CAR 7

As he tumbled across the old wooden floor, Dennis stared blankly up at Vittorio. His vision, which had momentarily blurred, gradually cleared. Vittorio sometimes used a very friendly and affectionate tone, but his expression was usually merciless.

Even now, he could not read his face. Judging by his unwavering eyes, he was lacking something human. Noble things like compassion, conscience, and morality…

His testimony was entirely false. It was Vittorio who had been abusing a fellow student named Viollet Dey, and Dennis had not fucked Eric.

Therefore, it was also doubtful whether Viollet had thrown himself to his death. The one who had pushed Viollet was probably…

The tip of Vittorio’s foot crossed Dennis’s torso.

The tip of his foot, elegantly tracing past his shoulder, collarbone, abdomen, and pubic bone, was like a pointe. With his instep fully stretched, he stepped carelessly on Dennis’s torso as if it were the ground. Dennis’s stomach churned unpleasantly. At that moment, Vittorio began to press down firmly on Dennis’s crotch.

The sole of his bare foot touched Dennis’s groin. Vittorio, as befitting a dancer, used his feet with complete freedom. The arch of Vittorio’s foot pressed down on Dennis’s genitals. He pressed so hard it felt as if the space between his legs would burst.

The movement of the rough sole of his foot rubbing against his thin pants was explicit. Dennis, who had barely managed to stand up, grabbed Vittorio’s knee and spat out a curse.

“Fuck, you, what the hell… are you doing…!”

“I’ve injured my ankle. Rehabilitation is urgent.”

Indeed, Vittorio had a bandage wrapped around his ankle. For a moment, his strength drained from his body as Vittorio’s ankle and Eric’s ankle overlapped in his mind. But his and Eric’s bodies were actually completely different. If Eric had the limber and edgy body of a boyish dancer, Vittorio…

His pointed knee suddenly struck Dennis in the face. Dennis, clutching his nose, staggered and fell back down. His two legs, so sinewy and defined down to the finest muscles, were no different from weapons. Dennis’s lower face quickly became damp.

In the first place, the act of trampling all over an innocent teacher’s torso and rubbing the tip of one’s foot on his crotch could not be considered rehabilitation. Rather than point that out, he just wanted to get out of this place.

But humiliatingly, Dennis’s own body was gradually responding to the tip of Vittorio’s foot. Vittorio, finding it amusing, diligently stepped on and pressed down on Dennis’s groin. Vittorio, who was indifferently looking down at the bulge in his fly, gradually slowed the movement of his foot.

“I was quite looking forward to it, hearing that some sewer rat had come to rummage through my school barefoot…”

“…”

“You’re just pathetic.”

Vittorio, who had roughly swept back his bangs, muttered something while looking into the air. He then let his shorts hang on his hips. Vittorio, who had taken out his penis from inside his short pants, stared at Dennis without a word.

Dennis looked up at him with a look of horror. His situation now was not much different from Viollet’s in the nurse’s office. In fact, it was even more humiliating. It was not an act of cruelty between fellow students, but torture inflicted by a student on a teacher…

Dennis, who had averted his gaze from Vittorio’s intimidating penis, clenched his fists. He was determined to avoid being penetrated from behind, even if it meant biting his ankle.

It was only a moment before Dennis’s abdomen became damp.

With a sour and familiar smell, his abdomen and lower body were instantly soaked. Dennis could not even lift his head to figure out what had been sprayed on him.

Vittorio Bonaparte was pissing on him. A long stream flowed between Dennis’s legs.

“It suits you.”

Vittorio, who had adjusted his pants, finally smiled. He even performed a curtsy like a little girl, as if to mock Dennis.

🩰

Yan, noticing that Dennis Kahler had left his room empty for the entire evening, began to wander the school grounds aimlessly. He was a more respected teacher than he looked. Yan hastily exited the main building, giving cursory acknowledgements to the students who greeted him with unusual deference.

Dennis was a fearless parachute appointment who had dropped in at the most chaotic time.

He acted aloof as if he had backing, but in Yan’s eyes, he was nothing more than a pitiful duckling who hadn’t realized he was a disposable card.

Did he know? That this was a place where dozens of students went missing each year, and that sometimes even teachers disappeared without a trace due to outside forces.

Yan let out a faint sneer and pointlessly searched through some innocent bushes. A light rain was falling. The school grounds, heavy with moisture, quickly grew quiet. Yan, who had been staring blankly at the path leading to the annex, reluctantly started walking in that direction, though he didn’t want to.

The person Yan encountered was Vittorio. The most unwelcome person on campus. Just having left the annex, he was walking toward him menacingly, parting even the raindrops. His blond hair, soaked with rain and hanging like skeins of yarn, caught the eye. He was expressionless as always, but he also seemed inwardly excited, like a child.

Regardless of whether Yan blocked his path, Vittorio simply tried to walk past him. Yan Richter had no choice but to call out and stop him.

“Vittorio.”

“Move.”

“Why are you coming out of the annex? Did you eat?”

The question was moot; the annex was clearly Vittorio’s territory. He was like a cunning spider. Up close, Vittorio’s eyes looked languid, as if he had just finished a fantastic meal. Don’t tell me… Yan glared at him.

Vittorio suddenly placed a hand on the crown of Yan’s head. He smiled gently, like a believer bestowing mercy. Gesturing with his head toward the back, Vittorio graciously leaked information about ‘him’.

“He resisted more than I thought.”

“You rotten bastard with no respect for your elders…”

“The sound he made was a masterpiece, like a pig being slaughtered.”

“…”

“If I were you, I’d go ‘clean up’ instead of glaring at me, Richter.”

Yan, who had forcefully shoved Vittorio’s shoulder, walked past him. He shouldn’t have called Dennis Kahler to the nurse’s office in the first place. If only he hadn’t caught Vittorio’s eye then…

The closer he got to the annex, the more a fishy smell stung his nose. Sure enough, near the bushes at the entrance, the body of someone with a smashed head was laid out neatly. Yan let out a small sigh. The closer he got to it, the more his fingertips gradually stiffened.

Yan bent his knees and slowly examined the body.

It wasn’t Dennis Kahler.

Relieved, Yan looked up at the annex building. In the reclusive building, only Vittorio’s practice room had all its windows thrown open. Yan, who had taken off his coat and laid it over Viollet Dey’s body, stepped inside the annex.

This was a building that housed two basements and an incineration facility, a shady establishment capable of concealing any incident so that it would never become public.

A sharp sense of anxiety crept over him as he got closer to the fourth floor. Yan knew full well in what ways Vittorio would tear a person apart. He might have even half-dissected Dennis…

Yan, who had thoroughly messed up his bangs, quickened his pace. The practice room door was half open.

Dennis Kahler was lying at an angle, leaning his upper body against the wall. The space between his legs was completely soaked. He didn’t know what kind of expression to make toward him, a fellow teacher, a peer, and a man not so different from Yan himself when he had first arrived here.

As Yan tried to approach him, Dennis Kahler reached out his hand and simply blocked his path. His face, as he shook his head, looked as if he had lost more than half his wits. Dennis’s face was filled to the brim with humiliation, as if he had truly been raped.

Ah, damn you, Vittorio.

You always beat me to it.

🩰

It was the day of the class observation.

Dennis, just rescued from a nightmare, habitually fumbled between his legs. Ever since ‘that incident,’ Dennis had been plagued by unpleasant dreams of wetting the bed like a little boy.

Dennis, who had thrown off all his sweat-soaked pajamas, examined his neck in front of the mirror. His jaw, neck, and the nape of his neck were, dammit, all bruised. Just thinking of Vittorio Bonaparte’s dog-like grip made him feel short of breath.

Fortunately, he had not run into Vittorio for a whole week. He had heard that, befitting the ‘Prince of Volée,’ he was blithely ignoring even the required subjects and focusing solely on practice and rehabilitation.

But that too was just a rumor; Vittorio’s whereabouts were always shrouded in mist and felt unclear. He had no particular friendships to speak of, and everything about him was nothing more than the speculation of his lackeys.

That dog-like Vittorio, who deserved to be chewed up and swallowed…

The pressure of his toes that came at him with the force to crush his testicles, the merciless blue eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching, captivated by a lukewarm pleasure.

It felt as if the humiliation of that night was lodged not in his brain but in his stomach. Dennis, placing a hand on his waist, let out a long sigh. A faint sense of discomfort swirled along his insides.

Dennis deliberately chose and put on a high-collared shirt. After putting on even his father’s watch, which he had obtained only after begging Marquis Quachi like a dog, Dennis, having tidied up his appearance as neatly as possible, left the room.

The formal observation class was a traditional class in which all the teachers at the school participated, and it was also the occasion where the étoile for the spring regular performance would be announced.

By now, Eric’s death had dissipated like water vapor, and on the bulletin board that had mourned him, cards commemorating Viollet, who had supposedly thrown himself to his death in despair over his talent, were disgustingly plastered all over.

Dennis stopped in front of it and read them one by one. Among them, there was even someone who had misspelled Viollet’s name. The handwriting looked as if it had been hastily scrawled, and the messages were overly conventional.

He thought he finally understood. They didn’t think much of a classmate’s death.

Dennis wanted to grab anyone and ask them if they had all completely forgotten Eric, what had become of Viollet’s body, and why they were so nonchalant about the death of a classmate who had been in the same class just a few hours ago.

The one who grabbed the shoulder of Dennis, who was lingering in front of the bulletin board, was Yan.

Yan, with his dark brown hair neatly swept back, was dressed more formally than usual. Dennis, too, had worn his best clothes, but he was on the plain side compared to him. Yan, who had looked Dennis up and down, pursed his lips and smiled.

“You’re well dressed. The principal is particularly sensitive about these things.”

“You look splendid as well, teacher.”

Yan smiled lightly, as if embarrassed. He hummed a tune and gestured with his chin toward the end of the hallway. As soon as Dennis moved away from the bulletin board, Yan, staring straight ahead, struck up a conversation.

“Keep your mourning brief and to yourself.”

“Pardon?”

“If you stand in front of there for so long… it makes you look like the culprit, Mr. Kahler, don’t you think?”

“The culprit? What are you talking about…”

“There were a few students who witnessed you and Viollet Dey having a discussion ‘outside of class hours.’”

“…”

“You already have all the qualities of a suspect, so don’t do anything to stand out.”