Chapter 21

Ever since he had entered her sphere, she had effectively worked straight through every weekend. Unless bound by something truly unavoidable... Well, whatever. He was gone now and would not return until next Thursday.

She could clean up after herself when she clocked off on Wednesday.

Plenty of time!

Not that she grasped why she ought to feel guilty about relaxing in her own home, but she shoved the thought aside.

Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion resolved to forget everything—for just a few days. She would surrender her soul to the divine beauty of James, Alec, and Lucas, upon whom she had not laid eyes for forty-five long days.

And so, clutching an armful of instant rations and her treasured media collection, she merged with the sofa in absolute harmony.

Two nights, three days.

Erabelle was blissfully happy.

This—this was the very definition of contentment. Pure, unadulterated joy.

And then... Commander Dezeb Avganis returned ahead of schedule.

***

It was Monday morning.

Dezeb stood silently at the entrance, gazing down at Erabelle for an extended {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} beat.

Erabelle, locking eyes with his, let the cookie she was munching on slip from her lips. It was one of those rich, sticky chocolate ones.

He slowly turned his head, surveying the space.

An absolute disaster.

Empty pizza boxes. Scattered beer cans. Half-finished bottles of soda. Crumpled snack wrappers... and a dozen media cases stacked like a solemn shrine.

On the screen, a strikingly handsome blond actor had just begun a steamy shower scene.

“You’re back,” Erabelle said, snapping to attention as if rousing from a trance. She scrambled to her feet, offering a nonchalant tone. “I was just about to tidy all this up.”

“It hardly looks like it.”

“I assure you, I was.”

She lunged to scoop up the beer cans first, stuffing them into a dark trash liner with frantic speed.

Ever since he had begun curtailing her alcohol consumption, she had been indulging in secret—and now she was desperately covering her tracks.

“You returned earlier than anticipated. Did everything proceed smoothly?”

“Yes, it did.”

The sound of cascading water echoed from the television screen. Both of them, like pulled by magnets, turned their gazes toward it.

The camera traced the actor’s glistening abs and ribs as streams traced down his toned frame—before cutting to a dramatic close-up.

“......”

“......”

Together, they observed in awkward silence as the actor’s face took a full force blast from the showerhead.

Erabelle was the first to break free from the spell. She snatched the remote and abruptly shut the television off.

“I... need to step into the bathroom for a moment.”

She attempted a retreat.

“Why are you taking the refuse with you into the bathroom?”

Striding into the living quarters on his long legs, Dezeb caught Erabelle by the top of her head as she tried to slip past him.

“Good heavens. How many of these did you consume? Honestly? Why are you carrying this into the bathroom?”

“I... have not washed my hair...”

Dezeb released his grip, suddenly quiet.

Erabelle held up two fingers, a sheepish expression painted across her face.

Two days.

Dezeb appeared utterly flabbergasted.

“Does it not itch?”

“I possess a remarkably resilient scalp,” she replied, offering an angelic smile.

Dezeb let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nudged her toward the door.

“Go. Wash it. Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

And yet she still insisted on dragging the trash bag in with her. What was her grand plan in there—to chew up aluminum cans?

She would have to bring them right back out. What was the purpose?

Dezeb let out a dry chuckle.

What even is this...

Why am I smiling? He rolled his eyes at his own reaction.

The apartment was in utter ruin, and yet here he stood, amused.

He had genuinely believed her to be the no-nonsense, hyper-disciplined type. Polished. Professional.

Evidently, it had all been a facade. I was completely deceived.

“......”

Dezeb stepped over to the console, retrieved the remote, and switched the display back on.

The blond actor had finished his shower and was currently blow-drying his hair. He studied his reflection in the mirror, then slowly began to dress—one garment at a time. The entire sequence spanned at least fifteen minutes.

What manner of film is this?

An entire sequence dedicated solely to a man showering and blow-drying his hair?

Dezeb, who possessed little interest in mainstream entertainment, had no inkling of Erabelle’s peculiar tastes.

Turning around, he stacked the pizza boxes neatly, discarded the smaller refuse into the bin, and cast a glance at the physical media collection.

Each case sat stacked in immaculate order, erecting a pristine tower amidst the surrounding chaos.

Every single one featured the exact same male actor.

All twelve of them.

“So... you have a soft spot for James, do you?”

He looked up at Erabelle, who had just emerged from the bathroom. She froze mid-step.

“He is... a remarkably talented actor.”

“Is he? I just watched him shower and dry his hair for fifteen full minutes.”

“The way he performs... so subtle, with such profound depth...”

“A genius, is he? A twenty-year-old kid, projecting ‘subtle emotional depth.’” Commander Dezeb Avganis scanned the back of the case, skimming the actor’s biography. “Though isn’t twenty a bit young for your tastes?”

“Oh... is he twenty?” Erabelle inquired, feigning ignorance.

“You were unaware? All twelve of these feature the exact same man.”

“Well, I happened to acquire them by accident...”

“By accident? You acquired twelve limited editions by accident? What sort of accident is that?” He fixed her with a look of pure skepticism. “What I genuinely wish to know is why I have never seen these before. Where were you keeping them hidden?”

“Hidden? No, not at all. I merely stored them in a container somewhere and remembered them on a whim, so I retrieved them.”

“Mind if I take a look at that container?”

Erabelle went rigid, utterly speechless.

“If you acquired them by accident, then you won’t mind if I dispose of them, correct?”

“Th-Those are all first-run limited editions...!!”

The words slipped past her lips before she could check herself. Her face drained of color, and she clamped her mouth shut.

Dezeb scoffed.

“What manner of obsession compels you to buy exclusively limited editions?”

“It is... an investment strategy.”

Right.

“Is that so? Then sell them to me. I shall compensate you at ten times market value.”

“...May I at least bid them farewell first...?”

Goodbye, James... I shall miss you... Erabelle, surrendering to despair, was whispering her final parting words when Dezeb grabbed her by the nape of her neck.

He hauled her straight to the bedroom, where she was forced to confess every detail of her hidden pastime.

And that was how Dezeb discovered that Erabelle collected physical media featuring handsome male actors—and that she held particular fondness for James Crown, Lucas Valla, and Alec Havallina. And if pressed to choose a favorite, naturally... it was James.

“So it was all a performance. I have been thoroughly tricked. I presumed you held no interest in men whatsoever. Yet not only do you care, you are obsessed enough to purchase them by the box set. Not a single individual—three.”

Dezeb muttered, and though Erabelle’s face burned a vivid scarlet, her expression remained deeply offended. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Erabelle, is this how you routinely spend your weekends?”

“...It is... a pastime...”

“Ah, so this is your standard weekend routine.”

He gently maneuvered her down.

She tumbled forward, flopping face-first onto the mattress, her eyes wide and unfocused.

“D-Dezeb... th-this is... alarming...”

“I am far more alarmed by the volume of beer you have poured down your throat.”

He grumbled once more.

“If you end up in the infirmary with another gastric spasm, you shall consume nothing but ground oatmeal for a month.”

“...That... that substance tastes like mucus...”

Erabelle muttered, as though uttering her final testament.

“Tastes like mucus...”

And that elicited a louder laugh from Dezeb than he had ever let out in his life—so much so that his ribs ached mid-session.

***

A month and a half went by.

Commander Dezeb, observing Erabelle from close quarters, came to a surprising realization:

She was perpetually busy.

He had previously assumed she was merely stoic and rigid. Yet witnessing her day-to-day existence, she proved far more complex. And endlessly overwhelmed.

While Dezeb occupied his time with whatever caught his fancy, Erabelle was simply drowning in obligations.

He had known her workload was substantial, yet still...

“I shall depart for duty now.”

“...Very well.”

Her mornings invariably commenced at 07:10. She would be awake, dressed, and out the door by 07:40.

She arrived at the adjutant’s office by 07:50. Most personnel did not clock in until 09:00, yet Erabelle? She began nearly a full hour early.

Even deprived of sleep, she maintained sharp focus, sustained by chemical intervention.

At first, Dezeb had assumed she was merely attempting to project diligence. But that was not the case.

If even a fraction of her schedule suffered a disruption, the entire system collapsed. She already logged frequent late hours; should her routine fall out of alignment even slightly, she faced a full-blown overnight shift.

Her mornings opened with dual bookkeeping: one official ledger registered on the Empire’s central server, and another private ledger maintained within Dezeb’s personal terminal—the actual numbers.

Following that, she monitored Channel 1 for standard logistics shipments and Channel 2 Warp for contraband movements. Any discrepancies required immediate reporting.

Next came the summoning of the Great Spirits to transport incoming cargo to their designated storage facilities. While not an everyday necessity, deliveries occasionally required rerouting to alternate outposts.

Only upon completing those tasks could she turn her attention to processing supply requisition forms.