“...M-Masturbation? That’s what you’re warning about?”
Yuri burned with frustration, but he couldn’t risk clarifying.
The only reason he stayed so long in the bathroom was because he worried sothing about him might be different from everyone else, so he spent ti observing himself down there.
He was terrified that if he touched the shaft wrong, the bone structure would bend even further upward—so he hadn’t even dared to stroke it!
And to accuse of that...!
The boy, suffocating with resentnt, only tugged at his clothes.
“Always carry yourself with propriety. Don’t behave loosely.”
“...Understood.”
Even as his pride stung, his thoughts kept circling back to that strange thing that had squird against his chest. Where had it run off to? He should never have let it slip away....
While he bit down on his lower lip, Maxim Solzhenitsyn’s eyes lingered aningfully on his grandson’s split forehead, his cheek swollen with burst capillaries, and the bruises rising greenish along his neck.
“You were lucky, Yuri.”
“Sir?”
“For now, suspend hunting. Stay indoors only. If your grandmother saw you in this state, she’d have a fit.”
“Ah....”
“Forget everything else. Focus solely on recovery.”
Was it because he’d failed to bring back proper ga? Today, more than ever, his grandfather’s gaze was persistent and sharp.
All because of that damned beast. Quietly clenching his fist, Yuri climbed the stairs.
“Young Master, it’s an honor to et you.”
A black-haired servant—rare in this household—bowed low to greet him.
Yuri’s indifferent gaze brushed the hands holding several of the scented candles his grandmother often used....
Apparently, his grandmother had brought soone new into service. The first change in six years. Yet Yuri’s head throbbed so much he had no attention to spare for the servant’s face.
“Please look after Grandmother well.”
Staggering, Yuri passed indifferently down the corridor.
***
The dining room was less a place for als than a space for distance.
A table long and cold as a railway line stretched through the center, with his grandfather at one end and himself at the other.
Grandmother always sat beside her husband, since it was the ideal position for him to pour her wine or water, to serve her at.
Still, Yuri liked this endlessly long table. At least during als, he didn’t have to see his grandfather’s face up close.
“I heard sothing amusing from the Minister of Justice. Apparently you told their third child sothing extraordinary.”
“I didn’t say much.”
“The student council president forgot to list operating expenses, and several events got canceled. Advising him not to apologize—doesn’t that count as extraordinary?”
His grandfather asked with a sneer.
Clang. The loud clatter of a fork hitting the floor. “Zoya, step outside for a mont,” Grandmother said, sending Yuri’s servant away.
“He was the president.”
Even amidst the noise, Yuri replied calmly. The wounds on his face had already faded, and the mory of that day grew hazy.
As ti passed, it hardly even felt like sothing he’d actually experienced. All the more reason to forget useless mories, to bury the agitation completely.
As the table filled with dishes, Maxim propped his chin, urging him to go on.
Yuri unfolded his napkin across his lap and spoke evenly.
“Everyone makes mistakes. But people in positions of authority don’t fall because of the mistake itself, but because of how they handle it.”
Even from afar, he could see intrigue flicker across Maxim’s expression.
“If the student council president apologized, so would begin doubting his competence. They’d wonder if there were other errors he hadn’t confessed yet.”
“......”
“Excuses satisfy no one. Apologies only make everyone uncomfortable. They don’t erase the mistake; they drive it in deeper.”
“Yuri...”
Grandmother glanced worriedly at her grandson’s biting words. But Maxim fixed him with that strange stare and asked,
“Then what should one do?”
“Choose a scapegoat.”
“......!”
The wrinkles on Maxim’s face hardened slightly.
It was around then that Yuri sensed sothing else.
...What the hell?
Beneath his feet, the marble tile shifted. His nerves went taut, but in the middle of a talk with his grandfather, he couldn’t just lift the tablecloth.
Still, one tile had definitely moved, and from beneath, a tiny hand was creeping out.
Wait, fuck—did I just see that wrong?
He wanted to leap from his chair imdiately, but breaking table manners was among the things Maxim Solzhenitsyn despised most.
Unable to move, he swallowed hard.
“...A scapegoat?”
Maxim’s voice rolled low and heavy from his throat.
“It’s an ancient thod. A king always has a favored retainer—”
Yuri answered smoothly, but as he glanced down again, his mind went blank. His eyelids fluttered rapidly, as though broken.
Am I mis-seeing again? Why... why is that beast crawling up from beneath the floor?
Those pitch-black child’s eyes, staring straight at him. Through the half-lifted tile, the head tilted upward—it was undeniably that sa beast.
Unconsciously, Yuri pressed his foot hard on the tile, pinning it down to keep it from climbing up.
Unless my brain has finally gone mad with hallucinations, that brat—really—it seems hell-bent on dying. His molars clenched tight.
How dare it trespass here, at Winter Castle... what if Maxim Solzhenitsyn caught sight of it?
So flustered, sweat broke cold across his skin, his thoughts kept fracturing. That thing was insane. Whatever it was, it wasn’t right in the head.
“...When a king’s reputation grows unstable, he lays down the heads of his beloved retainers one by one.”
Yuri spoke without a tremor. Occasionally he scraped his knife against a dish, weaving in sharp noises.
The floor beneath his foot throbbed upward, but if that little creature popped out now, it would be disaster.
He could not—under any circumstance—let Maxim Solzhenitsyn see this child.
“So to rise high, it isn’t money or fa you need, but stooges and scapegoats. I told the council president to cut off his treasurer quickly, even if they were close friends.”
“......”
“A long friendship proves useful then, doesn’t it?”
Cold silence.
Clang! But Yuri’s heart nearly burst for another reason. The tile thudded hard beneath him, a heavy mask ramming it.
Yuri slamd his knife onto his plate and coughed. Hastily, he lifted his foot just a little, and like a snake slithering out, the beastly child clung tight to his calf.
Fuck...! His hands trembled as he gulped down water. Goddamn, this was terrifying.
“Haa...”
Were vagrants squatting near the forest? Or was Solzhenitsyn secretly raising a bastard child? The irritable thought slipped out, but oddly, it seed the most plausible.
“...―is it so?”
No matter how long the table stretched, no matter how thick the draped cloth, discovery was only a matter of ti.
The child still wore its iron mask, and if its head wasn’t restrained, it was bound to make a noise. Yuri tapped his fist under the table, signaling it to stay still.
“Yuri.”
Tonight he would definitely get indigestion. He only chewed and chewed at, jaw aching.
But the child clung beneath him, perched on his foot. To hide it even a little longer, Yuri raised his legs parallel to the ground. His thighs scread, his breath ca short.
“Yuri Solzhenitsyn!”
“...!”
At the sharp bark, Yuri snapped his gaze forward. Maxim’s burning eyes bore into him.
“What are you daydreaming about, spacing out at the dinner table!”
“Do you... have a bastard child?”
“...What?”
His grandfather’s brows shot up, feral.
Fuck, I’m screwed....
Yuri forced his twisting face to still. Even Grandmother, who rarely looked up during als, blinked at him. Maxim slowly studied her complexion.
Well, in for a penny—Yuri decided to push boldly on.
“I wondered if the family had a child who couldn’t inherit the na.”
“......”
“I don’t think it’s sothing that must be hidden in sha. If you introduced , I could take care of—”
“You truly know no sha!”
Grandfather jabbed his knife at Yuri, hand trembling.
“Where the hell did you learn such wanton talk? Copy Scripture, or get retrained in sex education—you’re under house arrest again, starting today! Puberty is a disease worse than plague!”
As his grandfather roared, the child dug its nails in, and Yuri stroked its masked head. Cold to the touch, its bristling hair felt like broom bristles.
Then it edged back, slipping into the tiles again like a fleeing mouse. Relief mingled with emptiness.
“......”
Did I lose it again?
Yuri’s face chilled without his knowing. He pressed down the stiff nape of his neck, peeking under the table where it had vanished without a trace.
So... there really is so strange little rat living in Winter Castle, huh....
Its weight had been slight, laughably so, but the desperate warmth of it clinging still tingled. The feeling of its arms clutching his leg lingered strangely long.
Yuri, rember. Even if you can’t see it, there is always a way.
Suddenly, his parents’ old voices brushed {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} his ears.
His darkening gaze sank toward the tiles below.
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