The Snow Queen

I clicked my tongue. There was no way that oblivious person realized it. Sipping my punch, I pulled out a book borrowed from Copperhead. I decided to read it while taking a break.

I skimmed through the first part to get a sense of the content. He took the throne at the age of 13 after his father became paralyzed from the waist down during the war. That same year, he took Levitan, who was 11 years older than him, as his mistress. He subdued the fiercely independent feudal nobles and cleverly used parties as a political stage to express his stance…

This guy had his share of experience with conspiracies, and it was becoming clear how he used it as a key to navigate through the complex political landscape. Yes, I get it. That was it.

Frowning, I continued turning the pages. I began to understand the outline of the schemes he had at the time. He used witch trials as a tool for his conspiracy, and I realized why the inquisitors arrested the queen without carefully reviewing the charges. It was all for the religious war.

The 16th century was a time when all of Europe was embroiled in internal strife due to the conflict between Protestants and Catholics. The king crushed the queen, who was suspected of being a Protestant, effectively stabilizing the political situation and snuffing out the spark of the religious war in one stroke. As they say, cruel wisdom is true mercy. Exemplary punishment. The king cruelly punished one person to restore discipline to the entire community. In some ways, it was very practical.

However, as someone in the same industry, I can say for certain, there were many ways to build the foundation of rule without resorting to such extreme methods. After all, conspiracy is a form of creative work. Motives were everywhere, just waiting to be used.

I considered closing the book but flipped to the next chapter instead. I was curious why Snow Queen fans spouted nonsense over such strange records.

The origin of this tale, which spread rapidly one month after Whitebirch’s death, played a key role in completely turning around public opinion, which had previously been cold towards Whitebirch. The tattooed nobles secretly posted slanderous flyers around the palace and the capital, stating, “The king treated the queen as a prisoner for 15 years, as a prostitute for one night, and as a witch for two months before cruelly killing her!” stirring up public sentiment.

The king ignored it. However, 31 years after Whitebirch’s death, the posthumous memoirs of the court painter Sorel were published, facing the worst public backlash.

In the memoirs, Sorel wrote, “The queen had gruel for lunch, and all three or four of her clothes were full of holes. I had no choice but to sketch only her face and hands and later added a fictional white robe in my workshop.” This revealed in brutal detail the impoverished conditions Whitebirch had endured in her tower, which the king had kept hidden all this time.

Lotus Drurain, a renowned 18th-century chancellor, noticed the propaganda effect of this tale. He hired playwright Philip Bremen, meticulously using the play to weaken the monarchy. The real events Bremen used in his play

were as follows.

After the portrait was made public, all the torturers joined in the rebellion led by Cardinal Loren and committed suicide during its suppression.

As soon as Sorel’s memoirs were published, the king swiftly arrested the royal chamberlain, who had long been accused of embezzling royal property, and announced that the chamberlain had actually embezzled the funds allocated for Whitebirch’s living expenses. This quickly dampened the raging public outrage. However, the chamberlain vehemently denied the charges in court.

After marriage, the king had no relations with Levitan and had only one son. He personally chose a barren plot with only a few Whitebirch trees as his burial place, refusing to be buried together in a royal grave.

In Bremen’s play, the rebellion of Cardinal Loren was omitted, and the torturers were secretly killed by the king. Scenes of the enraged king tearing apart the chamberlain (who in reality was sentenced to death by burning in a trial), distancing himself from Levitan due to guilt, and dying while thinking of Whitebirch were all Bremen’s fabrications.

Bremen’s play greatly pleased Drurain, who had intended to depict “the lonely end of a tyrant king.” Drurain, who was a brilliant writer himself, even personally penned a few key scenes. Bremen’s play continues to serve as a motif for many films and novels to this day…

“….”

The muscles in my face twitched. Sure enough, Copperhead was grinning as he looked at me.

“Is this the weird record you were talking about?”

“Yeah.”

I immediately tossed the book at Copperhead. He deftly caught it, saying, “Do you know how much this book costs?” I seriously considered throwing him out the window.

“So, you’re saying the masses have been bouncing on the palm of some mere playwright for 400 years.”

“I told you, history is all about interpretation. For example, they say the marriage between Daytanz and Levitan was lackluster, and interpret it as guilt towards Whitebirch, but there was another reason. Even before the marriage, Daytanz avoided not only sex with Levitan but even kissing her. Want to know why?”

“Was he impotent?”

I muttered as I poured more punch into my glass.

“It’s hilarious. Back then, even noblewomen didn’t bathe often, but Levitan, being of common birth, was especially filthy. She barely cleaned herself, not even wiping properly after using the toilet, so the stench of urine and feces permeated under her dress. Her teeth were completely rotten, and whenever she opened her mouth, her breath stank up to 10 meters away.”

I put down my glass. My stomach churned. Leopard also grabbed his mouth, making a gagging sound. Copperhead rolled on the floor laughing.

“And the rest is nonsense too. Even the torturers—the one the king chased in his rage wasn’t them but Cardinal Loren. As for rejecting burial, it’s widely believed that the king shed so many tears because he couldn’t prevent the posthumous burial of his mother alongside the vegetative old king.”

“I knew it was all nonsense anyway.”

I sneered as I sipped my punch. How stupid. The Snow Queen fans overlooked the most obvious part. No matter how many times Daytanz punished the involved parties, the fact that he was the main culprit in the Snow Queen’s murder would never be washed away.

If it were me, I would have committed suicide. Isn’t that the natural response? If he loved her as deeply as the fans claim, he should have taken his own life.

Chuckling to myself, I returned to work. I decided not to waste any more time studying the Snow Queen. I had a mountain of work to finish today. As my father had always sternly reminded me, “A true professional successfully balances work and personal life.” I wanted to finish quickly and head to the hospital to hear, “Welcome home.”

“The king, under pressure from his mother, eventually ordered the queen to be burned at the stake. The queen was doomed to die in the palace courtyard by fire. The king watched the scene and shed tears. Just as the fiery flames engulfed the queen’s dress, the seven years were up. Suddenly, there was the sound of birds flapping their wings from the sky…”

Ray was enthusiastically reading a fairy tale aloud. I was lying with my head on Ray’s lap. His innocent recitation, unaware of anything, amused me. Initially, I had started this to change Ray’s ideal type, but I was unexpectedly enjoying it.

“Finally, the sister saved them…”

Ray said as he turned the page. I absentmindedly played with his amber-colored hair, suppressing a smile. It was truly fascinating. As strange as it sounds, 17-year-old Ray was so innocent. He was completely different from the sharp, wary 28-year-old Ray who constantly hid his edge behind a calm demeanor. There was an entirely different charm about him.

Of course, it didn’t matter to me either way. He was a helpless guy through and through.

“They lived happily ever after. The king’s wicked mother suffered a terrible death in a vat of boiling oil and poisonous snakes in the palace courtyard.”

Ray exhaled and closed the book. A light sheen of sweat dotted his forehead. I clapped my hands and nodded with feigned enthusiasm.

“Impressive.

. A touching display of family love.”

“Really?”

Ray smiled, and I pulled out

and offered it to him with a casual “This one too.” Ray’s face instantly turned pale.

“But I’ve already read three books in a row.”

“Hmm. Well, your throat must be sore. Let’s take a short break, then.”

I put the book down as I spoke, completely ignoring Ray’s troubled expression. The brainwashing process was starting to bear fruit. After days of personally brushing his blonde hair and showering him with endless compliments, Ray had finally begun dyeing his hair yellow just two days ago.

Even the depictions of the Snow Queen in his drawings had noticeably decreased. I was confident the bedtime story sessions would yield similarly good results. In fact, I had just ordered a 60-volume collection the day before. Once I set my mind on something, I always followed through.

“So, which of the books you’ve read so far is your favorite?”

“Well… I liked them all.”

Ray answered sheepishly, and I shrugged, saying, “Let’s go have some tea in the greenhouse.”

We headed to the greenhouse with tea in hand. The red soil cradled sprouting seeds, slowly growing taller. The various flowerpots scattered around were already brimming with vibrant blooms.

It was a drizzly Saturday afternoon, and the raindrops softly tapped against the glass of the greenhouse. It felt like we were enclosed in a waterfall, the atmosphere serene and beautiful.

Beyond the transparent glass, heavy clouds scudded across the sky. Suddenly, a flash of light burst from a corner of the dark clouds, followed by a rumble of thunder. Lightning struck, momentarily turning the sky a blinding white before plunging it back into a dark hue. It was magnificent. Ray gasped in awe, and I smiled faintly.

The mood was quite lovely.

As I stirred my tea with a spoon, I drifted into thought. Ray’s medical checkup had shown no anomalies. His lungs were fine. In fact, the doctor even recommended he take up some physical exercise.

That left only one conclusion. Ray’s amnesia had a psychological cause. The doctor had said it would require long-term treatment.

But by this point, my perspective had shifted slightly. If Ray never experienced further memory loss, it wouldn’t really matter if he never regained the missing 11 years. Things weren’t bad as they were. Sure, seventeen-year-old Ray was brighter and more stable compared to twenty-eight-year-old Ray, but the real reason was that this situation benefited me. I couldn’t deny that I was a scoundrel at heart. An irredeemable villain.

I had lied to Ray about nearly everything—about my background, my flaws. I told him the bullet wound in my chest was from a mugging, and that I was nothing more than a regular worker at Guiger. I kept the snake inside me well hidden. I didn’t tell him what lurked within his own mind, either.

I merely painted a picture of normalcy, explaining that, like ordinary people, we met and were living quietly together. I wrapped the truth in bright, flimsy lies, as shiny and shallow as tinfoil. In short, I was conning Ray. I knew. I knew full well how cowardly I was.

Yet, the lies I told Ray were also my own hopes—hopes I clung to with all my heart. Ray would never know how many times, in our time apart, I rewrote the story of our beginnings in my fantasies.

It would go something like this: On a snowy late-winter day, I wandered into a dusty secondhand bookstore I had stumbled upon by chance, looking to buy a detective novel. There, I met a beautiful bookstore owner with long, amber-colored hair draped over the dusty floor, and fell for him at first sight. I asked him out, and our love unfolded smoothly.

In that version, Ray had nothing to do with political strife or magic. He was simply a gentle bookstore owner. He wouldn’t have suspected anything about my true identity; he would have just smiled softly. That was my wish. If things hadn’t gotten so complicated, I would’ve hidden my true self from Ray forever, showing only the face of a normal, loving partner. The dark and twisted path of intrigue I was walking was not something to boast about to a lover.

I set down my teacup.

That’s all in the past now.

Things had turned out this way. If Ray’s chances of regaining his memory were slim, perhaps it was better to leave the past behind and start anew. What could I do? Life goes on. And if possible, it’s better to live well.

I smiled bitterly. It was in my nature to be a deceitful villain.

“What are you thinking about so deeply?”

Ray’s voice snapped me back to reality.

“Oh, nothing much. Just letting my mind wander. Enjoying the sound of the rain, the taste of the tea—things like that.”

Ray nodded, then suddenly asked, “I’ve been wondering about something.”

“What is it?”

“How did Messara end up joining Guiger?”

“Huh? Why do you ask all of a sudden?”

“I mean, you graduated high school, so why did you decide to join Guiger? You don’t even seem interested in fighting, yet you’ve been there for 11 years. It’s kind of surprising.”

“Hmm. Well, let me tell you.”

I smiled faintly. “Not interested in fighting,” huh? Thanks to Ray’s amnesia, my image seemed to have undergone a remarkable improvement.

“It happened by chance. An older friend of mine was a Guiger officer, but he injured his knee on the day of a protest suppression. So, I filled in for him. I had just graduated from high school and was looking for a job. That day, I spent five long hours dodging firebombs, rocks, and tear gas while being chased relentlessly by vagrants and gangsters.”

“Oh dear.”

“Never in my life have I run so hard. I couldn’t even touch a single hair on the vagrants’ heads. I was so terrified… I kept cursing the whole time I was running, saying, ‘I’ll never do this again, and the moment I return, I’m going to beat my brother senseless.’ But then, guess how much they paid me for the job? A whopping 150!”

“That’s a lot of money, even by today’s standards.”

“In that instant, I completely forgot about the vagrants chasing me and the Molotov cocktails raining down. I signed up right away that very day. Four months later, I bought the motorcycle I’d always wanted. And after that, I got even greedier. ‘I should get a car next,’ I thought. So, I decided to endure the vagrants’ fists for just one more year. A year later, I bought the car. After running like that for a while, suddenly, eleven years had passed.”

I animatedly recounted my story, adding gestures here and there. Of course, except for jumping in to replace someone that one time, it was all a lie. Ray exclaimed in awe, “Wow.”

“I see. Actually, not long ago, I witnessed something horrifying during a massive protest in front of the hospital. A jeep was charging right through the middle of the protest when it suddenly came to a stop. That’s when Chief Guiger jumped out, holding a whip…”

I coughed as I was drinking my tea.

Ray hurriedly patted my back. “Are you okay?” It was so damn annoying.

“I’m fine. Please, continue. So, the chief jumped out, and then?”

“Oh… yes. So, the chief jumped out and mercilessly whipped the vagrants. I’ve never seen someone with such ruthless hands before. With that grim reaper mask, his billowing dark crimson coat, and that whip… Not just him, but the whole Guiger unit and the vagrants were all tangled up, covered in blood, fighting each other… It was like a scene out of a wild beast fight.”

“Like beasts, indeed.”

I responded quietly. Ray brought his teacup to his lips and smiled.

“Thanks to Messara, a lot of my prejudices against Guiger have been shattered. Just yesterday, I found myself wondering what Messara’s colleagues might be like. Since Messara enjoys photography and cooking, are they the same? What are Messara’s colleagues like?”

“…”

I blinked. Ray’s misconceptions were reaching new heights. Photography was, in fact, a hobby of mine. Every morning, when I opened the door to the chief’s conference room, what greeted me was the sight of the chiefs flipping through obscene pictures of high-ranking officials, all while puffing clouds of cigarette smoke through their nostrils.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Well, you’re pretty close. Ray, you’re as sharp as ever.”

“Hearing that I’m this sharp is kind of embarrassing.”

Ray laughed awkwardly. Having nothing more to say, I simply sipped my tea. Between the peaceful silence, the sound of rain gently filtered in. From the heavily clouded sky, rain poured down without end—it was the winter monsoon season.

I leaned back in my chair and sank into thought.

The king, who had been backstabbed by both his wife and mistress, started depression treatment yesterday. According to his doctor, the king had believed with absolute certainty that he was Irina’s very first man. That shepherd boy sure knows how to tug at people’s heartstrings.

It’d be great if the king just said goodbye to Irina once and for all.

Just as I was about to furrow my brow, the doorbell rang. Is it Lady Castlemaine? I got up.

“I’ll go check it out. Ray, just wait here.”

Before opening the front door, I looked at the entry monitor. A man in a fedora, looking like a washed-up detective, was loitering in front of the door. A bad feeling washed over me. I went to the bedroom, retrieved the hidden gun, and slipped it inside my clothes. Then, I opened the door, asking, “Who is it?”

“Oh, it’s cold out here. Sorry to bother you this late in the evening. I’m here on business.” The man in the fedora showed his ID. As expected, he was a police officer. I feigned surprise. “What’s this about?”

My reaction made the man in the fedora smile pleasantly.

“Every time I show this ID, I feel like I’m being treated like a monster, ha ha. Believe it or not, when I go home, I’m just an ordinary guy getting nagged by my wife. You can call me Officer Olds. It’s nothing serious. I’m just here for a routine inquiry.”

“Inquiry?”

“Is anyone in this house acquainted with Mr. Green Owin or Ms. Sonia Mas Owin?”

I frowned. I knew Sonia Mas Owin well. She was a barmaid who used to live with Ray.

“Yes. My housemate is friends with Ms. Sonia Mas Owin.”

“I’d like to speak with them briefly.”

“I’d like to know the reason first. My housemate is currently receiving treatment at a hospital. They’re in a fragile state, and I’d prefer they not be unnecessarily disturbed.”

I brought out Ray’s hospital records and showed them to Officer Olds. He scratched the bridge of his nose.

“Well, to explain, we received a report about a week ago. Mr. Owin hadn’t shown up for work, so one of his coworkers visited his house. But the couple was nowhere to be found, and the neighbors said they hadn’t seen them recently, either. Given Mr. Owin’s job as a guard for people involved in the criminal underworld, we suspect it could be retaliation. We’re currently investigating.”

“I see.”

“We also traced their phone records. Neither Mr. nor Ms. Owin has answered their phones since February 2nd. Among those records, there were calls made from this house. Let’s see… On and around February 2nd—January 28th, January 29th, February 2nd, February 3rd—a total of six calls.”

“I understand. I’ll arrange for you to speak with my housemate briefly.”

When I returned to the greenhouse with Officer Olds, Ray looked at us curiously. After clearing his throat, Officer Olds began questioning Ray, but Ray answered everything with a simple “I don’t know.”

Soon, Officer Olds got up to leave.

“Thank you for your cooperation. We may need to call you in for questioning, so could I get your contact information?”

“I’ll give you both my number and my housemate’s. Please try to contact me first if possible.”

After seeing Officer Olds off, I went to the bedroom and returned the gun to its place. Something still felt off.

If my memory was correct, on February 2nd, Ray had gone to 42nd Street. That evening, Ray had placed a ridiculously spicy salad on the table, claiming it was a gift from a friend. There was only one person Ray was close enough with to receive a gift from and who lived on 42nd Street. Sonia.

In other words, Ray had met Sonia on the day she went missing. Should I have mentioned this to Officer Olds?

I paused to think for a moment. No matter how much I tried to connect the dots, there was no link between the couple’s disappearance and Ray. Inspector Olds also seemed to have come here just out of formality. Once I reached this conclusion, I returned to the greenhouse with a lighter heart.

꙳•❅*ִ

“Hey, I was surprised. Redfox being there, of all places. Is he losing his mind again? Did you know Redfox was going to show up?” Leopard asked.

I replied briefly, “More or less.” My mood was a mess.

This morning, when Ray mentioned that he planned to go see an art exhibition at the hospital, I had a hunch. I had tried to prevent Ray from attending the dinner, but everything got tangled up. To make matters worse, an old crazy woman had caused a commotion. It was truly awful.

I ripped off my damn mask and lit a cigarette. Jaguar, chewing nicotine gum, spoke up.

“But Ryeong seemed a bit off. Even when he saw us, his reaction was pretty indifferent.”

I took a drag from the cigarette and said, “Yeah, you noticed correctly. Ray lost all his memories from the past 11 years. Even his memories of participating in the political wars as Ryeong. Right now, he believes he’s just an ordinary second-hand bookstore owner.”

“What!”

“Really?!”

Leopard and Jaguar exclaimed at the same time, their faces lighting up with glee as if they’d stumbled upon a goldmine.

“Wait, that’s for real? Wow, in its own way, that’s kind of a positive mental illness. So, can he recover his memories?” Jaguar chuckled while chewing his gum, and I felt the urge to punch him. I answered, “No idea,” and Jaguar shrugged.

“Well, since it’s come to this, let’s hope he never remembers.”

“Exactly.”

Leopard nodded in agreement.

“But what’s Redfox’s deal? Is this just an extension of the fits he’s been having these past two months? Although, that old lady is no joke either. Who would’ve thought that a dignified old woman would suddenly turn into a pro wrestler and take down all those men?”

“Well, at least that’s one less thing to worry about. Even if he’s someone you’d love unconditionally, for us, living with a ticking time bomb made us anxious. Now that things are like this, make sure you turn him into a brand-new person. You know what I mean.”

Jaguar and Leopard both piled on with their nagging. I was about to give them a half-hearted “yeah, I know” when my phone vibrated.

“What’s this?”

“Detain them in the torture chamber. Leave the interrogation to the head of interrogation.”

I put down my phone and stubbed out the cigarette. In a way, this was a good thing. As a result, the department heads’ suspicions of Ryeong had eased. It was a small win.

I decided to lift my mood by thinking of Ray. I reminisced about the two fiery nights we had spent together. It was amazing.

Especially the intense session we had in the bathroom was the highlight. First, I gave him an enema. Ray, embarrassed, tried his best to hold it in, but in the end, he couldn’t and made a mess. That sight was thrilling.

I enjoyed enema play. It was an easy way to induce shame, so I often engaged in it with one-night stands, but it had a different meaning when done with a lover. It required a certain effort and willingness, showing a desire to please me. That gave me a sense of satisfaction, knowing we were deeply familiar with each other.

After the enema play, I penetrated him without any oil. The tightness was incredible. At first, Ray struggled, but it didn’t take long before he lost control and clung to me, helpless. I gave it to him fully. I kept going until the tightness gave way. Then, we finished with a relaxing bubble bath.

This was all thanks to Ray’s memory loss. If I lied and said that everyone else did this sort of thing too, Ray would hesitate but eventually give in. He seemed to believe that it was just another form of intimate sex between lovers.

Intimate sex between lovers.

I smiled slightly. This, too, was a worthwhile reward.

One day, I slyly asked Ray what he thought of me. Without hesitation, he replied, “A relatively well-mannered pervert.” A relatively well-mannered pervert. A pervert. Ray had no idea how much that answer had shocked me. It was infuriating. Absolutely outrageous.

Of course, I hadn’t expected him to say something absurd like “a man of great character” or “a man with a kind heart.” But I also hadn’t imagined he would outright call me a pervert. Honestly, I thought I’d be rated as “a bit mischievous but overall a decent guy.” At the very least, he could’ve softened it with something like “a sexual minority.”

Since then, Ray hadn’t mentioned the word “pervert” again, but it was impossible for me to forget that label. You could even call it a trauma. Every time it popped into my mind, my blood would boil. However, now I could finally say goodbye to that title.

Ray and Messara were simply two people enjoying “unique sex.” That’s all. Not just that—Ray had also forgotten all about my sleazy past, where I’d brought over all sorts of fetish gear and STD test papers, laughing it off. That past used to embarrass me, but now it felt liberating to leave it behind.

In short, Four Messara had been reborn as a polite, gentlemanly, and well-mannered “good guy.” Ha ha ha.

What a hopeless guy, really…

I smiled bitterly and opened the file of materials. Today’s schedule consisted of a charity dinner in the afternoon and Karl’s engagement party at Carmen Hotel in the evening. I skimmed through the tea party documents. There wasn’t much. Just listening to the children’s chatter stressed me out.

I tapped my finger on the chair.

It seemed like assassination was the only option.

If that was the only method, then so be it. Normally, I would’ve toyed with Karl a bit, but I didn’t have the luxury right now. At this moment, I was no longer just some noble’s shepherd. The business with Japonica alone kept me unbelievably busy.

Yesterday, an important report came in. It was a testimony from the girlfriend of Irina, whom we had turned to our side. She said Irina was being tormented by her brother, who was forcing her to act as the king’s mistress.

My prediction was right. Karl had used his sister with the ambition to gain political power from the start. It was a relief, at least. If Irina had aspired to become queen, she too would have been marked for assassination. The death of a beautiful woman stirs more shock than the deaths of ten old politicians.

The conclusion was simple. If I removed Karl, the situation would resolve easily. The only remaining question was how to carry it out.

“Even working in the car, Chief? You’re such a workaholic. You should take it easy.”

Leopard lightly tapped my side, signaling he was bored and wanted to chat. I closed the file and leaned back in my seat. Leopard handed me a glass of gin.

“Mind if I ask you something?”

“Hmm, what is it?”

“I’ve been curious about your and Redfox’s bedroom life. Does Redfox go along with everything you want? Or do you just hold back?”

I nearly choked. Jaguar let out a whistle from the driver’s seat, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

“What exactly do you want to know?”

When I sharply asked, Leopard responded with concern.

“Well, you know, just if the two of you are compatible in bed. You wouldn’t even do a fist fuck because you said Redfox was too small. Is it okay? Do you manage to cope? I’m asking out of genuine concern.”

Jaguar burst out laughing as he turned the steering wheel.

“F-fist fuck? Wait, is that really Snake’s thing? Pffft… But honestly, sex is important, right? Sure, Ryeong might look like a perfect blonde doll on the outside, but what’s the point if you don’t fit in the bedroom? Lasting relationships depend on the chemistry, right?”

“Yeah, good for you. Everything fits so well that you’ve already popped out four kids. Must be nice.”

I sarcastically commented, and Jaguar shrugged his shoulders.

“As I’ve said many times, that was entirely due to a faulty product—torn condoms.”

I kicked the back of the driver’s seat and pulled out a cigarette. It was obvious how the two of them were gossiping behind my back. They had concluded that I was so blinded by love that I was suppressing my desires, living a chaste and pure life. Leopard’s pitying expression spoke volumes, as if he believed I’d become a monk.

Let them think what they want.

Jaguar had already provided the answer. No matter how well two people might get along, if their sex life falters, it’s only a matter of time before the relationship falls apart. That’s just common sense. Ray and I were no exception to this. Had we not put effort into our physical relationship, maintaining it might have been difficult.

I scoffed, about to light my cigarette, when I suddenly froze. A voice echoed in my head.

“You’re living a difficult love. Don’t push your luck—just follow the natural order.”

It was that damn shaman’s words. When Karl had asked for a love reading, that was the message the shaman had given him.

Damn it. Why was I only now remembering this?

I lit the cigarette and took a deep drag, recalling what the tall French detective had muttered while smoking a cigarette as he chased down a thief. He said the most unbelievable thing about miracles is that they actually happen.

Coincidences so absurd they could only be made up by mischievous little fairies truly do exist in our lives…

The French detective’s insight hit the mark again. A coincidence that seemed like it was made up by those fairies had happened, right at Irina’s magic party.

What had the shaman warned Altonen? To just faithfully play the role of a scarecrow. And how had Karl reacted to the shaman’s fortune? He scratched his head and laughed, admitting how accurate it was. Even I had been stunned into silence by the shaman’s words. Three people—Altonen, Karl, and I—had “acknowledged” the shaman’s prediction.

In other words, the shaman was not a fraud.

So, this was the key. If I set aside conventional wisdom and accepted things as they were, this was definitely the key. Karl was in a difficult love. Not just any difficult love, but one that defied the natural order.

This is getting interesting…

I silently laughed as I crushed out my cigarette. I was getting excited. I decided to observe Karl’s engagement party while organizing my thoughts. The Carmen Hotel loomed in the distance.

As expected from a celebrity’s engagement, the media frenzy was intense. The crowd was packed with nobles, business figures, journalists, and curious commoners. Altonen had pleaded beforehand, saying, “Since it’s an engagement, they’ve asked us to reduce the number of guards today,” but I ignored it completely, deploying all the department heads. We were going to make a scene, smothering the event. At times like these, I was grateful for the cursed mask and uniform coat.

As we lined up behind Altonen, people’s reactions were priceless. Pusher, walking into the ceremony, paused and waved his trademark Japanese fan furiously while glaring at us with sideways glances. It was quite a sight.

When Karl and Miss Obaska appeared, the flashes went off like crazy. Watching Miss Obaska fidget nervously, I clicked my tongue. If Karl was looking for an easy-to-cheat-on wife, he’d made an excellent choice—she looked so innocent.

After a boring series of formalities, the celebration party began. Journalists flocked to Karl, shoving microphones in his face and asking, “What do you like most about your fiancée?” and “How do you feel?” Karl smiled.

“As I’ve said, we first met at a tea party. Ha ha! It was like my ideal type had dropped right in front of me. The sight of such a beauty made me break out in goosebumps, and for a few seconds, I couldn’t think of anything. Please, everyone, bless us.”

Altonen snorted, and I almost laughed out loud. I could’ve believed him if he praised her inner beauty, but what was all that about? Did his eyeballs suddenly move to the soles of his shoes? Of course not—Karl had a hobby of appreciating fine art. That meant he had an exceptional aesthetic sense.

Karl and Miss Obaska began dancing to the orchestra’s accompaniment. With Karl standing at 185 cm and Miss Obaska at 147 cm, they looked like an uncle dancing with his young niece. Every guest except for the bride’s family chuckled. The laughter was especially loud from the women who had been pursuing Karl.

Miss Obaska’s expression was something to behold. Her cheeks turned so red that even I, usually heartless, felt a pang of sympathy. She looked so helpless, like a sacrificial lamb, as Karl chose her for a political marriage, forsaking all his other admirers.

…

It felt like ice water sliding down my throat. My head went blank for a moment, and I quickly shook it off. I carefully examined the scene before me. It became clear. The real spectacle wasn’t on the stage but in the crowd—the beautiful women glaring at Miss Obaska, consumed by jealousy.

It was absurd. How could I have missed this? The most clueless fool in the world was none other than Four Messara.

Wasn’t it obvious? Karl was surrounded by beautiful women who would come running at a mere wink from him. The Marquis of Obaska rushed the engagement like lightning, as if Karl were overwhelmingly popular. Even if he had been in a hurry to form an alliance with Lotus Pusher, the same applied. There were at least thirty women younger, taller, and more beautiful than Lady Obaska in the tattooed aristocratic families allied with Pusher.

I finally understood the source of the unease I felt when I saw the engagement announcement photos. It was Lady Obaska. The very fact that she didn’t match Karl at all was the problem.

I had finally grasped a concrete clue. Lady Obaska was clearly a mask Karl wore to hide his “difficult love.” Perhaps, around Lady Obaska, there was someone for whom Karl held real affection.

Ha ha ha, this is amusing.

I silently laughed and picked up my phone to call my direct subordinate.

“From today, monitor Lady Obaska 24 hours a day. Triple the surveillance team and ensure we intercept her communications daily.”

The next morning, a huge photo of Karl and Lady Obaska dancing made the front page of the papers, along with an article saying that the two had begun living together immediately after the engagement, effectively starting their married life.

Three days later, the wiretap records came in. Day and night, the sounds of Karl and Lady Obaska going at it relentlessly filled my ears. The persistent rumors about Karl being impotent or gay were shattered in an instant. Karl cried out to Lady Obaska, “My baby! Oh, baaaby!” while pounding away. It made me sick to my stomach.

But this wasn’t something that would make me lose focus. Not in the slightest. After shoving the wiretap materials at Cooperhead, the Intelligence Director, who was pushing for immediate assassination, I ordered him to review everything thoroughly and scolded him to make sure nothing was overlooked.

I threw off the wretched mask and collapsed into a chair. I’d been terribly busy the past few days, dashing around frantically, especially with the chaos that had erupted in the Council of Senators.

Pusher had retaliated against Senator Fontane’s proposal by calling it “a cheap political ploy involving peasants,” which led to a brawl between nobles and commoner senators. Fontane, a former boxer, knocked out several tattooed nobles, including Pusher. The scene of Fontane landing an uppercut to Pusher’s nose became a global sensation as it spread through international media.

Pusher, the handsome old man with a flattened nose, was so shocked that he immediately checked into a plastic surgery clinic and received a medical certificate for three weeks of recovery. The aftermath kept us so busy that we were scrambling to manage press statements and damage control. The result was satisfactory, though. Fontane’s impressive boxing skills thrilled the public. In reality, agriculture made up a very small percentage of the kingdom’s economy. Pusher had foolishly brought it up, but now the tide had turned against him.

“Got something?”

Leopard walked in, holding a report. I said, “Yeah. What is it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing big. Just a newspaper report on that old lady who caused a ruckus at the Monday dinner. There’s nothing to review, but I thought I’d bring you a report anyway.”

“Alright. Who are they?”

I poured a drink as I spoke. Leopard flipped through the report and sat on the sofa.

“Not much to it. Turns out they’re just ordinary civilians with no connection to us. I went ahead and released them under my discretion today.”

“That’s good, then.”

“Yeah, well. The son told me a pretty sad story, actually. Apparently, the youngest was causing so much trouble that the parents decided to teach them a lesson by leaving them alone in the park. They came back 30 minutes later, but by then, the child had disappeared. They still haven’t found the kid, and they were sobbing about it.”

“I see.”

I replied indifferently as I sipped my drink. Leopard shrugged and said, “Well, that’s the gist of it.”

It was a tragic story, but it wasn’t my concern. I downed my drink in one go and got back to work. I had a mountain of tasks piled up after cleaning up the commoners’ mess. I focused solely on the tasks ahead, reminding myself to “keep calm and carry on.”

꙳•❅*ִ

Whitebirch stood atop the pyre, bound by chains at the wrists and ankles to a wooden post, helpless against the heat of the flames. The fire’s greedy tongues licked upward from below.

The flames caught at her feet. A cold gust of winter wind blew across the pyre. The fire consumed her tattered robe, devouring her legs, calves, and thighs. The crowd gathered in the square giggled and laughed as they watched Whitebirch burn.

Oh, my King.

Whitebirch screamed as she wept.

Why do you abandon me like this? Were your words in Whitebirch Forest all lies?

A gust of winter wind parted the smoke. Far in the distance, atop a high altar, the king sat upon his throne. Whitebirch gasped. The king swirled the wine in his left hand and gazed at her.

His eyes were full of satisfaction. He savored the wine, then gently tapped the arm of his throne with his right hand, smiling slyly.

It was then that Whitebirch realized. The moment he saw the Whitebirch branch, the king had understood everything. But he had chosen to look away. He had stretched luxuriously, glanced once at the tower, and said, “My work here is done,” before casually returning to the palace, smiling as he went.

The king smiled. “Ah, a creature that provides entertainment for the night and lays a solid foundation for power. Quite useful for a worm.”

Then he embraced Levitan. Levitan nestled into the king’s arms and looked at Whitebirch with satisfaction. They reveled in their joy. They were maddeningly happy. Laughing wildly, they pointed at her.

“Die! Die! Die, you worm! Just die already! Hahahahaha!”

The flames engulfed Whitebirch’s face. Her skin crackled as smoke billowed up. Her lips and gums scorched. Through the swirling flames, the maniacal laughter pierced through…

I opened my eyes. Darkness filled the bedroom.

It was a night draped in the thin sound of rain outside the window. Sweat dripped down my body, and for a moment, I just stared into the air, unable to breathe.

The joyful madness was still vivid. The image of Daytanz, sipping wine with satisfaction while watching Whitebirch burning to death, flickered before me. A terrible hatred and contempt poured over me like a flood. I was scared. A horrific loneliness washed over me.

Suddenly, I came to my senses. Someone pulled me closer and murmured, “Hmm.” It was Messara. As I slightly opened my eyes, he spoke in a sleepy voice, “What are you doing awake?”

“…I just woke up for a moment.”

Messara stared at me for a while before pulling me into a deep embrace. He gently stroked my back and whispered softly, “Did you have another bad dream? It’s okay…”

Messara ran his fingers through my hair. His touch was slow and careful. Finally, a sense of relief washed over me. I closed my eyes. The sound of Messara’s heartbeat in my ears faded away.

It was a morning filled with the sounds of music and television. I had to help Messara get ready for work until 8 AM, so I was moving around busily as well. While Messara exercised and washed up, I prepared breakfast. I added salt and pepper to the stew pot and tasted it. Considering it was my first attempt at bouillabaisse, it wasn’t bad. After drying my hands, I headed to the workout room.

Messara, wearing only running shorts, was vigorously hitting the sandbag. Even to someone like me, who knew nothing about martial arts, it was clear he had a skilled technique that could take down multiple opponents. Messara never skipped his daily hour of exercise, even on holidays and weekends. It was surprising to see how well he maintained his body, despite being in an office job.

I lightly knocked on the door.

“Wash up. The food is almost ready.”

“Ah, okay.”

Messara punched the sandbag. With a heavy sound, the large bag flew up high. I flinched without realizing it. One hit from that would probably take down most people. Messara draped a towel over his shoulders and asked, “What are you staring at?”

“Ah, nothing. I just thought you work really hard at exercising.”

“Hmm. I have to work hard. It’s good for me and for Ray, right?”

Messara looked at my waist with a meaningful gaze. It was embarrassing. The implication that it was good for both me and Ray was obvious. I scratched my head and rushed to the kitchen when I smelled something burning.

During breakfast, Messara asked me what dream I had the previous night. I mumbled, “It was a good dream.”

“A good dream, but your expression looks dark. That doesn’t seem right.”

“Well… I had a dream about a fire, but if interpreted, it’s a good omen. Dreams with fire or filth are generally considered good. For example, it could mean unexpected fortune is coming.”

“Oh? Is that so? Then maybe I should buy a lottery ticket today.”

“Maybe that’s a good idea.”

I fished around in the salad. Perhaps due to the nightmare I had all night, I didn’t have much of an appetite.

Messara glanced at my plate and burst into laughter.

“Hahaha. Eating with Ray feels like living with herbivores. Why not try to diversify your palate a bit?”

“Ah, it can’t be helped. I don’t eat vegetarian food just because I like it. People with bad lungs should avoid foods that constrict blood vessels.”

Messara paused for a moment. I raised my glass of milk and asked, “Why is that?”

“Just… I was wondering if you were knowledgeable about medicine.”

“Didn’t I mention? I studied a bit. They said a bullet grazed my heart. So naturally, my lungs would have been damaged.”

“That’s true, but did you primarily become a vegetarian because of that?”

“Yes. But I’m surprised you didn’t know that I studied this a little. Haha. You should have been able to tell just from my writing about folk remedies.”

“Now that you mention it, it makes sense. Actually, I’m a wakeful lord. But it seems Ray has a lot of random knowledge. Folk remedies and the efficacy of plants, and even medical skills.”

I stirred my salad at Messara’s words. I felt a little flustered. Should I confess that I was once a shaman? I decided against it.

Medical knowledge was important in shaman classes. The image of a witch stirring a large pot with a ladle wasn’t there for no reason. A shaman’s primary income came from various potent medicines. Therefore, even if one couldn’t become a specialist, they needed to have a certain level of knowledge. Otherwise, they could seriously harm their clients.

After finishing the meal, Messara, dressed, sat me in front of the mirror.

“You have such beautiful blonde hair. A stunning platinum blonde like this is rare, you know? Did you know that in 50 years, blonde hair will almost disappear? Because it’s a recessive trait, it only appears under complex conditions. I’m lucky, haha.”

As Messara brushed my hair, he showered me with compliments like a machine gun. My face in the mirror turned red. This was something I experienced every morning. Messara always sat me in front of the mirror and lavished me with embarrassing praise.

Messara was also blonde, so why was he praising my blonde hair so much? Although our shades were quite different, it was still embarrassing.

After he finished combing my hair, I saw him off as he left for work. After we kissed, Messara hugged me and said, “Well, I’ll be off now.” His embrace felt especially warm today.

After brewing some tea, I began doing the dishes. It was a drizzly Tuesday afternoon. The attending physician said I only needed to come in on Wednesdays and Saturdays starting this week.

“The psychological burden stemming from an overwhelming incident is the root cause. Usually, people recover suddenly and completely, but the process can vary from person to person. Even if it’s hard, you shouldn’t escape but face it head-on. You need to be trained to solve it, so you can prepare for any relapses or retrieval of memories.”

What could it be?

A horrific incident that made me erase eleven years of my life.

To be honest, I didn’t want to know. If it was a painful incident that made eleven years evaporate in an instant, it would be better to forget it.

I knew all too well how sharp and fierce a monster memory could be. It was like the nightmare of Whitebirch’s skeleton clawing up from the wasteland, waving its blood-stained shroud. I shook my head and placed the dishes on the drying rack.

Let’s stop these gloomy thoughts.

Here’s the translation:

There was no time to spare. The household chores piled up like a mountain due to the trips to and from the hospital. After finishing various tasks, it was already 2 PM. I planned to review the manuscript during the remaining time.

As I sat in the living room flipping through the materials, I suddenly stopped. A Zippo lighter was emitting a white light from the table. It was Messara’s lighter. It seemed he had forgotten it.

I took out an ashtray from under the table and inspected it. There were two cigarette butts, both worn down to the filter.

I lifted the Zippo lighter. It was a platinum lighter with a Medusa carving on it. Snakes intertwined from the woman’s head like flickering flames. I turned the lighter on. With a click, the flame ignited.

Maybe it was because I was conscious of my lungs, but Messara never smoked in front of me. Those butts seemed to have been smoked while I was asleep. I flicked the lighter again. With a crisp sound, a flame flared up.

What is this?

There was a time like this. Yes… there was a time similar to this. In a hazy mood, I watched the red flame rising from the lighter.

It was also in the hospital. I was lying in bed, turning Messara’s lighter on and off. Bright sunlight streamed in through the window. My arm, with the IV needle stuck in it, looked gaunt.

For a long time, I silently clicked the lighter on and off. As I stared at the flickering flame, I suddenly muttered.

Why?

Why is he being so nice to me? Is he interested in me?

Is he doing this because he likes me? Or perhaps he has feelings for me?

I kept babbling to myself as I turned the lighter on and off. The clicking sound scattered like a subtle rhythm, filled with the magical suggestion of Fragonard.

I suddenly came to my senses. The sound of the clock’s minute hand ticking entered my quiet living room. What was that just now? It was my second memory from the hospital.

I stared blankly at the TV across from me. The dull brown screen reflected Ray Arisa’s blonde hair. A moment later, I chuckled softly.

What is this?

Is this what voyeuristic patients feel like when they spy on others? I found it amusing that I, who had just flashed by in a memory, was there wondering about Messara’s feelings as I clicked the lighter on and off.

Was it during the early stages of our romance?

I recalled the first memory of the hospital. There, I had pretended to be asleep on purpose, curious about how Messara would enter. I squinted my eyes and peeked at him.

In the second memory, I was muttering to myself as I gauged Messara’s feelings back and forth. Why is he being so nice to me? Does he like me…? Now, I could understand that situation a little better.

At that time, I had been carefully observing how much Messara was interested in me. While pretending to sleep, I gauged his reactions by clicking the lighter.

Cunning like a fox.

It’s a funny expression, but it was the only word that fit. It was a moment that made me understand why romance novels and third-rate movies often refer to the early stages of a relationship as a “reconnaissance mission.” It was an embarrassing memory to share with my doctor.

They say love is a game of “Should I show it, or should I not show it?”

I chuckled as I clicked the lighter. The red flame shot up. Was it because of the fire? The dream from last night resurfaced before my eyes. I clicked the lighter and clicked my tongue.

How pathetic. If Whitebirch had been caught using a magical tool, that dream might have turned into reality. Why had Whitebirch waited for that guy so desperately? Why? Was it because the guy, who had a pathological aversion to sex with Levitan, wanted to have a physical relationship with Whitebirch very quickly? Because he was much younger than Levitan?

It was absurd. One could see her deep love for him just by looking at how, as soon as the public clamored for a child from the 29-year-old king, she got pregnant with Levitan. The contemporary witnesses, Henry II and Diane, were proof.

Anyway, it was annoying. Whitebirch went insane due to the increasingly brutal torture. Even in court, he babbled about the King. Imagining him, who would have laughed at the court records, only irritated me.

Is this really the time for such thoughts?

I set the lighter down. I was supposed to start driving lessons at 4 PM. Between the manuscript, outpatient treatment, and plans to obtain a driver’s license within four months, I was running short on time these days.

On top of that, I had started exercising. While just an hour of cardio on the treadmill each day wasn’t much, it felt like torture for a mole who disliked moving. I couldn’t even muster the courage to slack off when I exercised with Messara on weekends, but I often skipped it on weekdays.

Today, I hesitated about skipping again but headed to the exercise room. I wasn’t keen on it, but it seemed that a good workout would be the best remedy to shake off last night’s dream. As I turned on the treadmill, I murmured to myself. I must live well.

Thinking of that bastard who, after doing that to Whitebirch, had lived well for another 50 years made my blood boil. I was determined to live well, just like him. I intended to live happily and for a long time. That would be the best revenge I could have.

Determined, I held back the urge to get off the treadmill and walked diligently.

꙳•❅*ִ

The mood felt strange throughout the morning. It was because of the conversation I had with Ray earlier today. Despite knowing about my health issues, Ray had forgiven and accepted me. It was something I could never have guessed. While I felt happy and relieved, there was also a lingering sadness.

Damn it. That’s the reason he insisted on being vegetarian.

“Chief, I think I should be heading out now,” Leopard said, knocking from outside. I put on the damn mask and sprang up. I had a party schedule in the afternoon. Karl had invited Altonen for drinks ahead of the upcoming Japonica election. I accepted the party invitation for now.

“Chief, we just received news. It seems the handsome old man completely botched his nose surgery. He caused a ruckus at the plastic surgery clinic, crying and screaming.”

Cooperhead said as he made a left turn at the intersection. Leopard snickered.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Does that mean his discharge will be delayed again?”

“That’s right. Karl’s situation isn’t great. How nervous must he be to be winking at us again? Even the king is keeping his distance from Irina these days. And as for old man Pusher, his current top concern is his nose job. With all this pressure, Karl’s back must be breaking under the weight.”

Cooperhead chuckled. I also laughed quietly while slowly swirling my punch glass.

This was exactly why Karl invited Altonen to the party today. At this point, I was inclined to believe his past-life confessions. His tendency to switch sides based on where the profit lay definitely made him seem like a merchant. I could bet he was a descendant of Shylock.

“By the way, Snake. We got a call from Germany this afternoon,” said Cooperhead. My ears perked up. “Hmm, what is it?” I asked while sipping my punch.

“Karl’s college friend mentioned that a long time ago, Karl was once beaten up by his neighbor’s wife. A few days later, Karl moved out.”

“Hm.”

“There’s also a rumor that Karl had a homosexual relationship with the woman’s husband, but our team is currently verifying the truth. The wife also moved right after the incident. We should have confirmation soon, so they asked us to wait a bit.”

“Got it.”

My indifferent response made Cooperhead shrug his shoulders.

“Feels a bit weak, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

I took out a cigarette. In this aristocratic society, filled with perverts, ‘homosexuality with a married man’ wasn’t even tabloid-worthy. It’s the kind of mistake that even commoners make.

What I sought for artistic inspiration was far more extreme than such trivial gossip. Maybe having three or four male lovers who were ex-fighters, needing to be showered in urine to get aroused, or getting fisted while wearing women’s underwear and crying tears of joy — that kind of thing would spark my creativity.

“Anyway, I’ve told them to thoroughly investigate what kind of fun Karl had with that husband. I also said to obtain any sex tapes if they exist.”

Cooperhead’s words made Leopard snicker sinisterly, “A video, huh? This could be exciting, hehe.” I smacked the back of Leopard’s head and put on a cursed mask. The Vardi Duke’s estate was now coming into view.

I escorted Altonen into the grand hall. A chandelier illuminated the interior brightly. As expected of a party celebrating Japonica’s election, most of the guests were warrior nobles.

“Welcome, my friend! It’s been a while! Hahaha!”

Karl approached, puffing cigar smoke. Altonen greeted him with a handshake, “Yes, it’s been a while.” Karl squinted as he took a drag from his cigar.

What are you looking at, you bastard?

I scoffed. Altonen and Karl began strolling around the hall, engaged in conversation. Just a few days ago, these two were practically throwing excrement at each other, but now they were acting all chummy. This kind of scene was all too common in this world.

Irina stood on the other side. She glanced at us, then shot a sharp look at Altonen before turning her head away in a huff. I clicked my tongue.

That’s just how it is in this world…

Did she really think she could occupy the coveted position of the king’s mistress without facing any trials like this? Even Altonen had faced all sorts of scandals since becoming Japonica’s proxy. A single cough from him was enough to spark rumors like “Japonica’s Proxy Has AIDS?!”

The closer you get to the seat of power, the higher the price you have to pay. If she didn’t realize that, she should start now, especially if she wanted to live a long life.

Karl kept chatting and making his rounds in the hall. Altonen, as instructed, remained patient, waiting for Karl to bring up the real reason he had called them here.

“Oh, Harry, my father has a painting he treasures. Would you like to see it? It’s not something he shows just anyone, and it’s a rare masterpiece that hasn’t been publicly displayed in a long time. Even if you’re not into art, it’s a chance you shouldn’t pass up. Haha.”

Karl was finally revealing his true intentions. Altonen nodded, “Sure, sounds good.” With that, Karl and Altonen left the hall. After a long walk down a narrow, secluded hallway, Karl opened a discreet door.

“What do you think? This is your first time seeing it in person, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t this

?”

Altonen was impressed. There really was a painting, though I assumed it was just an excuse to get them alone. A young woman lay afloat in a grayish stream, her dress trailing in the water, tangled willow branches casting ominous shadows above her.

. The maiden who went mad and drowned because of the Prince of Denmark. Her gaze was ambiguous, and her lips slightly parted. Was she singing? Brightly colored flowers floated beside her dark, water-stained skirt.

A beautiful painting, but not one that really resonated with me. This captured moment of Ophelia on the canvas made her seem like a tragic water nymph. But the gray stream would soon pull her dress tight and drag her into a fate more deadly than the grave. Quietly, yet ruthlessly.

“This is John Everett Millais’s

. In the 19th century, the language of flowers became popular, so the artist assigned meaning to each of the flowers scattered beside Ophelia. The poppies symbolize death, the pansies symbolize vain love, and that necklace of violets stands for faithfulness to a beloved and the death of a young person.”

“Interesting. I wasn’t aware of that,” Altonen said, impressed by Karl’s explanation.

Faithfulness to a beloved and the death of a young person… It was fortunate that the language of flowers only became a trend in the 19th century. Otherwise,

fans would’ve been making ridiculous claims about Viola Cathedral’s name.

Suddenly, I was curious. Why violets? Churches are usually named after saints.

“Well then, shall we begin our discussion?”

Karl’s sudden words brought me back to reality. Hm… It was about to begin.

I left it to Altonen for now. When we didn’t react at all, Altonen tactfully spoke up.

“What discussion?”

“Come on, let’s sit and talk. You two as well — why not take a seat? Ah, or would that go against your work principles?”