Satanas Chapter 9.1 - Bell

Lord, every night I violate the child you sent. I tease with my tongue from his nipples to the spaces between his thumb and index toes.

Lord, do you know how beautifully the child you sent cries each time? Now, even without touching, he can’t resist in my hands. Even the hole that has become a genital no longer tightens.

Bell sat on the bed, gazing at the sleeping figure covered with a red blanket. Because of the thunder that seemed to strike every moment, he had held the trembling body and covered its ears all night.

Outside the folded blanket corner, a foot protruded. It was an ankle like the flesh of a peach, split open with seeds buried inside. Bell, stroking the ankle bone with his middle finger, grasped the ankle entirely.

It was slender. So slender that his middle finger and thumb touched. The sensation of the tendon pressed against his palm was vivid. Knowing it would startle him awake, he foolishly applied pressure. Had I known it was this slender, would I have broken your ankle long ago?

As Bell lowered his head, golden hair covering his shoulder blades spilled forward. His lips fell lighter than rainwater on the pale instep, and the ankle, which had lain limp like a dead fish, hid away, ticklish. It was amusing.

He chuckled softly, brushing back the fallen hair. By chance, his gaze landed on the holy figure crucified on the cross.

After staring at the sacred object for a while, Bell spoke.

“You are incompetent. To keep me by his side despite this.”

A white foot that would remain smooth even walking on a tarred road stepped on the carpet. At a time when the flames of fine firewood were obscured by soot-black darkness, scars on his shoulder blades peeked subtly through fluttering golden hair.

With each step Bell took, black smoke flowed from the fireplace. The smoke swirling around him settled on his shoulders like a hawk. Soon, it became a sheer gown, flowing down. The fabric, woven with a pinch of stolen embers, was as light as his hair, swaying easily.

🦇

Tadeo opened his eyes to the sound of rain hitting the window. Tap, tap. Thick raindrops, falling diagonally in the wind, caused blisters on the glass, trickling down like crushed fragments. The mist that had tied the moon like a lady’s ribbon had drenched the mountain ridge.

The glass, washed by rainwater, reflected in his slowly blinking eyes. The rain was too fierce for spring, knocking off freshly bloomed petals.

Tap, tap. The sound stirred a hazy memory. It was like a letter burned by candlelight. Though faded and old compared to the blackened singe marks, it was more passionate than the roaring flames. Hands tearing at collars, buttons scattering…

“Damn it…!”

Tadeo threw off the blanket and sprang up. Traces of their unbridled passion likely lingered from last night.

“Ugh…”

Straightening his waist sent a tearing pain from his tailbone. His face contorted, and a strained groan escaped. Stepping onto the floor with shaky legs, his entire lower body trembled.

“Oh, Lord, please… argh!”

As he put a leg into the picked-up trousers, he fell forward. Rubbing his bruised knee, he stood, draping the blanket over himself. He’d only go to the corridor’s end, so it’d be fine.

But the blanket trailing on the floor stopped after a few steps. Something flowed stickily between his unsteady legs. His fine hairs stood on end, goosebumps rising. Rolling his eyes, he faced the wall where the holy figure was enshrined. Instantly a sinner, he bowed his head deeply, pulling the blanket over his head.

“You’re awake.”

“….”

“I thought you’d look for me first, but were the fallen buttons that bothersome?”

It was while passing the Florentine knight’s armor, a hobby of the late Father Ghost. The face hidden in the red blanket looked up. The thick blanket he wore was a saint’s veil, the face of Saint Magdalene at risk of stoning.

Peeking past the arched pillar, Tadeo stared blankly at Bell.

“Don’t worry.”

Behind him, raindrops fell like a painting. On a night when dark clouds devoured the moon like a wolf’s teeth, Bell, standing before the large window, was like a masterpiece. Pointing with a bundle of parchment, he indicated the desk where black buttons from the cassock lay.

“Want some milk, warmed up?”

“….”

“With sugar.”

Those words seemed to calm even the eerie weather. A cup of warm milk he often made when Tadeo couldn’t sleep from nightmares or skipped breakfast. The memory evoked by Bell’s words carried the scent of aged furniture steeped in time’s aesthetics.

But Tadeo remained silent.

“Standing with that face makes last night’s events seem faded.”

“What kind of face am I standing with?”

“Wondering if this is a dream or reality?”

A gown-clad Bell, a fiercely sparking fireplace, a dim and damp sky. Every element felt like last winter rewound. Even his nonchalant, almost indifferent tone—thankfully, you were whole. Thankfully, you were alive. So he couldn’t say anything.

If I said last night’s reunion felt like a dream now, would that make me foolish? But I longed for you that much during your absence.

“After shaking the confessional and creaking the bed legs, if you can’t tell dream from reality, it makes me want to show you again.”

“How would you show me?”

“The semen you took in so much is still there, so it’ll be easy to take. I packed it in tight.”

Two feet alternated poking out from the blanket. Tadeo was slowly approaching him. As the strength left his hands holding the blanket like a cloak, it fell—at one step to his shoulder, at another to his waist.

He became utterly honest only when naked. Without a trace of flush, he stood behind Bell, gathering the golden hair reaching his shoulder blades. Bundling it to fit in one hand, he draped it over his shoulder. Two dark red scars were starkly visible even through the sheer fabric.

“My lower part hurts.”

“That’s normal.”

“You should’ve stopped when I said to.”

As Tadeo caressed the vertical scar, he brought his lips to it. Even if the scar was rough, the sensation of his gently pressing lips was fully conveyed. His lips, intriguing and mystical enough to set aside the drawing in hand, lingered.

“You never said to stop. You only said, ‘It’s good. It’s good. Do more, Bell.’”

“Did I say that?”

“Yes. You’re mistaking it for asking to be let go.”

Despite the blunt words, Tadeo only kissed the scar. The kisses tickled his ribs, and Bell recalled the early dawn. It was long before the rooster crowed.

His face, reddening like a bomb about to burst, climaxed each time Bell thrust. His chest and stomach were soaked, and Bell had to block his urethra with his hand. Their vision blurred with fever, only to clear sharply moments later.

‘I, I, want to go… want to come, let me come, please, please…’

‘No. If you come here, the blanket and sheets will get soaked.’

‘No, no… just a little, just a little…’

‘Really? Can you keep that promise?’

The repeated question wasn’t to confirm. It was a playful tease to see the crying, pleading face longer. ‘Yes, yes, quick, quick…’ Tadeo nodded like a doll with a spring neck. Bell stifled a laugh, turning the prone body over.

Grabbing his knees and lifting him, the tilted head shivered, exhaling excited breaths. It was the greatest reaction at the new point of entry.

‘Good boy… we’re there.’

Their joined bodies crossed the bathroom threshold. The lips, spewing incoherent words in a daze, seemed overwhelmed by rapid breaths. At the words “we’re there,” Tadeo dropped tears with his head. The tears falling into the toilet rippled the water.

‘I’ll let go now.’

Tadeo nodded vigorously at the whisper against his nape.

‘Yes, yes. Hurry. Qu—ahh!’

‘Shh…’

‘Ahh…!’

‘Like a child who can’t pee alone.’

Contrary to the soothing tone, Bell thrust hard again. Like a faucet turned on, a stream fell, and Tadeo, head on Bell’s shoulder, trembled all over.

“It must have hurt a lot.”

Tadeo whispered, lips on the shoulder blade. Since when had the lips of a saint, redeemed by sacred blood, been like a serpent’s? The voice begging through a keyhole was sticky. Your lukewarm lips, holding body heat, were a serpent. A serpent tempting to eat the fruit of good and evil.

“It must have hurt a lot…”

Even if God, met again, asks me of my sin, I will gladly call you a serpent. You are the most beautiful creature I defiled, an angel born even in a brothel.

Bell opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the face of an angel sharing a rib with Lucifel. Not wanting to see it, he turned the drawing over. He slowly turned to face Tadeo. Hair reaching his collarbone looked up at him.

“Stephano was Baal. Of course, he must have been possessed by a demon.”

“….”

“He had your wings.”

Tadeo’s eyes glistened with welling tears.

“…I wanted to return them to you.”

Recalling that memory still made his blood boil, and Tadeo bit his lip. But Bell’s face grew increasingly distorted.

“You met Hadad? How did you know? Did Hadad come for you?”

“Someone told me. I was going to see that person at dawn…”

“Who.”

Bell cut him off, grabbing Tadeo’s shoulder.

“Who told you?”

“…Some woman. She knew I was at Jonghyeon Cathedral. And that I was waiting for someone.”

Their locked eyes swayed side to side. The swirling current around jet-black pupils flowed chaotically. Tadeo, meeting those eyes steadfastly, continued belatedly.

“She said I must meet someone walking through rain, snow, day, night… without regard for seasons.”

The sky flashed again. Tadeo’s face flickered with the light filling the parlor. Moments after lightning struck the cathedral’s spire, thunder roared, shaking the ground of Hanseong.

In vision accustomed to darkness, the face lingered as an afterimage with each blink. Bell turned his head sharply, leaving the flickering face. Below the fiercer rain, a man in a silver-white robe ran forward.

It was Yusin.

🦇

The rain falling on Hanseong’s parched ground was truly a blessing. People, hearts scorched watching the drying reservoir, ran out cheering, some shedding tears of joy. But Yusin alone saw the rain as an ill omen.

When the moonlight, brightly illuminating the land, was obscured by storm clouds, the fire in the brazier, burning fiercely in the wind, was extinguished by the pouring rain. Steam rose from Yusin’s body, his undergarments untied for the ritual. In the midst of the torrential downpour, he stood dazed, breathing heavily.

Clang, clang. The sword, swung until blisters formed, fell. The fluttering robe clung wetly. The music of the shamans, playing in the untimely rain, stopped. Yusin glared at them, shouting angrily.

“What are you doing! Keep playing!”

“But…”

“Play! Keep playing!”

Blistered hands snatched the drum and sticks.

“Play, I said! Can’t you hear me?!”

The drum boomed as he struck it fiercely. The sound was quickly swallowed by the damp rain. His neatly tied hair collapsed, covering his forehead, with rainwater dripping endlessly from the ends. The rain pooled in his fierce eyes like a porcelain bowl. He struck the drum without blinking, but Yusin knew.

The ritual was already dead.

Tears or rainwater poured from Yusin’s eyes. Even the Buddha within him was silent. Dropping the drum and sticks he’d clung to, they made hollow sounds as the rain struck them instead.

“I knew it. What’s the use of serving a high spirit if the vessel is small?”

“Hey, the shaman might hear.”

“Let her hear. Am I wrong? Should’ve known when that kid was born.”

The first thing he held after the prayer beads was a sword. Even during his shamanic illness, it wasn’t this futile. While the drum hid his sounds well, the harsh words aimed at Yusin weren’t masked by the fierce rain. Then, the sky flashed, and thunder roared. Amid the vain pursuit of the sky, Yusin heard the young lady’s wails.

🦇

Splat, splat. The glossy black silk shoes trod the muddy path. Climbing Myeongnye-bang hill hurriedly, mud splashed up to his knees, soaking his robe and coat. Due to the sudden drop in temperature from the last spring rain, his breath came out like white snowflakes.

Reaching his destination, Yusin looked up at the cathedral’s towering spire. Wiping his stinging eyes in the pouring rain, he swallowed hard and pushed open a heavy door.

Unlike temples filled with incense from the entrance, there was one similarity. Before the high and noble cross, he felt reduced to dust, overcome with reverence.

It was like facing the giant stone Buddha on Toham Mountain’s slope.

“What brings you here at this hour?”

Footsteps echoed down the stone staircase with varying pitches. Eyes glimmering faintly with camellia-like candlelight turned toward the angel statue. Soon, Tadeo appeared in a black cassock. Yusin always thought that garb was pure black, capable of washing away defilements.

“Who the hell are you?”

Beyond the staircase, in the darkness, someone’s footsteps continued. Uncurious about whose they were, Yusin had no intention of waiting for them to descend. Standing rigid, he turned and spoke abruptly. His casual tone chilled the air around them before the cross.

“What’s that supposed to mean, barging in like this?”

“Are you really the guy the young lady was looking for?”

Yusin’s voice filled the cathedral. Sweeping over the candles like wind, flickering shadows rose and fell. Tadeo, frowning slightly, glanced at the staircase where the steps had stopped. Bell stood there, likely a couple of steps from the bottom.

“Look here. Who are you to cause a scene in this place?”

“At my ritual!”

Yusin clenched his fist tightly and shouted again.

“Some bastard interfered with my ritual…! Completely ruined it! The guy meant to receive the spirit vanished without a trace!”

“….”

“Who is he?”

“Why are you asking me about something that happened at your ritual…!”

“Who.”

The biting tone growled through clenched teeth. His fist, trembling under the wide, wing-like sleeve, gripped as if holding a staff.

“Besides you, who else met that demon.”

Despite looking like a drowned rat, his step forward didn’t hide his scholarly grace. Meeting Yusin’s narrowed eyes, Tadeo briefly set aside the dreamlike time.

Before the time like two scrolls steeped in ink’s fragrance, there was someone. Someone who lingered like a bite mark yet healed quickly. That someone was who Yusin spoke of now.

“Do you know what happened because you messed it up?”

“….”

“The young lady wailed.”

Yusin took another step, saying.

“She cried buckets! The whole Bukchon shook!”

“….”

“You didn’t hear it! Of course you couldn’t!”

Tadeo blinked once.

The man first brought sunlight, then wind at their second meeting. He was the one Tadeo mistook for the demon he dreamed of in his arms, with rose-scented clothes and golden hair carrying summer’s sunlight.

A hand roughly pulling reins, bulging veins. A man whose touch seemed to steal the longing within him.

Michael Hoshi. What eyes did he have when he held Tadeo from Baal?

“While we sent crows, flew arrows, and raised hell at Yongcheon! What the hell were you doing…?”

“…Arrows?”

“Yes, arrows! To protect you and punish the demons aiming to harm you! We were sending arrows!”

“Who is this young lady…?”

“Is that so important now?”

“Ha!” Yusin let out a short, mocking laugh, tilting his head sarcastically.

“I told you. Not a demon.”

The sharply upturned corner of his mouth was like a honed blade. The slanted smirk, like a scar from a polished steel knife, pierced Tadeo. Looking at the staircase, Tadeo now bowed his head. Even soaking in a tub of holy water wouldn’t cleanse his filth.

I lost Pedro and Antonio, missed the demon that defiled them before my eyes, and was swayed by the demon that nearly took you.

Why did I return to Joseon?

“I don’t care anymore. My tongue’s about to be cut, and I’m struggling to save myself. Whether the young lady lives or dies, it’s no longer my concern.”

Tadeo’s head snapped up. Yusin’s steps moved to leave the cathedral. Rainwater from his robe had formed a puddle. Tadeo’s gaze, chasing the splashing steps, crossed the vast cathedral.

“Wait! You said the young lady might die?”

Tadeo shouted. The nape, hidden by a stiff collar, paused mid-turn.

“She cried for hours, and no matter how we shook her, she wouldn’t wake. It’s no longer my business.”

“Can’t you give me a little time?”

Finally, Yusin slowly turned. His eyes met a man standing diagonally by the angel statue. Hair falling over a glen-check suit was finer than gold thread on silk. His hand-in-pocket posture was arrogant, his dismissive gaze tinged with pale blue menace. Yusin knew that menace was aimed at him.

“I said my tongue’s about to be cut. My throat’s a slaughterhouse right now.”

“Bell.”

The name called without a glance moved eyes like a blue ocean. The body, leaner since their parting, revealed its frame. Bell, staring at the upright figure, walked slowly forward.

“Bell, I have a favor. I want you to go with this man.”

“You.”

“I have somewhere to stop by first.”

They were close enough to touch fingertips if they reached out. But the gap was widening. Tadeo, keeping it distant despite the reachable closeness, kept his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor, chin raised.

“The person who told me about Baal’s identity is the ‘young lady’ this man mentioned. She knew I was here…”

“….”

“And she knew about you too.”

What he was thinking was as clear and obvious as flipping a palm. Bell wet his dry lips and closed the distance with a stride. All that could be glimpsed beyond his nape and shoulder was his moving lips.

“So you’re telling me to leave you?”

“You wanted to meet her too.”

“Not at all.”

“No, you did. You can’t fool my eyes.”

The surroundings fell silent, as if doused with water. Tadeo took his silence as agreement, while Bell only clenched his teeth against the burning pain in his shoulder blades.

Like a scar left on healed skin, the memory of wings torn off raw left phantom pain. In moments of crisis or intense longing, his mind sought wings that no longer existed, making his spine twitch. The severed nerves conjured false images, replaying nightmare-like pain.

“…I’ll be right back.”

Tadeo said this as he passed Bell. His gaze, as if plummeting to the ground under the weight of guilt, didn’t lift even while climbing the stone steps. Thus, he missed the cold sweat on Bell’s temple, and Bell missed the remorse in his eyes.

A bolt of lightning struck the Latin cross overlooking Myeongnye-bang hill amidst the storm.

“Hey, Father! Where the hell are you going?”

“I have something to check!”

The rain was fiercer than when Yusin left Bukchon. Barely two steps from under the eaves, Tadeo was soaked through. Pressing down his cappello romano against the wind, he shouted back to Yusin. The torrential downpour made even close-range shouts hard to hear.

“So what…!”

“You said some guy interfered with your ritual!”

The wind from behind pushed his steps forward. Clothes clinging to his frame like a soaked laundry pile felt heavy.

“I’m going to meet that ‘some guy’ now!”

Tadeo shouted, gesturing toward a passing rickshaw. As it stopped, a carriage from Jonghyeon Cathedral rolled into the clearing.

Beyond the blurry vision, Bell leaned against the cathedral entrance, arms crossed, with an indescribable expression. Tadeo, glancing between the rickshaw and Bell, suddenly began running. His priestly boots splashed through puddles without care. He was running toward Bell.

Bell blinked, loosening his crossed arms. The child running through the rain shone brighter than a headlight.

“Bell!”

Before Bell could fully open his arms, Tadeo leaped into them. Wet hands and lips clung without hesitation to his face, his lips.

The cold lips soothed even the burning pain. Bell closed his eyes tightly, recalling the time before Yusin’s arrival when Tadeo’s snake-like breaths settled on his scars. His vaguely open arms wrapped around the waist bound by a fascia. Tadeo pressed his lips as fiercely as his tightly shut eyes.

“When this is over, I’m leaving the priesthood.”

From his parted lips, a puff of white breath rose, and Bell’s eyes widened.

“I’m done. I won’t care about anything anymore. I won’t have to struggle over leaving you or feel guilty anymore.”

Even with a childlike kiss without tongues, Tadeo was breathless. Seeing his flushed face, Bell finally raised the corners of his mouth.

“…The best proposal ever.”

A kiss that turned a moment into eternity. Yusin, witnessing such a passionate scene for the first time, found nothing strange about it. Their appearance, no different from ordinary lovers, evoked an inexplicable longing.

Is love’s form ordinary yet unable to be so? Looking at the two with foreheads touching, Yusin muttered softly.

“Like a perfect folding screen…”

The body temperature, chilled by the rain, quickly warmed. Tadeo felt his heart race. The deep resonance was palpable in Bell’s grip. Tickled by the sensation, Bell scratched his palm with his fingertips.

“I’ll be back, Bell.”

The warmth from the hands cupping his face wouldn’t fade for hours. So Tadeo could let Bell go. His hands fell, buried in the rain again. He pressed his cappello romano and gave a short wave. Bell watched Tadeo, treading the muddy ground, until he faded from view.

Boarding the rickshaw, he passed through streets where sunlight was blocked. Beyond the vanishing point blurred by rain, until he became a black Go stone, a dot, and finally disappeared. The rickshaw, carrying him, took the scenery with it.

“Is it okay to let him go alone like that?”

As the rickshaw vanished, the distant sound of rain oddly revived. Yusin, standing at a distance, spoke first. The blue eyes, still fixed on where the rickshaw disappeared, blinked. Turning to Yusin, Bell spoke.

“No. Absolutely not.”

His boots, lowered jaw, splashed through muddy puddles. Walking to the carriage and grasping the handle, he looked back at Yusin.

“What are you standing there for? Didn’t you say someone’s looking for me?”

“No one said they were looking for you.”

“She said someone’s walking through rain, snow, day, night, seasons and all.”

At Bell’s words, Yusin’s eyes widened.

“That’s me.”

His added words, close to a murmur, didn’t carry far, but Yusin heard clearly. The man’s voice, like a ship’s horn cutting through waves, pierced the rain. The low voice, firmly lodged in his eardrums, left only fluttering sulfur-yellow hair in a blink.

Snapping to his senses, Yusin followed Bell onto the carriage.

🦇

“Where are you hurrying to so early?”

The rickshaw, one of only three brought by a Japanese businessman, had become a major transport. Once solely Japanese, now more Joseon men were rickshaw pullers. Despite the cold, they rolled up their pants, steam rising from their bodies like freshly made soup, likely from pulling a rickshaw several times their weight.

A roughly cropped head, catching breath after descending Myeongnye-bang hill, asked.

“I’m heading to the Japanese legation. I need to meet someone urgently.”

“The Japanese legation… that’s at Seonjeon Square in Jingogae! But it’s early; it might not be open.”

“Is that so…”

In his haste, he hadn’t checked the time. Tadeo muttered in a small voice, fidgeting with his hands on his knees.

“Wait a sec! Hey! Hey!”

At the booming voice, Tadeo looked up. On a street where tram construction had halted, another rickshaw approached.

“Huh? A first customer in this rain? Good start!”

“Where are you coming from? Is the Japanese legation open now?”

“Are you kidding? Jingogae’s pitch black, not a light in sight! A muddy mess! Maybe Jongno’s different!”

Jongno…? Listening keenly, Tadeo leaned forward and asked.

“Jongno?”

“Yes! Just came from Jongno, and only Hamada’s tailor shop had lights on!”

“…That’s the place.”

“What, sir?”

The rickshaw puller, adjusting the handle over his waist, asked loudly. Hamada, who tailored for Japanese dignitaries and palace attire, surely knew something. Tadeo, ignoring the rain, leaned further and shouted.

“Hamada’s tailor shop! Take me there!”

The rickshaw wheels rolled through the rain like a hoop. The oiled black canopy spilled water with each sway. Tadeo, touching the embedded screw, watched the passing streets.

I didn’t want to let you meet him. I don’t want to show you to him.

The person I’m meeting now is surely your ‘old friend.’

🦇

As the rickshaw puller said, Jongno’s streets, lined with Japanese shops, were dark early in the morning, except for one place glowing with light.

The shop’s lights refracted through raindrops on the window, sparkling like polished gems. Seeing the glass, Tadeo thought of Bell. His serious expression inspecting the tailor shop, his steps bathed in light. That day, he made day and night indistinguishable.

Ding-a-ling. A small bell on the door rang. Hamada, emerging from the tailoring room, greeted warmly with a smile. Tadeo, removing his useless cappello romano, nodded his wet head.

“Did the clothes we made last time fit well?”

“Yes, thanks to you…”

“Haha, that scary gentleman who came with you left an impression. But you’re soaked. Want some tea?”

“No, I don’t have time. I have a question.”

The wool rug at the door soaked up water from the cassock. Feeling like a nuisance, Tadeo got to the point with a flushed face.

“Michael Hoshi? No way you wouldn’t know him! He’s super famous! I stayed up all night making his clothes.”

An unexpected gain. Hamada, pushing aside a measuring tape, spoke excitedly, snapping his fingers. Tadeo blinked, his gaze fixed on Hamada’s pointing hand.

“Is that… Michael Hoshi’s clothes?”

“Haha, yes. He’s a main client.”

Hamada nodded, taking down a hanger proudly.

“A young tycoon, but few know his family or identity. He’s shrouded in mystery. Now he’s known as a major investor in the Oriental Development Company. Oh… I’m talking too much. Why do you ask…?”

Meeting his eyes, Tadeo swallowed hard. He needed a suitable answer.

“…I have a personal connection with Mr. Hoshi. If it’s not too much, I’d like to deliver those clothes.”

“Huh? Oh… wait a moment.”

Contrary to his long face, Hamada’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Scratching his temple, he pulled a paper from a drawer.

“Here’s the address. My assistant was supposed to go, but if you’re acquainted…”

His calloused finger slid the paper across the desk. ‘Haha, I hired an assistant recently. Work was killing me.’ Tadeo grabbed the paper, forcing a smile. But his lips twitched as he looked at the note. The scribbled writing was illegible.

“Is something wrong?”

“I… I can’t read Japanese.”

“It’s ‘Sengimae Hiroba,’ near Seonjeon Square in Jingogae. Called Namchon in Joseon. But it’s a bit noisy there now.”

Folding the paper, Tadeo asked at the last remark.

“Noisy?”

“Well… major Tokyo companies have moved there. Government offices too. But it’s a Joseon residential area, so there’s trouble. Joseon people claim it’s their land and won’t budge…”

“And the Japanese?”

“Haha, we… just sweep them away like bugs after the agreed date.”

Come to think of it, his eyes were always narrow. Bulging eyes with cold, long slits and gaunt cheeks. The sharp triangular face gave a cold impression. His eyes, creased like threads from laughing, and raised cheekbones made Tadeo feel mocked.

“Why do you look so shocked?”

He asked, knowing full well. Wanting an obvious answer. So Tadeo answered, with bloodshot eyes and tightly pressed lips.

“Because I’m Joseon.”

Holding a large box, Tadeo left the tailor shop with a stern face.

The rain had weakened. The stagecoach from Jongno crossed Namdaemun-ro, turning into Jingogae’s entrance. The area, dense with the Japanese consulate, police station, and telegraph office, was dotted with Japanese flags, and a shrine commemorating the Imjin War’s Japanese troops stood.

The small carriage window passed tiled houses swiftly. Some were demolished, others left as bare lots like felled trees. Then the horse stopped. After the chatter ceased, the driver shouted.

“Hey, you’ll have to walk from here!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Joseon people aren’t allowed in for now!”

Ridiculous… Tadeo frowned. Sitting dumbfounded, he heard water splashing outside. Amid the muddy sounds, a familiar noise emerged.

The sharp sound of military boots. It stopped at the door. Eyes peering through the small window met another’s. His hips jolted, and he shrank back. The eerie déjà vu stemmed from experience. The carriage door flung open.

“失礼します。現在ここは治安問題で朝鮮人の出入りを許さなくてはいけません。(Excuse me. Due to security, Joseon people are not allowed here.)”

“…I can’t understand a word. Is there no one who speaks Joseon?”

The eyes changed instantly. The blank stare resembled a spear’s blade up close. Tadeo felt a chill down his spine. The Japanese soldier, casually saluting, lowered his voice.

“もう一度口答えをするとお前は私に死ぬまで殴られる。(Talk back again, and I’ll beat you to death.)”

“….”

“やってみろ! やってみろ! (Try it! Try it!)”

His parched throat swallowed hard. The cold eyes curved into a sneer. Yellowed teeth, reeking of tobacco, bared greedily. The soldier’s gleaming eyes were artificially intense.

Laughter erupted one by one, spreading quickly. The number surrounding the carriage was unclear. Tadeo became the laughingstock. Mocking laughter grew louder.

“…Michael Hoshi.”

“何だと。(What?)”

How did five syllables silence so much laughter? Tadeo, unable to look away from the stern face, hurriedly showed the note.

“Michael Hoshi.”

The glaring eyes scanned him up and down. The soldier snatched the note, careful not to let the ink smudge in the rain.

Another carriage approached from behind. As the driver pulled the reins to make way, the soldier examining the note shouted. A startled “Eek” sounded as a black carriage stopped beside them.

“We always meet like this.”

Tadeo gasped shortly.

“Seems I have good timing, at least with you, Father.”

Military boots, crushing puddles, stood firm. The gaze slowly rose. A voice undimmed by rain. Beside the saluting soldier, a face gathered all light.

In a place where clouds blocked every ray of sunlight, speaking through a lowered window, winking against the rain.

“…Hello, Mr. Hoshi. I came to see you.”

“Haha…”

A white hand lifting the purple curtain was wet with raindrops. Laughter, as if burning ticklishness, flowed out. Hoshi’s face shone brightly despite the rain.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Sorry. I just… got a bit excited.”

“….”

“Excited enough for there.”

The added remark, deliberately spaced, left him speechless. The focused gaze and lips stubbornly pierced Tadeo. The refined aura didn’t falter despite crude words.

Dominance, privilege, power. The eyes of one never subdued easily captivated, drawing many to revere him.

“We’re both soaked.”

Tadeo felt his body temperature drop, not rise. Purple-tinted nails scratched the cassock. “I…” Meeting his eyes, his mouth wouldn’t open. Finally, Tadeo looked away.

“I… have something to deliver.”

“I know.”

Hoshi still held the curtain back. Rainwater now flowed from his fingers, once just dotted with drops.

“More than checking expensive tailored clothes, something excites me more. Know what it is, Father?”

Tadeo shook his head silently.

“That you made an excuse to see me. In this foul weather. That feels pretty good.”

“….”

“If it’s okay, shall we move to my carriage?”

With those words, the cassock hem, gripped until his knuckles whitened, fell to his boots.

The rain-soaked ground was a black snake. The uneven, unpaved surface wriggled like a long body, repulsive. This unfamiliar feeling persisted as he left Jingogae.

“You… seem to be coming from somewhere.”

Tadeo spoke first, not to break the silence but curious about the blood on the white shirt collar, raised like pheasant feathers.

“On rainy days, I go hunting.”

Blue eyes, gazing out the window, turned forward. Unlike Bell’s, his blue eyes didn’t shift with each moment. The transparent eyes, thought to be from blazing sunlight, were bright even in gloomy weather. Realizing those eyes, unyielding to impurities, differed from Bell’s. Now. Clearly.

“Joseon has fine bows, and its mountains have many tigers. I enjoy hunting tigers with those fine bows.”

“….”

“Shall I show you?”

Eyes focused on the swaying purple curtain froze. Thinking he’d handled the gaze well was Tadeo’s alone. “Shall I show you.” His eyes darted to the luggage compartment, vibrating with the carriage. For a moment, he imagined the smell of blood.

“No, that’s fine.”

“Don’t tense up. It’s a joke.”

Even his relaxed laugh didn’t ease the tension. But he had to pretend. Even if lies didn’t work on Bell, there was no guarantee they’d work on him.