The Snow Queen

“Looks like he’ll die before I do. I’m fortunate to have met you. I’ll see you next time.”

After dealing with the client, I collapsed in exhaustion. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind felt foggy, as if shrouded in mist. Even a night with men no longer seemed to have the same effect.

For several days now, I couldn’t keep food down without vomiting. I’d shattered every mirror in the house. I replaced all the dishware with plastic. Even the windows were covered with thick curtains, blocking out every inch of light. Anything that could reflect my face was removed.

My nerves were on edge from the frequent illness. I thought I’d managed well for the past decade, but lately, I couldn’t control myself. I usually kept my body covered completely, but even that didn’t feel safe anymore. The thought of someone seeing me terrified me, and I didn’t have the courage to leave the house. My mind was overwhelmed by chaotic thoughts: people seeing through the hood of my coat, starving to death holed up at home, or losing my mind and slashing my wrists with a razor.

Or maybe I was already insane.

I managed to get up and headed to the kitchen. Despite days of vomiting, I was hungry again. But the refrigerator was empty.

Pathetic…

Feeling a strange sense of humor, I sank to the floor. Thinking seriously about starving or cutting my wrists seemed absurd now. I’d known all along—I’d never have the courage to kill myself. The grumbling of my empty stomach was so pathetic it was almost funny, a kind of comedy.

Should I seek treatment again? I imagined the nurses with their plastic smiles and doctors with their empty platitudes, forcing down useless pills. The thought already made me feel weary. Besides, I had no money.

Light streamed in through the gap in the curtains.

The dusk was red.

꙳•❅*ִ

Dusk settled over the streets. After finishing my work at headquarters, I headed out for my usual patrol of 42nd Street. The so-called patrol was nothing more than driving around the block.

A biting snowstorm wiped the street white. Today, the streets of 42nd were unusually empty. No one seemed in the mood for a quick fling in this bitter cold. It was the time when the “Snow Queen” reigned. For nearly half the year, the kingdom was covered night and day by a cold, white carpet woven from threads of frost. And with four more months of this horrific winter to go, I was sick of it.

The Snow Queen swallowed everything. The long winter turned the people of the kingdom into pale-skinned vampires, many of them suffering from alcoholism and depression. At least the kingdom was rich in uranium and oil, some of the most sought-after resources in the world. Without those, the streets would be filled with corpses of the starved.

The roads were icy. The few pedestrians hurried along with their collars turned up against the cold. Leopard had the day off from patrol because of his duty guarding Lord Wolfscott.

I absentmindedly turned the wheel, lost in thought. This patrol marked the third month. Today, Lord Wolfscott had summoned us and berated us for an hour: “Why haven’t we heard anything yet? How do you expect to collect your salaries like this?” It had put me in a foul mood.

Why not just ask us to catch a ghost instead?

A ghost… The only lead we had was some nonsense about them mastering a realm of mysteries.

Traditionally, the kingdom had a rich history of witchcraft, with witches and sorcerers being common occupations. Although Lord Wolfscott had launched a grand campaign against sorcery under the pretext of eradicating superstition a year ago, they still brazenly thrived. Witchcraft was especially popular among women, and 42nd Street had a large population of female prostitutes. Many of the sorcerers who operated there catered specifically to that clientele.

Considering all of this, the possibility of a ghost existing on 42nd Street wasn’t impossible. Sparrows gather around a mill, after all. But there was a troubling complication.

Ghosts aren’t ordinary sorcerers; they transcend them.

That was what Lord Wolfscott had said.

A sorcerer beyond sorcerers—what could that even mean? I spat out my cigarette.

“So, there’s no ghost. That’s the conclusion,” I muttered.

Lord Wolfscott’s clues were far too vague. It wasn’t like I could go knocking on doors asking, “Excuse me, do you know a ghost?”

Well, at least all this free time allowed me to indulge in as much fun as I wanted.

I grumbled as I pulled out another cigarette, but I stopped short. Off in the distance, I spotted a familiar coat. Stumbling along was Redfox.

My interest piqued. Just what I needed to lift my foul mood. I slowed the car, following him. As I lit the cigarette, I thought, He’s going to collapse at this rate.

He wore that same shabby coat with the large hood. Redfox was staggering along like he might fall any moment. His unsteady movements made me feel uneasy. But then, I smirked.

Quite the atmosphere…

The snow-covered street was bathed in deep twilight. In the reddish glow of dusk, that ominous fur coat trudging along was like a scene from a painting. A vivid image crossed my mind: Edvard Munch’s

.

And what was that?

In Redfox’s hand was a small shopping basket. Poking out of it were two small mackerel. The sight of him, dressed in that eerie coat, tottering along with that basket was strangely comical. But beneath that coat was a sweet body, with golden hair cascading like a waterfall.

I felt a growing weight in my lower body. Thirstily, I watched him.

I’d end up with nothing again today, no doubt.

Does he live nearby? Snow White isn’t far from here.

I made up my mind and sped up. I could give him a ride. A hotel would draw too much attention, so car sex was—

But before I could finish the thought, Redfox suddenly stopped. My heart skipped a beat, and I found myself fixated on his unmoving figure. There wasn’t a single twitch from him. Then, like a video on slow motion, he began to fall.

“Hey!”

I jumped out of the car and caught him in my arms. His face, barely visible from under the hood, was deathly pale. I checked his pulse. It was normal, but his fever was high.

“Are you alright? You know me, right? Come on, stay with me.”

Roughly shaking him, Redfox finally opened his eyes slightly.

“Can you stand up? Let’s go to the hospital. Grab my shoulder and support yourself on the ground…” I was saying when, to my surprise, he replied in an unexpectedly clear voice, “I’m not going to the hospital.”

“I can stand up on my own.”

And then, he really did stand up abruptly. I was left feeling awkward. Had he just lost his footing?

Redfox started walking again, stumbling once more.

I watched his retreating figure with a sense of disappointment. Even though he was clearly too weak for sex, the heat that surged through my lower body the moment I held him was pathetic.

“Well, nothing to be done.”

I smiled slightly.

Why else would I be the head of Guiger, the group despised by everyone? Redfox was simply unlucky to have caught my eye at this moment. I was in a terrible mood, and I didn’t care whether he was sick or not—what I needed was a shift in my own emotions. I quickly caught up to him.

“Excuse me,”

Just as I was about to call out to him, Redfox came to a sudden stop again.

A brief moment passed. Once again, I tensed up, watching him. He stood perfectly still, just like before. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he collapsed again, just like earlier.

As I wondered if I might end up cleaning up a corpse in the street instead of getting lucky, a weak voice slipped from him.

“Do you like mackerel?”

Still facing away from me, he said it.

I ended up helping Redfox back to his place. On the way, I casually suggested taking a drive out to the suburbs. Redfox cut me off with a single word, “No.” He had a knack for making his point clear. Whether it was yes or no, he communicated his intentions with short, sharp words. He had more grit than I expected.

“Is this the place? Your home is… quite tidy.”

I commented as we entered Redfox’s one-room apartment. Even as a courtesy, I couldn’t bring myself to say something like “cozy.” It was a shabby place. A wardrobe, a bed, a bookshelf, a TV. Along with a fridge, a table, and a few kitchen tools—that was it for the furnishings. It was desolate. The only sign of life was the bookshelf stuffed with books. I couldn’t help but feel astounded. The musty coat had hinted at it, but I hadn’t expected him to be living in such poverty.

Redfox collapsed onto the bed without even taking off his coat. His face was dotted with beads of sweat. With feverish eyes scanning the empty space, he turned his head toward me.

His face was etched with the deep marks of illness. It felt wrong to suggest sex to someone so clearly sick. Though, of course, there was no way I would let my goal slip from my mind because of that. It was just hard to figure out how to bring it up. As I hesitated, he lifted the hem of his coat and pulled off his pants. He even yanked down his underwear in one careless motion and tossed them aside. Then, he spread his legs.

“Do it.”

“…”

Sex was indeed my objective. But the directness of his expression—no, more than the expression, the dry tone in his voice—left even me, who had done all sorts of things, momentarily taken aback.

What a strange fellow…

“Hm.”

I let out a small cough.

Well, he made the first move, so that works for me.

It’s not like he invited me here just to eat mackerel.

“Wouldn’t it be better to take your clothes off?”

He responded indifferently.

“It’s cold.”

It was, indeed, cold. Having just come in, the room was only warm enough to avoid freezing.

Fine. It might be an interesting experience, in its own way.

I made up my mind and slowly scanned him. His legs were bare, sticking out from under the coat that covered him from neck to thighs. It was provocative. Imagining what awaited between those shadowed legs made my lower body immediately heat up. I hadn’t used a condom in a while, but I pulled one from my wallet.

After internal ejaculation, the receiving partner needed to clean up, but in this freezing room, taking a shower wouldn’t be easy. It also didn’t feel right to leave semen inside someone who was sick. A little bit of consideration wouldn’t hurt.

I simply unzipped and put on the condom, then spread his legs and moved closer. But then a problem arose.

“Do you have any oil?”

His answer was simple.

“No.”

“…Right.”

I sighed. This was the first time I found the situation ridiculous. It was almost laughable. I could moisten the area with saliva, but that would be harder than using oil. Of course, I had some oil in my car. But I was already wearing the condom. Going outside to fetch it in this state? It was absurd.

Asking if we could proceed without it would be pointless. No matter what I said, Redfox would just respond with, “It’s cold,” or “Do it,” with the same indifferent tone. Besides, he wasn’t acting normally. Just like earlier in the street, his behavior was noticeably strange. His eyes darted nervously, glancing at nothing, and every so often, he’d flinch and turn away. He seemed slightly delirious from the high fever.

I briefly surveyed the rundown room and smirked.

Life sure throws some interesting situations my way.

“Well, no other choice. Try to relax as much as possible.”

I had no option but to moisten his lower half with saliva. After soaking it as much as possible, I used my fingers to stretch him out. It took some effort, but I finally managed to loosen him up. I lined up my tip at the entrance and slowly pushed in. Redfox bit his lip. His body clenched tightly, refusing to let me in. I lifted his legs and spread them wide, raising his hips. The tightness was intense. The sensation of my head being squeezed made me feel like I could finish right then and there.

However, that wasn’t what I wanted. It was right to do it properly until the mood was lifted. After all, wasn’t it them who asked for it in the first place? There was no reason to hesitate.

“I told you to relax. It’s for your sake.”

I pulled out the slightly inserted penis and let it rest diagonally at the entrance. Reflexively, the strength left his waist. Without missing the chance, I thrust it in deeply. It was inserted all the way to the root in an instant. This method should be comfortable for both of us.

“Ugh!”

Redfox groaned. I frowned. The tight grip of the inner walls on my penis felt incredible. Even with a condom on, the sensation was immense. I reached inside his coat and grabbed his pelvis to balance him. I hugged his legs, which had been spread apart, and slowly started moving my hips.

Redfox shook his head and said in a low voice, “Don’t move… ugh.”

“It’s okay. This won’t hurt you. Just relax.”

I felt bad, but I had no choice. Just leaving my penis in here like a stone and finishing up? That was absurd. I moved my hips faster. The inside of his body was burning. The grip on my penis was so tight that it felt like my scalp was being pulled. Unlike when it was slick with oil, the inner walls were dry. The sound of my penis rubbing against the walls was rough.

I pushed my arms deeper into the coat, pressing close against Redfox’s body. I lifted his shirt and touched his chest. His small, soft nipples responded to my fingertips. It was one of Redfox’s sensitive spots.

“Does this feel better?”

There was no answer.

Unlike me, who was feeling good, Redfox’s eyes were fixed on nothing. It was a symptom I had seen many times during the days when I used to torture people. He was definitely seeing things. Without much thought, I enjoyed myself until the end and ejaculated.

I glanced at Redfox while putting on a second condom. He was breathing shallowly, his amber hair tousled. The sight was maddeningly stimulating.

If only he wasn’t sick, we could’ve had more fun.

I smiled wistfully.

Thanks to the first insertion loosening him up, I entered smoothly again. After enjoying him for much longer than the first time, I climaxed. I decided that when Redfox recovered, I would often enjoy this without a condom.

As I was about to go for a third round, I realized I was out of condoms. Having sex with a condom felt like doing it with gloves on, so it wasn’t a bad thing.

“I’ll do it in your mouth. You don’t have to swallow if you don’t want to.”

As soon as I finished the third round, Redfox passed out as if fainting.

At any rate, I felt relieved. I covered him with the sheet and stood up. I opened the bathroom door, intending to wash up quickly, but stopped. There was only a dark mark where the mirror should have been.

Did I break it by accident?

Shrugging off the thought, I washed my face and returned to the room.

I could have just left. But instead, I lingered, pacing the room. The room was a bit warmer now, indicating that some time had passed. It seemed the radiator under the window wasn’t just for decoration. I was momentarily amused by my silly concern. What a pointless worry.

I scanned the bookshelf. Redfox’s interests were clear from the titles. Who knew he was into politics and history? What’s with all the books about birch trees?

I tapped the books with my fingers and glanced around the room again. It still screamed poverty. Even considering he lived alone, it was overly barren. I couldn’t help but wonder why someone so beautiful lived in such a place. A small twig in a vase on the table caught my eye. Interesting hobby, I thought as I picked up the twig.

It was an old birch twig, so fragile it seemed like it would crumble any moment. Normally, people would put flowers in a vase, or at least fake ones—why a birch twig? And just one, at that. I guess he’s really into birch trees.

I shrugged and put the twig back into the vase.

“Mm…”

Redfox stirred and groaned in bed. His forehead was still hot when I touched it. I put water on to boil and stepped out to get medicine from a pharmacy. After returning, I dissolved the medicine in warm water and fed it to him. Over time, his fever subsided, and his breathing became steady.

I considered leaving a note, but I just left instead. As I walked through the dark streets, the Snow Queen was dancing cruelly in the shadows. I suddenly laughed at the random thought.

Guess I didn’t get to eat the mackerel.

I glanced at my watch absentmindedly and was surprised. It was already eleven o’clock.

꙳•❅*ִ

The hallucinations brought on by the illness persisted for days. After staring blankly at them, I made some food. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had eaten. It was a wonder I had managed to deal with clients.

It was painful, but I decided to accept reality. No matter how ravaged I was by the illness, my stomach still craved food. I didn’t want to die like this. So I ate. I had to. At least this would ease my immediate suffering.

The food was delicious. Excruciatingly so.

With my stomach full, I felt a little braver. My mind cleared a bit.

Was it all just a matter of mindset, after all?

I smiled bitterly.

For the first time in a long while, I ventured out during the day. 42nd Street hadn’t changed. The stench of rotting filth assaulted my nose. People hurried along, wrapped in snow. Men with bloodshot eyes looked around nervously. Prostitutes, their garish makeup smeared, grabbed at men and women alike. An old woman cackled from an alley, “I’ll suck you off with my sweet gums.” I pulled my hood tighter and quickened my pace.

I opened the secondhand bookstore I’d kept closed for so long. The place smelled of old paper. I turned on the heater and opened the windows to let in fresh air. I took off my coat and hung it on the chair.

I won’t go back there again.

If I walked about twenty minutes from the alley where my bookstore was, I would reach ‘Snow White.’ From now on, no matter how miserable I felt, I wouldn’t go there again. I wouldn’t roll around with nameless men. Besides, the effects of the drugs had worn off.

Snow White.

A chill ran through my entire body. Why did it have to be that name? One night, unable to bear the torment of the illness, I fled the house as if I were running away. I walked aimlessly, entering the first place I saw. Did I even have the presence of mind to look at the sign?

I don’t remember. All I recall is the faint shock of realizing that I’d walked into a gay bar the moment I stepped inside.

That night, I sat anywhere and passed the time before heading to a hotel with some men from across the bar. It was an impulsive act, done in a haze. For someone like me, who normally avoided even conversing with neighbors, it was unimaginable. But that night, after being with those men, I was able to sleep peacefully for a few days. It was the first sweet sleep I’d had in a long time.

Since then, whenever the illness came for me, I ran straight to Snow White. I was disgusted by myself for equating sex with treatment, but I couldn’t help it. Soon enough, even that broke apart.

I had known from the start. Sex could never cure the illness. The relief it brought was nothing more than a coincidence.

But from now on, things would be different. As I carefully cleaned every corner of the shop, I bit my lip.

“At any rate, I’ll keep going as best as I can until then.”

.

Since childhood, I had suffered from this strange affliction, which I had named

. No name,

.

I often referred to

as an “illness.” Technically, it wasn’t an illness. But the pain and symptoms it brought were no less than those of any severe disease. So, I thought it was an appropriate term.

It was like the riddle of the Sphinx. A strange affliction with no cure or even an official name. A bizarre illness that scholars were reluctant to study.

The most peculiar aspect of this illness is that, independent of genetics or infection, people are born carrying a

, like a conjoined twin.

I wasn’t the only one with

. Not everyone who had it was consumed by severe pain. The bacteria’s traits varied from person to person, and the symptoms differed too. Some lost their sense of self or became half-mad, while others lived peaceful lives without any issues. There were even people who embraced their condition, enjoying it—what you might call coexistence. Whether the bacteria raged inside them or not, they carried on living their lives.

But the bacteria I carried were the worst kind.

I had always known something was off, even as a child. I don’t clearly remember when I became fully aware of the illness. The most severe period was between the ages of twelve and seventeen. At that time, I even collapsed from a heart attack. The illness devoured my mind and ravaged my body. Someone once said, “He who dreams not is like the dead.”

The illness had taken my dreams, and with them, ruined my life. Remembering the moment when my heart failed is horrifying. Desperate to rid myself of the illness, I sought every possible avenue for answers, only to conclude in despair.

And now, I was realizing that the bacteria inside me were aging rapidly. Both the bacteria and I were speeding down a straight road. At the end of that road, the name of the destination might very well be death.

꙳•❅*ִ

The masquerade ball was nearing its end. In one corner of the hall, decorated with golden moldings, an orchestra played music. Under a chandelier illuminated by hundreds of candles, masked aristocrats laughed, chattered, and danced. The way they drifted around the crimson hall looked like a marionette puppet show.

The Guiger officers followed Lord Wolfscott like shadows. Amid the masked nobles, Lord Wolfscott’s group stood out, like bloodstains on a white linen curtain. I leaned against a pillar, watching them, swirling the red wine in my glass.

Lord Wolfscott was loudly shaking hands with the nobles. The officers guarding him were all wearing grim reaper masks and long uniform coats, as usual. One of the officers glanced in my direction. It was Leopard.

Our eyes met for a brief moment. Leopard raised the collar of his uniform coat slightly—a signal that the hunt was about to begin.

I turned away with a grin.

Tonight’s prey was Marquis Aristhian Cotbica, one of Manen’s close aides, a handsome man popular in high society and the Queen’s lover. Frankly, even I thought the Marquis was a hundred times better than that idiot they called the “Shepherd Boy.”

The “Shepherd Boy” was the King’s nickname. As the power of the Queen’s relatives grew, the nobles systematically framed and eliminated any royal heirs who posed a threat. Even the sons of the previous king couldn’t escape their clutches. Eventually, the worst happened—the royal line dried up.

In desperation, Lord Wolfscott and Manen scoured dusty family records until they finally found a descendant of the royal line: a man known as the “Shepherd Boy,” Kruger. His grandfather had been the seventh son of Terence IV, exiled to a distant countryside after being impeached by the Queen’s relatives. There, he consoled himself by fooling around with various women until he died.

Kruger, unaware that he had royal blood, lived his life as an ordinary shepherd well into his fifties, only to be suddenly summoned to the royal court. It wasn’t for free, of course. He had to divorce his wife and marry Manen’s daughter. It was no surprise that the Queen, forced into marriage with the old Kruger for her father’s political ambitions, ended up having an affair. Marquis Cotbica was her fifth lover.

I silently left the ballroom. Descending the marble stairs, I exited the palace. The French-style garden was dusted with snowflakes. The night sky was as dark and deep as the ocean floor. The sound of distant church bells echoed faintly on the wind. Even in the freezing cold of minus 23 degrees, I walked slowly, without haste.

After a long walk around the palace, I came upon the greenhouse. The red light spilling from the glass structure lit up the darkness like a gas lamp. Approaching the glass, I peered inside. Through the droplets clinging to the glass, the tropical plants crowded together like a jungle.

Silently, I opened the glass door. The interior of the greenhouse was sweltering. The glass walls were streaked with long, thin trails of condensation, and the humid air, mixed with the scent of tropical plants, reeked like sewage.

A soft moan reached my ears. I walked without a sound, pulling a silk cloth from my pocket. Through the dense foliage, I saw two half-naked bodies entwined. A man with his back to me was busily thrusting into a woman lying beneath him. I crept up behind the man. The woman, who had been moaning, flinched as she noticed the approaching shadow.

In an instant, I wrapped the silk cloth around the man’s neck and pulled tight. The woman, about to scream, quickly covered her mouth with her hands. Calm, as expected of the Queen. Cotbica’s body trembled as he helplessly struggled against the choking silk. I tightened my grip, feeling the thrilling sensation of his wriggling beneath the cloth.

He tried to tear the silk from his neck three or four times, but it was futile. Soon, his arms went limp. I seized the moment and whispered,

“To die inside the Queen’s body—how glorious for you.”

Cotbica’s hips jerked, signaling that he had just climaxed inside the Queen. Hanged corpses often wet their pants with semen. Strangulation offers a euphoric death—and, along with it, filth. After climax comes the release of the bowels, as the sphincter loosens and feces pour out. Like a torrential downpour.

Cotbica was no exception. Foul-smelling excrement flowed from his anus and pooled between the Queen’s legs. I quickly stepped back, easily avoiding the unpleasantness that would have clung to my clothes. The Queen sobbed quietly.

I folded the silk cloth neatly and threw it toward the Queen.

“His Majesty is waiting for you.”

Then, without hesitation, I turned around.

It was obvious whom the Queen would contact first. Today’s simple task was a piece of work I had devised. The title was

The plan was to eliminate the enemy’s right-hand man and send a message through the Queen, the only witness and daughter of Manen, to show our intent — a strategy that killed two birds with one stone.

Cotbica’s death would undoubtedly cause a huge stir, but I wasn’t too worried. The Queen was the only witness, the royal family’s reputation was more important than the truth, and I, who strangled Cotbica, was dressed as a masked young noble.

I returned leisurely to the ballroom. I called a servant and ordered, “Lord Wolfscott seems to be thirsty, bring him some white wine.” White wine signified that the task had been completed successfully. The expression on Lord Wolfscott’s face as he drank the white wine handed to him by the servant looked relieved.

After exchanging smiles with Lord Wolfscott, I took a moment to appreciate the music. A masked singer was performing. Dvořák’s opera

,

It was one of my favorite pieces. I swirled the wine glass slowly and listened.

As soon as the song ended, I quickly left the ballroom. It was already past midnight. I didn’t have the patience to endure the boring parties of the nobles till the end.

I drove out of the palace. I took off my mask and threw it onto the road. The wind swept the mask away behind me. I headed straight for 42nd Street. I planned to pick a man from Snow White and enjoy the night. It was two hours away from the palace, but I didn’t care.

I smiled as I pulled out a cigarette. I had a good feeling about tonight.

The silver moon peeked out from behind the dark clouds. In the dreary cold of winter, that alone was enough to lift my spirits. I covered the two-hour distance in an hour and a half. Perseus, holding Medusa’s head, stood proudly in the center of 42nd Street Plaza, as always. Beyond the plaza lay the red-light district. Prostitutes lined the streets, eager to attract customers, regardless of whether they stood on the sidewalk or the road.

I drove slowly, scanning for someone who caught my eye. If I found a man I liked, I planned to skip Snow White and make my decision on the street. It had been three months since Leopard and I started frequenting Snow White. By now, we had earned a reputation there as men who “enjoy rough sex,” making it harder to find partners these days.

“Rough sex,” I scoffed.

“Nonsense.”

Only cowards said such things. I couldn’t deny our amorous escapades, but our reputation for being rough was undeserved. That kind of name was more fitting for clumsy beginners.

A seasoned fighter knows how to control their strength based on their opponent. We were professionals with plenty of experience in making people suffer or die. Leopard and I had once tortured people, so we knew exactly how much the human body could endure, and when it would break. How could we not know how to control ourselves during sex? The problem lay with the partners.

When we’d ask, “We prefer hard sex. Are you okay with that?” most would follow willingly. In the early stages, they’d enthusiastically respond, sometimes even begging for more. But once things got serious, their attitudes would shift.

Take two weeks ago, for example. After making it clear we wanted to do fisting, we went to a hotel with a partner. We enjoyed the early stages lightly, then tied the partner down, spreading their arms and legs.

“Why… are you tying me up?” the partner asked, their face pale.

I applied a muscle relaxant between their buttocks and answered, “Sometimes people struggle during fisting. It’s to prevent severe damage to your intestines. Trust us. Just stay still. You’ll be fine. We won’t hurt you.”

Leopard then put on a crinkling plastic glove. The partner stared at us as if we were Romanian vampire bats.

It ended ridiculously. Before we could even begin fisting, before we even inserted a finger, the partner wet himself. Astonished, we asked, “Then why did you come along?” The partner whimpered, “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

I was speechless. Normally, we would have ignored it and proceeded, but from the looks of it, he was on the verge of messing himself too. So, we let him go.

It was like a comedy in the dead of night. It wasn’t the fisting that scared him, but his own imagination. By the time we were applying the relaxant, his mind had already conjured up an image of himself dying with his intestines torn apart.

I can confidently say, nothing like that ever happened. We knew exactly how far we could go before things would tear, break, or bleed. We had never made a single mistake like that. As predicted, none of our partners ever got hurt. And yet, at some point, we had earned a reputation at Snow White for being men who “enjoy rough sex.” Ridiculous.

I muttered as I turned the steering wheel.

“Redfox would’ve been perfect.”

But we hadn’t even attempted fisting with Redfox. He was too small, so we gave up. That had been a shame.

Redfox, who had been frequenting the bar every third day, disappeared after that one eventful night, dubbed

We hadn’t seen a trace of him for two weeks. He had vanished like a mirage.

Maybe he had died of illness.

I laughed, imagining his rotting corpse in an empty house. It was laughable, as absurd as the frightened partner’s imagination. Suddenly, I felt irritated and turned on the car radio. News of Cotbica’s sudden death was already breaking. Cause of death: heart attack. I had to admire Manen’s efficiency.

I chuckled softly, gazing at the street. As I scanned the men and women busy enticing clients, I froze for a moment.

Hahaha, well, well, who do we have here?

I knew I had a good feeling tonight.

I smiled faintly.

In the dim corner of an alley beyond the crowd stood a man, glancing furtively from side to side with bloodshot eyes. I recognized him immediately. Jan Murgin, a tattooed noble who once served as a close aide to Count Ekdal before disappearing after his superior’s downfall. For two years, both the police and Guiger had been hunting this rat, but he had remained elusive until now.

Caught you, you little poodle.

I decided to skip the hassle of arresting him and simply send him off straight away. Cotbica, who had met his end in the Queen’s arms, and Murgin, soon to die miserably in this red-light district—what a night for nobles, be they high or low, all dying from failing to control their urges.

Murgin stuffed his hands deep into his coat pockets and staggered down the sidewalk, exuding a strong scent of loneliness. This was shaping up to be quite the scene.

I drove slowly, keeping pace with his steps, pulling out a silenced pistol. My car’s windows were tinted black for security, so there was no chance I’d be spotted. I lowered the window just enough for the barrel of my gun to poke out and aimed at him. Finding a clear line of sight amidst the crowd to shoot Murgin directly wasn’t easy, but it didn’t matter. Given enough time, an opening would appear. Patience was a virtue I possessed when it came to killing. After fifteen minutes, the moment I was waiting for arrived. I fired without hesitation.

A few seconds later, Murgin collapsed to the ground, bleeding from the temple. I kept my gun trained on him, but he didn’t move an inch. It was an instant kill.

I quickly called Leopard. “Hey, guess what I just did? I sent Jan Murgin off with my own hands,” I teased. Then, I summoned one of my subordinates, instructing him to discreetly retrieve Murgin’s body and bring it back to headquarters.

Haha. Two high-profile targets in one night.

Not bad at all.

I rolled down the window and observed the scene. No one in the red-light district paid any attention to the corpse lying in the street. I lit a cigarette and leisurely admired my work. A scrap of newspaper, carried by the wind, fluttered down and covered Murgin’s body.

I was in high spirits. Now, all that was left was to find my next companion. But true to the nature of this district, the streets were full of cheap bodies. There was nothing for it but to blame my own picky tastes. I had Redfox to thank for raising my standards to the sky.

I flicked my cigarette out the window and headed for Snow White. If I couldn’t find someone there, tonight would be a bust. Snow White was tucked away in a secluded alley in the maze-like 42nd Street. The path from the main road led into a dark and narrow passageway, sparsely lit by streetlamps that gave off a dim glow, like the dying eyes of an old man.

Suddenly, something darted out in front of my car. Instinctively, I slammed on the brakes. It was a black cat.

In the headlights, the cat glanced at me briefly, its amber eyes gleaming sharply. Then, it gracefully swished its long tail and padded off into the darkness.

Well, that’s a bit ominous.

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. As I watched the cat disappear into the shadows, I froze.

Of course, my intuition wasn’t wrong…

I laughed.

There, shrouded in darkness, was an old secondhand bookstore. The dim orange light from the streetlamp faintly illuminated its glass door. The worn walls were covered in dry ivy, a quaint, vintage bookstore that seemed out of place amidst the red-light district.

And sitting at the counter was Redfox, dozing off, his auburn hair spilling onto the dusty floor.

I had found my companion for the night. Parking my car at the alley’s entrance, I stepped outside.

It was a clear, moonlit night.

꙳•❅*ִ

“Cotbica is dead.”

“That’s good, isn’t it? It’s all going according to plan. Turn this into an opportunity.”

“No, no. This is bad. Those bastards laid a double trap. If this blows up, we’ll be hit with a scandal so dirty it’ll backfire on us. Filthy scoundrels!”

“A double trap?”

“…Cotbica was with the Queen. They struck at that exact moment. You didn’t foresee that, did you? This is troubling.”

“Haven’t such discrepancies happened often? There’s no need to be surprised. It’s probably the assassin’s improvised plan. Quite a clever fellow. I’ll need to reread this. Have you shaken hands with Wolfscott?”

“Of course.”

“Let me touch your hand. I’ll take a look.”

“What do you think? If possible, gather information about the assassin as well. The Queen said it was a young nobleman. She couldn’t see his face because of the mask.”

“Let’s see.”

I focused my mind.

“… Wolfscott is laughing, saying this was just a warning. But… behind him… there’s a dark energy lurking. Perhaps that dark energy is the assassin. It’s unclear, though. The dark energy… it feels sharp and cruel.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m seeing Wolfscott through the lens, and through him, I see the dark energy. It’s difficult to discern the exact intent of the dark energy. You know how it is—this is the limit. But if it’s so distinct even in third sight, then it seems Wolfscott isn’t just casually acquainted with them. Do you have any idea who it might be?”

“If it’s someone Wolfscott, who’s always suspicious, keeps close like a limb, it could only be his guards. They’re Guiger captains, but there are more than just one or two. Could it be those thugs? I doubt it. They’re the kind who’d only kidnap and beat up vagrants and third-rate nobles.”

The Guiger captains…

I rubbed my forehead with a birch branch and fell into thought. I had run into them face-to-face just a few weeks ago. As leaders of Guiger, they were men shrouded in secrecy, to the point that they didn’t even know each other’s names. I’d heard they called each other by names of wild beasts. Normally, they disguised themselves as regular soldiers, and when out in public, they always wore death masks, so even the common people didn’t know their faces.

Mentions of the captains appeared now and then in Wolfscott’s thoughts. Most of them were along the lines of, “Those arrogant bastards,” or “They did quite well this time.”

I set down the birch branch and opened my consultation notebook.

“Just in case, could we make contact with them?”

“It’s difficult. They’re well-trained, leaving no openings. Even shaking hands with Wolfscott is a challenge. I can handle it, but most nobles would faint if Wolfscott got too close. He’s always surrounded by guards, and they’re a sight to behold. Besides, I don’t think they have the brains to plot anything.”

“Do you suspect anyone else?”

“Rob Stasoff, Harry Altonen. They’re rising stars recently. Young warrior nobles have been rallying around them. People are saying it’s time for a generational shift. Well, it has been thirty years since Wolfscott and I entered this game… Stasoff and Altonen have been meeting with Wolfscott frequently lately. Come to think of it, they have cruel streaks as well. Warrior nobles… Tsk. Anyway, this is quite ambiguous.”

“The dark energy lurking behind Wolfscott seems sharp enough to back him up thoroughly. It’s sharp and keen. If it’s this clear even in third sight, it must be someone of considerable stature. You should be careful. First, try to make contact with them.”

“When?”

“The sooner, the better. Don’t worry. We both expected Cotbica’s death, didn’t we?”

“Haha.”

The client let out a deep sigh.

“Got it. It’s exhausting playing the part of a party-goer, but what choice do I have? It’s all for the good of the country.”

“Stay strong.”

“Should I move up the timeline?”

“Of course. Wolfscott expects us to be intimidated by this incident. But from the beginning, we had already decided to throw Cotbica to him as a sacrifice. What matters is what comes next.”

“You’re the only one I can trust. Are you feeling better? We can talk more later. I have to go now.”

I hesitated about speaking.

I don’t have much time left…

But I stopped myself and ended the consultation. I threw the consultation notebook under the bed and placed the birch branch back in the vase.

I headed for the secondhand bookstore. Lately, it felt more comfortable than my home. I spent most of my time at the bookstore counter, day or night. In this kingdom, where winters were long, reading was the most common pastime. Even young children could easily get through a three-volume novel. There wasn’t a better way to pass the cold, tedious nights than reading. Even though the bookstore was in the red-light district, business wasn’t too bad.

Today marked the second week since I opened the shop. My illness remained, but I no longer ran to Snow White. Looking back, I was ashamed of how I had tried to rid myself of the sickness by entangling with nameless men.

Yesterday, I bought some bamboo and placed it in vases to decorate the shop. The dreary interior felt almost magical, suddenly brimming with life. I decided to quietly wait for the moment that was surely approaching. The odds were low, but I hoped for peace. Now and then, I glanced at the glass door, and without fail, the birch tree outside would catch my eye. Despite the flurries scattering through the street, its shape remained clear.

I must have dozed off while reading. I heard the chime of bells hung on the door.

A customer at this late hour…

I didn’t bother to raise my head. Even if it were a thief, all they could take were secondhand books, and the cash register held only a few bills. I buried my face in my arms and lay down.

The heavy footsteps circled the room slowly before stopping in the back. Then they started walking toward me.

A thief.

I spoke in a voice still laced with sleep.

“If you want money, it’s in the safe behind me. That’s all there is. Take it.”

After a brief silence, a low chuckle came from the air.

“Well, that’s a little disappointing. Dismissing me without even looking? Even a petty thief might be hurt by that.”

I rubbed my eyes and finally looked up.

Who could this be…?

It took me a moment to pull the man from my hazy memory.

Ah, I nodded unconsciously. It was ‘him.’ Blond hair. Gray eyes. A faint smile at the corner of his lips.

The man smiled.

“It’s been a while. Do you work here?”

I stretched out and nodded sluggishly.

“Yes.”

“I was on my way to a bar and stopped by. A bookstore with lights on this late at night, how charming. Is work the reason you’ve been avoiding Snow White recently?”

“Something like that.”

I answered half-heartedly while tidying the counter. I felt uncomfortable.

I would have preferred it if he had been a petty thief.

Running into a one-night stand here again was far from pleasant. The proximity of Snow White was a problem. Just a week ago, some pervert who had tied me to a chair and beaten me for two hours ended up being arrested after causing a scene nearby.

“Hmm.”

The man stared at me while I cleaned up the counter. His gaze was blatant.

Even while organizing, I could clearly feel it. His eyes traced my cheeks and lips before sweeping over my body. He lingered on my waist, staring for an uncomfortably long time. I had always disliked being looked at by others. No matter how hard I tried not to think about it, goosebumps formed.

“Are you about to wrap up and head home?”

“Yes, I need to, for tomorrow.”

I answered curtly. I remembered him being polite. I figured that if I answered firmly, he would realize I had no intention of spending the night with him and back off.

Even as I put on my coat, the man’s gaze didn’t leave me. As I was grabbing my hat and the store keys, he suddenly said:

“Your outfit has changed.”

“Pardon?”

I looked down at my clothes. The man smiled warmly.

“That outfit. It’s not the black coat you always wear.”

“Oh. I took it to the cleaners.”

“Is that so? But this one looks better on you. Bright colors suit you far more than black. Tweed fabric flatters your face more than fur ever did.”

It was as if he was critiquing my appearance. I found myself laughing unintentionally.

“Are you a designer or something?”

“Even if I’m not a designer, I think anyone would say the same. That other coat didn’t suit you at all.”

“I’m not very interested in clothes. I need to lock up now.”

At my prompt, the man laughed again, a bright, carefree smile.

A slow silence passed. An odd feeling crept over me.

In my memory, the one-night stands were like sketches, hastily drawn in charcoal, blurry and undefined. The man in front of me was just one of them. I stared at him. A rare action for me, as I usually avoided eye contact with others. I suddenly realized that he was, without a doubt, a handsome man. His face was as neat and sharp as his impeccable manners.

However, I knew all too well the vile tendencies hiding behind that flawless face. That part I remembered clearly. All the things he had demanded from me flooded back into my mind. A sudden chill ran through my body. A bad feeling washed over me.

The man seemed to enjoy my prolonged gaze, continuing to smile.

After a long pause, I impulsively spoke.

“Even if you’re not a designer, you dress very well yourself.”

“Me?”

The man looked down at his outfit. I nodded.

“Yes.”

He shrugged.

“Well… I suppose so. I did make an effort today. It’s one of those days where I have important meetings and people to see.”

Suddenly, as if remembering something, the man chuckled to himself. Then, fixing his gaze on me, his gray eyes glinted coldly.

“By the way, how about it? Do you have time to spend with me tonight?”

“No, I don’t.”

The man didn’t lose his smile. He only moved after a brief pause. The sound of his shoes echoed as he stepped forward, his coat flaring with each movement. He stopped in front of me.

He looked down at me for a moment, then flashed a grin.

“That’s disappointing.”

With those words, he suddenly snatched the keys from my hand. He was quick—too fast for me to react. But I wasn’t surprised. I had a vague sense that he might pull something like this.

“I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer tonight. I’m in a bit of a rush. It won’t be too much trouble for you; it’s just me this time. No friends tonight.”

I realized then that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. And that if he wanted to, he could be far more dangerous than the pervert from a week ago. It was late at night, and there was no one around to help. The only option left was compromise.

“Then let’s get it over with here quickly. But nothing more than that.”

“Get it over with here? What do you mean?”

The man tilted his head, feigning confusion. Meanwhile, he locked the store door from the inside, tossing the key into the air and catching it deftly before slipping it into his pocket. Though a simple action, it was swift and precise. For the first time, I felt anger rising.

“Give me back the keys.”

“Later.”

He shook his head firmly.

“Let’s see what happens here, as you said. But is there even a place to do anything?”

He glanced around the small bookstore filled with piles of second-hand books. I sighed. I had thought him polite, but he was just a smooth talker—an expert at it.

“Over there, it’s out of sight.”

I motioned toward the farthest corner of the store. The man followed me, still making snide comments.

“This is too cramped. What could we possibly do in a place like this? Read some books aloud?”

“Sit here.”

I pointed at a pile of books, and the man sat down. He smiled, still knowing exactly what was about to happen. Slowly, he spread his legs and undid his coat buttons so I could sit between his legs.

“Take off your hat.”

“Pardon?”