TBR CH105

Seven years ago, at a high-level meeting, a resolution was made regarding a major incident involving the institute’s first batch of special armaments:

“Are they a failure? Experimental products, but we have to conceal this fact. Someone must take responsibility for the accident, or else the subsequent experiments will lack the most critical support. This is for the safety of all humanity.”

—

John realized he had lingered too long in front of the titanium-white door of Project Alpha.

The fallen bodies and bloodstains on the floor had been cleaned up, but when he looked at the pristine surface, he could still faintly see those blood-stained eyes.

There was no turning back now. The higher-ups were furious, and the long-sealed name of Isidor was thrust back into the spotlight. John could not escape blame.

His toes shifted slightly as he recalled the moment his mentor thrust a rapier toward his chest. Could he have dodged better? Every frame of that battle flashed before his eyes.

In the end, his hands grew cold.

If not for the overwhelming odds, Kingfisher would never have fallen, wings broken, in a pool of blood.

The frustration of the plan’s failure clouded his mind. When the higher-ups sent someone to announce their verdict, only then did he begin to think about how to speak to save his mentor’s life.

Then came the sudden, forceful opening of the door by tentacles, leaving only bloodstains behind.

Even the envoy froze for a moment. John rushed forward as fast as he could, only to pound the door twice in frustration before turning to face him.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again, his gaze as cold and unyielding as iron, carrying the aura of a seasoned killer, unlike the office workers. Without hesitation, he asked:

“What’s the higher-ups’ decision?”

“Uh… Mr. John,” the man said, nervously twisting the black umbrella in his hand, its tip squeaking against the polished floor.

“We believe that, given Kingfisher’s injuries still leave room for recovery, preserving his life is more valuable.”

Torture, then, John thought.

Seven years was enough for the institute to develop punishments far beyond what existed in Kingfisher’s time.

But which was better? He couldn’t say. During the attack on Alpha, he had finally witnessed the institute’s most dangerous hidden monster. Even with his trained mental resilience, the sight of its writhing tentacles and gleaming, venomous spears sent chills down his spine.

It was a twisted, irrational, utterly terrifying thing, devoid of any warmth.

Even Hill—John thought of the boy, still unconscious after being struck by the tentacles, and his heart raced with worry. He had to admit he was anxious about his safety.

But at the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder: if the monster, in its chaotic state, was so ruthless even against the “Son of God” with his cognitive-disrupting powers, what about his mentor, who had already been replaced?

The tentacles that dragged Isidor away showed no mercy.

The bloodstains left behind were vivid and glaring. He had lost too much blood and received no treatment.

Standing in the now-cleaned corridor, Balck Hawk, to others, appeared to be silently staring at an empty door.

An indescribable sense of failure coiled around his heart, just like seven years ago in the courtroom judging Kingfisher, when he could prove nothing. Now, he still couldn’t atone for his sins.

The blood of experimental subjects ran through his veins too. The first batch of special armaments had perished under their own power—failed products the institute refused to acknowledge, doomed to lose their balance.

Of course, Isidor, the most outstanding among them, had held on the longest, miraculously minimizing the losses.

He had personally killed his comrades, who had completely lost control, becoming more terrifying than monsters, wielding human weapons.

It was supposed to be a slightly challenging cleanup mission. Some special armament members chose to bring their disciples, including the fourteen-year-old John. Most of the young children ended up having their necks snapped by the mentors they respected.

No one had anticipated that the “minor flaws” in the first batch of experimental subjects would lead to such a tragic outcome.

But he miraculously survived.

Kingfisher danced on the edge of losing control, his emerald-green eyes carrying an icy detachment unlike ordinary humans, reflecting the carnage around him.

That scene was etched into young Balck Hawk’s eyes, so much so that over the next seven years, he wrote poems, trying to capture it.

When it was all over, John looked at him in fear, worried he would become an irrational monster like the others. But Kingfisher only thrust the rapier toward his own heart and fell from the sky.

He willingly sacrificed all his power, stopping just short of the door to madness.

Yet, in the end, he bore all the blame alone.

John suddenly recoiled his hand from the door as if it were a silent coffin.

Only he remained here. Alpha’s door was sealed shut, and the researchers the institute had brought in estimated it would take at least half a month to forcibly open it. What would happen when it was opened, no one knew.

Everyone knew the Dawn Project had failed. John had to frantically explain everything to the higher-ups, and only now did he find a moment to be alone.

He couldn’t argue. The institute had found records of his private meetings with Isidor.

And perhaps his mentor had truly used him, leaking critical information about the Dawn Project.

The turmoil in his heart made John clench his fists. He remembered apologizing to Isidor before it all happened. It was a man with black eyes he met on the road who had offered him guidance.

What was his name?

The work badge read Asta Black, from District C.

Though the thought crossed his mind, John had no intention of seeking him out. He exhaled heavily, forcing himself to calm down. After two days of handover work, he had been temporarily stripped of authority over this incident, as he was the prime suspect for leaking secrets.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret again.”

Now, perhaps he needed to relax, to clear his mind, like that afternoon when he sorted through his thoughts.

—

Isidor couldn’t sleep.

In the dim, intimate light of the small room, Asta’s gaze lingered, catching sight of the human’s rigidly closed eyes. He was like a piece of driftwood, unable to relax, stiff in its embrace, his body temperature steadily rising.

The human clearly didn’t want to reveal his unease. He probably repeated “fall asleep” to himself a thousand times in his mind, but it was futile. Even if he tried to feign sleep to keep his promise of no secrets, he couldn’t manage it now.

He sensed the star watching him, their closeness almost setting him ablaze. If he opened his eyes, he would meet those deep, dark eyes.

Tentacles or an embrace? It wasn’t a hard choice. The latter sounded gentler, and Isidor wouldn’t miss any chance to be close to the star.

Embraces had been common when they were friends, but as new lovers, sticky, intimate embraces took on a special meaning, and the human greedily seized the opportunity.

Yet—it wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

Instead of tentacles, it was Asta’s body—its fingers, chest, and bent legs—pressed against his bare skin, marked with traces.

The single bed was far too small for two. Isidor keenly felt the arms encircling his body, heard the faint rhythm of its breathing, the steady heartbeat of a monster.

Asta didn’t need sleep. It focused solely on channeling its power into his body, slowly mending his broken parts.

Then, the monster noticed the human’s breathing quicken, his skin hotter than usual, his heartbeat like a dense rain, his eyelids trembling uncontrollably, yet he didn’t dare open his eyes.

Perhaps it had hurt him, Asta thought, though it believed it had been gentle.

Tentatively, it slipped its hand beneath the fabric, brushing against his back. The soft flannel pajamas rustled faintly, its fingers grazing a still-healing scar. The human’s breath hitched, and a hoarse whimper escaped his lips.

Asta froze, alarmed.

…He was crying.

It reached out, touching Isidor’s eyes, finding a small patch of dampness, salty to the taste. At that moment, Isidor opened his eyes, his emerald gaze like a melted lake.

He tried to maintain composure as he met the monster’s eyes, but being held in its embrace left him at a disadvantage.

“Is this still uncomfortable?” Asta asked, starting to pull away to sit up, forgetting how small the bed was. The movement caused the human to fall further into its arms, their skin brushing against the flannel, reigniting the faded red marks on his body.

Isidor’s eyes were open, his rationality teetering. Instinctively, he grabbed the monster as it tried to leave.

“What’s wrong?” Asta asked, gentle and patient, sounding far clearer than the dazed human. “If you have something to say or want, just tell me. You promised no secrets.”

“…Touch me.”

In the dimness, the artificial sky outside had been destroyed, no longer raising a moon. But the sea still shimmered, crystalline glass fragments floating like ice on its surface.

Isidor felt like one of those glass pieces, hard and transparent, but melting under the light when he tried to hold onto it.

“What?” Asta didn’t hear clearly, placing a hand on the human’s forehead. “You seem distressed.”

“It’s not distress,” Isidor said, pulling its hand downward along his unguarded neck, his other hand unbuttoning his pajamas. In the darkness, his long-closed eyes saw nothing. The dark comforted him, hiding his shame.

Asta didn’t understand humans—he could teach it. Asta didn’t understand friends—he could teach it. Asta didn’t understand love—he had avoided that topic.

Asta didn’t understand desire. No matter. He would make up for it doubly.

He guided the monster’s hand to his bare chest, then wrapped his arms around its neck, whispering in its ear, his voice a hot, misty haze:

“It’s not distress. Don’t worry. I’m crying because it feels good… Asta, touch me more. Make me cry more. Do whatever you want to me—I’ll like it all.”

His emerald eyes, though misty, conveyed no sorrow.

Asta, the monster, could see every expression of its prey clearly in the dark. Isidor’s hoarse whimper echoed in its ears, laced with an emotion like an overripe fruit, bursting at the slightest touch. For some reason, its own emotions stirred in response.

Tears were salty, but they seemed to carry a hint of sweetness.

“You’re too worked up,” Asta said.

Asta forced itself to speak in a calm tone. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. So, no, you can’t handle too much stimulation unless you want your injuries to worsen.”

The treatment had already been interrupted halfway.

Even if the human was acting recklessly, the monster couldn’t truly do anything to him. His body might look intact on the outside, but inside, it was as if it were riddled with shards of glass. Any slightly forceful movement would draw blood.

Isidor lifted his eyes in confusion, not grasping the situation.

Like a cat, he gently nuzzled against the monster, his soft brown hair and flushed cheeks glowing. He seemed oblivious to why Asta wouldn’t touch him—or perhaps he wasn’t listening at all.

What a terrible patient, the monster thought.

Letting him continue like this wasn’t entirely out of the question, but they needed to set clear boundaries, a mutual agreement.

Isidor was a liar, always hiding the truth. Even now, his words were vague, as if shrouded in mist. But Asta wasn’t clueless. Researchers might know it lacked common human knowledge, but while it dwelled in the sea, it had the company of fish schools and animals on the icebergs.

The monster leaned down, carefully avoiding his scars, and caught him gently but firmly.

“Isidor,” it declared with certainty, “you’re in a human mating period, aren’t you?”

—

It wasn’t until the next morning that Isidor regained his senses.

Opening his eyes, he found Asta’s hand still resting on his forehead. When the monster saw him awake, its dark eyes turned toward him, offering a smile. Isidor instinctively returned a smile, leaning in dependently and earning a kiss on his forehead.

Then, memories of the previous night flooded back, and Isidor’s hand involuntarily gripped the hem of his clothes.

What had he been babbling about? No, the real issue was that Asta had said some nonsensical things too, and he’d been too far gone to respond. All he remembered was pressing closer, leaving fervent, wet kisses, and incoherently begging, ignoring the faint pain from his injuries.

That subtle itch was what drove him wild.

Asta seemed to sigh helplessly, finally summoning its tentacles to hold the human firmly in place.

Bound hand and foot, his body’s disarray became starkly apparent, but at least this kept his injuries from worsening.

Though the tentacles were gentle, his struggles left more marks on his skin.

At the time, Isidor’s fevered mind couldn’t accept that the monster might ignore him in such a state. He stared at it in panic, feeling that his actions, in front of the neatly dressed monster, were like a defilement of the star.

“Don’t move,” Asta said, leaning in to kiss away his tears, its low voice paired with the sensation of its fingertips on his skin. “I’m not ignoring you. It’s just not the right time, so this will have to do for now.”

The star fell, soaking in the same seawater as him.

The memories after that were fragmented, blank in large patches. He only recalled his body trembling under wandering fingers, wanting to curl up but forced to stay open, finding release while the tentacles let go, falling back into Asta’s embrace.

Asta’s unnaturally long fingers covered his eyes.

“Sleep,” it said.

Exhaustion swept over him with those words. His body felt so heavy he couldn’t lift a finger, and he slipped into dreams.

Asta calmly observed the human’s expressions, from the hazy dependence upon waking to the flush creeping up his ears and the flush of embarrassment.

Isidor seemed to want to avoid its gaze but couldn’t fully commit. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and finally asked:

“Asta, who told you humans have a mating period?”

“They don’t?” the monster asked, surprised.

It had only reasoned based on its own knowledge—like gulls, fish schools, seals, or polar bears on the glaciers. Restraining and exploring Isidor was purely from its keen observation, and he had seemed satisfied enough, raising no objections.

Of course not.

Isidor wanted to say that, but it would mean explaining his behavior from the night before. Admitting it was Asta’s kisses and embraces that reduced him to that state felt too humiliating.

He stared at Asta, its dark eyes holding a trace of amusement, reflecting him entirely.

It didn’t seem to find anything odd or dwell on last night’s events.

So Isidor deftly changed the subject.

“Asta, are you sure you want to go out alone? I mean, I think my injuries are almost healed…”

“No,” Asta said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere until you’re fully recovered. I’ll have Black Book keep an eye on you.”

The room’s door could only be opened by the monster with its full strength. The institute had always underestimated its power, as it never saw a need to break containment.

But now, caution was unnecessary.

“This time, I’ll leave using my true form,” Asta said, looking down at Isidor. “That means the body left here will be weaker. Just keep an eye on it. If you get bored, I can have the tentacles play with you.”

It spoke so candidly that any fleeting romantic notions Isidor had were snuffed out.

Isidor thought it might mean something like seals tossing a ball.

“No need for that,” he said, pausing. “Um… this time you’re going to retrieve the data I hid, meet the Child of Fate, gather intel, and connect with monsters known to be part of the uprising plan. By the way, I once had a student—the one in black involved in the Dawn Project—”

Asta knew. It had seen him.

It was surprised to see John then, though he hadn’t noticed its humanoid form.

“Your injuries,” Asta said, “he shot you. Should I go take revenge?”

The monster said “revenge” so matter-of-factly that Isidor froze. On one hand, he was stunned that Asta, even while cocooned, could discern the situation outside. On the other, even the gentle monster could coldly speak of “revenge” when he was harmed.

The star’s light shone brightly, but it didn’t illuminate everyone indiscriminately.

He, too, had killed many, once believing his tainted self could never deserve such tenderness. Yet Asta never mentioned it, placing complete trust in him.

This trust made Isidor lower his eyes. He wanted to protect its radiance, which was why he and Balck Hawk chose the most dangerous plan.

If they’d acted recklessly on the day of the monster’s revolt, they could’ve simply taken Asta and fled.

But that wouldn’t do. Most humans in the institute were innocent, and the outside world was one the monster loved. So Isidor had to bear the mission of setting things right, if only for its sake.

Asta smiled, reading his expression, and decided to leave John alone.

It waved a hand in front of the distracted human’s face.

Isidor blinked. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that—”

“It’s fine. I know my limits.”

The monster said, “Is there anything you want? A snack? It’s my turn to head to the bakery. How about cream croissants? I could bring some back for you.”

As if it were the most ordinary conversation, Asta spoke patiently, waiting for the human’s response.

Isidor opened his mouth, then let out a sigh-like laugh, his emerald eyes sparkling again. “You saying that feels like someone heading out asking their beloved waiting at home. It suddenly makes me really happy.”

“This place has long been your home,” Asta said matter-of-factly, then paused, realizing they were about to leave.

“Wherever you are is my home,” Isidor corrected, tilting his head slightly, his brown hair falling gently. “We talked about this before… wait, maybe I shouldn’t bring it up. But I’ve already prepared our home, out there, in a wonderful place.”

He shouldn’t have mentioned it because he’d written about that place in his will.

Asta looked at him helplessly, unable to resist ruffling his hair and pulling him into a brief embrace. In an atmosphere free of any romantic undertones, just a simple hug, it whispered, “Then let’s switch. I’ve always waited for you here. Now it’s your turn to wait for me.”