CAR 2

The gatekeeper replied indifferently. Dennis’s face crumpled. Marquis Quachi also knew very little about the school. That meant that even if he were to murder Vittorio, he would have to continue living the life of a teacher on the surface until autumn.

Clutching his throbbing forehead, Dennis shook his head.

“Never mind, just continue guiding me.”

The hallway was silent. It was midnight on a Sunday, and the semester had apparently started just a fortnight ago. Dennis stared intently at the black swans carved into various spots on the hallway’s stone walls. It was the symbol of the Volè School of Dance for men.

The room he would be staying in was on the fourth floor. There wasn’t a separate dormitory for faculty members; instead, they shared a floor with the students. He would have to teach literature during the day and, in a way, take on the role of a proctor at night.

The gatekeeper, who had guided Dennis to his room, gave a perfunctory bow. It was then.

“Hey, look at that. That old geezer, maybe he’s trying to get some fucking in for the holiday…”

“Who’s that with him?”

Dennis turned his head toward the source of the whispers. The gatekeeper, his face flushed red, hastily left without even hearing Dennis’s words of thanks. Left alone in the hallway, Dennis glared for a long time at the wall beyond which they had disappeared.

Irreverent students exist everywhere. He didn’t know how Marquis Quachi had forged his papers, but in truth, Dennis was the same age as the students here. The looks he’d get as a young teacher who had burst in mid-semester would surely not be kind. For a while, at least…

He was just grabbing the doorknob of his assigned room.

“Nothing’s going right.”

The door wouldn’t open. Dennis kicked the doorknob in frustration. In this building, which was as complex as a mental hospital with its similar-looking floors, Dennis knew nothing except the location of his own room.

He had just kicked the door one more time. Coincidentally, a boy popped out from the room diagonally across. He glanced back and forth between the door and Dennis’s ankle.

“Who…?”

“I’m sorry for the disturbance. The door is locked.”

“Ah, if you’re the owner of that room… are you perhaps the new teacher who was just appointed?”

Teacher… It was just a funny title. But Dennis Kahler was now, in a flash, these children’s teacher.

“I’m Kahler.”

“I’m…”

Even without him revealing his identity, it was plain to see. The soft, platinum-blond hair that seemed to have melted sunlight, and the piercing blue eyes that looked almost white, were unmistakably Vittorio. He had the build of a boy at first glance, but he was clearly a young man.

Vittorio, Vittorio. Vittorio Bonaparte…

He was lucky. To meet Vittorio as soon as he arrived.

“If you don’t mind, could you guide me to the faculty office? It seems there’s been a mistake.”

“Yes, I can do that. Just a moment…”

The blond Vittorio, after gesturing to someone inside his room, stepped out completely. He had a very slender build.

A beautiful body, thin and straight, as if born for dance.

He cautiously moved ahead of Dennis. Giving a short laugh as if embarrassed, he led Dennis to the stairs. Dennis gazed down at his ankle.

Had someone broken it on purpose, or had he ruined it himself?

‘This is the perfect time for you, Kahler. That bastard has injured his ankle. Do you know what an injury means to a dancer?’

‘I do not. I am a layman when it comes to the arts.’

‘You damn wolf… It will be at least a year until he’s fully recovered. The brat will be excluded from all practice sessions…’

The advice that followed was all just noise.

This was all Dennis remembered. Vittorio Bonaparte was a beautiful blond, had an unforgettable impression, and had pitifully injured his ankle.

Dennis watched the thin boy who occasionally looked back at him. When Vittorio’s eyes met his, his neck turned red. It wasn’t just his neck. His face was flushed reddish all over.

Well, look at this…

If you lock up vigorous young men in a closed-off and strict boarding school, separated from the city center, someone is bound to become an object for sexual release, regardless of personal taste or preference. Especially if he looked this much like a girl… Dennis looked at Vittorio’s blotchy nape and smiled to himself.

Using the king’s nephew as a toilet. The students here were no pushovers either.

“This is the faculty office. Usually, the teacher on duty is here…”

“The lights are off.”

“Ah, just a moment.”

Vittorio, who had given Dennis a harmless smile, pushed open the faculty office door. The inside was like a honeycomb. It was divided into sections, so the structure wasn’t clearly visible.

Vittorio pushed his upper body through the crack in the door and called out for another teacher. Is anyone here? The faculty office gave no response.

“Come on in and wait.”

“Thank you for your help.”

A deserted hallway, a dark faculty office, the pitiful Vittorio with a broken leg, and… a stranger.

What Dennis had to do here was clear. He had no intention of just following Vittorio’s tail until autumn.

Dennis held his breath and followed Vittorio, navigating through the faculty office.

“Teacher.”

“Ah.”

What Vittorio pointed to was the teacher roster on the wall. Vittorio’s room number was completely different from the one the gatekeeper had shown him. Dennis, after a moment of silence, stared at it intently.

“It seems there was a mistake. I’m sorry for asking you to guide me at such a late hour.”

“It’s no problem. I had to stop by the practice room anyway.”

“The practice room?”

A brief silence fell between them. Vittorio’s face darkened in an instant. It didn’t take long for Vittorio to hide his ankle behind him and trail off.

“I left something behind. I should have gotten it earlier…”

“I hear the classes are quite harsh.”

“It wasn’t injured during class, but it’s just as you’ve heard. We study academics for a very short time in the morning, and then we dance all day.”

Dennis, nodding in response, looked at the daily schedule next to the roster. Indeed, general academics had a small place. There was group dance and solo dance, private lessons and practice… Dennis clicked his tongue without realizing it.

Dennis suddenly looked at Vittorio beside him. He had a similar build to his own. His bones themselves were thin, and his neck was straight like a girl’s. Belying his words that he had to go to the practice room, he was staring at the side of Dennis’s face for a long time as he read the schedule. When their gazes met, his with Dennis’s green eyes, he predictably turned his head away first.

So he has a habit of fidgeting with his fingertips. The hangnails were noticeable. Dennis suddenly grabbed his chin. He tried to make it look as impulsive as possible.

“Teacher…?”

“Shh.”

Dennis took Vittorio’s white, straight index finger without permission. Pulling his hand, Dennis made it press firmly against his own lips and smiled in a way that was uncharacteristic of him. Vittorio, who had been staring blankly at the shadow cast by Dennis’s long eyelashes, turned his head. It was because Dennis had lightly bitten the tip of his prospective student’s finger. Dennis slowly pushed Vittorio toward the wall.

“I, I… didn’t come here for this.”

“Neither did I.”

“Then, why…”

Dennis swallowed his finger. His thick tongue began to lick the fingerprint. Lightly sucking on the restless knuckle, Dennis studied Vittorio’s face. Up close, he had faint freckles.

When he sucked the finger deep enough to touch the back of his throat, Vittorio’s small body flapped. He was a truly pitiable figure. Dennis habitually pushed his knee between Vittorio’s legs.

He spat out Vittorio’s finger. Vittorio, who was staring blankly at his index finger glistening with saliva, also had very thick eyelashes. Wiping his mouth, which had worked hard sucking and licking a stranger’s finger, Dennis checked Vittorio’s face once more.

Dennis lifted Vittorio’s chin and slowly swept his thumb from his temple down to his cheek.

“…I have a fiancée. Back home…”

“Is that so? I’m envious.”

In that moment, Dennis was truly envious of his life, a life where he could have a fiancée. A life where one could be born as the king’s nephew, forsake all duties, and loftily immerse oneself only in art…

No matter how fierce the daily routine here was on the surface, an injured ankle was likely the greatest crisis of his life.

Dennis leaned his upper body toward Vittorio. One hand was on the crown of Vittorio’s head, and the other gripped his cheek. The moment their eyes met, this adorable boy reflexively closed his eyes. For a second, Dennis felt a weightiness between his legs.

But Dennis Kahler was not such a fool as to get lost in lust and miss his chance. A better stage than this would not be set.

It was in an instant that Dennis mercilessly twisted Vittorio’s neck. The boy’s shadow bent grotesquely. As he felt Vittorio’s limp lower body against his knee, he took a step back.

Click.

The sound of a camera shutter came from somewhere. Dennis slowly turned around. Click. Damn, another one… Curses, this time his face had been photographed. He left the collapsed Vittorio with his broken neck as he was and ran out of the faculty office.

But the hallway was still silent and dark, and only the high ceiling and the ominous black swan crest looked down on Dennis. The warmth of Vittorio that had remained in his grasp had long since dried up and gone cold.

The next day, a notice was posted on the hallway bulletin board, mourning a certain pure and beautiful young dancer. Dennis, pushing through a group of students to check it, froze.

[In memory of our promising and diligent Eric.]

The person Dennis had murdered was not Vittorio.

🩰

The first thing Dennis Kahler ever twisted was the neck of a mynah bird. Next was some kind of rodent, then three traitors Marquis Quachi had carefully selected while grinding his teeth… and then…