ORCA 60

If he were to admit it, he actually did have a bit of a headache. His throat was sore, and his body felt heavy and sluggish. However, his mind was so distracted by other things that the pain had been pushed to the back of his mind. As Niah nibbled on his potato, he absentmindedly rubbed his lips. He felt his cheeks flush red at the slick, gliding sensation. It was because the medicine Orca had applied before he left the room was still there.

From yesterday until now, Niah had been in a daze, feeling utterly bewildered. He had washed in the young master’s bathroom, worn the young master’s shirt like pajamas, eaten the food given by the young master, slept in the young master’s bed, washed in the young master’s bathroom again, changed into clothes provided by the young master, and on top of all that, he had even been seen off by the young master who had applied medicine to his lips. Finally, he had even stroked his cheeks and various parts of his face. His mind was filled with nothing but “the young master.” It couldn’t be helped.

It wasn’t as if he had never experienced these things before, but for some reason, the feeling was strange. As promised, the young master hadn’t scolded him, nor had he kicked him out. He hadn’t received any other punishment either. In fact, he had treated him well. Because of that, he was incredibly happy. He wondered if he had gone mad with joy. The young master was exactly the same as always, yet only he seemed to have changed. The lamb cutlet, which should have been delicious, just felt hot. This was a very serious problem.

Niah, who had emptied his plate without even knowing how it tasted, trotted over to the garden. It was thanks to another garden servant who had informed him that today was the day they had decided to plant spring vegetables. He would have walked all the way to the greenhouse for nothing otherwise. It was suspicious that they were giving him kind tips instead of bullying him, but he didn’t ponder it too deeply. He tried to ignore Adrian, who occasionally shot sharp glares at him, and Pepe, who watched him as if monitoring him from afar. His head was already so full that he had no room to worry about anything else.

The servants were busy bringing over seedlings that needed to be planted at this time of year, such as cabbage, eggplant, and pumpkin. Niah also gathered his watering can and the pre-sown tomato seedlings and settled into one corner of the vegetable patch. Imagining the tomatoes becoming plump and red once the weather warmed up seemed to calm his restless heart. A wish unexpectedly brushed past him: he hoped the young master would stay at the mansion until then. He wanted to pick the prettiest, best-ripened one and bring it to him. It wasn’t necessarily that he wanted praise, but he thought he would be happy if he told him he had raised them well.

“What is that? …Grass?”

The surroundings became noisy. Niah, startled by the sudden massive presence, stumbled and sat down. His head snapped back. Orca, wearing a frown, helped Niah up so he could sit straight. He started to brush the dirt off his bottom, but then gave up and sat down beside him. He poked the seedling leaf once. Then, he lightly flicked the tip of the nose of the goldfish, who was looking at him with a bewildered expression.

“Why?”

Niah covered his nose and, for no particular reason, flushed to the color of a tomato. He had been ruminating on the young master the whole time, but now that he was right in front of him, he couldn’t think of a single thing. His heart thumped. Niah, quickly averting his eyes, rested his chin between his knees, which he had pulled up together. His fingers, resting on the tops of his feet, fiddled with his shoelaces. He didn’t know why he felt so shy and embarrassed. He just felt terribly ashamed.

“This… this is a tomato…”

His voice, fading into a whisper, pointed out the young master’s nonsense. Whatever else, a thing was what it was.

“I thought this was a tomato.”

Orca reached under Niah’s face—which was showing only the back of his head—and tapped his forehead. His tone of rebuttal was teasing. It was funny to him that the goldfish, who had been an orange when he sent him out, had turned into a tomato when he found him. The tips of the ears he was looking down at turned even redder. His fingers kept poking Niah, who had ripened early before the weather had even grown hot.

From one end of the garden to the other, every nook and cranny of the greenhouse, the west wing with the distillery, the basement dorms for the servants.

Only after retracing all the places he had been yesterday did the vegetable patch come to mind. Orca sought out the East Wing with a leisurely pace. Unlike the hurried, restless way he had rummaged through the place the previous evening, his movements were relaxed. His dress shoes stepped lightly along the path.

He walked as if for a stroll along the mansion’s long walls, keeping his hearing sharp. Soon, the voices of several people gathered together and rang in his ears. Seeing as they were talking about seedlings and seeds, it seemed he wouldn’t have to wander any further.

It seemed he had quite a knack for hide-and-seek. Not so much that he was quick to find things, but in the fact that he always eventually found them. He didn’t particularly want to use this talent, but it seemed he would need the goldfish’s cooperation to avoid it.

The premonition that he might be hidden somewhere like this every day wasn’t very pleasant. It would be easier to find him if he chattered away, but the goldfish mostly kept his mouth shut. On occasion, he would talk to himself about how something was cute, how something was pretty, or he would hum quietly.

Even that was usually cut off, so it wasn’t much help. When he had a rough idea of his location, he could find him through deduction, but when he had no information at all like right now, it was troublesome. Just yesterday, it had taken him quite a while to find him.

He really did wonder if he should just put him in a fishbowl and raise him. It was a huge hassle to let a goldfish no bigger than two finger-joints loose in the lake. Finding him and caring for him were both chores.

If he washed him and let him out, he would return looking disheveled; if he fed him until he was full and let him go, he would return hungry; if he was nearby, he was busy being self-conscious; if he wasn’t, he was busy being self-conscious of others; not only did he not listen, he didn’t even trust him, so he had to practically beg to ease his suspicion; and he had gone and chewed up his healed lips until they were torn again. To be doing all that while grinning mindlessly and acting shy—it was a sight to behold.

As Orca hurried his steps, lost in disorganized thoughts, he stopped abruptly. He sighed heavily before he could turn the corner. A dry face-wash followed as an extra. The servants’ voices were loudly buzzing only a few paces ahead. Niah’s voice was, as expected, not among them.

Orca steadied his breathing for a moment. He was ashamed of himself for venting such complaints over a mere servant. Even his nanny in his youth hadn’t pampered him like this. It seemed the truly ridiculous sight was not the goldfish, but himself.

However, he had no intention of stopping. It was too late now, and he didn’t feel like it anyway. He had already planned to do as he pleased until the end of summer. He was already too far gone to turn back on his decision. Whether the loss and memories of the goldfish would become his punishment, or whether they would arrive in some other form, he would only know after living through the time to come. He couldn’t possibly estimate it before letting it flow. So, the only thing he had to do right now was to feast to his heart’s content on the parts he wanted to taste.

He smoothed out his pathetic expression and set off again. With a calm demeanor, he rolled his eyes to find Niah. The pale orange hair caught his eye at once. It felt strange to him now that he hadn’t recognized it immediately. This, too, was pathetic of him.

The goldfish was crouched in one corner of the garden, busily tinkering with something. He was wiggling about diligently, unaware that he was approaching. His lips, puckered in deep concentration, stuck out like a bird’s beak. He was still clumsy at making tea, but his touch as he handled the mysterious weeds seemed experienced. Orca, without realizing it, silenced his footsteps and crept closer.

“What is that? …Grass?”

The goldfish couldn’t hide his panicked expression. For some reason, he flushed coral-colored. He quickly avoided the gaze he had met and buried his face in the dirt. As he played with his shoelaces and grew redder and redder, he felt shy all on his own. Soon, he opened his mouth to stammer. Seeing that clumsy appearance, the face he had managed to compose became pathetic all over again.

“This, this is a tomato…”

In the end, it was just like the goldfish to blush as red as a tomato and correct the name of the “grass.” The goldfish was skilled at distinguishing between things that looked similar, whether they were weeds or flowers. He even found himself wondering why things that all looked the same to him looked special and different only to the goldfish.

If he listened quietly from the side, he would tell him everything in excruciating detail—when to plant it, when it would bloom, how to manage it, how often and how much water to give it so it would grow well, and even what scent it would have when it was in full bloom.