CAR 25

Dennis, who had pointed out the form of address, shoved him away brusquely. Thomer, who had been staring blankly at the materials in Dennis’s arms, readjusted his glasses for a moment. His gaze was blurry, unlike usual.

“Right… I see you haven’t heard the news.”

“…I am uncomfortable with you. Even facing you like this right now, it’s utterly repulsive.”

“Listen carefully.”

Thomer leaned his head towards Dennis. His breath was cold. Thomer’s untied, cumbersome hair brushed against Dennis’s cheek. He was thoroughly covered in the air from outside the school.

“The ship that was carrying Vittorio, was shipwrecked.”

“…”

“The ship, it sank.”

Thomer, now completely away from Dennis, roughly wiped his face. He was looking at the end of the hallway.

Dennis couldn’t say anything in response. Vittorio Bonaparte was dead? This futilely? It was a sentence where nothing made proper sense.

“The school will soon be in an uproar. That bastard was the cornerstone of Volle… Yan will run even more rampant.”

“…Yan, why?”

“Do you ask because you don’t know? The only person who can control Yan Richter is Vittorio. The only one that bastard was wary of, was Bonaparte…”

“…”

“Now there’s nothing holding him back.”

Thomer slumped down on the windowsill. Dennis almost dropped the materials. A lowerclassman standing a few steps away looked back and forth between Dennis and Thomer with anxious eyes.

Dennis gave him a faint smile, as if nothing was wrong. Thomer, who had been staring blankly at that calculated and artificial face, burst out with a short laugh.

“Perhaps the true winner is you.”

“…Explain it so I can understand.”

“Teacher Kahler, you’ve escaped from the whole situation without lifting a finger.”

“…”

“On the other hand, I’m now, completely…”

Thomer, staggering to his feet, walked to the other end of the hallway without a farewell. Dennis remained fixed to the spot for a long while even after he had completely disappeared.

It felt unreal. To Dennis, Vittorio was a great evil, a solid wall, and a disaster that violated his soul without any motive. But as is the case with all calamities, his exit was also extremely futile and shabby.

“Teacher Kahler, the curtain will be rising soon, so… we must hurry.”

“Ah.”

Dennis, giving the lowerclassmen an awkward smile, forced his feet, which had been stuck to the ground, to move. Eric’s bursts of laughter followed Dennis’s every step. It stepped on the crown of Dennis’s head and spun, it crawled up the wall, and finally, it mocked Dennis by clapping with the soles of its feet.

Dennis suddenly spoke to the students leading the way.

“They say Vittorio is dead.”

“…Pardon?”

“Vittorio Bonaparte…”

The students exchanged glances among themselves, as if they had heard the strangest thing. Thomer had no reason to lie. If so, then, really…

“He’s dead.”

Dennis dropped the box of materials he was holding. A couple of lowerclassmen, who had approached him nonchalantly, picked up the box. Their eyes were filled with disbelief. Leaving Dennis alone in the hallway, they hurried onto the stage.

🩰

Dennis, who had gone up to the balcony seats, looked down at the VIP section. Among them, coincidentally, were a few familiar faces. To think that in a school kept alive solely by the influence of the royalist faction, there were bigwigs one would expect to see only at Quachi’s salon. They must have come to see Vittorio Bonaparte.

And for good reason. Everything about Vittorio was top secret. He was the king’s most cherished nephew. He learned to dance from birth, and besides being male, he was veiled behind a heavy curtain. Even the fact that he was blond was information Quachi had obtained with difficulty after selling off two horses.

Dennis, who had rested his chin on the balcony railing, stared blankly at the stage. It would soon be Vittorio’s turn.

He did not participate in trivial corps de ballet. Men with perfectly woven, beautiful bodies thrashed their arms and legs, showing off their technique. Jeté, grand jeté… manège turn. When the tips of their feet struck the stage, Dennis’s heart leaped up as well.

Vittorio, who used to leap high like a furious stallion… was dead.

Dennis mulled over Thomer’s warning once again. At the end of their one-sided conversation, he had nervously poked Dennis in the chest and gestured with his chin towards the window. It was a meaningful piece of advice that Dennis, too, should mix in with the crowd when the VIPs left the island after the regular performance.

Dennis, too, rarely agreed with Thomer. His short and gruesome mission at Volle had come to an end just like this.

The young man who had seized the second-in-command position in place of Laurent Lemaître sprinted across the stage as if leaping. He contorted his body ostentatiously, as if he were a clown. Dennis shook his head without realizing it. His dancing was inferior not only to Vittorio’s but also to Laurent’s.

Dennis clenched his fists. That was not ballet. If the dancer stirring up the stage were Vittorio…

All strength drained from Dennis’s body. A long trail of sweat ran down his back. Now, he had no choice but to admit it.

Dennis Kahler, revered the étoile of Volle.

As soon as he admitted that fact, he felt like a madman. What kind of person was Vittorio? He was an oppressive tyrant who had pissed on him, mocked his orifice with two fingers, and ejaculated on his chest and the top of his foot without hesitation.

Vittorio, who was always faithfully in heat for Dennis, was like a beast in its breeding season. Even now, it felt as if a giant, dark phallus would stab Dennis if he turned his back.

Crucially, he was a murderer. He had struck Laurent Lemaître’s neck with such a dull blade. And then the handle of the axe…

Ah. A bastard who deserved to die.

That was the conclusion Dennis had reached.

The new second-in-command’s dance also came to an end. The crown of Guettée’s head, who had received the news from a stagehand, looked vaguely dumbfounded. The news of Vittorio’s death was sweeping over Volle like a tsunami.

The one on stage was not Vittorio, but the head teacher, Guettée. His stiff head bowed at a very low angle towards the VIPs. Finally, Guettée pointed to the long curtain behind him and reluctantly opened his mouth.

“Thank you for your long wait.”

No matter how long they waited, Vittorio Bonaparte would never arrive on stage.

“Before the solo performance of Volle’s masterpiece, the étoile of all, our prince… Vittorio Bonaparte, I have a few words of request for the audience.”

Say it. Dennis muttered without realizing it. Tell them that Vittorio is dead.

“Please wait for a very brief moment for the stage to be changed.”

Dennis sneered. Wait? It was like planting false hope in the precious audience. Dennis quickly left the second-floor balcony seats. Passing through the first-floor aisle, he left Guettée behind and burst backstage. He wanted to laugh at Guettée’s poor joke for a long time.

Unlike the murmuring audience, backstage was quiet. The lowerclassmen who had been carrying materials were all coming out, as if they were wary of someone. He had an uncanny premonition.

For instance, the absurd fact that Vittorio Bonaparte had returned alive.

And there, Vittorio was standing calmly.

He was warming up, holding onto the barre. His whole body was soaking wet. Just looking at him sent a chill down his spine. Although it was spring, it was still a chilly time. Water splashed from his body every time Vittorio twisted his waist. He was forcibly wringing out his waterlogged body.

It was the moment Vittorio recognized Dennis.

He was completely naked. At his feet, his discarded clothes were strewn about carelessly. The ivory tights Vittorio was presumed to wear were hanging on the wall.

“Dennis.”

Vittorio called his name. Dennis could only stand frozen and look at him.

“It’s an unlucky day.”

“How…”

“The ship sank in the middle of the sea.”

Vittorio’s lips looked vaguely bluish. He approached Dennis in a single breath, like a wicked ghost. His naked body in the darkness was as tall as a pillar. Closing the distance to Dennis as if gliding, he reached out his hand. The unrealistically cool fingertips rubbed Dennis’s lower lip.

“I don’t know how many miles I swam.”

“Why on earth… go to such lengths?”

“Why do you think.”

Vittorio’s entire body fell onto Dennis. It was a body like a storm-tossed sea. His purplish lips gradually drew closer.

“I haven’t devoured your soul yet.”

What on earth did it mean to devour his soul. At his sharp-edged reply, Dennis shrank back without realizing it. Dennis instinctively braced himself against the wall. Through the thin wall, he could feel the vibrations of countless students and outsiders.

Vittorio Bonaparte must go on stage.

Therefore, he would not harm Dennis here.

Just remembering that simple fact allowed Dennis to become much calmer. Water droplets falling from Vittorio’s body soaked the top of his foot. The ground beneath his feet became completely wet.

In a brief moment, Vittorio’s large hand grabbed the nape of Dennis’s neck. He always grabbed Dennis’s neck in a high-handed manner. Dennis couldn’t help but feel a greater sense of repulsion towards his grip than his gaze, his physique, or his constantly aroused penis.

It was useless for Dennis to twist his body. As if lifting a shot prey into the air…

He pulled Dennis’s head straight towards him. His mouth was wide open even before his lips touched Dennis’s. A long tongue pushed out from inside his dark red mouth.

His tongue licked briefly from Dennis’s chin up to his upper lip. When Dennis struggled, his knee crept in between Dennis’s legs. Every time Dennis moved, his own thing touched Vittorio’s knee. Dennis, biting his lip, tried to grab Vittorio’s arm and pull it down.