The Snow Queen

One month later…?

Two months later…?

Suddenly, with a

, a camera flash went off in front of me.

“Ah!”

I jumped in surprise.

“W-what…”

A woman across from me lowered her camera and laughed.

“Hahaha, you’re really startled. You act like it’s your first time getting your picture taken.”

“Yes,” I stammered.

“Oh my…”

The woman puckered her lips, which were painted a bright red. She was a prostitute working at the establishment. She leaned over the counter.

“My name’s Sonia. You’re not upset I took your picture, are you?”

The perfume radiating from Sonia made me uncomfortable. When I avoided her gaze, she giggled as if amused.

“But you know, I wonder if it’s rude to say this to a man. They usually hate being called pretty. But your face is the perfect match for that word—pretty. Do you know? The staff here were in an uproar when you first came. They said you looked so mysterious, like a forest spirit.”

Sonia lifted her camera and showed it to me.

“I’m actually into photography, so I took your picture. But hey, are you sure you’ve never had your picture taken before? Are you lying?”

“No, I haven’t,” I trailed off, wishing she would leave. As a prostitute, Sonia was quick to catch on.

“Oh, how curious. Then I’ll develop the photo tomorrow and show it to you. I think you’ll like it. My photos are pretty well regarded.”

“…Thank you.”

The next day, Sonia handed me the picture. I stared at it intently.

It was a strange feeling. It looked unfamiliar, weird. Even without Messara’s words, or the occasional comments from people around me, I knew that my hair was blonde. But I had no idea my features looked like this.

Was this the person Messara had fallen in love with?

Did he like someone who looked like this?

Did he hold and kiss someone who looked like this?

I gazed blankly at the photo, feeling like I was peering into someone else’s life. There was a dull ache in my chest, as if Messara’s breath and touch were tearing through me.

“It’s a little blurry. It’s because you screamed,” Sonia grumbled. I replied, “No, it turned out well. Thank you.”

“What do you think? Isn’t it strange to see yourself in a photo? That’s why I take selfies often. Depending on the angle, it can look completely different.”

“Yeah. It really does look like someone else.”

“Haha, right?”

Sonia pressed closer to me. I cleared my throat and turned my head. My reaction seemed to amuse her, and she chuckled.

“By the way, it seems like some nobles come here, doesn’t it? Most customers enter through the front door, but some who use the back door—they’re mostly nobles, right?”

I desperately tried to change the topic.

“Oh, you’ve got sharp eyes, don’t you? Yes, a lot of nobles disguised as commoners come here. Nobles can’t spend every day sipping cocktails at parties. Sometimes they want to have a wild time like commoners. Besides, this place is known to be the hottest spot on 42nd Street. But really, how did you know? Were you Sherlock Holmes in a past life?”

“I’d be happy if I were Holmes.”

I smiled bitterly. Working for Lord Manen, I had no choice but to take an interest in nobles.

“You’ve noticed this place isn’t ordinary, haven’t you? The owner is Chinese. That’s why the staff wears Chinese-style uniforms, and the interior design follows Feng Shui principles. Most of the women working here are Asian. My parents are from Vietnam. Foolish white men with fantasies about Asian women are our prey.”

Sonia suddenly draped her arm over my shoulder.

“And… I’m one of the most famous women here. Aren’t you curious?”

I was saved by the arrival of a group of customers, managing to escape the situation. Sonia stood up with a disappointed look, saying, “Well then, see you later.” It seemed I would have to reveal to Sonia that I was gay.

꙳•❅*ִ

Amid raucous laughter, I sat there swirling my whiskey. I was with the department heads, sharing drinks. After distributing photos of sideburns and Leopard’s affair to the department heads, I had been steadily downing whiskey. “Leopard’s got quite the equipment!”, “Look at Arisa’s expression, hahaha!” Their words felt like they were coming from another world.

I was feeling down. Not just down—completely miserable. It had been three days since I’d been dumped in spectacular fashion. While attending to the party-mad Lord Wolfscott, I had only managed to make one trip down 42nd Street. Even then, I passed by the secondhand bookstore, tracing Ray’s traces. The bookstore was closed. What was that bastard up to?

Was he sleeping?

Sick again?

Or maybe laughing?

But why should I even care?

I was dumped. Isn’t that what happened? It meant that it was over. The only thing left of Ray was the clothes in the shopping bag. Clothes he wore only once and returned to me. That was it. Yet, it still didn’t feel real. Even now, his thick hair layered over the surface of the whiskey like a forest. I shook the whiskey glass violently.

Ray had left me with just one word, “Cool off,” before lying down on the bed and immediately falling asleep. He slept deeply, with that usual indifferent and exhausted expression. After staring at him all night, I left the room. Outside, there was only the harsh snowstorm. That was all there was.

The unchanging snowstorm was hollow. I felt something distant as I walked down the street. It was a strange feeling, funny and miserable at the same time, something that couldn’t be described.

I was dumped.

It meant I would never see Ray again.

His body still felt vivid. The quiet smile he would occasionally give was clear in front of me. I clearly remembered the empty room as well. But still, to think it was over—it didn’t feel real.

It felt like I had put on a show. No, it was definitely a show. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became. Driven by emotions growing like a snowball, I was unconsciously racing toward some kind of completion with Ray. I tried to strip away his ragged poverty, erase his sickness, and create a space just for the two of us. Everything was my one-man show. It was a damned masterpiece. Hilariously terrible.

Maybe I should have just left it as a one-night stand…

It didn’t make sense. I love him. Don’t I love him? It wasn’t hate, it wasn’t disgust. It was love. There was no reason to hide it. No need to, and I probably couldn’t have hidden it anyway. I wasn’t the type to be satisfied with just a one-night stand. Even before I realized my feelings, I had already planned to meet the illustrious Ray and smash my pride to pieces.

As I thought about my phone, jealousy flared up again. If Ray rejected me because of that illustrious person…

I downed the whiskey in one gulp, heat rushing through me.

At that moment, Cooperhead pushed an ashtray toward me and spoke.

“Today, our handsome director’s vibe is killer.”

“Is that so.”

“With a strand of hair hanging over your forehead, shaking your whiskey glass with a cigarette in your hand… and all in silence. It’s like a painting. Is something going on?”

I flicked the ash from my cigarette and chuckled.

“If there was, there is.”

“What is it?”

“Our principle is not to ask about personal matters.”

“True.”

I stubbed out my cigarette and pulled out another one. Cooperhead lit his lighter and offered it to me. The tip of my cigarette lit up with a small red flame. I took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke.

“There’s always indirect talk. I’ve known you for seven years now, but I’ve never seen you like this. Go ahead, spill it.”

“Indirect talk, huh.”

I glanced at the nearby directors laughing close by. I wasn’t in the mood.

“Forget it.”

“Hm…”

Cooperhead seemed even more curious. He leaned in and whispered into my ear.

“Love?”

Are all these college-educated punks mind-readers? Thankfully, I was good at keeping a poker face. I didn’t respond.

“Huh.”

Cooperhead whistled softly. His eyes flashed with an “Oh, you got dumped” expression. Damn him. He shrugged his shoulders and tilted the whiskey bottle over my glass.

“Time heals all wounds. You’ll forget once you stop seeing him.”

“Once you stop seeing him, you’ll forget.”

That was the problem. The very thought of not seeing him was so terrifying it drove me crazy. I didn’t even want to consider the possibility. Even when I didn’t realize my feelings, I would run to meet Ray whenever I could. And now I couldn’t see him? I wasn’t supposed to see him? Never come back?

The question “Why?” kept popping into my head. What was it about me that Ray didn’t like?

That thought made me laugh. Looking at it from Ray’s perspective, there were so many reasons. My job was an issue, my sexual preferences were an issue. We had gotten things wrong from the very first night. Was that it? Is that why? It was painful. The fact that I didn’t meet his expectations was agonizing.

I looked back at our meetings. It was pathetic.

I deserved to be dumped. Anyone would have dumped me.

“Do you like mackerel?”

It was an evening as the twilight settled. I spotted a shabby coat swaying down the street. That was the moment Ray and I moved toward something more. A bleak beginning. It was laughable.

I remembered packing my bag with perverted toys, humming as I headed to Ray’s place. His bewildered reaction was priceless. He furrowed his brows and widened his eyes, speechless. When he asked, “Why are you here?” what excuse did I give? A sexually transmitted disease test result, wasn’t it? Damn it.

Not flowers, not jewelry, not clothes, but a bag filled with perverted toys and STD test results—I went to Ray and made all kinds of jokes. In short, it was a disgrace. Thinking back, it was absurd. Damn it.

He was such an insensitive person. As I sewed the doll’s eyes, I sneakily tested Ray. I asked if he accepted the job because he had feelings for me. Without changing his expression, Ray chuckled and said, “You’re really delusional.”

Why did I test him? I’d never pulled something like that with any other one-night stand. Even then, my feelings for him were spiraling out of control. At the time, I brushed it off as a joke, but I still vividly remember the flash of anger I felt at Ray’s “You’re really delusional” response.

Hatred boiled inside me. I was disgusted with myself, feeling utterly pathetic. The more I replayed the memories, the more each word and action tore through my heart like shards of glass, stabbing deeper with each recollection.

If only I could cling to him again, indifferent to whether he liked it or not, just like I had in the beginning.

I chuckled bitterly. I couldn’t do it. I despised the darkness that enveloped Ray. If I did that, I would become part of that darkness too. It was absurd. Before I realized my feelings, I could pour all my desires into him without hesitation. We had sex, kissed, held hands, talked, went sledding, walked together—all of it was shared with Ray.

But the moment I acknowledged it as love, I lost everything. It flew away like a bird. I had lost it all, unable even to see his face anymore.

All of this was the twisted result of love. How ironic that a sadist, who relished stripping the flesh from high-ranking officials, was now suffering this much over a penniless man. Haha, damn it. All I could do was laugh in frustration. It was painful, ironic, and laughable.

If I had known love was this cruel a magic, I would’ve avoided it from the start.

“Just focus on your work. You’re not someone who’ll stop at being just a department head.”

Cooperhead patted me on the shoulder.

I tapped the ash from my cigarette.

“Yeah, I should.”

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, trying to force myself to focus on the idea of tearing Manen apart.

I started with the plan to capture Ryeong. Ryeong existed—I had decided to believe that. The recent defeat made that clear.

I concluded that the reason I lost to Manen was that I hadn’t accounted for Ryeong’s existence. So, there was no time to waste on mere formal reconnaissance. The fact that Ryeong was a shadowy, elusive figure appealed to me. I liked challenges, and now that Ray had left me, the harder the target was to conquer, the more it would help me.

So, where to begin?

I reconstructed the timeline from the start. It would take at least ten days to figure out my detailed plan. However, judging from Manen’s responses, their preparations had likely only begun when the countdown started.

I recalled what Manen said on negotiation day—something about preparing an article on corruption at the broadcasting station for “a week.” The handling of the accountants was odd too. How could they have decapitated them all the way from Hawaii? It must have taken at least a day to hire a hitman.

There was a one- or two-day difference between the time I started the countdown and when the plan’s details leaked to Manen.

It was maddening. Of course, it made sense—Ryeong dealt in realms beyond human reach. Even I had witnessed a witch’s prophecy come true.

I decided to stop doubting. I reviewed Manen’s recent actions once more. I found a significant clue. On the first day of the countdown, Manen suddenly called the accountants for dinner.

A chill ran down my spine. I remembered. That same day, I had received a report about Manen’s meeting with the accountants. I immediately dispatched a subordinate to bug the meeting. But the results were underwhelming.

Manen had merely asked the accountants to “keep up the good work next quarter,” shook their hands, and left. Even the secretly filmed video revealed nothing suspicious. I had dismissed it, assuming he had simply met them to discuss the next quarter’s finances.

I tapped the table with my fingers. Something smelled off.

What was it?

The internal phone rang. It was the torture department.

“Chief, we’re ready.”

The sound of the elevator descending clanged through the air. My thoughts automatically drifted. No matter how much I tried to block it out, Ray’s face kept intruding. A heavy weight settled in my chest, as if something were knotted there. It was impossible to control. It was driving me insane.

The elevator doors opened, revealing the corridor of the torture chamber where moans filled the air. The sound eased my mind a bit.

Ray must have hated me because I was such a wretched bastard. He had a sharp eye, after all. Damn it.

I cracked a whip hard against the wall.

When I opened the door, the torturers bowed their heads. I slowly surveyed the room. In one corner of the torture chamber, sorcerers huddled together, trembling. I had ordered them to round up the best of the best from 42nd Street, leaving out the small fry. Seeing the sorcerers up close gave me an odd feeling.

Hmm…

Sorcerers really had strange appearances.

It was bizarre. Just like the witch I had met in that dark alley, the sorcerers gathered here all had equally grotesque features, as if they’d been sketched by an SF production designer.

I leaned back leisurely in my chair, tapping the table with my fingers as I observed the sorcerers. Then I paused.

“…Hey, old woman. Come forward.”

I gestured with my chin toward the witch in the farthest corner. She crawled forward. I scrutinized her coat. It looked just like Ray’s. No, it was identical.

“That coat?”

“This… this coat… it was passed down to me.”

I felt like I’d been doused in cold water.

“Do sorcerers pass down clothes to each other?”

“Yes, among us.”

I swallowed dryly. It felt like I’d been hit from behind.

It couldn’t be. Absolutely not. Ray, who was only good at attaching doll eyes, couldn’t possibly be a sorcerer. He didn’t even have the basic necessities at his house, let alone any magical tools. There were plenty of sorcerers on 42nd Street. Maybe he had inherited it from a familiar sorcerer or picked it up from the trash.

In any case, the frequent comment Leopard and I made, “It felt like waiting for a fortune at a witch’s table,” was more on the mark than we realized. After all, Ray had appeared before us wearing a sorcerer’s coat. Damn, I had to laugh.

An unexpected problem came to mind. Ray might be mistaken for a shaman and captured because of that coat. My heart sank.

I calmed myself and looked over the shamans. Fear was evident on their faces. I snapped my fingers, and my subordinate nodded, pressing the record button on the device.

“Let’s get to the point.”

The shamans dropped to their knees, nearly collapsing onto the floor.

“Tell me everything you know about Ryeong.”

In the silence, the shamans exchanged glances.

I tapped my fingers on the table, speaking slowly.

“Everything, without leaving anything out. All we know is that Ryeong deals with strange, mystical matters. Beyond that, nothing. So, we’ll have to collect clues from you.”

“R-Ryeong, you say…,” a middle-aged man in the group spoke up.

“He might even be here.”

I tried to remain calm.

“Explain in detail.”

“Ryeong hides in plain sight, disguised as an ordinary shaman. No, most of the time, Ryeong is just a regular shaman. It’s up to the client’s sharp eye to draw out Ryeong’s power.”

The shamans began chiming in, one after another.

“That’s why there’s always a rumor about Ryeong attached to well-known shamans.”

“Ryeong is part of an ancient shamanic group. But no one knows the truth. I’ve only heard that they pass on their abilities to a select few. But even that’s uncertain.”

I also asked about the types of magic they used.

“There are countless types. From using objects to receiving whispers from Ryeong or having direct contact.”

“We can’t know what kind of magic Ryeong uses.”

“But at the extreme end, they say he can see everything just by looking at you.”

I laughed.

“See everything just by looking?”

“Yes. Just one glance, and they know everything. And they can make it happen, without any magical tools.”

“Isn’t that just a superpower?”

“Pretty much. Relying on magic is essentially depending on some power beyond human capability.”

“We call that ability ‘Orcitunica.’ Among all magical plants, the most dangerous is the poppy. The robe worn by Orcus, the demon king of the underworld, is dyed red with poppies, which is why some shamans call the poppy ‘Orcitunica.’ For shamans, ‘Orcitunica’ refers to the talent of demons.”

“Even children use common magic like making dolls out of wax or straw, writing names on them, and cursing people. But Orcitunica doesn’t need such rituals. You just think of it, and it happens.”

“There are different kinds of Orcitunica. Like reading objects by touching them or seeing through things with just a glance… but I’ve never seen real Orcitunica myself.”

“If someone had Orcitunica, they wouldn’t need any magical training. Orcitunica itself is such an overwhelming power. In the past, it was said that many had it. So, if a child was born with Orcitunica, parents would sometimes abandon the child or bind their power with magic.”

“As civilization advanced, Orcitunica disappeared. It’s like how people get used to typing on computers and forget how to write by hand.”

I chuckled and stood abruptly, giving instructions to my subordinate.

“Gather all the well-known shamans and lock them up separately. Strip them of their clothes, and don’t let them touch anything except food.”

I also ordered them to bring all of Manen’s video records and schedule reports from the past two months.

The conversation with the shamans yielded some results. Seeing through things with a glance? Knowing everything just by looking? Ridiculous. If Ryeong’s power was that great, Manen would have won every time. But Cotbica died at my hands. Emillen was captured in her pajamas at dawn.

There must be another way they were gathering information. I concluded that it must be connected to why Manen met with the accountants on the first day of the countdown.

Once again, I patrolled 42nd Street alone, passing by Ray’s secondhand bookstore. It remained closed, as always. I then headed toward Ray’s apartment building. Light spilled from the fifth-floor window. I stared at the window for a long time.

Why?

Why can’t I see him?

I could get out of the car and be there in less than five minutes. He’s there. All I have to do is step out of the car, run up the stairs, knock on the door, and he would be right there. It wouldn’t even take five minutes.

I gazed at the window, filled with indescribable emotions. Suddenly, the light went out. For a moment, my heart pounded as if it would burst.

A few minutes passed, and the door to the apartment building slowly opened. From the darkness, a shadow emerged. It was a middle-aged woman. Ray followed right behind her, wearing that same musty coat and hood that covered his entire body. But a few strands of hair peeked out from beneath the hood, fluttering. Even in the thick darkness, that was clear.

My hand gripped the steering wheel tightly. I wanted to rush over and embrace Ray. I wanted to pull down the hood and run my fingers through his amber hair.

Yes, it was clear. The moment I saw Ray, I knew exactly what I wanted. I couldn’t let him go. I wanted to start over. I wanted to begin again, to reach a conclusion with him.

The two of them walked slowly down the street. They rounded a corner and disappeared into the alley.

Where is he going? Ray wouldn’t just be playing around. With the bookstore closed, is he heading somewhere for work?

I started the car and slowly made my way down the road. As I passed the alley Ray had entered, I glanced over. There was nothing—only darkness.

꙳•❅*ִ

I had tried gathering information on Snake and his subordinates through Wolfscott. The plan was to find their real names and addresses to send in a hitman and eliminate them. But the effort was fruitless.

Unbelievably, Wolfscott had completely forgotten Snake’s real name. After years of calling him only by his nickname, he no longer remembered his given name. There was no chance he would recall a longer detail like an address if he couldn’t even remember the name. It was the same with the other subordinates.

However, in the process of gathering information from Wolfscott, I managed to extract some amusing facts. Many incidents I had believed were orchestrated by Wolfscott were actually the work of Snake and his subordinates.

I was right in my initial judgment. Wolfscott was a fool.

Snake and his subordinates had risen to leadership within Guiger seven years ago. That was also the time when I began reassessing my impression of Wolfscott.

Humans are laughable. The more you learn, the more despicable and insignificant they seem. I felt this keenly every time I observed various nobles through Lord Manen. Wolfscott truly believed that the schemes devised by Snake and his men were his own ideas. He was utterly convinced.

He rationalized it, claiming that he had considered those plans himself and that his subordinates had merely spoken up first. Yet, at the same time, he envied and despised them. He was an incredibly foolish man, one who would never become a great leader.

There were two main reasons people believed Wolfscott had climbed to the top of the hierarchy in Japponica: Dowager Queen Linea and his private army, Guiger. However, Wolfscott severely underestimated Guiger. He was convinced that he would have risen to the top even without them.

In this respect, Lord Manen, who was much more self-aware, was far wiser. The two-hour interrogation of Wolfscott had yielded meager results.

All I had learned was that Snake had been chief for three years and that he had made the fastest rise through the ranks in Guiger’s 25-year history. Wolfscott described Snake as young (he was only 29), smart, arrogant, ruthless, and ambitious. He wouldn’t be satisfied with remaining a commoner. Someday, he would demand more from Wolfscott. Snake, he warned, was dangerous.

Wolfscott was also wary of a few other subordinates. There was Leopard, the sixth-in-command known for his violence, and Copperhead, the second-in-command, the only one with a university education, and very intelligent. Several other names came pouring out of Wolfscott’s mouth.

Just as I was about to dig deeper, Lord Manen suggested we wrap things up for the day. It seemed he was conscious of my limited time.

“So, taking out Snake will be difficult.”

“And they’ve disguised their subordinates in different professions. I saw stacks of books and piles of paperwork. They’ve been given unimpressive positions that wouldn’t raise suspicion, and their identities have been thoroughly fabricated. Wolfscott secretly looked down on them, thinking, ‘They’re suited for such menial work, anyway.’ It was clear that his subordinates harbored considerable resentment toward him.”

“I must say, it’s surprising. I thought they were just a simple gang. Who would’ve guessed that the bodyguards intimidating nobles beside Wolfscott were actually his brains?”

“I didn’t realize it myself when I looked into his mind. Who knew he had such an excellent knack for self-deception? In the end, it worked out well. We’ve identified the real brains behind Wolfscott and confirmed that his foundation is as weak as sand. So, only a week left before your discharge?”

“That’s right. To be honest, I’m still not feeling well. And I can’t shake the unease. I owe you so much, but I’ve done nothing in return. It leaves a bitter taste.”

He was sincere. This was one of Lord Manen’s greatest strengths as a leader among the tattooed nobles. A quality Wolfscott lacked entirely. Not that either was much different when it came to leeching off the people’s blood.

“Your sentiments are more than enough. Take care of yourself. After all, you’ll be drinking heavily in a week’s time.”

“Dreadful. Ha, ha, ha! But this isn’t the time for such talk.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be busy soon enough.”

“I’ll contact you in a few days. Rest well.”

I tossed my phone aside and collapsed onto the bed. Sweat poured down my body like rain. After two hours of intense concentration, it was to be expected. I slowly closed my eyes.

Messara…

I couldn’t help but laugh at the name that came to mind automatically.

Love, huh?

The more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Love? Could I really be in love with him? I had brushed it off as mere desire, dismissed it as nothing more than lust. But to think that its true nature was the overwhelming emotion of love…

I wanted to see him. I thought of his naked body bathed in blue light. I longed for the cigarette smoke that had drifted from his lips like a sigh.

Humans are laughable, I had sneered while gathering information on Wolfscott. But in truth, the same principle applied to me. All this time, I believed I didn’t trust in love. I thought no one understood its futility and impermanence better than I did.

The empty, darkened room didn’t feel lonely at all. The faint sounds of others’ laughter leaking through the door were distant. The room was like a fog-covered forest—no one to be seen, no one to know. I didn’t want to know, and I didn’t care.

I remembered the knocking. It started softly, then grew louder, until it was so intense it seemed like the door would break. I had no choice but to open it. There was Messara.

He was an annoyingly persistent man. And now I found myself waiting for that sound. Desperately yearning for it. I listened intently to every faint noise, hoping the creaking of the floorboards would stop in front of the door. But nothing came. Only silence.

Why had I dismissed it so easily? I hadn’t realized how hard it would be to control these feelings. They were brutal. Almost poisonous. The lifeless, empty room was unnerving. I missed the traces of him, scattered like grains of sand slipping through my fingers. I feared even the handful of memories I had would fade away into the distance. Something tightened around my throat, constricting me. It wouldn’t let go easily. The memories burned like leaves in the midday sun.

Is that what happened? Was that why you couldn’t let go? Yet, if a knock were to sound at the door, I would once again speak harsh words. I had to. I couldn’t make the same mistake as you. This feeling was like an addiction. No matter how sweet, it was bound to break someday. Or so I forced myself to believe.

I couldn’t just abandon him and throw away the time we had left. My future was uncertain. I couldn’t act irresponsibly. After all, I had witnessed the birch forest. It was clear to me. It was almost laughable. Messara might already be holding someone else in his arms, for all I knew.

In the end, it was a tiresome repetition. What a melodrama this was. There was no helping it. Humans are amusing, ugly, and insignificant beings.

“What’s this?”

“What do you mean? It’s chocolate cake. Aren’t you curious about how it tastes?”

The phrase

made me unintentionally think of Messara. I smiled bitterly and took a bite of the chocolate cake. Sonia scooted closer.

“I have this strange habit. Do you know what it is?”

“What is it?”

“I often dream about eating delicious food. And if I don’t eat what I dreamed about as soon as I wake up, I feel like I’m going to go crazy. I must have been either a chef or someone who starved to death in a past life. Today, I dreamed of eating chocolate cake. The sweet taste was so vivid, even in the dream. So, as soon as I woke up, I baked a cake like mad. How is it? Isn’t it sweet?”

“Honestly, it was a bit too sweet.”

Sonia stared at me, as if she was looking at something curious and amusing. In many ways, Sonia reminded me of Messara. She was good with her hands and full of curiosity.

Ah, there I go thinking about Messara again.

I cut another piece of cake, hiding my wry smile. Sonia poured milk into a cup and spoke.

“When you said you were gay.”

“Ah, yes.”

“If I had known beforehand, would you have been upset?”

“What?”

Sonia laughed.

“Ellie told me. She said there’s someone quite unique living next door. She was talking about you. Aren’t you curious? I often wonder how others see me.”

“I’ve never thought of myself as a unique person.”

“Oh my, see? That’s unique. People who look like you tend to be full of themselves. You know, they act like their appearance deserves respect. But apparently, you’re very quiet? You hardly socialize with anyone. Ellie said it’s as if you’re a ghost. In this neighborhood, just that makes you stand out enough.”

“That’s a bitter observation.”

I tried to suppress my discomfort by drinking some milk.

—if the opposite were true, would Sonia understand?

“Oh my, I’m sorry if that upset you. Anyway, Ellie said something else too. Apparently, a man has been visiting your house a lot recently. She said it was obvious from the first glance that you weren’t just friends. So the neighbors have been whispering about how lucky they were to have such juicy gossip. Hahaha. She said the man was tall and handsome, and he looked like he had some money. Well, I doubt men would leave someone like you alone anyway. Oh my, why do you keep avoiding my eyes? How cute… Women naturally take an interest in others. Especially when it comes to relationships. Stop avoiding my gaze.”

“…Avoiding eye contact is just a habit.”

My face flushed. The thought that Ellie might have overheard the sounds I made while with Messara made me feel unbearably embarrassed. I turned my head, but Sonia persistently kept her eyes locked on mine. She even grabbed both my cheeks, forcing me to meet her gaze. She was just as mischievous as Messara, but in a female version.

“You’ve broken up with that man, haven’t you?”

“You’re quite the psychic.”

I awkwardly replied, and Sonia sighed.

“Psychic? No, it’s obvious. If I were your partner, I wouldn’t just let you work in such a rough place. And I’ve seen you often lost in your thoughts.”

“I really seem that way?”

It wasn’t just thoughts of Messara… I laughed. But again, thoughts of Messara telling me I should work at a bookstore instead of this place, or go see a doctor, came flooding back. It was an irritatingly recurring association. And what was this stirring in my chest?

“Oh my, that mysterious smile. You’re hard to figure out. I have a reputation for being quite perceptive, you know. Anyway, there are plenty of other fish in the sea, so don’t get discouraged. Oh, oh my. There’s

fish now.”

Sonia quickly pulled her hands away from me, her expression turning coy as she crossed her legs with a flirtatious smile.

The man Sonia had been eyeing walked down the hallway. It was Owen, the bodyguard who guarded the back door of the establishment. He was thirty-five, built like a bear, but unusually kind for someone in this line of work. Sonia often hung around the back entrance because of him.

He glanced over at us, then walked over. After a brief exchange of glances with Sonia, he grabbed more than half of the chocolate cake in his large hand and stuffed it into his mouth in one bite. He chewed like an ox.

“A bit sweet.”

With just that one comment, Owen left through the back door. Sonia giggled.

“Don’t you dare set your sights on him. He’s mine.”

“Haha, got it.”

I laughed at Sonia’s wink. Then the area around the back door became noisy. It seemed guests were starting to arrive.

As I was about to stand, I hesitated. The faces of the guests were familiar. I quickly remembered who they were. It was Rob Stasoff, Harry Altonen, and several other aristocratic officials. They were part of the rising group Lord Manen had mentioned—members of

.

As I guided them to a room, I observed them closely. They were all in plain clothes.

“They’re aristocrats.”

I muttered as I watched them walk down the hallway. Sonia, clearing the cake plates, widened her eyes in surprise.

“Oh my, how did you know?”

“I saw them on TV. But it seems a lot of aristocrats come in through this back entrance. I can’t speak for the front door, but it almost seems like this is a special entrance just for them. Then again, I always thought it was strange. Usually, the back door connects to a parking lot, but here, it just leads to an alleyway.”

I cast my gaze outside the back gate. In the distance, through the alley stretching between the buildings, I could see the main road.

“That alley is wide enough for cars to pass through. Most of the nobles who come in through this back gate park their cars there. The alley connects directly to the main road, so they can come and go without being noticed.”

“Hmm.”

Sonia put down her cake plate and sat cross-legged on the counter. I suddenly realized that she had spoken too freely, perhaps because she felt comfortable.

Sonia pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Smoke rings shaped like donuts escaped her lips. As she crushed one of the rings with her fingers, she spoke slowly.

“You’re quite unusual.”

“Not really…”

“No, really. Honestly, when I first saw you, you looked like someone who was completely out of it. Even Ellie said that the neighbors gossiped, saying you seemed a bit off.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Sonia quickly waved her hand.

“Oh, don’t take it the wrong way. Or don’t, it’s up to you. Anyway… you’re right. This back gate was indeed built specifically for the nobles. The rooms along the back hallway are reserved for them. When this establishment first moved here, it wasn’t like this. As the business grew, they built this new building, and from the start, it was designed with noble customers in mind.”

“Well… I just made some guesses based on the nobles I saw frequently on TV.”

“Is that so? Your eyes seem unusually sharp. Be careful—nobles are very suspicious. Don’t look at them too intently, like you did earlier, or something bad might happen.”

Unconsciously, I mouthed, “Yes…” Sonia burst out laughing.

“Ha, you’re easily frightened. But your attention to detail is incredible. Even celebrities wouldn’t immediately recognize nobles in real life just from seeing them on TV. Anyway, dealing with nobles, you see some ridiculous things. Just because they’re nobles doesn’t mean anything down there is particularly special, tch.”

“Well, they’re human too, so that’s only natural.”

“And dumb, too. You know there are a lot of East Asian women working here, right? Two out of every five noble customers ask, ‘Is it true that East Asian women play string instruments and recite poetry during sex?’ They’re dumb but have high levels of perversion. Especially those guys from earlier.”

Sonia suddenly lowered her voice to a whisper.

“They’re infamous perverts. They come here regardless of tattoos or religious symbols, but they’re known troublemakers. Aren’t you curious about what they do?”

“Not really…”

I let out an awkward chuckle. My reaction seemed to further excite Sonia’s mischievous side. She leaned toward me like a young girl sharing a secret, whispering:

“Their most ridiculous kink? When the mood heats up, they always make the girls stand on the table. Then, they make them sit on eggs. There, right there. Can you imagine?”

I was too taken aback to say anything.

“Then they clap their hands, telling the girls to cluck like hens. ‘A hen should act like a hen,’ they say. Among ourselves, we call them Socrates.”

“Why would you call such perverts Socrates?”

“Why else? They’re pathetic souls, venting their frustrations here because they can’t stand their wives at home. And you know, Socrates drank hemlock and died coughing up blood.”

“Haha, so the nickname actually has a deeper meaning.”

Sonia shrugged as she stubbed out her cigarette.

“When I see them acting all proper at the palace after playing like that here, I can’t help but laugh. Those bizarre kinks… I bet someone like you can’t even imagine.”

I thought of what Messara had done to me, and without thinking, I muttered, “Well…”

Sonia hesitated, pulling out another cigarette but stopping midway.

“Oh? Could it be?”

I quickly came to my senses. For a moment, I’d forgotten that Sonia was a woman who had seen and experienced it all. I felt the blood rush to my face.

Sonia let out a breath that was somewhere between panting and laughing, then burst into loud laughter.

“Oh my! Oh my! I can’t take it. I keep picturing it in my head. You really are one unique person!”

“I think I’m losing it too.”

I replied with a bitter smile, which only seemed to amuse her more.

“Haha. That tall, handsome man must have been quite a trickster. You can never tell just by looking at someone… In any case, you should be careful. Owen said that you’d have perverts trailing after you. He was worried that your vibe is too… suggestive.”

“Maybe.”

I agreed briefly. None of the people I had met at Snow White were normal, and even Messara had been a pervert.

As I watched Sonia laugh until she was holding her sides, I let out a bitter smile. The image of Messara, smoking and looking displeased, came to mind. I felt a thirst. I missed him. Desperately.

The sound of someone retching in the hallway brought me back to reality. I quickly stood up and headed in that direction. It had to be one of the Socrates group. It was Rob Stasoff.

Remembering Sonia’s advice, I carefully helped him up. The hallway, which was reserved for noble-only rooms, was usually quiet, but this was one of the things I had to deal with.

“Are you all right, sir? Please, lift your head.”

Stasoff mumbled something unintelligible. He was a rough-looking man in his thirties, with the appearance of a street thug. From what I knew, the Stasoff family had purchased their noble title with money in the previous generation. They had originally been a notorious Russian mafia family.

I managed to seat him on the leather sofa in the hallway. I wiped the mess off his clothes with a towel. Stasoff squinted at the air, as if trying to focus. His mustache, along with his lips, was covered in filth.

As I wiped the dirt from his lips, I suddenly froze. Stasoff was touching my chest. Instinctively, I stepped back.

“It’s surprisingly soft.”

The voice, with a smirk, gave me chills. The drunkenness was nowhere to be seen, and the eyes were sharp and clear. Stasoff suddenly grabbed my wrist.

“W-what are you doing, sir?”

“What do you think I’m doing? Acting innocent while working here?”

Stasoff grabbed my hair and pressed my head against his lower abdomen. I could feel something erect against my lips. I struggled to break free, but his strength, befitting a noble, was overwhelming.

“Can’t you just stay still? I’ll give you a tip, so cutely suck it.”

“Sir.”

A deep voice sounded beside us. It was Mr. Owin.

“It seems you’ve had too much to drink. You should stand up.”

Mr. Owin gestured with his eyes. I quickly pulled away and ran to the counter. After putting Stasoff into a room, Mr. Owin came over to me.

“If something like this happens again, just scream. It’s my job to sort things out, so don’t hesitate.”

“Thank you.”

Sonia chuckled. Watching Mr. Owin head toward the back door, she whispered, “Isn’t he cool?” I nodded. Before long, Sonia stood up, saying, “Ugh, I should get going.” The sharp sound of her heels gradually faded away.

The empty hallway was filled only with the scent of mischief leaking from the room. It felt incredibly lonely. I realized it was raining a little later.

I glanced outside through the wide-open glass door. It was raining—a rare drizzle on a winter night. At the door, Mr. Owin pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a drag. As I watched him, someone else overlapped with his figure in my mind. The gray cigarette smoke mixed with the damp wind and scattered.

The distant street, visible between the alleys, looked desolate. The silent buildings, drenched by the rain, stood like lonely gravestones. My thoughts kept racing somewhere. I caught my reflection in the glass door. My eyes were filled with moisture, staring quietly into the darkness.

꙳•❅*ִ

I tapped the table for an entire hour. I lowered the volume of the video with the remote and rewound the section again.

I was reviewing a secretly filmed file from a royal cocktail party two months ago. The filming location was the second-floor hall, and I could clearly see the nobles enjoying themselves below. Guiger had a ton of files like this. This file was also one of the monthly deliveries from a royal servant Guiger had managed to recruit.

I felt odd. Honestly, there was no particular reason to review this file today. I just remembered when Cooperhead, passing around this file among the executives two months ago, had said, “Does the servant have a crush on Manen? Manen sure gets captured a lot on camera.”

But the more I watched, the stranger it felt. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason. Manen appeared on screen again. It was a scene I’d seen so many times, it felt as familiar as my daily shoes.

Manen was sipping wine with his peers in a corner. It was the same scene I saw every time I accompanied Lord Wolfscott. It was no different from a rerun I’d seen fifty or a hundred times, but somehow, it looked strange to me now.

Driasnen, Pusher, and Revils were gathered around Manen. They were always by Manen’s side. Cotbica was walking around nearby, looking slightly disheveled, as if she had another argument with the queen in the greenhouse. I chuckled softly. I tapped the table and glanced through Manen’s schedule.

Such a sly snake, always getting things done…

Manen led a surprisingly regular life. It was a pattern that didn’t suit his reputation as a party animal. He spent his mornings at the office, held meetings with the aristocrats, and attended noble parties in the evenings. If you removed the parties, it would seem like the daily routine of a diligent official. He was the exact opposite of Lord Wolfscott, who holed up in his office, calling in subordinates at whim, expecting them to come to him.

I pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and stared at the burning tip, deep in thought. Driasnen, Pusher, Revils—Manen’s usual entourage at the parties. Could Ryeong be among them?

I laughed absentmindedly. It made no sense.

But that didn’t mean it could be completely ruled out.

I was determined not to overlook even the smallest clues. I thought back to the witch’s coat. That coat, which we had dismissed as just a common pauper’s coat from 42nd Street, had turned out to be a coat passed down among sorcerers. Our offhand comment about Ray’s first impression had unexpectedly hit the mark.

I retraced Manen’s movements, one by one. It was truly fascinating. The more I looked, the more it felt like a spider’s web. His movements, especially during the two weeks right after the countdown, were interesting.

On the first day of the countdown, he met with accountants. On the fourth day, he attended the 74th-anniversary party of the Broadcasting Union. Lord Wolfscott controlled the broadcasting sector tightly, so the fact that Manen attended was ridiculous. Yet, he showed up with his entourage, drank heavily, and then left quickly.

Then Manen presented me with a card detailing the corruption within Lord Wolfscott’s broadcasting station. He smugly said it was a week’s worth of reporting. A coincidence?

I doubt it.

There was a lead—parties.

In this kingdom with long winters, parties were a daily routine for the nobles. On average, three parties took place each day. Manen attended nearly every night. I threw another glance at the video screen. Manen was shaking hands as he made his rounds of the banquet hall.

I picked up the phone receiver.

“Prepare a report on the parties Manen attended and didn’t attend over the past two months. I want it by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, I’m going crazy. Having to play party bodyguard every other day is driving me nuts. How about tonight, Snake? How about Snow White? We haven’t been in a while.”

Leopard grumbled as we drove around 42nd Street.

“Hmm. Go by yourself.”

I deliberately sped up as we passed Ray’s house, giving a short response. I didn’t want Leopard’s eyes to catch sight of Ray. With his personality, he wouldn’t leave Ray alone. Leopard cracked his shoulder joints, muttering, “I feel so stiff, man.”

“So, what’s this about? I hear you’ve been hot on Ryeong’s trail lately.”

“Hmm.”