CAR 9

Dennis stared blankly at Yan.

Unconcerned, formal applause poured down on Dennis. That bastard Guiterie even winked at Dennis. Dennis, just like with Vittorio, wanted to smash his nose in.

Amidst the students chattering busily amongst themselves about the regular performance, Laurent was glaring only at Dennis.

Dennis, too, did not avoid his discontented gaze and watched him. The look in his eyes, boiling with hatred and anger toward Vittorio, and suspicion toward Dennis, was not half bad.

Dennis intended to use Laurent. He was said to be Volée’s long-standing second-in-command. It was time for him to step forward as a helper, to put Laurent forward to keep Vittorio in check, and to twist his elbow so that Laurent’s suspicion of Dennis would be aimed at Vittorio.

Eric and Viollet… next was Vittorio.

His superior talent and status were of no importance to Dennis. What was important was whether he could kill him or not.

That was all.

🩰

The back of Laurent’s hand, gripping the sheet, was bright red. His bent nape was so mottled that it even evoked a sense of pity. Freckles and bite marks were mixed together, making it messy as well.

The one on top, who had been quickening his thrusts, grabbed a handful of Laurent’s short, curly hair and messed it up. Yan sneered as he looked at the vertebrae, which were distinct with tension.

But the smile was brief. Yan, who was embracing Laurent from behind, gripped his upper abdomen. Laurent’s chest heaved violently as he collapsed onto the pillow. Regardless of whether Laurent hit the top of his head on the bed’s headboard, Yan’s two hands were still persistently holding the edgy body as he drove himself into him like a stake. The tips of Laurent’s fingers curled. The cheap pillow was quickly stained by his scream-like moans.

It was a copulation akin to discipline.

Yan, who had thoroughly clawed at Laurent’s body, leaned his back against the headboard. Yan fiercely struck the small buttocks of the one who was sobbing with his face buried in the pillow. Laurent, who reflexively lifted his upper body, crawled between Yan’s legs with a ruined face.

Yan Richter was a mysophobe. If he were a severe case, he wouldn’t have mixed bodies with a man in the first place, but his was a mundane mysophobia, to the extent that he would frown while looking down at his own member, covered in the traces of sex after having thoroughly prodded another’s rear end.

As Laurent swallowed his member, Yan took out and lit a cigar as if he had been waiting. The top of Laurent’s head was an excellent ashtray. Yan let out a short moan as he flicked the ashes on his scalp.

“Do you know how they handle a horse that keeps losing at the races?”

There was no way Laurent could answer. If he carelessly spat out what was in his mouth…

“They slaughter it.”

Though who would eat this kind of meat… Yan, grabbing Laurent by the hair, flung him away as if throwing him. In front of Yan, one was not even allowed to wipe one’s mouth without permission. Laurent, whose upper and lower mouths were unpleasantly wet, looked up at Yan with a look of resignation.

Yan, who had reflexively raised his hand, withdrew it with a sigh. Today was a lucky day, Laurent consoled himself.

Yan, who had gotten out of bed, rummaged through the chest of drawers and then threw a pair of menacing scissors toward Laurent. They were rusted in places. As Laurent looked back and forth between the scissors and Yan, Yan smiled smoothly. Perhaps Yan intended to cut Laurent’s flesh and filet his bones with that thing.

“Rape Dennis Kahler.”

“…What?”

“If you can’t do it, then cut off your own dick with that thing right now.”

“That’s ridiculous… Besides, I have no connection whatsoever with Dennis Kahler…!”

Yan, who strode up to Laurent, struck him hard on the head. Laurent, who had almost tumbled disgracefully off the bed, bit his lip and endured the momentary pain.

“You should say Mr. Kahler.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for touching your face. Put a compress on it later and go. Okay?”

Yan, leaving Laurent behind, wandered the nurse’s office in search of something for a compress. Laurent, who was sitting blankly on the messed-up sheets, suddenly asked him.

“Why…”

“…”

“Don’t you do it yourself?”

Laurent’s unsteady gaze quietly followed Yan’s naked body. Yan had a naturally good physique. Laurent, who was staring blankly at the beautiful naked body that was like a work of art, suddenly looked down at his own body.

At Laurent’s question, Yan laughed for a long time. Yan, who had carelessly stubbed out his cigar, indifferently shook an empty medicine bottle. It seemed someone had taken a handful of painkillers. It was obvious who it was, without having to investigate.

Yan clicked his tongue and placed the empty medicine bottle on the desk. He slipped on a gown over his body, which was cooling to a lukewarm temperature.

That night… that is, the day his fellow teacher Dennis suffered all sorts of hardships at the hands of Vittorio.

Thanks to the foolish and pitiful Dennis hitting his forehead on the wall, accomplishing the ‘task’ was very easy. His mental strength, to have fully endured Vittorio’s beast-like temper and not fainted, was to be commended, but his stiffness was, on the contrary, prone to breaking. As soon as Yan pushed Dennis into the room, he fainted as if he had been waiting for it. The smell of urine emanated from his entire body.

While filling the bathtub, Yan smoked a cigar in Dennis’s room. His belongings were all simple and shabby, but the clothes he had brought with him, packed in bundles, seemed to be of someone else’s taste and were of a pretty decent standard. Yan, who was trying on the best quality pair of pants against his own body, suddenly felt a sense of futility and gave up his search.

A half-written letter was carelessly strewn on the corner of the desk. Yan read it in one go. The letter, with the recipient omitted, seemed like a greeting to a lover. Dennis Kahler’s neat handwriting, just like his face, was particularly grating. Yan flicked ashes onto the letter.

By the time the water in the bathtub was overflowing, he had unceremoniously thrown the unconscious Dennis Kahler in there. It was not very pleasant, as it even felt like he was cleaning up what Vittorio had torn at and shat out.

With a long sigh, he flipped Dennis’s body over. Frankly, whether he suffocated or not, Yan had nothing to lose. He had thought he would be a great source of vitality in his boring life of exile, but…

Dennis Kahler was naive and careless. He irritably stripped off the clothes clinging to his body.

His expression became strange after he saw Dennis Kahler’s naked body. Yan, who had grabbed the unconscious man by the hair, stared intently at various parts of his upper body and his lower body, which was below the surface of the water. Then, as if he couldn’t believe it, he laid Dennis out in the bathtub.

He, with his sleeves rolled up, spat into his palm. He then prodded Dennis’s rear to check, but surprisingly… it was very tight. The space between his bare legs was clean, without even a trace of ejaculation.

He could not hold back his bursting laughter and ended up laughing out loud, so much that the bathroom echoed.

To think that the great Vittorio had simply sent back the prey that had walked into his territory…

If there were a school newspaper about their sex lives, it would definitely be a front-page story. Yan rested his chin on his hand as he stared at the area around Dennis’s neck, where bruises were just beginning to form.

He didn’t seem to have any major flaws. Besides, there was no other man with as gluttonous an appetite as Vittorio Bonaparte. If that was the case, it meant he had pushed Vittorio away with physical force…

Yan, who had wiped the smile from his face, looked down at Dennis, who was half-submerged in the bathtub, with an expressionless face. That was a week ago.

Laurent wiped between his legs, avoiding Yan’s gaze, who was lost in deep thought. Yan smiled affectionately as he watched Laurent, who had hurriedly picked up the leotard that had fallen under the bed and put it on.

“You don’t know where he crawled out from, so it’s unsanitary, isn’t it.”

“…”

“So you check first.”

Laurent hesitated and asked Yan. What if I fail? Yan, who shrugged his shoulders, placed a cloth pouch on his student’s cheek, like a very kind teacher.

“Stab him to death.”

“…”

“And then you kill yourself too.”

He whispered like a devil. You can do at least that much, right?

Laurent closed his eyes. The area beneath his eyelids grew hot.

🩰

Dennis slowly scanned the classroom, which was as good as full. Until now, Dennis’s class, except for a few students who were enthusiastic about literature, had been nothing more than a perfunctory time for them to make up for their lack of sleep. Dennis was rather relieved by that fact and was even pleased with the students who openly laid their heads down as if looking down on him.

But after that bastard Guiterie’s ‘declaration,’ most of the students were maintaining their full consciousness for clues about the spring regular performance.

Dennis, who had set the students to discuss among themselves appropriately, sat on the windowsill and scanned their faces. The boys, somewhere between boyhood and youth, had at some point completely excluded the teacher, Dennis, and were in a heated discussion about the dance piece among themselves. Dennis, who had been slightly pushed out from them, suddenly realized that a deep and long slash had been drawn between them and himself.

The most enthusiastic among them was Laurent. Laurent, Laurent Lemaître… He was the class president of the upperclassmen, and his natural body was straight and slender. His classmates sometimes let out a sneer at the boy, whose very walk was like a dance, but Dennis just perceived it as jealousy.

After the discussion class ended, Dennis was organizing the teacher’s desk. Laurent, who had brought a dance manual and a textbook, struck up a conversation with Dennis. Dennis, who was reminded of ‘Viollet Dey,’ took a step back from Laurent. Then, he unreservedly took a step closer.

“I wanted to know more about Boléro.”

Dennis smiled as if he were in a difficult position. Laurent probably knew much more about Boléro than Dennis did. Dennis Kahler was a talent more skilled in memorization than in improvisation. And Boléro was a topic outside the textbook.

Dennis leaned his upper body down, propping his elbows on the desk to feign composure. Seen up close, Laurent looked just like a little girl. His almond-shaped eyes, like nuts, caught the eye. As if ashamed of his freckles, he habitually touched the bridge of his nose.

“You are very enthusiastic, Mr. Lemaître.”

“…Are you scolding me for being peculiar?”

“I am praising your natural talent and earnestness.”

“Because I need the scholarship.”

After a short silence, Laurent continued to speak.

“Well… even so, the top dancer in the school is always Vittorio, though.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Dennis clicked his tongue. Laurent, despite having declared that he had additional questions for Dennis, was becoming less and less talkative. He was probably thinking about Vittorio.

Judging by his mention of the scholarship, Laurent did not seem to be of a particularly noble lineage, unlike the other students here. In the first place, the position of class president was no different from being a servant to the other upperclassmen.