CAR 4

“Dennis Kahler.”

Vittorio whispered Dennis’s name quietly. He wasn’t calling out to him. He was merely mumbling it inside his maw, as if chewing and swallowing Dennis’s name. Dennis, now completely off the bed, avoided Vittorio’s gaze.

To mistake Eric for Vittorio… Eric, who was now deceased by Dennis’s hand, and Vittorio were different even in silhouette. It was hard to believe that a body as monstrously built as that could perform ballet. He was closer to a well-trained man of the military than a dancer.

Dennis had to make a conscious effort not to be conscious of Vittorio’s groin.

Just as he was about to walk away, leaving Vittorio behind him, Dennis stopped in his tracks. Someone was staring daggers at the back of his head, as if they were about to crush it. He could not back down like this. Dennis hid his hands behind his back and calmly turned to face Vittorio.

“You ill-mannered brat.”

“…What?”

“I must look like an easy target since I’m a newcomer who doesn’t know the school’s situation, but go vent your anger on your parents. Don’t go shoving your dick at an innocent teacher first thing.”

Vittorio’s brow furrowed for a moment. Yan seemed to be enjoying their confrontation, observing them with a leisurely air.

In truth, Dennis found Yan Richter extremely grating as well. If only he hadn’t bitten his ear! He planned to repay him for today’s incident, no matter what. First, he would get out of the infirmary, then head straight for the staff room…

Vittorio took a step toward Dennis. Dennis instinctively glanced down at Vittorio’s groin. It had almost touched his stomach.

His upper body was truly a divine masterpiece, but his lower body was nothing short of barbaric. As much as Dennis stepped back, Vittorio closed the distance.

Vittorio even bent his upper body toward Dennis. He smiled briefly, his eyes level with Dennis’s.

“Ah.”

“…”

“Was the title the problem?”

Dennis nodded before he knew it. Vittorio’s mouth immediately crumpled. The handsome face, barely holding back laughter, was detestable.

“Teacher, teacher, teacher, teacher, teacher, teacher, teacher, teacher, teacher… teacher?”

“Are you now…”

“As you can see, I’m mocking you.”

Among the countless men Dennis had encountered, he was singularly bizarre and not even in his right mind. The corners of his mouth, fixed in a sneer, were cruel.

Vittorio tilted his head. Lowering his voice a notch, he murmured near Dennis’s lips, like a whisper just before a kiss.

“Teacher.”

“…”

“Did you receive the photographs all right?”

Dennis’s fingertips went rigid. To hide his wavering gaze, he lowered his eyes. Damn it all, Vittorio’s lower body was twitching fiercely. A strange sense of pressure dominated Dennis’s entire body.

Vittorio Bonaparte was expecting a reaction from him.

What photographs? To ask back so brazenly would be a novice’s mistake. He was well-versed in interrogation and questioning. He intended to show none of the desperation Vittorio was hoping for.

With a face as calm and composed as possible, he slowly raised his head, his lips sealed shut.

However, the composure Dennis had painstakingly assembled did not last long. Vittorio let out a short groan. His right hand was now gripping Dennis’s forearm, as if to twist it off. Something cream-colored splattered onto Dennis’s shoes. Forgetting any excuse, Dennis stared blankly at Vittorio’s crimson lower half.

It seemed he would have to send a telegram to Marquis Quercy.

To ask why he hadn’t told him sooner that Vittorio Bonaparte was such a barbaric psychopath…

🩰

The next day, Vittorio sought out the school’s supplies manager. He was a young male teacher, around Dennis’s age, with long hair hanging down all around. As it happened, he was tucked away in the most remote corner of the staff room.

The supplies manager was in charge of not only office supplies like pen nibs but also ordering students’ practice clothes and props needed for dance on their behalf. Without a shred of hesitation, Dennis wrote down items such as a new shirt, waistcoat, and shoes in the ledger the man held out.

The supplies manager looked up at Dennis suspiciously.

“Do you not have a spare set of clothes?”

“I had to throw out a perfectly good outfit.”

“What a waste… You should have donated it to me… For your information, you’ll have to wait about a fortnight.”

“Does it take that long?”

The supplies manager tilted his head as if he’d heard the strangest answer. He gestured toward the window with his chin.

“Where do you think this is?”

“Where is it?”

“Pardon?”

“…”

“Well, this is a remote island, so…”

The supplies manager, who had replied in a humming tone, waved his hand as if to dismiss him. Great confusion was etched in Dennis’s eyes as he turned away from him. He had come by carriage, yet he said it was an island…

It was truly out of the blue. There must have been a mistake.

As he walked down the hallway, a few students bowed their heads to Dennis. He returned the greetings out of habit. In front of the classroom door, Dennis hesitated for a moment. While Dennis stood frozen with his hand on the doorknob, the students of Volée were each moving about busily.

He felt as though he had been dreaming since yesterday. But it was a vivid and unpleasant waking nightmare…

The force of Vittorio’s grip still lingered on his arm. He had seemed ready to break Dennis’s limbs.

As Dennis passed through the classroom door and stood at the teacher’s desk, dozens of pairs of eyes persistently followed him. Some eyes were filled with enthusiasm, others were listless, and most gazes were suspicious.

Every look felt like a written accusation.

For murdering an innocent student, for confronting Vittorio, for Vittorio of all people witnessing the murder scene, for being utterly ignorant of the very ground he now stood on…

Dennis slowly looked around at the students. They were taking his class more seriously than he had expected. They would never know that the original Dennis Kahler was an ignoramus who didn’t know the first thing about literature. Funnily enough, that was a comfort.

What caught Dennis’s eye was a student by the window. He was covering his face with his arm. He was even hunched over, as if wishing to be isolated from his surroundings. His tortoise-like posture made Dennis’s brow narrow.

The boy lifted his head for a moment. And then, his eyes met Dennis’s. The face that reflexively offered a smile looked unnatural. His cheeks were completely swollen.

That was not all. The dark bruises covering his neck drew attention. Dennis gradually recognized his face.

‘I won’t pull out your tongue.’

‘Hic, sob…’

‘You should say thank you.’

‘Th-thank… Thank you, thank you…’

It was the boy who had been pinned beneath Vittorio. His swollen lips were memorable. Only after Dennis averted his gaze did the boy finally sit up in a more comfortable position.

After the morning literature class ended, Dennis deliberately kept the boy behind in the classroom. The boy’s eyes looked extremely busy, as if trying to gauge Dennis’s intentions.

Dennis asked his name. He gave his full name with a short shudder, as if startled by Dennis’s gentle voice. Damn it all, he had a beautiful voice, just like Eric.

“Viollet, Viollet Dey… sir.”

“I see, Mr. Dey.”

Dennis smiled as if to reassure Viollet. He placed both hands on the desk and leaned his upper body toward Viollet.

“Does this sort of thing happen often?”

Viollet Dey’s eyes wavered. He briefly turned his head to the side, his chin trembling. Dennis acted with gentleness, as if he understood him completely.

There was no need to be rashly agitated just because the opponent held your weakness. To respond with a clumsy explanation was even more pathetic.

A weakness for a weakness. That was Dennis Kahler’s ironclad rule.

The pitiful Viollet nodded. The moment he met the boy’s eyes, which were looking up at Dennis desperately, he inwardly rejoiced.

The young man before him was a living witness to abuse. If Vittorio Bonaparte tried to blackmail Dennis using the photographs, Dennis intended to push Viollet Dey forward.

“I’ll help you press charges.”

“But…”

“I’m very good at this sort of thing.”

That was how Marquis Quercy had assessed Dennis. ‘In a game of poker, every card that bastard holds is utter trash, but the way he somehow manages to find a way to save his own skin is truly outstanding and insolent,’ he had said.

“Do you… feel sorry for me too, teacher?”

It was an unexpected question.

“Sorry for you?”

“Then…”

“It’s not pity, but a sense of kinship.”

Dennis Kahler smiled shamelessly at the living witness of abuse. The king’s one and only maternal nephew had been perpetrating a form of fuck-torture on an innocent student. It was truly gossip that would hasten the fall of the monarchy.

Dennis, who left the classroom with Viollet, personally saw him off. The dance instructors at Volée were overly strict, and they neglected the regular morning classes. Viollet, too, seemed to be busy with his next dance class. This meant he could not spare any more time for a meeting with Dennis.

Therefore, Viollet Dey was to take a short break in the evening to meet with Dennis. He said he had kept the practice clothes Vittorio had torn to shreds, along with countless bandages he had changed over time and other evidence of the abuse. Viollet trembled pathetically as he spoke of them.

‘I’m sure… Vittorio must have killed Eric, too.’

‘…Is that so?’

‘He- he was the next étoile, you see. You can imagine how much Vittorio must have resented him… since he had to sit out the entire semester…!’

‘So you’re saying it was to vent his anger. Can you tell me in more detail? For instance, when did his tyranny begin…’

The face that had been stained with excitement and anger for a moment gradually went blank. Viollet stood up abruptly. Just moments before, he had tried to leave the classroom, saying he could only tell him the details in the evening.

Leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, Dennis watched the retreating Viollet with a look of regret.

“Are students your type?”

Yan grabbed Dennis’s shoulder. Dennis let out a dry laugh without even turning his head toward him.

“I was merely encouraging an underperforming student.”

“I suppose Viollet Dey looks like he’s underperforming in your eyes, Mr. Kahler? That boy was the runner-up last year…”

Dennis gave him a sidelong glance. Yan Richter, with his reddish-brown hair cut short, did not look like the ruffian who had bitten Dennis’s ear without permission the previous afternoon. Unlike Dennis, who had been unable to sleep properly since coming to Volée, he looked refreshed, as if the role of a teacher suited his constitution.

Yan reached a hand toward Dennis. Should I dodge, or not? If it came down to it, he could just snap this one’s neck too. Dennis obediently offered his face to him. Yan’s fingertips lightly rubbed the cheek below Dennis’s eye.

“Mr. Kahler, you don’t like this sort of thing, do you? I’m sorry.”

“…”

“You had an eyelash on your cheek.”

“Such an excess of goodwill. Just leave me be.”

Dennis straightened his posture and shot a light glare at Yan. As it happened, he and Dennis were of a similar height. Dennis briefly frowned as he recalled the unpleasant time when he had no choice but to look up at Vittorio before him.