Letting Hades go without killing him had been the right call.

If he had killed him on the spot, there would have been no way to dispose of the body without Jeheon Han knowing.

Above all, the story would be that he “went to deliver something at Teresa’s request” and then vanished, so there would be no way to avoid a police dragnet.

“I chose the best option.”

But choosing the best you can doesn’t guarantee the best result.

“Hades noticed Jeheon Han exists… He’ll start digging soon. That’s the kind of person he is.”

Caesar O’n couldn’t bring himself to step away from the entryway; he stood frozen with the door shut behind him. No plan came to mind for how to contain this.

“…”

In that moment, Jeheon Han poked his head out past the inner door. Looking back and forth between the box sprawled in the entry and Caesar, he asked:

“Who was it that made such a racket? Was it someone weird?”

When Caesar only stared back, speechless and dazed, Jeheon came closer and glared at the closed door as if on guard.

“What, was it actually someone weird? Did he try to come in and you shoved him out?”

“…”

“Did you call the police?”

Jeheon came close and grabbed Caesar’s wrist. Caesar covered Jeheon’s hand with his other hand and, still in a daze, kept thinking.

“Will that bastard try to come at Jeheon by seducing him again this time?”

That much, honestly, was bearable.

Even if Jeheon went to another man, it wouldn’t mean he would die. Caesar was prepared to look the other way even if Jeheon, unable to resist a brief temptation, cheated.

The problem was if Jeheon fell for him completely.

“…Hades has narcissistic personality disorder.”

Which is why he sees every being but himself as a means. He’s easy to like thanks to the pleasant mood he creates, but peel him open and he isn’t a good human at all.

“He’s the farthest thing from clean, devoted love. All he ever thinks about is how to use the other side, never what he himself can give.”

Hades would surely try to turn Jeheon into his toy. Even if that meant stabbing Jeheon’s trauma with an awl, purely for his own gain and amusement…

“Caesar, are you listening to me?”

His mind, which had wandered for a moment, came back.

When Caesar lifted his eyes again to Jeheon, Jeheon spoke to him with a look like this was absurd.

“I asked if you called the police. Should I call now?”

“No… It’s not something we need to call the police about.”

Instead of explaining, he pulled Jeheon close and held him. Feeling a body that wasn’t soft but solid, well-boned, he finally felt his breath return.

“He resents me, so why are the arrows pointing at Heon again…”

He’d wanted him to live a life far away from danger—how had it come to this?

At this rate, wasn’t he himself becoming the risk factor intruding on the peaceful life of the human named Jeheon Han?

As Caesar let out a shallow sigh at the hopelessness of it, Jeheon rapped him lightly in the side in exasperation and said:

“Stop thinking.”

Anyway, Caesar, this bastard, thinks too much about useless things.

“Does thinking a lot make the situation snap into shape?”

I looked at him, stung enough that the skin under my eyes felt hot, and this guy still couldn’t get a word out like “Call the cops for me,” or “Go out there and deal with that jerk for me.”

“What’s the use of having a partner who fights well? What’s the use of being a fox with clever tricks if, when it counts, you can’t even reach out and ask me to help?”

What does he even think I am? Surely he doesn’t think I’m some princess he has to protect.

I swallowed a sigh and carefully pushed Caesar away.

“Stop thinking.”

“…”

“You opened the door without thinking and it turned out to be some weirdo, so you got flustered. Don’t get too tense—call the security company or go outside and chase him off. Standing here spacing out isn’t going to make the situation fix itself.”

I asked the guy who was still frozen with his mouth shut:

“Should I go out and shout at him or something?”

If it was someone dangerous, it would be better for me to go than for this big gentle giant. If he was still planted out in the yard, I’d just boot him and chase him off.

I had just started toward the doorknob with that in mind when Caesar suddenly scooped me up by the waist.

“Whoa.”

“You can’t go out.”

Then, carrying me, he strode straight to the living room. He was so rattled that even as dirty footprints from his indoor slippers—dirtied when he’d been outside—spotted the floor, he didn’t care.

“The more dangerous the guy, the more it’s my job to step in. What, are you going to keep an athlete around just to use him as a trophy?”

I was the one who was nonchalant, but Caesar shook his head, cold sweat beading. Only after he sat me down on the sofa did he speak like someone who had come to.

“Don’t go out. Absolutely not.”

“Why? If you don’t want to call the cops, then at least drive him off. What if we leave him and he comes in through the storage door or breaks a window?”

Caesar seemed about to sink down beside me, then clutched me in both arms, like a man grabbing a lifeline.

I was about to tell him again to cut out the frustrating behavior and speak clearly, when Caesar stared at me with blown pupils and muttered:

“What if you go out and he remembers your face? What if he recognizes you and shows up at your workplace later? If you get even a hair hurt, I’ll honestly die.”

“Hang on, Caesar.”

“No. Don’t talk to him, don’t even look at him. If someone’s going to die I’ll blow his brains out with a gun; I’m not letting you step in, not a chance.”

“Calm d—”

“If I’d known you’d worry, I wouldn’t have shoved him out—I would’ve just shot him dead.”

“…Even in America, you know you need at least a warning shot if you want a self-defense claim, right?”

I started soothing him, patting the guy who was muttering nonstop, “If you get hurt, I die.”

“Honestly…”

At this rate, the conversation would never end.

His runaway brain had gone missing in action.

I snapped my fingers to focus him and asked, casual as anything:

“So who tried to come in? A fan? Or a fanatic?”

At my offhand question, Caesar went still.

He stared at my face for a moment, then answered in a voice of resignation:

“Family I don’t get along with…”

His words trailed off; at an awkward moment he lifted a hand and touched his neck.

“…”

Seeing that, I unconsciously raised my hand and rubbed my left eye. There was a faint ache, or so it felt. Still rubbing my left eye with the back of my hand, I asked:

“Have you ever reported it?”

“We covered it up so it wouldn’t cause problems for the family business.”

“…Where was it?”

I asked, but I already knew the answer. The moment he thought of the person, his hand had gone to his neck.

“The neck.”

Back came the expected reply.

I clicked my tongue in disgust.

“Were you drowsy?”

“Yes. With both hands.”

…A bastard like that belongs in a cell.

I screwed up my face, then let out a long sigh.

Then I put on the same expression as always, as if nothing had happened.

“I worked you too hard yesterday, so I’m about to go hypoglycemic.”

At a time like this, it’s wise not to dig. Poking at a painful memory only hurts… And once you let a weak spot out of your mouth, later you always end up thinking, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Let’s not ask for specifics.”

We’re going to part ways someday anyway; there’s no good in making him feel indebted to me.

“If I stay like this, I’m going to end up eating you.”

“I’d be kind of honored.”

“Are you out of your mind.”

My eye still throbbed faintly, but thankfully it was bearable.

Acting like nothing was wrong, I asked Caesar lightly:

“Is there something quick we can make?”

“I prepped shakshuka. We just have to put it in the oven and bake it, so give me a minute.”

“Ah, eggs in hell. That’s good… Do you need me to help with anything?”

“Rest. It’s fine.”

“I’m bored. I’ll at least chop something.”

“Then can you help me taste as I go?”

“Are you planning to have me help with just that every time?”

Thankfully, once I started in with trivial chatter, the mood quickly improved.

Watching Caesar come back to life as he moved about, I suddenly muttered under my breath:

“The one that ought to go to hell isn’t the eggs.”

How are bastards like that alive and walking around in the real world?

Pouting my lower lip, I leaned against the counter and grumbled:

“Go to the mountains, get caught in a snare, and die.”

In that moment, I thought I heard laughter behind me.

…I really said it quietly. He didn’t hear, did he?

Chapter 39

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