ORCA 35

Small, weak things that crumble easily were bothersome existences. Their frail bodies were like dried, brittle leaves; even a light step would scatter them completely, causing them to lose their form. They were so fragile that it felt as if one flick of a finger would end their lives without delay. This did not pique his interest. It was far from enough to satisfy his desires, which were always at a breaking point. It was not fun.

The goldfish was the same. Just being out in the night air would make him sick for two full days, or his wrists would bruise purple if he was grabbed a little too hard. He would flinch and burst into tears at a single word, and he would grovel without hesitation. He was terrified even when Orca wasn’t doing anything at all.

On top of that, whenever things became too much for him to handle alone, his memory would fall into disarray. In the vegetable garden, he hadn’t recognized him even when he was right in front of him, and yesterday, he had even lost his mind completely. This weak-minded goldfish was nothing more than a form of amusement to briefly liven up the dull days of the mansion. He was a mere existence—small, weak, and trivial. There was no way he wouldn’t be bothersome.

“Young master…. Young master, I, I…. I’m here. Why, sob….”

And yet, feeling such pity for that damp voice heard from beyond the door—he must have gone mad.

After sending Niah away last night, Orca had immediately drawn a clear line. It was a physical line created by engaging the deadbolt. He had chosen the most appropriate way to push away the small predator that was trying to invade his territory and reign supreme. It was a simple solution that suited a cowardly goldfish. There was no way he would have the courage to break through this. Before that, he hadn’t forgotten to call the servants and nip the problem in the bud. Being swayed by someone was not his forte.

“…”

Orca sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the bathroom door. He had been awake long before Niah knocked on the door.

From the excited footsteps approaching his room from the end of the fourth-floor hallway, to the hesitant movements unable to hide his flustered state, the pathetic calls, the anxious metallic rasping, the hurried gestures struggling to cross the hallway to reach him, the words mixed with sobbing, and even the fact that Niah turned away without being able to pull the handle despite all that—Orca had felt it all while sitting in the same spot. Without making a reply or taking any action, he simply shifted his gaze and focused in the direction of the sounds.

As Orca had expected, Niah did not break through the final line. Fearing it wouldn’t open just like the locked front door, he hadn’t even been able to try. The closed bathroom door felt like a tall, solid wall to him.

But to Orca, those were just selfish excuses. Whether he opened the door and came in, or failed to come in, that choice was entirely Niah’s. It was an opportunity he had left loose on purpose, with the intention of defending Niah regardless of what choice he made.

There were two doors leading to the bathroom. One connected to the bedroom, and one to the hallway. The deadbolt was only on the inside of the bathroom, so it could not be locked from the outside. Unless one was inside the bathroom, it was a structure where both bathroom doors could not be locked simultaneously. Therefore, if Niah had wanted to open it, he could have easily done so.

“That’s enough.”

Orca’s gaze clung persistently to the place where Niah had lingered before leaving. He could not explain why he had drawn a line and yet left room for Niah to cross it.

Only silence remained in the empty bathroom. There was no sign of the goldfish who had been so excited, hoping to poke his head out and be called in. The cowardly goldfish had fled far away as soon as he was chased off. It was only natural.

A calm ripple stirred within the room, which was encroached upon by darkness and silence. At the mere fluttering of the goldfish, his chest felt hollow. Only the question remained: what if Niah had burst the door open and run to him with a tear-stained face? He could not accept this version of himself.

☀️🌊

Corn soup was placed on the neatly arranged table. A soft, nutty scent wafted from the ivory-colored soup made with cream. Orca wrinkled his brow subtly and toyed with his smooth silver spoon. He didn’t feel much like eating. A moment ago, his stomach had felt empty, but in front of proper food, his appetite had completely vanished. He thought he must have truly, thoroughly lost his mind.

“Orca. How did your hand get like that?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I’ve heard quite a few unpleasant rumors. Don’t frighten the staff for no reason, and try to relax. You haven’t been able to rest for a while, so you must be tired.”

Taking the spoon placed to the left of the plate to accommodate his injured hand, Orca stirred the soup instead of answering. His gaze soon reached Bailey, who was standing behind his mother.

Bailey, who had lowered his head to avoid the cold gaze, bit his lip. He belatedly regretted having chattered away like a finch at the mistress’s questions. It was his own fault for not being able to hold his tongue, revealing everything even after seeing Adrian hiding to avoid the young master’s eyes or Pepe acting anxious since the garden incident.

He was also quite concerned about Niah, who had been shedding tears incessantly during breakfast this morning, and Luan, whose attitude had somehow changed. All the servants involved with the young master were in bad shape. Bailey felt vaguely worried that he, too, might join those ranks. Since he didn’t know when the young master would leave, he had no choice but to lay low, even now.

“That aside, I was thinking of throwing a party soon—what do you think? The family members staying at the town house have been very curious about how you are. You haven’t returned for three years, so it’s only natural. We can see each other’s faces for the first time in a while…. Besides, it’s your birthday soon, so we can celebrate that too.”

“Do as you please. You were going to anyway.”

“Yes. You need times to rest like this. Then I should invite people from other families as well.”

Orca replied listlessly, just stirring his soup. While he half-listened to the talk he had no interest in, the bowl of untouched soup was cleared away, and duck, glistening with oil, filled the void.

He stared at the perfectly roasted meat. He still had no appetite. He simply wondered, all of a sudden, about the well-being of the goldfish who couldn’t even manage to eat his own meals. Once the thought occurred to him, the curiosity spread uncontrollably, finally leading him to imagine the impossible.

The round head that had leaned its cheek against his thigh was vivid. The voice calling, “Young master, young master,” while giggling ticklishly, sounded like an auditory hallucination. His palms could feel the tender skin and curly hair. From his nose, he could sense a mild skin scent that resembled wildflowers. To make matters worse, the light weight that would burrow into his arms settled onto his legs as if it were real.

Even though he had removed the goldfish from his sight, the situation had not improved. If anything, it had worsened. His head must have been broken. If he couldn’t solve it by removing him from his sight, he might as well just swallow him whole in secret. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, either.

The problem was that he, himself, didn’t want to do that. No, it was true that he wanted to gulp him down in one bite, but that didn’t directly mean he wanted to kill him. This desire was neither an instinct that had been inherent in him until now, nor was it the aftermath of the reason that had been suppressing his instincts. He was just confused about how to put these unrecognizable emotions to rest.

Leaving the dining room behind the orange hallucination, Orca pondered for a moment and went to the study. Intent on driving the goldfish out of his mind, he pulled out a random book and began to read. Black letters poured down upon the goldfish.

The goldfish, flattened by a few lines of love poetry that were far from his taste, soon disappeared without a trace. A gust of wind suddenly passed through his chest, which had felt stifled as if bound by iron chains. However, this method soon proved useless because the goldfish, not giving up easily, kept flapping and bouncing about.

After diligently clearing away the letters, the goldfish poked his head out again. The giggling expression was now deeply sulky.

“…I’ve lost it.”

Orca flipped the page carelessly. Whether it was because it was an anthology of love poems, every page he opened contained lines confessing a heart overflowing with longing for someone. The letters began to pour down again. The goldfish covered the top of his head with both hands, shedding tears and whimpering.

‘Young master. It hurts. Please don’t.’

A sobbing voice reached his ears.

“…I’ve gone mad.”