CAR 29

Ah. If he was going to depart this world so meaninglessly and so soon, he should have just let me inherit Laurent Remitte’s life instead.

Sami was capable enough to do as well as Laurent. Eating what Laurent ate, patching up and wearing what he wore, engraving polite language onto his tongue, smiling nobly even at strangers—that world of vanity… that must have been Laurent’s essence, his everything. Sami could handle something like that with ease. If only he had enough opportunity to learn.

Once, with that mindset, Sami had stood tall before a mirror. It couldn’t even be called a mirror. It was merely a piece of furniture abandoned in the back alley of the tavern where Sami worked. Half of it was gone, and the remaining glass was cracked in places, making it an eyesore, but Sami glanced at it all day long.

Unlike Laurent, who was said to always live a disciplined life, Sami ate whatever he could get his hands on when the opportunity arose, so his build was large and shabby. Unlike Laurent, whose apricot cheeks were said to be slender and pale, Sami was mostly tanned or drenched in sweat.

Standing before the mirror on the street, Sami carefully took off his work shoes. Large blisters had formed on his toes, which were bent from being forced into the tiny work shoes. Flies swarmed his large, bare feet.

The more he stared at the mirror, the shabbier he became. Deciding to turn his back to it, Sami stretched his arms toward the empty air. He clumsily kicked his left leg back.

He had never once in his life witnessed what could be called a dance. Each time he became aware of the difference in experience between himself and Laurent, something surged from the pit of his stomach. He had consoled himself hundreds of times, telling himself it couldn’t be helped.

Biting his lower lip fiercely, Sami spun once. Two times, three times…

Filth was seeping out from the building’s exterior wall. He could smell the foul odor, but he lifted his head as if it were an expensive perfume. Anyone who witnessed Sami would surely laugh at him. The inner scolding—how could you even think it possible, just because you’re related by blood to Bole’s Laurent Remitte doesn’t make you a Remitte too—grew louder and louder. Covering his ears, Sami held his breath and leaped.

And then, through the half-shattered mirror, Sami witnessed his own reflection. The sweat-drenched country bumpkin looked just like a drunkard.

Landing unexpectedly, Sami staggered. His vision was blurry and chaotic from spinning several times. Flailing his arms like a child who had just learned to walk, Sami tumbled toward the mirror.

Large shards of glass flew wildly onto Sami’s shoulder and back. A scream escaped him at the unfamiliar pain. The mirror fragments embedded in his skin stung with exceptional sharpness. As if he had been beaten to a pulp by a gang of thugs, Sami collapsed, striking the filth-stained ground in shame and pain.

The puddle scattered, dirtying Sami’s face. He was utterly pathetic. If Laurent was a swan, Sami was a cuckoo chick.

He found himself unbearably ugly for having admired and imitated Laurent, even for a moment. He was about to leave the alley, staggering to his feet while leaning on the wall, when it happened. Wastewater, poured from the upper floor of the tavern, cascaded down onto the crown of his head like a waterfall.

He came to his senses with a jolt. It was a blessing in disguise, as he could wash his face, where shame was spreading like wildfire.

Even if Laurent was dead, there was no way a gutter rat like himself could replace his brother.

After that, carrying Bole’s outdated invitation, Sami headed to Bole. In the capital, he found Bole’s admissions office and explained the situation. It was a school of which only rumors were rampant, with no real substance.

The administrator, who handed him an utterly cumbersome eye patch, looked Sami up and down. The clothes he had once prepared for Laurent’s performance were worn for the first time today. Though he had tried to dress up, he must have seemed lacking and shabby in some way, as the administrator treated Sami with indifference. His luggage, empty and all for show, suddenly felt shameful.

Laurent had said he had a lot of luggage. As he sorted through his brother’s belongings, he briefly entertained the thought of pilfering one or two of the decent items.

At the unfamiliar school, he saw a beautiful man.

Every phrase the man, standing at the lectern, recited nonchalantly was mysterious. He found himself thinking that this might be the art Laurent used to talk about.

The man, who looked extremely sensitive, spotted Sami and approached him. He seemed somewhat startled by Sami’s face. His gaze, directed at the uninvited guest, was not so kind. Even to Sami, he felt like a sudden presence.

Just outside the classroom, the man slowly looked him up and down with the same gaze as the administrator, but it wasn’t the least bit unpleasant. Rather, it was an honor to be adrift in the center of the man’s gaze. His lips trembled, as if choosing his words.

“Laurent Remitte?”

The beautiful voice that murmured his brother’s name was honey-sweet. The man’s neat face was paralyzed with anxiety and suspicion. He knew at once. That his brother and the man had been quite close.

Even if they hadn’t been lovers, they must have been close. In that moment, Sami made a vow. Forgetting his place from time to time was Sami’s specialty.

He would inherit Laurent Remitte’s life in its entirety.

The task given to Sami was a small garden near the annex, which at most could be considered just one corner of the grounds. Mister Thomas, who was said to be the most influential person in the faculty office and in charge of supplies management, even showed a look of embarrassment, as if entrusting him with a very bothersome task, but something like this was hardly labor.

What’s more, there were three other gardeners at Bole besides Sami. As if to mock Sami’s landscaping, they diligently trimmed the garden and maintained the paths every day. They even took their meals separately. Whenever Sami tried to ask something, they would scatter in an instant, using their tight schedules as an excuse.

Therefore, he would unabashedly sit down in the garden, where there was nothing left to tend to, and occasionally look up at the annex. He recalled the things Mister Thomas had particularly warned him about. The annex was implicitly owned by Vittorio Bonaparte, he had said.

Vittorio, Vittorio, Vittorio Bonaparte.

Sami knew his name as well. He was the person Laurent had always mentioned at the end of his letters. Laurent wanted to defeat him.

He said that although his physique was huge like an athlete’s and his body was heavy, he moved just like a living dance textbook. One day he wrote that he was thankful to be living in the same era as a dancer of Vittorio’s caliber, but at the end of that week, he said he dreamed of shattering his ankles every night. Praise and curses for a man Sami had never even seen the face of came one after another.

What was certain was that Laurent Remitte’s brain had been eaten away by dance, to the point that he was consumed by thoughts a normal person would not have. Sami gradually began to feel that his brother was a stranger. He was no longer happy to receive the fragrant, clean letters.

Vittorio Bonaparte. The most talented dancer at Bole. An étoile ever since his admission to the present day, an overwhelming presence that his irritable brother wanted to crush with an axe. And… a royal.

Such descriptions didn’t really resonate with him. Because he was someone Sami would never encounter in his lifetime.

But now, Sami was at Bole. And in Vittorio Bonaparte’s territory, at that. The thought that Vittorio Bonaparte strolled leisurely along the paths Sami maintained gave him goosebumps for no reason.

Leaning against a shrub, Sami let out a long whistle as if to defy him. However, Sami’s whistle seemed to have reached the wrong person, as he heard a rustling sound from beyond the bushes. It was probably Dennis.

Dennis, my Dennis.

Dennis was the poor literature teacher implicated in Laurent’s death. He had heard that Dennis had lost his close students one by one less than a month after his appointment. Sami liked the expression he made whenever he was lost in thought. Unlike the haughty teachers, he was also the only one who regarded Sami as an equal human being.

If they had met outside the school, Sami might have had to call him “Your Excellency.” But this was a special space called a boarding school, and even someone as insignificant as Sami could encounter Dennis without reservation. Sami was truly relieved by that.

However, he sometimes dreamed of encountering him as an arrogant nobleman and a cobbler who mended his shoes.

‘His Dennis’ wore an uncharacteristically irritable expression. Of all places, it was the back alley behind the tavern where Sami had been practicing his dancing alone. Dennis, his long coat flapping, raised his voice and suddenly slapped Sami across the cheek. The long cane he was holding carelessly pushed against Sami’s chest.

Dennis was voicing some old, stale complaints. Shoddy, dirty, shabby, sordid, low-quality, insolent, classless…

Sami, who had been quietly mulling over Dennis’s voice, slowly rose from the cornerstone he had been sitting on. Before he knew it, he reflexively started choking Dennis.

The small mole engraved on Dennis’s handsome face twitched. Even while being choked, Dennis glared at Sami.

You dirty bastard who doesn’t know his place.

Although he sometimes forgot his place, Sami was more aware of his situation and birth than anyone. He needed to explain that to Dennis, but for some reason, his body moved first.

He crushed Dennis’s jaw and flattened his nose. He kissed Dennis’s lips at length, now unable to run his mouth. His clumsy, thick tongue invaded the inside of the well-ironed shirt. Having dropped his cane, Dennis writhed. His movements only served to excite Sami further.

The filth seeped into Dennis’s black coat too. He covered the two eyes that looked at Sami as if he were a swindler with his thick palm. Swallowing even his screams, Sami undid his trousers.

From that point on, he realized this situation was a dream. It was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. In the deserted alley, he violated Dennis with his polish-stained hands. Coincidentally, on days he had such dreams, his mind would be hazy all day long.

As if he had read Sami’s dirty and base inner thoughts, Dennis stopped visiting the annex garden at some point. It was probably because of the spring regular performance. He was said to have the absolute trust of someone named Guitry.

Sami went straight to Thomas in the faculty office and begged for a ticket to the regular performance. The man looked Sami up and down. It was an uneasy gaze, but Sami forced an innocent smile.

He couldn’t have been happier with the staff-section ticket he got through Thomas. Laurent, the one who should have been gracing the stage, was absent, but Dennis, who was once Laurent’s teacher, was still there, wasn’t he!

It was only a few weeks ago that he had been digging up the ground, eagerly awaiting only the regular performance that Dennis too had contributed greatly to.

With Vittorio Bonaparte’s turn approaching, Sami grew nervous for no reason. The being that his dead brother had hated so passionately was just beyond the curtain. He was said to always deliver a performance that exceeded expectations. Several dignitaries clicked their tongues, saying it was surprising that such a naturally gifted clown was born even into the royal family.

The nobles’ praise was usually like that. Sami, shrugging his shoulders, also held his breath and watched the stage. He couldn’t even turn his head. It felt as if Laurent’s cold, transparent hand was holding his head, forcing him to stare only forward.

However, even when it was Vittorio’s turn, the curtain did not rise. The ones steeped in refinement chattered as if they were in a marketplace. Sami, with his arms crossed, furrowed his brow for no reason. He heard he had been injured. Maybe he had run away from the stage…

It was at that moment that a scream was heard from behind the curtain. Sami recognized the owner of the scream at once. Unconsciously bolting up from his seat, Sami pushed through the audience and approached the area below the stage. Guitry, who had been looking up at the curtain anxiously, stopped Sami, who was about to rush in out of nowhere.

A sharp, tearing sound followed.

Sami’s vision suddenly went dark. Dennis Kahler was on stage. According to Richter’s tip, Dennis was a teacher who, contrary to his pretty appearance, often had disagreements with students.

He must have tried to give Vittorio some advice and gotten badly beaten for it. It made sense; he had a reckless side to him.

And the countless things that Laurent Remitte might have done for Dennis, Sami wanted to inherit them just as they were. He was trying to gauge the possibility that Dennis had been his brother’s lover. Perhaps Dennis Kahler was Laurent’s keepsake.

It was then that the curtain rose.

The violet velvet curtain slowly parted to the left and right. Unlike the previous stages, the lighting was extremely dim.

Vittorio Bonaparte was standing there. His platinum blond hair, on which the light shone directly, was damnably beautiful. His piercing pupils quickly scanned the audience. He looked like he was out of his mind. He was covered in blood from head to toe.

Stretching out his arm, he bowed his upper body. His smooth chest glistened with sweat and blood. The filth-covered statue was intensely noble even amidst the commotion. His whole body, sculpted to a viciously sharp degree, was intimidating.

Sami’s gaze naturally lingered on his groin. Why… he could not understand why that was left out. The menacing bulge beyond his tights was half-wet. He was like a beast devoid of shame. With no intention whatsoever of adjusting his genitals, he staggered off the stage as he was. With every step he took, drops of blood fell onto the stage.

And only then could Sami spot Dennis. He was lying perfectly straight in the center of the stage like a corpse. But his appearance was not the least bit proper. With his lower half completely exposed just like Vittorio, Dennis was only staring at the ceiling and grinding his teeth. He was drying up under the glow of the gaslight like a young moth.

Guitry hurriedly drew the curtain. Gasps and screams alternately flowed from the audience.

Sami pushed past the students and went backstage. The people who had witnessed the scene together were murmuring. He wanted to gag all of their mouths. Dennis, whom Sami had violated countless times, if only in his dreams, was there.

Dennis was alone in the dim, makeshift waiting room. With his back to Sami, he was striking the mirror as if he had lost his mind. He was anxious that the shards would fly at him. Even while approaching him, his gaze was stealing glances at his lower half.

The bruised thigh caught his eye. Something was slowly trickling down between his legs. Biting his lip, Sami squeezed his eyes shut. He took off his overcoat, gave it to him, and hugged him tightly.

Dennis Kahler was a mess. But for Sami, it was an opportunity to care for a badly injured bird.

The moment he held him in his arms, ecstasy dominated his entire body. Hope surged. A foul hope of finally being able to pick up someone who was broken.