didn't exist in this world.
"Portrait rights mean exclusive rights to one's own likeness. If it's displayed or published without permission, you can claim damages."
As I explained portrait rights, Tolstoy's eyes lit up.
"I don't know Lady Sia Min's region of origin. Some places might not recognize portrait rights, but since the concept is widespread across the East Continent, I think it's best not to tattoo her face."
"Hmm... That's a fair point. You're from the East Continent yourself, so it can't be wrong."
My persuasion seemed to work; Tolstoy nodded thoughtfully.
"Then we'll hold off on Sia Min's face and start with the arm tattoos. For my chest, ink the sword she uses."
Just as I thought I could now convince him to do laser removal instead, his next words dripped with that same creepy intent.
Even after my explanation, Tolstoy hadn't snapped out of it. His tone made it clear: the answer was set, so just follow through.
'...This guy's beyond reasoning.'
In my life as a plastic surgeon, I'd seen countless patients. From those bringing celebrity photos demanding exact copies to ones begging for alchemy. The toughest were always like Tolstoy—those who'd already decided the answer and just wanted you to do exactly as they said.
Amid the five winter serpents' sharp glares, Tolstoy's eyes gleamed with madness. Micro-expressions told me further persuasion would be futile.
"Very well. We'll start with the stencil design."
A pang of guilt hit me for Sia Min, a woman from the East Continent I'd never even seen. But she'd understand this was my only option to keep her face off his chest like a framed portrait.
He handed me the dates from January to December of his meetings with Sia Min. I wrote out those spine-chilling dates in various handwriting styles for him to choose from.
"Hmm... They're all good, but the third one. That handwriting suits best—concise yet strong, perfect for me."
"We'll go with that. And for the woman's name... are you sure about proceeding as is?"
I could block her face with the portrait rights excuse. But someone tattooing a stranger's name on their arm was still creepy as hell, so I made one last push to stop his obsession.
Imagine a clingy boss suddenly flashing his forearm, bellowing, "I got your name tattooed!" The chills the target would feel are indescribable.
"I didn't have time earlier, but I generally don't recommend tattooing a partner's name or anything related. Of course, it won't happen, but what if, after inking her name, Your Grace doesn't win her heart?"
At my veiled plea to cut it out, Tolstoy let out a hearty laugh.
"Miner, you wouldn't understand, but in the North, we say: Anyone who gives up without trying isn't a true Northerner."
"......"
"You're not wrong, of course. Tattooing Sia’s name won't guarantee her heart's mine. But even so, I won't give up. And if by some chance she doesn't accept me, I'll preserve that cherished feeling as a memory etched on my arm."
Satisfied with his own words, Tolstoy puffed out his solid chest proudly. I would've bet 50 gold he'd regret it 100%.
'Well, more removal business for me, so no loss... Fine, it's your body, do what you want.'
We call obsessive creeps like stalker Tolstoy in my world. But he had no idea how creepy he was.
"...Then we'll stencil the left arm first."
Persuasion impossible, I disinfected his arm and removed the fine hairs. Then I began hand-stenciling the dates from Ailene Calendar 562 January to December when he'd met Sia Min.
Swoosh— swish— swoosh—
Lettering tattoos usually go two ways. The common method: Use a font conversion site to pick fonts together with the client. Or adjust the size of a handwriting sample they bring.
But Tolstoy had no preferred style, and no font sites in this world, so I had to hand-draw various fonts until one clicked.
Even for his lowbrow obsession, once I committed, I'd deliver top results.
"Left arm stencil complete. For the right arm... are you sure about this size? These days, name tattoos are trending tiny."
"Trend? I'm Tolstoy Lancaster, ruler of the North. After I started getting tattoos, countless people in the Frederik Dungeon Zone followed suit, or so I'm told. What I do is the trend—and the trend is me."
"......"
I handed over the right arm stencil with Sia Min's name. But unlike modern finger-width trends, he wanted it massive—from elbow to wrist.
"...Then right after the left, we'll stencil the right."
If possible, I'd have rescued Sia Min from his forearm. But no options left to shrink or remove her name.
As I prepped a massive size fit for an American biker gang, I silently apologized to the East Continent woman I'd never met.
'Sorry I couldn't stop it... But I'll make it as pretty as possible.'