ORCA 58

The goldfish, unable to hide his inner thoughts, was always honest. Clearly defined emotions colored him in a kaleidoscope of shades. In any case, he was never boring to watch. He would be sullen one moment and beaming the next. He would whine, and then flop against him. He had never tasted such peace before. That was why this was the first time he had ever sobbed and run away.

“I know too. I know I’m stupid. But, still, I worked hard… Why do you always say you hate me, talk so meanly, hurt me everywhere, then I get sad too, I don’t, I don’t forget everything either… I remember the things I don’t like too, why, why…”

The “goldfish” was an exit-less labyrinth. Unless the goldfish—the master of the labyrinth—brought him out, he had to keep circling the same spot. But sometimes, even the goldfish lost his way. With an innocent face, he would say, “I don’t really know.” It was frustrating, but it wasn’t bad. It was fine. He even thought that since he would eventually forget, it didn’t matter what he did to him.

However, when he saw him unable to recall things that hadn’t even passed a single season, his breath would catch. It was as if he were inhaling water instead of air and drowning. Death felt terrifying. It was the first time he had ever feared death.

He had thought that bad things would just be erased. He believed that he would eventually excise all the painful and agonizing things himself. If that were the case, he wanted to remain as a memory cruel enough to be cut away without mercy. He believed that if he left and never returned, the goldfish would soon forget him, and he, too, would be able to resolve these unidentifiable emotions.

He had enjoyed the seasons, leaning on the goldfish’s loss. He had looked forward to summer, ordering him around and treating him as he pleased. Time was not supposed to accumulate; it was supposed to flow. Like mist after rain, it was supposed to vanish when the day cleared. Like a summer haze, it was supposed to shimmer and fade away.

“…I get sad too, I don’t, I don’t forget everything either… I remember the things I don’t like too, why, why…”

He could not discern whether he himself, who might eventually pile up like a memory, was someone’s punishment, a punishment he would give, or a punishment that would be dealt to him. Even though he had meant to exploit the goldfish’s pathetic memory, he felt more delighted than afraid, and more worried than delighted. He couldn’t define this feeling right now. His mind felt flattened. But one thing was certain: even knowing that he would be bothered in one way or another, he could not leave the mansion immediately.

“Alright. Shall I be the one to beg this time?”

At Orca’s words, Niah lifted his head sluggishly. Very slowly, his gaze traveled past his chest and neck, up from his chin to his eyes. Orca stroked the area around Niah’s cheek with the back of his hand. He felt like water-logged bread. The eyes that met his after a long while were brimming with tears.

“You said you were sad because of me. You said you hated me because of that.”

Niah twisted his face in distress. The weak shaking of his head fervently denied what he had just spat out. He wanted to say something, but his voice wouldn’t come out. His fingers, extended in hesitation, reached Orca. He hovered in front of him before softly gripping his sleeve. Even then, he trembled, not knowing what else to do. He didn’t want to cry, but tears kept welling up.

“Why are you crying? I didn’t scold you, and I didn’t punish you. …Did you start hating me again?”

It was understandable why the people of his family treated him like an oddity. It wasn’t normal to seek out a servant who had run away because of him, soothe him, and then make him cry again. The fact that he touched on his fragile parts while knowing full well he would cry was proof of that. If he had raised a cane, calling him impudent, he would have been called normal instead.

However, killing the goldfish was too easy. He could just make him stand for a night as a punishment. He didn’t even need a cane. He just didn’t feel like it. For the goldfish, this level was just right. Sometimes, even this was too much. Today was one of those days.

The goldfish withdrew the fingers he had been holding clumsily and covered his eyes. The head he had raised sunk back down. His whimpering grew raspy and metallic. Having tormented him to his heart’s content, his chest felt uneasy, fearing he might faint. It was time to really stop and take him to his room. It would be best to bathe him, warm him up, fill his stomach, and then either put him to sleep or soothe him. It would be troublesome if he were to fall ill for days like last time.

“Come here. Niah.”

Orca moved the hand that had been stroking his cheek to the nape of his neck. While he said that, it was he himself who leaned in. The command to “come here” had become a habit, slipping out of his mouth on its own. He narrowed the distance between himself and Niah. The distance, which hadn’t even been half a step apart to begin with, closed further until Niah’s head bumped against his chest. His hand slid down along his spine.

“I’m sorry…”

The pronunciation, forced out clearly as if pressing down, was damp. Orca made Niah look at him, intending to prevent the apology he hadn’t even asked for. With one hand, he fixed his waist, and with the other, he supported the back of his head. Niah’s fingers, which had been hovering in the air, groped and gripped him.

“That, that’s all a lie.”

“I know.”

“It’s the truth. Really, it’s a lie…”

“I know, I said,” Orca muffled his mouth roughly. If he listened to all of this, he would surely see him collapse. He lowered his knees. He intended to hug his thighs, hoist him onto his shoulder, and head down.

Niah was upset that the young master was brushing off his words. The tone, which felt gentle yet blunt, felt like he was reprimanding him. For a moment, his heels lifted and his body was pulled. Worried that he might be tossed away just like this, Niah pushed against Orca. But he couldn’t escape, and instead, it looked as if he were clinging to his chest. Only the tips of his toes touched the floor.

“U-uh… Young master. Young master, no. I don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

He struggled frantically, but he didn’t budge. Niah, knowing it would be of little use, patted Orca. Then, he quickly wrapped his arms around the back of his neck and hugged him tightly. He dangled there, almost as if he were about to sit down. If he put this much weight into it, he might be too heavy for him to lift.

He didn’t want to be kicked out. That was what he hated most. He would rather be in pain and bruised. It was better to be told mean things. Being told he was ugly, that he was hated, and becoming sad because of it—that was much, much better. Now that he thought about it, those things were nothing. Compared to being abandoned, a little bit of sorrow was bearable.

Orca froze in a hunched position, stopping all movement. The goldfish, who had hugged him with his meager strength, trembled. He was amazed by the fact that he could become this desperate. He was the one who had made him that way. He had driven him to a point of no return, where he couldn’t endure without clinging to him.

The line he had drawn had been broken long ago. He himself had kept the door open, waiting for this little predator to invade on its own. Using crude tactics to maintain the upper hand, he had kept the goldfish under his thumb. The goldfish, who had obediently knelt, leaned on him, begged, pleaded, feared, and embraced him. If he stroked him just once, he would grin mindlessly. He was blind, like a baby bird instinctively opening its mouth to crave food. It was terribly naive. A strange sense of excitement surged in him. His jaw tightened, and saliva pooled under his tongue.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t dislike you. It’s a lie. I’ll work harder. I’ll do better. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Young Master.”

Niah gripped Orca as if hanging from the edge of a cliff. He grabbed his shirt with all his might. Every word whispered was no different from a beggar’s plea. He begged like a prisoner who had been handed a death sentence.

“I hate it. I want to stay here… Please let me stay. Please. Please, Young Master. Young masteeeer…”

Orca buried his face in Niah in a posture where it was unclear if he was hugging him or being hugged. He buried his nose in the soft skin and pressed his lips against it. The faint scent of flowers spreading in the air stimulated his appetite. While he secretly wanted to taste him, he also wanted to sink his teeth into him and tear him to shreds. He breathed the goldfish in deep into his lungs. Forcing his fading reason to stand, he pulled himself together.

“Niah.”

Shrinking back at the sensation of floating, Niah burrowed into him. No matter how much he struggled, he was easily lifted. The murmur of “I don’t want to, I’m sorry” stacked up on Orca’s collarbone, adding a pitiful weight. Orca supported his buttocks with one arm and wrapped his other hand around his back.