ORCA 80

Orca maintained eye contact with the goldfish, who stood motionless, the entire time. It was commendable how obediently he followed, but he did not like the teary-eyed expression reflected in the mirror. He truly couldn’t understand a servant who disliked having clothes tailored for him. He had assumed anyone would normally be happy about it. The goldfish was always impossible to read. He was still confused about whether he was simple or complex. He wanted to pry and get it over with, but the agonizingly slow tailor was the problem.

“Are you almost done?”

“Not at all. I am finished. I only need to measure your waist. Now, arms up.”

At his urging, the tailor, waving his hands dismissively, abruptly hoisted Niah’s arms up. Niah hesitated, on the verge of backing away, but stopped and held his breath tightly. The man’s head brushed perilously close to his chest as his arms came forward as if to embrace him. His arms wrapped around his waist, came back to the front, and stopped near his navel.

The sensation of the hand holding the tape measure pressing against his stomach was unpleasant. Trusting the tailor’s word that he was done, he curled his toes and tensed up. Meanwhile, the man scribbled something on a piece of paper and took the tape measure that had been around his waist. He wanted to bolt away immediately, but he just stood there. He felt a very slight resentment toward the young master, who hadn’t told him how long he was supposed to stand still.

Orca, who had pulled the disgruntled Niah over and placed him behind himself, added a few more orders for the tailor.

“Five sets of the clothes I mentioned earlier, plus two sets of everyday wear and two more overcoats. For each season. Leave the designs to you—pick something suitable—but use only soft fabrics. Use high-quality materials, but choose types that aren’t flashy. Also, don’t use fabric that’s too thin for the summer clothes, and please keep the designs simple.”

“Yes. I will do so.”

The tailor scribbled it down frantically. Even as he wrote everything down, he couldn’t begin to comprehend this astronomical order. Since everything was to be made of high-quality fabric, the profit from just this servant’s clothes seemed likely to exceed half a year’s income for his shop.

“I would prefer it if it didn’t take too long. Is that possible?”

“Of course. I will bring them on the same day as the formal wear. I will also prepare them so you can try on the basted garments together. Is there anything else you need…?”

“That will be all, so you may leave now.”

Having packed his bags, the tailor bowed his head. He had a mountain of work, and time was tight. It was a volume of work that would require him to pull several all-nighters in a row to meet the deadline. He would likely need to hire a few more hands, even if it meant paying a bit more in wages. He hurried out of the dressing room. Once Orca had confirmed the door was closed, he turned back to check on Niah.

Niah, having barely escaped a situation he hated, frantically scrubbed the parts of his body he felt still had a lingering sensation. He tried rubbing his shoulders, wrists, and stomach, but when it didn’t get any better, he pinched his clothes to wipe them off. The rough fabric moved as if to tear at his delicate skin. However, far from improving, the unpleasant feeling spread throughout his entire body. It was itchy and disgusting, as if bugs were crawling over him. He rubbed himself raw until his skin turned red and stung. He felt that if he didn’t do at least this, the bugs that had swarmed over him would eat his entire body away. Niah gasped for air.

Orca’s expression crumbled mercilessly when he discovered this. He grabbed Niah’s two arms.

“Stop.”

He could see the red skin beneath the sleeves. They were inflamed as if burned, both arms in shambles. He felt a surge of irritation, wondering why on earth he was doing this. But the goldfish was in such a wretched state that he couldn’t unleash his anger as he pleased.

The series of moments that had occurred in the distillery overlapped with the situation before his eyes. Back then, he had found the cause easily, but he couldn’t do that now. To accept that he was doing this because of a tailor he must have seen for the first time today, he had no choice but to urge the goldfish to make him understand.

“Niah.”

“Sir….”

Niah, stripped of his freedom, struggled to catch his rapid breath as he looked up at him. The colorful, ragged gasps he had been letting out came to a sudden halt. Then, the question spilled out, vomited forth along with his labored breathing.

“D-do you think that man… knows I’m a goldfish?”

“What? What is that—”

“Do I smell fishy? Am I… right now….”

Niah huddled his head and sniffed himself. He didn’t have the luxury of caring about Orca’s distorted expression.

“I’m not sure…. Do I… smell fishy? Would he know too?”

“…Niah. Stop it and look at me.”

“What if he finds out later and gets really angry? Then, like, I….”

“That won’t happen. Look at me.”

“Is it obvious that I’m a goldfish…?”

The eyes that met his were brimming with tears. His lips, bitten by his upper teeth, trembled. As the overflowing tears finally fell in torrents, his head bowed back down. Orca released the arms he had been holding. He prevented him from rubbing his eyes right away. He gladly agreed with his lie—that he wasn’t crying—as if he knew, and cupped his cheeks, stroking the area around his eyes. The eyelashes densely packed on his closed eyelids were damp. He stroked over them gently. His breathing was still labored, and his heart was pounding loudly. Hesitant hands reached up to cling to him.

What should he say? Should he say he didn’t smell fishy? Should he say that being a goldfish wasn’t obvious? What on earth was he supposed to say?

Even though he wanted to understand his heart and soothe him, it didn’t go well. It was a terror and a memory of immeasurable depth and weight. At first, he had only thought it was simple. He had thought it was easy and simple enough to be manipulated as he pleased.

Then, it gradually became difficult, and in the end, it fell into a labyrinth. Wandering through it, he would occasionally find the right answer, but the problem would lead to the next, and then the next, and he could never escape. He repeated the cycle of solving an easy problem, feeling arrogant, and then falling into despair before a difficult one.

He would do anything he was told with just a word, but he wouldn’t provide a single proper answer to his questions. Since the goldfish was full of things he didn’t even know himself, the things he couldn’t understand only continued to grow. Since he didn’t even tell him what he did know, the things he didn’t know only multiplied over and over; they never decreased.

If he couldn’t know anyway, he figured it might be better not to ask. He reduced the questions that would put him in a difficult spot and spent more time watching him closely. He opened his ears and focused on every sound. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he heard even the sound of toes wiggling inside his shoes.

It was quite strange to examine someone in such detail and listen to them so thoroughly. Before he knew it, he had become absorbed in things he had previously only thought of as nuisances. When he discovered that about himself, he sometimes felt pathetic. But he couldn’t stop. He was addicted to an unidentifiable emotion. He was being consumed, suffocating.

“Niah. Niah….”

Even so, I know nothing about you.

It was as if he had accidentally discovered a puzzle piece the goldfish had lost. The spot that had been empty all this time was finally filled. He had completed the puzzle with the pieces he had found again, but they didn’t mesh harmoniously. They were already old and faded, not matching what he had originally possessed. He even wondered if it would have been better when it was lost.

He decided to pull out the faded pieces, burn them away, and fill the empty space with something else. He sprinkled soil, planted seeds, watered them, and grew flowers. He made trees grow. He let them bask in the sunlight and feel the breeze. He coaxed and cultivated them with as much care as if the spot had been left empty for that purpose from the start. He filled it without a single gap, as if it had been this full from the beginning. He stuffed a garden into one side, a forest and a greenhouse into the other, and in the space that still wasn’t enough, he added himself. He folded himself up and stuffed himself in.

“Where else?”

“Um… my ankles….”

Niah, perched on the vanity, dangled his legs. Orca, standing pressed close, took the two ankles hidden beneath white socks and stroked them as much as he wanted. They fit into one hand with room to spare, so he stroked them very gently so as not to break them. The touch, circling the ankles, was tender. Niah, giggling softly as if ticklish, slumped against his chest. A watery laugh escaped his lips. His steady breathing gradually slowed, turning even.

“Where else.”

“Um… my back….”

Orca stroked down along his spine as if patting him. Niah didn’t tell him that the unpleasant sensation had disappeared and pampered himself to his heart’s content. It weighed on his heart to lie, but he hoped these moments would continue on. Orca knew but let himself be deceived. Even when he asked to be touched again in places he had already stroked, he pretended not to know and complied. His ankles were the second time, and his back was already the third.