He groped inside his coat, fingers snatching like a blind cat; a cold flash split across Gill’s eyes—the stare of a hunter sighting prey.
“You’d better not regret this.”
To Rafi, it sounded like two brats squabbling at the village gate, dust and rooster feathers blowing through their words.
“Don’t run if you’ve got guts! I’m getting my big brother!”—the old chant; whether that “brother” returns is a legend lost in smoke.
In age and spirit, Rafi crushed this kid brother among kid brothers; boredom rose first, then she whispered three times inside, this guy’s an idiot.
Gill’s fragile, prickly nerves cracked like thin ice at thaw; a volcano blew inside him, and his magma leapt.
He yanked out a wooden box from his chest, its face carved with gibberish runes; even a kindergarten doodle would look like sunrise beside it.
“Fool! This is a Sealing Box that can bind the Demon King; the instant you belittled me, you already lost!”
Bang!
Rafi’s palm met the box like a hammer to a gourd; it spun off, hit the wall, and landed with a heavy thud.
The wood didn’t break; it breathed a faint gray glow, a dying ember in fog—so weak no one noticed.
“And then? Is your Demon-King-sealing trinket really that brittle?” Rafi shook her hand, like dusting flour from her fingers.
“You… you… you bastard!”
Against normal people, Rafi could shatter hope like glass, then drag them to a cliff of despair and watch them dangle.
But this genius with eighteen-year bones and a five-year mind was a greenhouse blossom, dew-fed and wind-sheltered, too soft for winter.
Call it innocent if you like; call it never having tasted despair if you don’t—both smell like lilies behind glass.
Ask them their greatest fear, and they’ll say greens, carrots, cilantro—vegetables lined like toy soldiers on a plate.
That unknowing knotted her work; she needed his despair, or Alicia’s entrance later wouldn’t sway him to talk.
If there’s one road left to make such a flower wilt, it’s the lash; not elegant, but rain hits even silk.
“From the abyss, with love—tentacles. I think you’ll like them~” Her tone twirled like a stage intro, light and cruel.
After the line, tentacles sprang from Rafi’s back like night-blooming vines, each pure midnight; a few wore backward thorns like shark teeth.
Get one of those across your face and you’re looking at scars—that was Rafi’s own dry review.
Gill sensed the storm; seeing those tendrils, he felt a shadow fall, like a crow’s wing over noon.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey! Listen up! This country is mine! If you don’t want a whole nation on you, surrender now!”
To still boast at a cliff’s edge? Rafi’s impression dropped like autumn leaves; whatever kingly shine he had was tinfoil in rain.
Her contempt deepened a shade; with this temperament, liking him was like chewing sand.
The tentacles snapped out; before Gill could blink, they pinned him like fish on a bamboo rack.
Smack!
A whip kissed his cheek; a red welt bloomed there, a maple leaf pressed on pale paper.
“Ahhhhhh! Y-you hit my face! Even my dad never hit me!” His howl rattled like a kettle under fire.
Favorability -1. Add a black mark to Gill’s profile, a crow feather on a white sheet.
Smack!
“Ahhhh! That hurts, it hurts! Stop it, really—stop now and I can still forgive you!” His plea fluttered like torn flags.
Favorability -10. Another reason to look down on this brat, stones stacked by a cold river.
Smack!
“Really! Stop! If you stop now, I… I can give you anything you want!” His voice oiled the air like lamp smoke.
Favorability -100. Cowardly and afraid of death—what a sour taste on the tongue.
Smack!
“Why… why?! Why do this to me?! I didn’t even do anything to you! You bastard!” His blame flew like mud in rain.
Favorability -1000. Throws fault on others, never looks inward—a mirror wrapped in dust.
Why does this brat carry so many splinters that snag me? Was he born to prove the world breeds the contemptible?
Papapapapapa!
A string of blows drummed every inch of Gill’s skin; pain pumped his blood like war drums, and he flushed lobster-red.
Drag him to the Underworld now and no one would call him human; he looked like a man boiled out of himself.
Rafi judged the whipping done and let the tentacles slacken; silence cooled like night dew on iron.
She still doubted if despair had sprouted; people like him keep a shrine inside, waiting for a “hero” to descend.
“Hey~ how was that? Fun, right? We’ve got thousands more rounds to enjoy. Excited?” Her tease rang like bells over a cliff.
She aimed to break him inside out; yet Gill lowered his head, shadow pooling to hide his face.
“So… how long’s it been?” The question fell like a pebble in a well, ripples dark and small.
Worry pricked first; had she hit too hard and jarred his mind loose like a bead from a string?
“Mm… a little over a minute.” Her answer drifted like smoke, thin and unsure.
“Heh~” Gill let out a cold laugh; with his face veiled, a bad omen rose like storm scent before rain.
As if summoned, he raised his head; his eyes turned overnight, winter-clear and old, and his gaze read her like open bamboo.
The man wearing that wise stare parted his lips; a line of ice slipped out and cut the room.
“This time, I win.”
