Chapter 9

Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion locked eyes with Commander Dezeb Avganis.

...Oh.

She faltered for a moment.

Why... uh, why is he here?

He must have just returned from his trip. It had only been a few days, right...?

No.

She hadn’t forgotten at all.

It had been exactly nine days.

Nine days since he had left—and now he was back, standing right in front of her.

But his residence wasn’t even in this area.

As questions whirled through her mind, she heard him call her name.

“Erabelle.”

Suppressing the urge to flee, she cautiously approached her commanding officer.

Please don’t let me look like a cow being led to slaughter...

Not that it felt much different, honestly.

“See you when I get back,” he had said with a faint smile the last time they met, right in front of the warehouse.

That same smile now seemed to overlap with the expression on the face before her.

Erabelle’s spine stiffened with dread.

Was that a death sentence? But I didn’t even do anything wrong...

Then again, most of the people this man had killed hadn’t done anything wrong either.

“Good evening, Commander.”

She offered a polite greeting, doing her best to maintain her composure.

“You’re out rather late, aren’t you?”

Dezeb glanced at his watch and smiled.

“I had a quick errand in the commercial sector.”

“Is that so?”

The awkwardness was unbearable.

Unable to withstand the silence, Erabelle opened her mouth again.

“Did you just get back, sir?”

“Mmm. Just now.”

Dezeb answered leisurely.

She had barely managed to get a few words out, and already the conversation was dying again.

Desperate to break through the suffocating silence, Erabelle spoke quickly.

“Is there something you need me to do, sir—?”

“Every time you see me, you ask that.”

He looked at her with mild amusement.

“I’m just here to see you, Lieutenant.”

Why me?!

She nearly collapsed on the spot, but by summoning what felt like the combined energy of the entire universe, she somehow kept herself upright.

Just a little more, and she might even be able to launch a Spirit Bomb and die a warrior’s death.

“If I missed a summons or failed to report—”

“No, Lieutenant.”

He gave a soft chuckle.

The low sound sent a shiver down her spine.

“I didn’t summon you. I’m here for something personal. Well, not entirely personal, since I do need to draw some blood.”

“...Blood?”

The word came out of nowhere.

It struck her like a slap, leaving her thoughts spinning.

“It won’t take long. Would you mind inviting me inside?”

“Y-yes, sir. Right this way.”

She bowed so quickly it was practically reflex.

Even with her heart threatening to flatline and cold sweat soaking her back, she slipped automatically into host mode.

Why am I letting him into my house? Why is he here with me right now...?

Is today the day I die? Is he going to strangle me or drug me before killing me?

The military police would probably write it off as suicide brought on by depression. Of course. That’s how it’ll end.

“I mean... if I had to choose, I’d rather be drugged than strangled...”

“Relax, Erabelle. I have no interest in a target this trivial.”

That made absolutely no sense.

Does he even have such a thing as a non-trivial target?

Still, his calm tone helped her collect herself.

God, this is pathetic. It feels like waking up in the middle of surgery without anesthesia.

By the time she managed to regain some control over herself, she realized he was already standing in the middle of her living room.

At 188 centimeters tall, Dezeb made the entire apartment feel oppressively small just by standing there.

“Shall we get the blood draw out of the way first?”

He rolled up his sleeve with an easy smile.

The gesture was oddly familiar.

He looked exactly the same as he did every three months when he came to insert her ID chip behind her neck.

That familiarity helped.

Just enough for her to breathe again.

“From the arm?” she asked.

“Yes. It’s simple.”

Erabelle nodded and excused herself to fetch a towel.

She brought it to the dining table, spread it out, then sat down and buried her face in it, leaning forward as though bracing herself for an execution.

Then she held out her arm.

“...It’ll be over quickly.”

Without asking anything else, she simply let him do as he pleased.

Dezeb, for his part, drew a small vial of blood with practiced ease.

With her face still buried in the towel, Erabelle held her breath.

Her back was drawn tight like a coiled spring.

“All done.”

That was... less than two seconds, wasn’t it?

Erabelle cautiously lifted her head to check.

Dezeb was wiping the crook of her arm with an alcohol swab, his expression perfectly calm.

For some reason, she suddenly felt embarrassed.

When their eyes met, he smiled.

Just slightly.

That only made it more embarrassing.

Erabelle awkwardly tried to pull her arm back.

But instead of releasing her, Dezeb kept one hand around her arm and continued pressing the swab against the inside of her elbow, slowly rubbing the spot in small circles.

She flinched.

There was something strangely unsettling about the sensation.

The cold sting of the alcohol only heightened her discomfort.

“All done,” he finally said after what felt like an eternity.

Only then did he let her go.

Erabelle carefully inspected the spot where the needle had pierced her skin.

It wasn’t even worth applying healing ointment.

There was barely a mark.

She opened and closed her fist a few times, then abruptly stood.

Now that it was over, the towel she had buried her face in seemed painfully embarrassing.

She hadn’t expected the whole thing to end so quickly.

Clearing her throat, she tossed the towel into the laundry bin beside the bathroom door.

When she returned to the living room, Commander Dezeb Avganis had already taken off his jacket and draped it over one of the dining chairs.

As though he intended to stay.

“Your place feels rather empty,” he remarked.

“D-does it?”

Wearing only his relaxed shirt, Dezeb casually surveyed the sparsely furnished apartment.

Aside from the necessities, there was almost nothing in it.

“How long have you lived here?”

“It’s been two years.”

“Already?”

His tone turned oddly friendly.

“Have we really known each other that long?”

Dezeb leisurely crossed the living room.

...

Erabelle remained frozen where she stood, her eyes following his back.

“Is the TV connected to cable?”

“Yes, it is.”

Without hesitation, Dezeb picked up the remote.

Then he sank into the couch, crossed one leg over the other, and made himself perfectly comfortable.

All at once, reality began to feel unreal.

Am I dreaming this during a late shift or something?

Maybe I collapsed in the logistics warehouse and this is just some fever dream.

That would be bad.

Facial paralysis could set in.

Frowning, she pressed a finger against the inside of her elbow where the needle had gone in.

It still stung.

“Mind if I put on a movie?”

“Of course not.”

Her answer came automatically, completely devoid of thought, like a prerecorded response from a customer service line.

This can’t be happening.

That man is actually sitting on my couch, holding a remote like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Why?

Before the word could escape her lips, Erabelle fled to the refrigerator.

Time for alcohol.

There’s no way this was in the original novel. This never happened in any version.

Commander Dezeb Avganis—of all people—visiting someone else’s home.

Not a penthouse.

Not a private estate.

A modest seventeen-pyeong apartment with an open kitchen and living room.

Sitting on the couch with a remote in his hand.

No way.

If this is some new kind of death flag, I need a drink. Might as well die with a buzz.

Maybe what he said about not being interested in “trivial targets” was true.

One can hope.

“Do you have a favorite movie? I don’t know much about this kind of thing. It’s not really my area.”

Then why are you watching one...?

Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he added,

“People say this is what you’re supposed to do. Watch a movie, eat something... you know.”

Was that code for something?

She couldn’t make sense of what he meant.

“Well, I suppose even those guys don’t have much imagination outside of... physical things.”

He glanced toward her.

“Mind giving me one too?”

“...Sorry?”

“Beer. I meant beer.”

He set the remote down on the wooden table.

“You choose the movie.”

Did he just say... physical things?

But his expression was so calm, so casual, that she decided she must have misheard him.

Erabelle—who, technically speaking, was the protagonist of a BL novel—reached into the refrigerator and handed the Empire’s most renowned nobleman a cheap can of beer.

He accepted it without hesitation.

Then he casually shifted over on the couch, leaving just enough room beside him for her to sit.

Which meant she had no choice but to sit there.

Pretending not to notice the space and sitting on the floor instead would somehow have been even stranger.

...He said he came here for something personal.

What kind of personal business?

The blood draw? He specifically said that wasn’t entirely personal.

Erabelle’s thoughts spun furiously.

But every path led back to death.

Dismemberment.

Violence.

Bloody, painful violence.

And to make matters worse, the couch was too small for two people to sit on comfortably.

Being that close to him was enough to drive her out of her mind.

She sat down stiffly beside him, rigid as a plank, her hands trembling.

“You’re not choosing anything?”

The sharp hiss of a can opening made her jump.

A startled yelp escaped her before she could stop it.

“R-right! I’ll pick something now!”

“Lieutenant, do I look like I’m going to eat you?”

His lips brushed the rim of the can as his eyes drifted lazily toward her.

Even such a casual gesture, paired with those soft crimson lips, was mesmerizing.

Dezeb really was dangerously beautiful.

But Erabelle had read far too many accounts of his atrocities for that to matter.

She didn’t even need the novel.

What she had personally witnessed during her military service was more than enough.

Sexy doesn’t mean anything when your life is on the line.

Gripping the remote, she stretched out her arm and began scrolling through the options.

Click, click, click...

Her fingers moved rapidly through the menu while she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the screen, deliberately avoiding looking at him.

Naturally, she chose a horror movie.

At this point, it was the only genre she could handle with that man sitting right beside her.