BATTER 28

It was a manageable volume, though firm enough to hold entirely within a single grip. As Baron pinned the pair of wrists above Bijou’s head, the android’s rosy elbows bent upward in tandem. With his free hand, Baron swept a firm stroke up the length of the other’s thigh.

The sensation of a solid quadriceps was transmitted vividly to his wide-spread palm. It felt less like something soft and more like a tautly drawn bowstring, or the hind leg of a herbivore poised to bolt. Savoring the tension of the artificial muscle, Baron hooked the android’s knee over his own shoulder with a practiced motion.

In the curve of the arching spine, the slightly tilted chin, and the tension held in the knee and instep, Baron found a relentless submissiveness. Blue eyes gazed up at him blankly. Now, he could commit anything.

It was then that the machine whispered in a low but distinct articulation.

“Forgive me…”

Mercy was being reiterated through a pale red, soft obedience. Baron looked down at a smile as gentle as that voice. It was a smile like white clay, ready to take whatever shape it was kneaded into. Baron could have molded the fellow into any form he desired, but the strength drained from his hands. The grip that had imprisoned the wrists loosened to the point of meaninglessness.

Baron pulled away, wearing a bitter smile that was almost a scowl, a grin of unknown significance. He bit his lower lip lightly with his front teeth and faintly furrowed his brow—escaping far away through the medium of that smile. The atmosphere enveloping the folding bed shifted in an instant.

“Hey, I told you not to do that.”

He clicked his tongue, his voice notably lighter. It was a tone similar to his usual way of speaking, one that seemed to mimic a sense of innocence. Catching a glimpse of Bijou, who remained lying in the previous position, the android wore an expression that seemed to ask, ‘Does that mean you want me to reject the very purpose of my existence?’ It was an excellent facial-expression-mimicry function. Baron narrowed his eyes.

“You said you have basic security functions, didn’t you? This is when you use them.”

I really need to sleep now; I think the mood of this god-awful neighborhood is becoming contagious. Muttering nonsense, he dragged the crumpled duvet from the foot of the bed. He threw the blanket over Bijou’s shoulders as well and turned his back to lie down. He skipped the goodnight greeting and closed his eyes, only for someone to stealthily wrap an arm around his waist. Baron kept his mouth shut tight, so the fellow eventually offered the greeting first.

“I love you.”

You little… I told you to stop that. However, he had no desire to repeat what had just happened. Baron offered his greeting with his eyes still closed.

“Yeah, love you too.”

Perhaps thanks to that greeting, Baron had a vivid dream that night. It was a dream constructed from a dissected segment of the days when he used to leap across steel plates like a monkey with bare feet. His dream as a young boy, much like the phase most children go through, was to become a king.

In those days, he lived in the embrace of a wire mother and perceived the hard touch of alloys as a cozy protection. Everything that protected him was cold, hard, or sharp. Soft and fluffy things were too easily worn down and torn apart…

He had felt his own existence through the alloy surfaces that grew lukewarm or warm while pressed against his skin, and that had made him happy. The sensation of the lukewarm metal floor touching his cheeks, hands, and soles was so vivid that even after opening his eyes at dawn the next day, he sat in a daze for a while. He chewed over his name and title as if to confirm them before getting out of bed.

The outside was still a bluish dark, and Bijou had already moved elsewhere today as well. It didn’t seem like he had gone to prepare breakfast like last time. Opening the door and stepping out, he saw the teacher and Bijou sitting together. Voices were audible, but they weren’t exactly sharing a friendly conversation.

Instead, seeing the light on the teacher’s digital band, it appeared he was on a call; the identity of the person on the other end was obvious even without listening closely. Baron stood silently leaning against the doorway, watching to see what they would do. Soon, Bijou turned his back to the teacher, and the teacher brushed aside the long hair, fumbling around the back of the neck to read.

“Serial number 19DG—H1JK—0LKK. Does this match the target of the request?”

—It matches. I’ll send someone within the hour, so stay put.

“I trust the reward will be given as promised.”

—On-site verification comes first. I’ll pay after that. I hope there are no issues.

With those words, the call ended. Baron, who had been keeping his position as an onlooker from a distance, suddenly poked his head between the teacher and Bijou.

“Are we finished reporting the wanted man?”

“Yes.”

The teacher’s complexion as he gave the short reply was quite tense. It seemed that even if there was a chicken saying it was okay to fry it, swinging the blade at its neck was a different matter. Baron shifted his gaze to the window, which was covered in a layer of fine dust. In the sky, which held a light slightly brighter than navy blue, the sun was not yet visible. He sat down shamelessly between the two of them and spoke.

“It’s still the crack of dawn. You should have waited for the sun to come up before calling.”

“I wanted to finish this before the kids see.”

“Afraid it’ll be a bit of an unseemly sight for the runts to witness?”

Baron chose to take the ensuing silence as an affirmative.

“What’s unseemly at this point? That Trixie girl even knows how to hold a gun.”

Ultimately, the teacher ended up getting out of his seat. He wondered if he should conclude that people of the young scholar type were simply difficult to understand. Baron gave a casual wave to the back of the man as he left heartlessly.

“Well, sure. Good morning, anyway.”

Even if the teacher went to Mars, he wouldn’t be able to live with a peaceful mind. To Baron’s eyes, the teacher was the type who, no matter where he was or what he did, would repeat the cycle of obvious regret and pangs of conscience. He doubted whether such a man could properly stomach a hundred million dollars, but the client would arrive here before the sun was fully up.

More accurately, it was more reasonable to think that a representative would come in his place. A big shot is a big shot because they don’t make appearances easily, but Baron was curious about the face of the person who could cough up a hundred million for an android that was now practically an antique. Was that hundred million the price of hatred, or the price of love?

Perhaps, like in a movie, this fellow held an important password or evidence that even he didn’t know about. Baron lightly grasped the ends of the blonde hair fluttering near his shoulder.

“Hey, about yesterday…”

The sentence snapped off at the tip of his tongue. What meaning was there in an apology with a predetermined answer? At best, it would be self-consolation or evasion. He didn’t want to be forgiven. A ridiculous thought. Baron remained still for a moment, clutching the fellow’s hair.

“Is something the matter, sir?”

When he failed to continue, Bijou blinked. Even in the chestnut eyes that met his gaze, there were no highs or lows of emotion. However, Baron ran his hand a little deeper, stroking down as if combing the fellow’s hair. The texture, close to silk, slipped through his fingers. He thought it felt like thread woven from water. Baron combed through the hair a few more times.

“Was my hair tangled?”

“Not really, no. Just bored.”

At least the claim of being bored was true. Baron ran his hand down the hair with eyes that were droopy, making it impossible to tell if he was fatigued or indifferent. He often took it upon himself to serve his lovers by touching their hair. This was because the act of touching hair while watching an exposed nape gave him a unique sense of control.

Thanks to that, even if his hands looked rugged as if they only knew how to tear hair out, he knew how to move them with relative delicacy. His fingers, curved in a rounded shape, divided the blonde hair into three sections and began to braid them tightly from the top. He braided the straw-colored hair, ripened to gold by the sun, by crossing the strands into one. The rubber band that the cheeky runt had given him as a fare the other day became the hair tie. Baron flipped the neatly braided hair over Bijou’s chest like a beloved child.

“You’re going to meet a new owner, so go looking pretty. That way they can’t treat you carelessly.”

“I thank you for your thoughtful consideration.”