Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

- 1 -

Panting from his sprint mingled with the howl of wind and snow, sweeping over dune after snow-dune. The fugitive—dark blue hair whipping behind him—slowed at a bend, glancing back now and then to check his pursuer’s position.

In his view, a proper game of cat and mouse ought to be a dance of near-misses and fleeting reunions. The sweetest thrill? Watching the hunter’s face twist in shock and frustration the moment he thinks his prey is finally within grasp—only for it to slip away again. If he vanished from sight too soon, where’d be the fun in that?

He rounded another snowdrift and slowed once more, waiting.

“Sampo Koski!” A firm, ringing voice cut through the blizzard as a young man with golden hair and piercing blue eyes emerged from the turn. “By my authority as Captain of the Silvermane Guards, I order you once again: cease resistance and surrender immediately! Further defiance will only compound your crimes!”

“Oh-ho-ho! Dear Captain Gepard,” Sampo drawled, slowing to a saunter and raising his hands with an exaggerated grin over his shoulder, “what on earth are you talking about? Ol' Sampo was just doing a bit of gardening right outside his own front door—hardly criminal activity! How could there possibly be ‘compounded crimes’ when there’s no crime to begin with?”

Gepard frowned at that ingratiating smile. “Don’t play games with me! For one, nothing grows in this frozen wasteland—not a single leaf. And that house? It’s certainly not yours. You lying criminal—what exactly are you hiding?”

Sampo’s grin widened. He turned fully now, eyes gleaming. “Captain, Aeons above bear witness—I’m merely cultivating a very special breed of blue rose. They require constant watering, careful feeding… all so that by Valentine’s Day, I can pluck the most radiant bloom and present it to you personally!”

Though Sampo’s tone was so flamboyant it made Gepard want to punch him, the last part still painted a faint flush across the captain’s cheeks. “Enough of your flattery!” Gepard snapped. “If you refuse to reveal your true purpose, you’ll find yourself in the interrogation room before—”

Suddenly, Gepard’s gaze shifted past Sampo’s shoulder. His face went pale. “Get down! Behind you!”

The instant Gepard’s eyes flickered away, Sampo sensed it too—a disturbance in the air. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a hulking Fragmentum creature materializing behind him, already coalescing jagged ice into a lethal spear aimed straight at his back.

Spare me, Sampo thought with a scoff. A measly Fragmentum beast? Please. His hand drifted subtly to the throwing knife tucked at his lower back, ready to slice the monster’s head clean off the moment it struck.

What truly surprised him wasn’t the creature—it was the raw urgency in Gepard’s voice.

He arched a brow, still not turning, and called out with theatrical delight, “Aeons, Captain! Were you actually… worried about me?”

Sampo expected outrage—an indignant denial, maybe a sharp “Shut your mouth!” Instead, Gepard did look furious… but he also lunged forward in one fluid motion, tackling Sampo hard into the snow.

The impact knocked the breath from Sampo’s lungs. Before he could even process what happened, the knife slipped from his grip and plunged hilt-deep into the snow beneath them. And the Fragmentum’s ice spear—meant for Sampo—plunged instead into Gepard’s back with a sickening thud.

For a heartbeat, Sampo froze. His pupils dilated; his mind went blank. Only Gepard’s muffled groan of pain jolted him back to reality.

He scrambled upright, one arm bracing Gepard, the other whipping the now-glowing knife through the air. It pierced the creature’s throat with surgical precision. The beast let out a final, guttural shriek before collapsing into the snow, motionless.

Sampo dropped to his knees, cradling Gepard against his chest. The vivid red blooming across the captain’s uniform felt like a thousand arrows piercing his own heart. He couldn’t breathe.

After a frantic assessment, he concluded the ice shard had missed vital organs—lodged instead in the thick muscle near the shoulder blade, perilously close to the spine. Relief washed over him, shaky and thin, followed immediately by a tidal wave of dread, anger, and guilt.

Why did you do that? he raged inwardly. You didn’t have to shield me. You could’ve just let it hit me! And yet… why had Gepard jumped? Even now, Sampo couldn’t fathom it.

His voice came out soft, almost dazed: “Captain… why go to such lengths?”

“Protecting Belobog’s citizens… is my duty,” Gepard rasped, pale and trembling, yet forcing his eyes open. “Even criminals… deserve that.”

Of course, Sampo thought bitterly. That’s just who you are—always righteous, always selfless. To everyone. He swallowed the strange ache in his chest and, for once, offered no retort. Instead, he yanked off his coat and undershirt, using the latter to bind the wound, stabilizing the ice shard and staunching the blood flow.

As he worked, he tried to convince himself: He did it because of duty. Not because of you. Don’t make it about you.

But the lie tasted hollow.

When the makeshift bandage was secure, Sampo helped Gepard sit up, brushing snow from his cheek. “How are you feeling, Captain? Still within tolerable limits?”

Gepard grunted, testing his limbs. “I’m… fine. Shouldn’t have hit anything critical…” Another cough wracked him.

“Alright, that’s enough talking,” Sampo cut in gently. “Save your strength. We need to get back. I can’t see how deep that thing went—if it nicked the spinal cord, even slightly, there could be lasting damage.”

He crouched down, back turned. “Climb on. Wrap your arms around my neck.”

“…I can walk.”

“For Aeon’s sake, Gepard, stop being stubborn and get on!”

“…At least put your coat back on. The metal studs on my armor will cut you.”

Sampo stared. Seriously? He’d just gotten Gepard impaled—and the man was worrying about scratching him? He knew Gepard was kind, but this… this bordered on absurd. His nonexistent conscience twinged.

With a sigh, he snatched his coat from the snow and shrugged it on. “Happy now, Captain? Get on.”

Gepard hesitated—then relented, letting Sampo hoist him onto his back.

Sampo adjusted his hold carefully, ensuring no pressure touched the wound, and began trudging toward the city.

After a long silence, he murmured, “Captain…”

“Hmm?”

“You really scared me back there. Old Sampo nearly thought… he’d never see you again. How dare you?”

Gepard let out a weak chuckle. “Don’t worry. I won’t die until I’ve dragged you to prison myself.”

Sampo huffed a laugh. “Hey! I was being serious for once!” He took a breath, voice dropping, earnest now.

“You said protecting Belobog’s citizens is your duty… But if that duty costs you your life—or your health—no one would accept it. I know I’ve got no right to say this… but I bet everyone you’ve ever saved would rather take the injury themselves than watch their beloved Captain suffer for them. Because… when someone you care about throws themselves in harm’s way for you? That pain—right here”—he tapped his chest—“hurts worse than any wound. So… maybe protect yourself first. Then save the rest of us. What do you think?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, rushing on: “And honestly—not every citizen of Belobog is worth your sacrifice. Their worth… doesn’t even compare to yours.”

Especially not me, he added silently.

“How can you say that?” Gepard frowned, earnest despite his weakness. “Every citizen of Belobog is equal. We serve in different roles, create different kinds of value—but none are superior. And as Captain of the Silvermane Guards, it’s my sworn duty to defend every life and every home, no matter the cost—”

“Okay, okay, Captain Righteous!” Sampo held up a hand. “Forget that last bit—I was rambling. But please… remember the rest.”

He paused, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Sorry, Captain. You save my life, and instead of thanking you, I lecture you like some pompous fool. What a jerk, huh?”

“I didn’t save you for your gratitude,” Gepard said quietly. “You owe me nothing. It was my choice.”

Sampo winced. “Still… old Sampo owes you one.”

“Then repay it by coming with me to the Silvermane base—to turn yourself in.”

“…Ah! Captain Gepard, I just remembered the funniest joke! Listen—once upon a time, there was this guy…”

Their voices faded with distance, swallowed by the endless snowstorm.

Then—from behind a snowdrift—a fox mask emerged, followed by a flash of crimson skirt and a bright, mischievous smile. A slender hand reached out, fingers curling lazily. The Fragmentum corpse collapsed instantly into a tiny plush doll, zipping through the air into her palm.

“Well, well! I only dropped by to visit an old friend—and look what a delightful little show I stumbled upon!” she giggled.

And soon, her laughter, too, vanished into the eternal blizzard.

- 2 -

The Underworld Central Tavern.

Laughter, shouting, and the clinking of glass filled the cramped space, drowning out the raspy thrash metal wheezing from the battered radio tucked behind the bar.

Burly laborers, reeking of sweat after a long shift, stumbled in, slammed back cheap malt liquor, and staggered out again—this brief escape their only reprieve from backbreaking toil.

Or street hustlers, whose sharp cackles and electric, headbanging dances made them stand out even in a crowd. Even the ragged vagrant curled in the corner would mutter curses about the noise. Oh, don’t ask why they’re here—outside, there’s no free booze to scavenge.

Sometimes, children would press their faces against the grease-streaked windows, wide-eyed and hesitant. Then, steeling themselves like tiny rebels, they’d burst inside—either to defy adult rules, drink and throw dice like “real men,” convinced they looked damn cool… or simply to drag their passed-out father home.

Sampo belonged to none of these types—he was something rarer. When not on the job, people like him didn’t come to taverns to kill time, but to gather intel. Everyone knew drunkards spilled secrets easiest—and this tavern? The biggest in the Underworld. And Sampo? The undisputed master of the craft.

“Learned the whole city’s gossip over a single drink,” Sampo bragged to a wide-eyed patron.

“And thanks to my connections in the Overworld, I scored the Belobog Academy of Sciences’ latest Smart Covert Audio Recorder 4.0! Catches every word around me—real-time transcription, instant replay, frequency switching… all for just five thousand shields! Shame there’s only one left… and I need it myself. Can’t let you test this tech, old pal—sorry!”

“Uh… Sampo, brother,” the man stammered, “I know it’s greedy to ask, but… we’ve hit it off so well today… how about fifty-five hundred?”

“Ha! Don’t joke, friend! This baby’s my golden goose! Besides, I already paid for a six-month premium membership—hundred shields a month! With it, recordings last up to ten years, and file transfers to mobile terminals are lightning-fast! How could I possibly part with it?”

“Hmm… then how about sixty-five? No—seven thousand! Consider the extra my gratitude for your trouble!”

“Ah, now you’re embarrassing me! Gratitude? Please! Though… between us, funds are a bit tight lately… Tell you what—I’ll let it go for sixty-eight, device plus full membership included. Call it a gesture of friendship! Next time I get something new, you’ll be first in line!”

“Deal! You’re a legend! To our friendship—cheers!”

“Cheers indeed!”

—

Five minutes earlier, at the other end of the tavern.

“Man, things have been wild at the gang lately,” chuckled a burly man, slinging an arm around his companion. He lowered his voice. “Heard about it yet?”

“What ‘it’?” the smaller man asked warily, eyes darting around.

“Oh, come on—you know the thing!” The big man raised his brows. “Captain Gepard Landau of the Silvermane Guards! He’s laid up at home, wounded bad. Our boss plans to teach him a lesson while he’s weak. Men? Weapons? All ready. Just waiting for him to be alone. They say it’s foolproof! Boss is brilliant—fearless and cunning!”

“You weren’t even assigned the job—why care so much? Honestly, thank the stars you weren’t. Think you’d still be here drinking if you were? The Silvermane aren’t pushovers—they won’t just watch their captain get whacked by gutter rats like us.” The thin man took a sip, then snorted. “Besides… maybe the boss isn’t after Gepard Landau at all. Maybe he’s using this as an excuse to purge rivals.”

“Shut your mouth! If it were just purging, you’d be the first sent in!” The big man bristled. “You know the boss—if he says ‘someone else,’ maybe it’s bluff. But if he says Gepard Landau? That’s dead serious.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well… it’s complicated.” He leaned in. “Ever since the Overworld and Underworld opened up, the Silvermane started poking their noses into our business. Found all our hidden arms caches! That’s why we’ve been hiding like cockroaches!”

“But why target Landau specifically?”

“You really don’t know, do you?” His voice dropped further. “Our second-in-command—the boss’s own brother—is dead.”

“Dead?! How?!”

“Keep it down, idiot! …Shot. By Landau himself. Brother was overseeing a shipment at our secret warehouse when some snitch called the Captain. Landau showed up, didn’t ask questions—just pulled the trigger.”

“Damn… I thought the ‘noble’ Captain only arrested people. Not straight-up executions.”

“Exactly! Boss went berserk—lost his brother and the whole operation! Who wouldn’t want revenge?” He slapped his friend’s shoulder. “And let’s be real—the Silvermane have always been lapdogs for the rich. When did they ever give a damn about us Underworld folk? Now the gates open, and their first act is murder? What kind of justice is that?”

The thin man nodded slowly. “Now I get it. And with Landau injured—just discharged from the hospital, stuck at home—it’s the perfect chance… Hell, maybe it’s Qlipoth’s divine punishment for all his sins!”

They burst into laughter.

“To Qlipoth! For THEIR mercy!”

“To Qlipoth! To the Boss! Cheers!”

As they clinked glasses, a blue-haired man rose silently from the shadowed booth behind them, face pale, and slipped out of the tavern—leaving half a drink untouched on the table.

Noticing the departure, the burly man smirked, flashing a bright grin.

“Heh… the show’s about to begin~”

“Yeah,” his companion agreed, oblivious. “The show’s about to begin.”

—

Late that night, Sampo slipped effortlessly to Gepard’s window. He’d tailed the Captain home before—knew the place like the back of his hand. (Don’t get the wrong idea—any decent info broker in Belobog kept the Silvermane Captain’s address on file. Good intel sells. Though… details about his dear officer? Those came at a steep price.)

Contrary to popular belief, Gepard didn’t live in the Overworld’s manicured, high-security estates. Instead, he occupied a modest townhouse in the city center—small, street-facing, practical. Maybe for convenience. Maybe because one man didn’t need much space. Either way, it was still leagues beyond what any Underworld dweller could dream of, Sampo mused.

On the second-floor balcony, Sampo pulled out a signal jammer, briefly disabling the infrared perimeter sensors. He pried the window open, slipped inside without a sound, and closed it behind him.

He scanned the bedroom. Gepard lay asleep under the covers, breathing evenly. Sampo exhaled in relief—things weren’t as dire as he’d feared.

Moving quietly, he checked the living room, study, kitchen—no signs of forced entry, no hidden bombs, no poisoned water or food. Satisfied, he returned to the bedroom… though not before planting a few invisible listening devices and micro-cameras. (He’d remove them later, he swore! After all, Old Sampo wasn’t completely shameless.)

For now, the house was secure. All that remained was to keep Gepard safe—prevent ambushes when he went out, stop anyone from sneaking in while he was away. Sampo nodded to himself, tension easing.

Only then did he notice the row of potted plants on the balcony. They looked… lifeless. Well, more lifeless than their owner, anyway. Gepard might be stoic, work-obsessed, and generally indifferent to everything except chasing “handsome merchant”—but these poor plants? They were dying.

And yet—stacked neatly nearby were professional-grade gardening tools and an array of fertilizers. Sampo’s pity for the plants instantly flipped to sympathy for Gepard. Oh my Aeons, he thought, biting back laughter. He couldn’t risk waking the man just to explain he wasn’t mocking his horticultural skills.

Glancing at his terminal—2:17 a.m. Still early. Fine. Since he was already here… Ol' Sampo, ever generous, might as well lend a hand.

He unclogged drainage holes, scraped off compacted topsoil, crushed fermented soybean cakes into powder, and sprinkled them gently around the roots—careful not to touch stems. He repotted wilted specimens, trimmed rotting roots, applied slow-release granules, pruned dead leaves, watered thoroughly, and shifted sun-starved plants toward brighter spots.

He doubted Gepard would even notice his greenery had been rearranged in the dead of night. The man clearly didn’t care where they stood.

Finally, in the corner sat a pot of utter desolation—nothing but brittle twigs. Sampo dug out the remains and planted a single “rose seed” from his pocket. A special blue rose, engineered for Belobog’s harsh climate: no watering, no feeding, no care needed. It would grow as long as soil existed. The trade-off? Sterile—no pollen, no seeds. No risk of ecological invasion. Harmless. A gift.

Even if every other plant perished, Gepard would still have one blue rose to look at.

Sampo turned back. Gepard slept soundly, facing away from the balcony, emitting the faintest hint of a snore. Watching him for a moment, Sampo crept closer, gently lifted the blanket’s edge, and checked the wound. Healing well. Good.

He’d always known Gepard neglected his body—pushing through injuries, working days on end until Pela or Bronya dragged him home. But this time, he’d actually rested. Must thank the doctor… Wait. Why would I thank anyone?

A frown creased Sampo’s brow. Had he overstepped?

Rushing here after hearing Gepard was targeted by the Wildfire Gang—that was rational. No mask, no backup plan… better to prepare. He owed this. He caused the injury. Responsibility, not sentiment.

But… the plants? The blanket-tucking? That was excessive.

After all—he was the criminal. Gepard, the law. Natural enemies. Nothing more.

Just duty, he reminded himself firmly. Nothing more.

Without another glance, Sampo smoothed the covers, opened the window, and vanished into the night.

TBC.

Chapter Text

- 3 -

A few hours later, in a guest room at the Goethe Hotel.

Sampo sprawled across a chair, legs propped high on the table, one hand holding a lukewarm coffee, the other idly scrolling through a client group chat on his terminal. His eyes flicked up every few seconds to the row of glowing screens set up before him—live feeds from every angle of Gepard’s home. The street was just one block away. Closer than any of his safehouses. If anything went wrong, he could be there in under a minute.

Oh, Captain Gepard, he mused, absently ruffling his hair. This room’s not cheap. All the coin I’ve conned—er, earned—these past weeks? Gone. You owe me. Big time.
(He knew Gepard couldn’t hear him. But who cared? It was just a thought.)

When Gepard finally stirred, Sampo’s terminal was forgotten on the table. He leaned forward, watching: the slow stretch, the stiff walk to the bathroom, two dry bites of bread, then straight to the study—plopping into his chair like a man possessed by paperwork.

Sampo twitched a smirk. Of course. He’d never expected Gepard to change. Still the same work-obsessed, duty-bound machine.

Not that he minded. Staying home made him easier to watch.

He pressed a thumb to his temple, tamping down a flicker of unease. How long would this last? He hoped the gang never showed. But if they were coming… he wanted them now. The longer it dragged, the more dangerous it became.

He cranked the audio feed to max, leaned back, and closed his eyes. One night without sleep—coffee helped, but not enough. He just needed to hold on a little longer.

Hours passed. The clock struck two.

Nothing. No noise, no movement. Sampo rubbed his eyes, feeling a surge of hollow pride. Another day, another near-miss.

But Gepard was still at his desk. Same posture. Hadn’t moved.

“Tch. Is his body made of steel? Doesn’t he feel hunger?” Sampo muttered.

He grabbed his earpiece, straightened his coat, and left the room.

—

Sampo slipped back into Gepard’s house through the window, a takeout box in hand.

The study door stood ajar. Gepard sat hunched over his desk, utterly absorbed in a stack of reports. Sampo leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, waiting. When no reaction came, he sauntered over and dropped the box with a flourish.

“Surprise~! Lunch from the heart, dear Captain!”

Gepard jolted back so hard he nearly toppled off his chair.

Sampo burst out laughing. “Whoa! Didn’t expect you to be this thrilled to see me! Truly, I’m touched!”

Gepard snapped his head up, one eyebrow arching. In a flash, he yanked a pair of handcuffs from somewhere inside his robe and lunged.

Sampo leapt back, hands raised. “Whoa, whoa, easy there, Captain! Watch the wound—don’t go tearing your stitches for my sake! And hey, as much as I adore your enthusiasm, maybe skip the cuffs this time?”

Gepard narrowed his eyes, still gripping the metal. “What are you doing here? How do you know where I live? How do you even—”

“Aeons, Captain,” Sampo cut in, pushing the box forward with a grin, “I’m just here to feed you. Simple as that. I stopped by the Silvermane HQ to sell some ‘lightly used’ surveillance gear—saw you weren’t there. Heard you were injured, resting at home. Figured you’d be buried in work, forget to eat. So I brought lunch! Your favorite—Galaxy Fried Rice. Hot, fresh, and paid for with my hard-earned coin. Enjoy.”

Gepard hesitated. Then, with a small cough, he muttered, “...Well. Thank you, Sampo Koski. I... didn’t expect you to be so thoughtful.”

A faint pink touched his ears. Sampo noticed. Oh? Interesting.

“Don’t mention it, Captain! Though if you really want to repay me…” He wiggled his fingers. “Next time you catch me running a tiny smuggling op, just look the other way?”

“Not a chance.” Gepard’s voice turned icy. He flicked the cuffs again. “Now come with me.”

Sampo lunged—not to escape, but to grab Gepard’s wrist and gently push him back into the chair. “Whoa, whoa! But Captain,” he teased, “where’d you even keep those cuffs? Been dreaming of me, have you? I’m flattered.”

“Sampo Koski!” Gepard roared. “You are insufferable!”

Sampo only laughed harder, clapping him on the shoulder. “True, true. But if I’m shameless, you’re reckless. And honestly? You’re the bigger fool. Now eat. This meal cost me a fortune. Don’t waste my precious goodwill.”

He gave a dramatic pout, eyes wide with mock betrayal.

Gepard exhaled, defeated. “...Don’t touch me.” But he took the chopsticks Sampo offered.

As Sampo began unpacking the containers, arranging them neatly, Gepard cleared his throat. “...I can feed myself, you know. The injury was to my back, not my hands.”

Sampo coughed. “Right, right. Forgot you’re a Captain, not one of Hook’s little kids. My apologies, sir. In my book, anyone who forgets to eat or sleep and needs babysitting? That’s a child.”

Ignoring the jab, Gepard asked, “Hook? Who’s that?”

Sampo grinned. “One of the Underworld’s cutest troublemakers. Leader of the Mole Gang. Honorary member of the ‘We Steal Bread But We’re Cute’ club.”

He launched into stories—Hook’s wild pranks, her crew’s chaotic loyalty, the time they “liberated” a whole crate of melon buns from the bakery. Gepard listened, genuinely amused. It was the first time Sampo had ever spoken so openly about his world. And about children, no less. It was... unexpected.

Slowly, Gepard’s expression softened. He began sharing stories of his own—of raising Lynette, of her stubbornness, her quiet courage, how she’d once hidden a stray cat in his coat.

They talked. Laughed. For a moment, it didn’t feel like cop and criminal. Just two men, sharing warmth in a quiet house.

When the meal ended, Sampo sprang up. “No, no, Captain—stay put. Sick man shouldn’t move.” He darted to the kitchen, returning with a trash bag and rag, efficiently clearing the table.

Gepard watched, head tilted. After a pause, he said, quietly, “Sampo Koski… why do I feel like you know this house too well? Like we’ve… lived together for years?”

Sampo froze. Then grinned. “Captain… may I take that as an invitation?”

Gepard slapped a hand to his forehead. Realizing what he’d implied, he groaned and buried his face in both hands, retreating into the chair like a man surrendering to fate.

“Oh? No denial?” Sampo leaned in, feigning shock. “Wait—you do want to—oof!” A cushion smacked him in the face.

“Shut up,” Gepard mumbled. “One more word, and you’re coming back to the Restricted Zone. Our guards have been waiting for you.”

“Oh, I’m trembling,” Sampo said, backing toward the window. “But to be escorted by such a handsome, noble, irresistible Captain? That’s an honor even Old Sampo can’t refuse!”

“SAMPO KOSKI!” A roar echoed through the room.

“Alright, alright! I’m gone!” He vaulted onto the windowsill, turned, and blew a playful wink. “See you later!”

And he jumped.

Gepard shot up. “Sampo Koski! That’s the third floor!”

Outside, Sampo landed smoothly on the sidewalk. Passersby stared. He gave a theatrical bow—thank you, thank you—then vanished into the crowd.

—

Two more days passed.

Sampo remained cooped up in the hotel, staring at the screens, half-convinced the gang had been drunk, bluffing, or that he had imagined it all.

But his informants confirmed it: the Wildfire Gang was planning something. They just… weren’t moving.

Damn it. I can’t take this. He was itching to do something, to drag those fools out and feed them to the Fissure Beasts.

He massaged his temples, fighting a rising tide of frustration. Back to the screens—Gepard was still working. Sampo sighed. Oh, Qlipoth, what kind of workload is this? He didn’t get it. But at least Gepard had eaten, slept, gone to the clinic.

He caught himself. Since when did I become a housewife? He grimaced. If the tavern lot saw me now—‘Sampo, caretaker’? They’d die laughing.
Aha above, he thought, I’m your loyal follower! Not some soft-hearted fool on the Path of Preservation!

He couldn’t rationalize his actions. Eventually, he gave up. Must be cabin fever. Or surveillance madness. He stopped thinking. Just stared.

But Aha, for once, wasn’t tormenting him with boredom.

A sharp ring shattered the silence.

It was Natasha.

Her voice was urgent. Sampo was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his earpiece, kicking the window open.

Hook had fallen from a mine pile. Bleeding. Stabilized, but she needed pediatric etamsylate injection—now. The clinic didn’t have enough.

Sampo ran.

He broke into Belobog Central Hospital’s storage, stole the meds, and raced back to the Underworld, cursing Aha the whole way. Are you bored, O Trickster? Is this your idea of a joke?

At Natasha’s clinic, he helped administer the dose. Hook was stable. Unconscious, but safe.

“Thanks, Sampo,” Natasha said, stroking Hook’s hair. “You got here just in time. She’ll be okay.”

Sampo nodded, eyes still on the girl. Poor kid. Didn’t even wake up. He didn’t crack a joke. Just said, “She’s family. I’d do it for any of them.”

Natasha studied him. Then frowned.

“Sampo,” she said slowly, “when was the last time you slept?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb. Look at yourself. You’re a ghost. If you walked into Silvermane HQ now, they wouldn’t recognize you.” Her voice hardened. “Be honest. Are you trying to die?”

Sampo stared. “Wait—what? I came here to help Hook!”

“Save it.” She stepped forward, smiling sweetly. “Go home. Sleep. Or I’ll sedate you and tie you to a bed. And right now? You couldn’t stop me.”

“Whoa, whoa! Natasha, that’s extreme!” He backed away, hands up. “I’m going, I’m going! Goodbye!”

He bolted.

Back at the hotel, he braced himself for the usual silence.

But the screen showed an empty room.

Gepard was gone.

Sampo’s breath stilled. He rewound the footage. Maybe he stepped out. Took a walk. But he’d been wearing the earpiece. No footsteps. No door opening.

His instincts screamed.

Then—two dark shadows entered the frame.

Gepard didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch. One moment, he was writing. The next—he slumped, unconscious.

One figure casually pulled out a pen, scribbled something on a sheet of paper, left it on the desk.

Then they carried Gepard out of sight.

No sound. No creak. Like they walked through another dimension.

Worst of all—his earpiece still worked. He could still hear the rustle of paper, the scratch of pen, the faint groan of wood under Gepard’s chair.

But no footsteps. No door.

The infrared sensors? Could be jammed. He’d done it himself. But footsteps? Silent as air? Impossible. No one on this planet could do that—except him.

And why now? The moment he left to help Natasha?

Coincidence?

He didn’t believe in those.

Sampo inhaled sharply, shoved the thoughts aside, and jumped out the window.

At least they’d left a note.

But when he reached Gepard’s study and read the words, the last thread of his calm snapped.

To My dear Sampo,

Want your dear Captain back? Come to Wildfire Gang Warehouse #2.
Oh! Don’t think about calling the Guards. Come alone.
Try anything clever, and you might not get a whole body back.

Sampo’s jaw clenched.

If he didn’t see it now—that this was never about Gepard, but about him—then he deserved to lose.

But why? What did they want? And why drag in Gepard, a man who had nothing to do with him?

Whoever they were, they’d outmaneuvered him. They’d made him believe this was just a drunken gang’s foolish plot.

And he’d played along.

Arrogant. Stupid.

But it didn’t matter now.

Only one path forward.

Sampo tucked the note into his coat.

And walked toward the warehouse.

- 4 -

Late night. Wildfire Gang Warehouse #2.

Gepard awoke from unconsciousness to find a smiling man standing before him.

For a moment, he was disoriented. The half-finished case files still echoed in his mind—how had he gone from paperwork to… this? He scanned the room. Shock hit him like ice water: he was strapped to a metal frame, shirtless, surrounded by armed thugs in mismatched uniforms. Clearly, they were together.

He tried summoning the power granted to him by the Aeon Qlipoth—the frostborn strength that could carve blades from thin air—but nothing came. His connection to THEIR blessing was severed. Only his own mortal body remained.

He studied the man again. Medium build. Neatly trimmed beard. Broad forehead. A hat tilted rakishly over one eye. Gepard searched his memory—and matched the face to wanted posters.

“…You,” Gepard growled, brows furrowed. “What do you want?”
This was the leader of the Wildfire Gang—the arms-smuggling syndicate causing chaos in the Underworld since the tunnel opened. Gepard had been swamped with reconstruction efforts, barely keeping up with cleanup ops. He hadn’t expected them to strike first.

The man chuckled, circling him like a predator. “Oh, little golden boy, why so fierce? Your name’s Gepard, right?”

Gepard didn’t answer. Instead, he warned: “Don’t waste your time targeting the Silvermane. Kidnapping me won’t help your gang. Give up now.”

“Aww, sweetie,” the man cooed, “don’t you get it? You don’t have a say here.”
His hand drifted to Gepard’s bare chest, tracing the ridges of his abdomen, then cupping his jaw. Gepard recoiled. “Take your hands off me!”

The man ignored him, murmuring thoughtfully: “Fine build. Handsome face. No wonder he likes you. But we’ve seen pretty faces before… What’s so special about you, I wonder?” He tapped his chin, eyes gleaming with cruel curiosity.

Gepard bristled—but forced himself to stay calm. He’d collapsed in his study. The Silvermane would’ve received an intrusion alert. Reinforcements were coming. His best chance was to stall, not provoke.

So he asked, carefully: “Who’s ‘he’?”

The man grinned—a slow, knowing smile. “Who else? My old friend… Sampo Koski!”

The words struck like lightning.

“Sampo Koski?” Gepard’s voice rose in disbelief. “Your friend?”

In Gepard’s mind, Sampo was a nuisance—a con artist who peddled fake relics, forged permits, and spun tall tales for coin. But he wasn’t evil. Not like these murderers. Since the tunnel opened, Sampo had even seemed… quieter. Less reckless. And back when they first met, Gepard never saw true malice in him—only sharp wit and restless charm. If Sampo ever chose an honest path, Gepard believed he could thrive.

More than that… Gepard couldn’t deny the strange pull he felt toward the man. Sampo was unlike anyone in his rigid, duty-bound world: unpredictable, irreverent, alive with stories Gepard had never been allowed to hear. He was a spark in Gepard’s monochrome life—a variable that made his heart race when Sampo leaned in too close, winked too long, called him “dear Captain” with that teasing lilt.

Gepard knew it was just Sampo’s way—he flirted with everyone. But still… Gepard hoped. Hoped one day they could meet outside the roles of hunter and hunted. That Sampo might choose to stay.

So to hear this criminal claim Sampo was the mastermind behind his abduction? It felt like betrayal.

“It’s impossible,” Gepard snapped. “Sampo Koski isn’t scum like you.”

The man burst into laughter—deep, unrestrained, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. “Oh, Aeons above!” he wheezed. “You’re defending him? You absolute sweetheart! Does he even know you think of him like this? I’ll have to tease him mercilessly when he gets here!” He wiped his eyes, still giggling. “He always bragged about how well he played you. I believed him! But this? This is gold. You really are special.”

Gepard’s stomach twisted. Nothing made sense. But one word caught him: “When he gets here? What does that mean?”

“Simple,” the man said, checking his terminal. “Our other star is about to arrive. The show’s about to begin.” He tilted his head, studying Gepard anew. “But since he’s running late… how about we pass the time with a little game, little golden boy?”

Gepard stiffened. “What game?”

The man pulled out a slender knife. “Every minute that passes… I carve a new line on you. We’ll see—will death or Sampo reach you first?” He laughed, light and airy. “Isn’t that fun? A race against time!”

Gepard stared as the blade glinted under the warehouse lights. This wasn’t a bluff.

“Hmm… where to start?” The man traced Gepard’s left arm, bound horizontally across the frame. “Ah—here!”
A shallow cut, just below the shoulder. Blood welled instantly. Pain flared.

Gepard gritted his teeth. “You’re a monster.”

“Call it a compliment!” the man chirped. As the minute hand ticked forward, he added a second parallel slash.

Blood seeped. Gepard flexed his fingers, buying time. He needed to distract him. “You seem to know Sampo well. How did you meet?”

“Oh, far longer than you two!” the man purred. “But tell me—how did you meet?”

Gepard hesitated. “…On a wanted poster.” True enough. That’s where he’d first seen the name Sampo Koski.

“Delightful!” Another cut. “And have you ever caught him?”

“…No. He always slips away at the last second.”

“Classic Sampo,” the man mused. “No one catches him… unless he lets them.” He gave Gepard a loaded look.

“Unless what?”

“Unless he wants to be caught!” The man laughed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Gepard frowned. “No one wants to be captured.”

“Ah—but what if he has something to gain?” The knife moved to Gepard’s right arm. “Ever heard the phrase ‘the willing fish swallows the hook’?”

Gepard’s thoughts churned. Was blood loss slowing him? Or was this man speaking in riddles?

“Sampo’s like that,” the man continued, almost fondly. “Acts like a coward, grovels to anyone useful… but inside? He’s got more pride than anyone I know. He lets you think you’ve won—because he knows he’s already three steps ahead.”

Gepard understood that much. Sampo sacrificed dignity for control. His humility was strategy. His weakness, armor.

“He thinks he’s watching the play from the balcony,” the man said, voice dropping. “That none of it touches him. Just a performance.”

“But what if…” Gepard pressed, sensing mockery beneath the words, “what if he’s wrong?”

The man clapped. “Exactly! What if the playwright is also a character in the script?”

Gepard’s pulse quickened.

“And do you know what true comedy is?” the man asked, eyes bright.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“True comedy is when the weeper laughs and the laugher cries. When villains win and heroes rot in chains. When the cruel find love and the kind are betrayed. When liars are believed and truth-tellers mocked. When shameless men are hailed as saints… and honorable men lose everything.” He leaned in, savoring Gepard’s horrified expression. “That’s comedy. Look at you—shattered. Perfect.”

Then, abruptly, his tone shifted—softer, almost lyrical.

“Or… perhaps true comedy is this:
When thieves are robbed, and bullies are broken.
When deceivers are deceived, and self-deluders see the truth.
When guardians are guarded, and loners find home.
When burden-bearers rest… and wanderers are welcomed.
When those who refuse care are doted on…
and those who hate themselves are held like treasures.
When givers learn to receive…
and sacrificers learn to live.”

He spread his arms like a conductor. “Which ending do you prefer, Captain? The bitter laugh… or the happy tear?”

Gepard trembled—not just from pain, but from the uncanny feeling that this man knew him. Knew his hopes. Knew his secret tenderness toward Sampo.

“I’m sorry, darling,” the man sighed, checking his terminal. “Looks like I lost count—twenty-three cuts already! Where is my friend?” He swiped the screen. “Ah! He’s nearly here. Time for one last flourish…”

The knife lifted—not to the arms, but lower.

To Gepard’s ribs.

Another deep, deliberate slash.

Blood dripped onto the concrete floor.

Outside, footsteps echoed.

The game was on.

Chapter Text

- 5 -

Sampo ran—faster than he had in years—through the Lower District’s grimy alleys, the note’s words burning a hole in his pocket. Warehouse #2. Alone. Or Gepard dies.

His instincts screamed a frantic warning. If he didn’t hurry, something terrible was going to happen. He cursed the gang under his breath, swearing at every single one of those lunatics, leaving no one out.

When he finally skidded to a halt outside the warehouse doors, he forced himself to steady his breathing. Strangely, he felt calmer now. Panic solved nothing. His mission was simple: get Gepard out. By any means necessary. If they wanted him, let them have him—though he really couldn’t fathom what they needed from him. Money? Intel? Some high-tech product? He’d give it all; he wouldn’t be stingy.

He quickly ran through several rescue scenarios in his head, and once he was sure there were no major leaks in his plan, he pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

However, the sight that greeted him went far beyond his expectations. Or to put it bluntly, it made him unable to breathe.

Gepard was strapped to a wooden frame, arms splayed wide. His shirt lay in a crumpled heap at his feet. His torso—arms, chest, abdomen, even his shoulders—was covered in horrific, long gashes, some still weeping crimson. There was hardly a patch of clean skin left on his upper body; it was a mess of blood and sweat. He hung limp, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut, mouth gagged with a cloth. His face was deathly pale, and his body trembled ceaselessly.

Sampo felt the veins in his forehead throb violently. His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, frantically telling himself to stay calm. Gepard was one of the strongest fighters in Belobog—yet he had been overpowered and hurt like this, which meant he was completely outmatched. If that was the case, even with Sampo added to the mix, brute force was unlikely to turn the tide. The chance of solving this with violence was slim. Only cunning could save them now. Impulse was the enemy.

Gepard stirred, seemingly sensing his arrival, and started to look up. Sampo immediately snapped his gaze away, refusing to make eye contact. Instead, he scanned the warehouse. One, two, three… five guards total. And the man in the armchair across from Gepard—hat shadowing his face—must be the Wildfire boss.

Sampo gritted his teeth, stepped forward, and forced a plastic smile. “Sir… you asked for me? How can I help?”

The man in the chair studied him carefully, arching an eyebrow with amusement.

After a moment, he chuckled. “Well, well. So formal today. Funny—weren’t you the one cheering loudest when we planned to grab the Captain a few days ago? Now you play innocent?”

Sampo looked up sharply, staring at the speaker in disbelief. What is this act? What is happening? Is this lunatic having some sort of drama craving? Praise Aha, Sampo was seeing this man for the very first time in his life!

“Whoa there, Sir, what kind of joke is this? I never said anything about grabbing the Captain. Quite the opposite—I’m here to beg you to let him off! You know, the Silvermane’s power ends at the Upper District. But my network? It spans both levels. If you want someone who can take care of business above and below, it has to be Sampo! Look, can you cut us a break?” Sampo chose his words carefully, smiling ingratiatingly, hoping the man would take the hint.

The man laughed, looking entertained. “It took real effort to bring the Captain here. Tell me, how do you plan to compensate me?”

Sampo rubbed his hands together, letting out a dry, hollow laugh. After a pause, he tested the waters. “How about this: you release Captain Gepard—making a big mess isn’t good for either of us. As for me? I’m at your disposal. Anything within my power, consider it done!”

“Anything?”

“Of course,” Sampo grinned, masking his fear with eagerness. “As long as it’s within my capabilities!”

“Then show me your sincerity. Kneel. Crawl over here and lie at my feet.” The man smirked, crossing his legs and tilting his polished shoe, signaling Sampo to crawl to that spot.

Instantly, the whole world seemed to go quiet—so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

After a beat, Sampo chuckled awkwardly. “Sir, I admit that’s a good joke. But seriously, isn’t this a bit inappropriate? Let’s talk business—intel, money?”

The man wasn’t surprised by his reaction. Unhurriedly, he traced a finger along his hem, appearing to think. “Unwilling to do even this small thing? It seems you don’t want to cooperate. Then I have to continue. Hmm… Yordison, cut him again.”

Gepard groaned—a muffled, pained sound that tore through Sampo like glass. Sampo’s heart sank, fists clenching tight, his smile barely hanging on.

After a few seconds of silence, Sampo flashed a bright, albeit strained, smile. “Uh… Sir, look at you. I was just joking~ You are the valued customer; obeying your command is my honor!”

With that, he knelt down cleanly, looking like he didn’t care at all.

Behind him came the muffled sounds of Gepard struggling and the clanking of chains.

The man’s smile deepened. “Go on, crawl. Why did you stop?”

Sampo paused, then finally curved his lips into a smile, lowered his body, hands pressing against the grimy floor, and crawled forward step by step.

He kept his head low, his expression hidden.

When he finally reached the man’s feet, he stopped.

In the silence, the small warehouse suddenly erupted with an unknown, powerful force. Sampo struck—twin silver blades flashed from behind him, aiming straight for the man’s throat with wind-breaking speed.

But the wind-blades, imbued with terrifying divine power, didn’t slice open the man’s neck as Sampo expected. In fact, the man revealed a grotesque smile. In a flash of lightning speed, he caught Sampo’s weapon with his bare hand!

A blinding white light erupted from the friction, but the man’s hand remained perfectly unharmed.

Sampo looked up in disbelief. Suddenly, he realized with horror that in that exact moment, the divine power bestowed by Aha had completely annihilated, as if it had never existed. That endless power had dried up, withered away. His link to the Path of Elation was instantly severed; he could no longer sense Aha or any Aeon. He had lost his power completely. He was now a thorough, absolute mortal—nothing but a sack of skin and bones.

For the first time since he was a child, since he followed Aha on the Path of Elation and became a Masked Fool so long ago, he had returned to the original state of having nothing. It made him dizzy.

He was as shocked and helpless now as he had been confident just a moment ago.

“Who… are you?” Sampo’s eyes lost focus.

The man laughed happily. After a long while, he answered slowly, “Without your mask, did you really think you had the ability to challenge me? Besides… it looks like Aha adores our little game. What a delightful surprise.”

“What… how do you know I…” Sampo realized something. Knowing he was on Jarilo-VI, knowing he had no mask, and having the leisure to come here specifically to mess with him—it could only be his so-called “siblings” from the Tavern.

“How is it? Does being ‘ordinary’ feel interesting?” The man grinned, scrutinizing every inch of expression on the person beneath him.

Sampo shook his head slowly, desperately scrambling for a plan in his mind. But to his despair, without power, strictly relying on physical combat, he had no chance against any Masked Fool. Let alone with a swarm of subordinates around... God, he had actively “hid” on this frozen, broken planet—why wouldn't they just let him go?

Sampo gritted his teeth. “What do you want?”

The man raised an eyebrow, clutching his chest, and smiled with sincere mockery. “Entertainment, of course! You know this best, don’t you?”

Sampo frowned, glaring coldly. He admitted he loved chaos and fun, but when he was the entertainment, and especially when Gepard was dragged into it, forgive him if he couldn’t laugh.

“Ah, let’s continue! Come on, lick my shoe soles clean. This warehouse is so dirty, dust and gunpowder everywhere. My germaphobia makes it unbearable.” The man kicked his pointed leather shoe against Sampo’s cheek. “Or, I could clean them inside our dear Captain’s wounds. Fun fact: my favorite color is red.”

Sampo’s body gave an imperceptible shiver. Without a word, he reached out, held the shoe, straightened his upper body, lifted his head, and extended his tongue to lick the sole.

“Serious now. You don’t want to know the consequences of slacking off.” The man narrowed his eyes, tilted his head, and with a sudden shove, forced the toe of the shoe into Sampo’s mouth, grinding the hard sole against his tongue.

Sampo gagged and sputtered, coughing violently as the leather invaded his throat. He used both hands to try and steady the man’s constantly moving shoe, working hard to clean every inch of the sole and leather with his tongue.

When one shoe was clean, the man crossed his other leg, resting his foot on Sampo’s waiting hand. Watching the blue-haired man lower his eyes and carefully lick, the man rested his chin on his hand and praised, “Good boy. Such a good dog.”

Sampo didn’t say a word, silently repeating the motions.

When the man decided Sampo had cleaned enough, he lowered his foot and kicked Sampo in the crotch.

“Alright, let’s play something else. Take off your pants. Masturbate for us.” The man looked him over with interest, then added, “Hmm… we need rules. Three minutes. You have three minutes to cum. For every second you go over, I’ll have Yordison add a few cuts to our Captain. It’s a high bar, but I trust you’ll work hard to meet it, right?”

Sampo looked up in disbelief, eyes widening. Despair slowly spread through those jewel-like green eyes.

The man appreciated the look and grinned. He checked his watch. “Timer starts in three minutes. Hmm… stay on your knees.”

Sampo pressed his lips together tightly, head held high, staring dead at the man. He could hear Gepard struggling behind him, the chains snapping loudly. He could feel Gepard’s anger... Of course. Anyone inexplicably dragged into this, beaten black and blue, and then forced to watch the criminal he hated most do this... disgusting act. Gepard’s safety was forcibly tied to the unreliable person who caused all of this.

Sampo understood Gepard’s rage perfectly.

But he wanted to tell Gepard: Stop moving. You don't have infinite blood to lose. Yet he didn’t dare look at Gepard. He couldn’t make eye contact, let alone speak. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe something else.

After a moment, Sampo seemed to give up on something and closed his eyes. Finally, he raised his hands above his head and said to the man, “I’ll play with you. Fine. But afterwards, you must release the Captain immediately. He’s lost too much blood; any more and he’ll die. Even with your abilities,” Sampo gritted his teeth, “I don’t think you want to know the consequences of opposing a planet that has survived seven hundred years in a blizzard. Their will is far beyond your imagination.”

He paused, then added, “You’d best know when to stop. Don’t try to challenge them. It’s better for both of us.”

The man sneered. “Aeon, Sampo, you sound like you admire Jarilo-VI—a cosmic castoff. A tiny, fragile, barren, hopeless planet. This is the ‘home’ you found for yourself? After all these years?” He said the word “home” with a ridiculous intonation, as if he found the concept laughable.

“You treat it as home, but what does it treat you as?” The man watched Sampo’s silence with amusement. “Let me guess… A liar? A criminal? A clown? A rat everyone wants to kill?”

“No one likes you. No one cares about you. Right?” The man looked at Sampo with pity. “Just like always?”

Sampo replied stiffly, “I don’t need a ‘home,’ nor do I need anyone’s like or care. I am simply playing the role I chose. If you must know.”

The man laughed loudly. “You aren’t as good a liar as you think… how cute.” His finger traced down Sampo’s chest, stopping at his heart, and poked it. “You can fool your brain, but you can’t fool your heart. You know exactly what I’m saying.”

Sampo closed his eyes, struggling to control the trembling of his body. “I… I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I only beg you to release Gepard. He has nothing to do with you or me. No need to drag the innocent into this.”

“Tsk.” The man shook his head. “You really are ridiculous. And pathetic, in every sense.”

He patted Sampo’s face and hummed. “Come on then, do as I said. Perform well, and I will release him.” The man checked his watch again, as if remembering something. “Oh, right. Turn around. Face the room. Good things should be shared, right?”

Sampo accepted his fate, shifting his knees to face the center of the warehouse. He didn't dare look up at Gepard. Just imagining Gepard’s bloodied body, or whatever look might be on his face, was enough to make his heart feel like it was being carved by a knife.

So he simply smiled stiffly, lowered his head, unbuttoned his pants, and pushed them down to his knees.

“Take them all off,” the man said, propping his head up.

Sampo paused, but eventually obeyed, peeling away the last layer of coverage.

The man nodded in satisfaction. He looked at his watch, feigning surprise. “Oh my, two seconds have already passed. Only two minutes and fifty-eight seconds left!”

Sampo realized he had no time to waste. He gritted his teeth, gripping his cock with both hands and starting to stroke.

He could feel his heart pounding wildly. Being watched by a crowd while doing this—especially with Gepard there—he felt like a desperate man backed off a cliff. Every emotion that could crush a person erupted at once; he couldn’t even say which was worse.

He tried to block out all his emotions, focusing his attention solely on the nerve endings of his cock. He just had to desperately make himself not think, not notice.

He moved one hand rapidly, stroking the shaft, while the other scratched and stimulated the tip, using every technique he knew to force a quick release.

However, the extreme pressure and humiliation made it impossible for Sampo to get hard. Cold sweat seeped from his forehead; his fingers began to tremble.

He had to do something more effective to stimulate himself. He white-knuckled his grip, squeezing his own testicles hard. Pain spread instantly, making his body shudder. At the same time, his fingers dug in, twisting and pinching his nipples until they hurt, trying to force sensitivity. He freed a hand to violently squeeze and rub the glans, begging his body to cooperate.

Physiological tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. The urgency and fear inside him burned like a fire, forcing him to increase the intensity until the pain was enough to drown out the despair. He focused on that pain, increasing the weight, the speed, trying desperately to transmute pain into pleasure.

Seconds ticked by. Sampo’s body began to convulse, pain and pleasure weaving together into a chaotic mess. Finally, his body gave a violent jerk, and he felt a strong wave of relief surge from deep within. He finally came.

White, turbid fluid dripped down. He couldn't maintain his kneeling posture anymore and collapsed, slumping to the floor, drained of strength.

Breathing raggedly, he looked up at the man.

“Hmm, not bad.” The man nodded with satisfaction.

Before Sampo could even sigh in relief, the man continued, “Too bad you’re ninety-two seconds late. Yordison, start cutting.”

“No! Don’t!” Sampo screamed, scrambling back up to his knees and crawling rapidly to the man’s feet.

He grabbed the man’s leg, looking up desperately to beg. “I… I’m not good at this. Can you give me another chance? I can play other games with you… I’ll definitely satisfy you!”

The man looked down at Sampo, red-rimmed eyes begging in such a lowly manner. Somehow, the original amusement didn’t feel so strong anymore. He clicked his tongue and frowned.

Finally, he sneered, “Look at you… absolutely disgusting.”

Because he realized—Sampo might actually be serious.

- 6 -

Gepard didn’t know how to describe what he was feeling.

He’d grown from a child who cried easily into Belobog’s unshakable shield. Through years of battle, discipline, and sacrifice—he’d never known his heart could hurt like this.

Yes, his body hurt too. Terribly. Every wound burned like fire, each one leaching warmth from him. He felt cold, yet feverish. He knew if this kept up, he’d pass out from blood loss.

But that was nothing. Honestly. He’d endured far worse on the battlefield. In fact, he was so used to it, it almost felt familiar.

What truly shattered him was watching Sampo.

He wanted to scream at him—shut your damn mouth, stop doing those things! Let them cut him a hundred more times. That pain was nothing compared to the agony of seeing Sampo swallow his pride for him. Every second of it replayed in Gepard’s mind like a nightmare on loop—vivid, grotesque, impossible to escape. It clawed at his nerves, filled every corner of his thoughts.

Qlipoth above, this was too much.

Beneath the pain, confusion swirled—sharp, disorienting. He wanted to pry open Sampo’s skull and see what madness had taken root inside. Had he lost his mind? Why agree to any of this… this pointless degradation?

Gepard had never—never—imagined Sampo would go this far for him. Sure, Sampo acted like he didn’t care about dignity. Gepard had called him shameless, thick-skinned, a hundred times over. But by the gods, that didn’t mean he could stand by and watch someone humiliate him like this—mock him, force him to perform unspeakable acts with his own hands.

Just as that bastard had said moments ago: Gepard knew Sampo was deeply proud, no matter how he pretended otherwise. He had his own world, his own code, things he truly cherished. He wasn’t like most people.

And Gepard saw it clearly—in countless small ways. The most obvious? How Sampo treated him.

Most citizens of Belobog reacted to Gepard the Captain in predictable ways: they kept their distance, respectful but trembling with fear; or they idolized him like some holy relic; or they fawned over him, hoping for favors. It always left Gepard weary. He never wanted to be seen as a symbol, a weapon, or a resource—just a person. A flawed, ordinary man.

It might sound self-indulgent, but he genuinely hated that dynamic. He accepted it as part of his duty—the city needed its paragon—but he still cherished those rare souls who looked past the title.

Sampo was one of them.
The only one, outside family and fellow Guards.

Sampo had never been afraid of him.
Sampo sought him out.
Teased him until he blushed.
Gave him ridiculous little gifts—a chipped teacup, a dried flower pressed in paper.
Praised his humming as “adorable,” his sketches as “brilliant.”
Remembered he liked gardening. Knew his favorite meals. Understood his ideals, his stubbornness, his quiet dreams.

Sampo never mocked his rigidity or dullness. Instead, he kept showing up—annoying him, surprising him, making him laugh, making him feel. With Sampo, Gepard didn’t feel like a statue on a pedestal. He felt human. Warm. Seen.

Because Sampo respected people. And that meant he deserved respect in return—even if he’d broken laws. He was a person first. A criminal second. Justice should judge his crimes—not some sadistic monster playing god for kicks.

And that monster… he knew who Sampo really was. Yet he still demanded he surrender his dignity. There was only one reason: to break him. The realization twisted Gepard’s gut with fresh pain.

He didn’t understand their talk of “masks” or “Aha.” He only knew they’d known each other for a long time. He’d watched Sampo attack the man—fail—and then stop resisting entirely. After that, only obedience.

And now… a chilling thought struck him.

If this man could overpower Sampo today… had he always been able to?
Had he always made Sampo do things like this?
Is that why Sampo surrendered so quickly?

A wave of ice flooded Gepard’s veins. He realized, with dawning horror, that he didn’t truly know Sampo. Not his past. Not where he came from. Not what shaped him into this bright, laughing trickster who sold relics and spun lies like silk.

What if Sampo’s whole life had been surrounded by people like this man?

And that question—“Who are you?”—had Sampo asked it because the “Wildfire boss” was just a costume? Was this someone else entirely?

Oh Aeons. Qlipoth. What was really going on here?
No, he was spiraling. He couldn’t build a whole story from minutes of torture and half-heard words. His thoughts tangled like knotted wire.

He wanted to ask Sampo so many things.
Tell him to ignore that monster.
Say a thousand things—

But more than anything, he wanted to thank him.

Deeply. Earnestly.
Whatever Sampo’s reasons, he was fighting—bleeding, kneeling, breaking—to protect Gepard. The gratitude was overwhelming. Unworthy. It made Gepard want… to pull him close. To whisper how moved he was. How devastated. To comfort him through all of it.

But he couldn’t speak.
His mouth was gagged. His body bound.
For the first time in his life, Gepard felt utterly, terrifyingly powerless.

He took a shaky breath and prayed inwardly:
Qlipoth… please. End this.

But no answer came.
Of course not. No one was listening.

“There’s only ever one chance, Sampo,” the man said, looking down at the figure clinging to his leg. “You know that. Why should I grant your request after you’ve betrayed my trust?”

“I…” Sampo lifted a face raw with confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I rarely do these things. I’m not good at them. But I can do other things—things you’ll like. Just… please let Gepard go.”

“And what might those be?”

“Well…” Sampo’s voice trembled, dropping to a whisper. “I could… blow you. If you’re not disgusted by the idea. Like… like we used to? I don’t know who you are yet, but since you’re here… I assume you’d… want that?”

The man said nothing.

Sampo studied his expression, then straightened slightly, reaching for the man’s belt—before freezing. He pulled his hand back fast and leaned in, teeth catching the zipper instead. Right. Almost forgot, he thought.

Before he could even register relief, a knee slammed into his ribs, knocking him flat.

“Sorry!” Sampo gasped, scrambling up on instinct.

The man grabbed his collar, yanking him close. “Sorry for what?”

“Uh…?” Sampo blinked, dazed.

“Right now—and just now—what are you apologizing for?” The man’s voice sharpened.

“For… misunderstanding you. For not satisfying you. Ruining your game. Disappointing you.” Sampo’s voice was small, edged with numbness.

“And if you disappoint me?” the man asked coldly. “What then?”

Sampo’s pupils dilated. He didn’t understand.

After a beat, the man sighed. “You’re worried I’ll hurt Gepard, aren’t you?”

At the name, Sampo snapped back to attention. “Please let him go! He’s done nothing wrong! Why hurt him? We’re not even close—we barely know each other! If you want entertainment from me, why drag him into this?” His voice cracked, thin with tears.

“Sampo.” The man’s gaze pinned him. “If he means nothing to you… why do you care if I hurt him?”

“Because… he’s a good man! He doesn’t deserve this! He’s Belobog’s shield—the people need him—”

“And what does that have to do with you?”

“I… maybe because I’m a decent person? I can’t watch someone die pointlessly in a place like this! He has a mission! A city to protect!”

“So you’d save him. Out of morality. Is that it?”

“It’s… normal, isn’t it? Anyone with a conscience would do the same.”

The man laughed softly. “Oh, Sampo. You’re hopeless. You’d rather call yourself ‘kind’ than admit the truth.” He shook his head. “But here’s the thing: no one else would.”

“What? That can’t be—”

“Everyone loves the golden-haired Captain—when it costs them nothing. But the moment saving him means sacrificing themselves? They’d run like hell. It’s not evil. It’s just human nature, darling.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a velvet murmur. “So tell me, Sampo… what makes you different?”

Sampo felt danger pricking his skin. Even through the fog in his brain, his instincts screamed: This is the sword you’ve always feared—the one that’s been circling your armor for years. Now it’s pressing in. It wants to pierce you. And you can’t let it.

He wrenched free, stumbling backward onto the floor. “No… there’s nothing. Nothing at all.” He babbled, then seized on a thread of hope. “Wait—you said ‘save him.’ Does that mean… he’ll be okay?”

“Fuck!” The man snarled, fury boiling over. He flicked his wrist toward Gepard.

Luminous white threads of magic shot from his fingertips, weaving through the air like living serpents. They flowed over Gepard’s body, sinking into every bleeding wound. Instantly, the gashes sealed shut—skin knitting smooth, blood vanishing—as if the torture had never happened. Only Gepard’s pallor remained as proof it was real.

The man jerked his chin toward Gepard, then kicked Sampo’s side. “Look. He’s fine. Happy now?”

Sampo hesitated—then turned.

It was true. No wounds. No blood.
Relief crashed over him like a tidal wave.

And with it came exhaustion so profound it drowned his last shred of awareness. His eyes fluttered shut. The world tilted. He fell.

Watching Sampo collapse, the man cursed again—low, frustrated.

“Can’t take a joke,” he muttered.

Then he reached up, placed a fox mask over his face—and in an instant, the broad-shouldered man in the hooded robe was gone.

In his place stood a young woman in a fiery red dress, twin tails bouncing playfully at her shoulders.

She walked straight toward Gepard.

Chapter Text

- 7 -

“Oh dear, what a little crybaby,” Sparkle beamed, leaning in to admire Gepard’s expression—a volatile mix of fury and shock, eyes sharp enough to kill. “What a gorgeous expression… if we overlook those pathetic little tears, that is～” She winked playfully.

“Alright, alright, stop glaring at me already,” the girl sighed, stepping closer. “And I’m warning you—don’t you dare bite me!” she added, cautiously extending two fingers to yank the gag from Gepard’s mouth and toss it aside.

Gepard coughed a few times, regaining his voice. “Fuck,” he growled, squeezing his eyes shut to rein in his rage. “What did you do to him?!”

“Oh, come on—you two are impossible.” Sparkle rolled her eyes, smirking. “Relax. He’s not as fragile as you think. Just suffered a neural overload. Slipped into protective shutdown, that’s all～”

“Who are you?” Gepard demanded, brows knotted, voice low and dangerous.

“Oh! Haven’t I introduced myself yet?” She tapped her chin, then whipped off her mask with a flourish and swept into an exaggerated bow. “I’m Sparkle—a kind-hearted Masked Fool, and Sampo’s old friend～ Though he never recognizes me. It’s so… delightful. No, heartbreaking.” She grinned. “Pleased to meet you, darling～”

“I’m not pleased to meet you. I just want to kill you.” The words came out cold, sincere.

“Aww, don’t be so mean～ Should I pretend to be scared?” Sparkle wrapped her arms around herself, shivering dramatically—convincing, if you ignored the mischief dancing in her eyes.

“I’d love to keep playing with you two,” she said, glancing at her mobile terminal and clicking her tongue, “but I’ve got a new commission tomorrow. A girl’s gotta eat, after all… Pity I won’t get to see his face when he wakes up furious.”

She sighed theatrically. “Ah well. Joyful moments are always fleeting. All we can do is cherish every second～” She tilted her head, studying Gepard. “So, Blondie—tell me! What did you learn from this little performance? I do pride myself on being educational～”

But before he could speak, she pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh—wait.” Her eyes narrowed. “If you’re about to spout the same sentimental nonsense Sampo did, just save your breath. I’ve had my fill today!”

She winked again. “But you seem clever. I’m sure you get it～”

Gepard hated himself for it—but yes, he did understand.

He wanted nothing more than to repay every humiliation she’d forced on Sampo tenfold, then make her beg for forgiveness. But he was powerless. Worse—he still needed her to restore their abilities. The irony was suffocating.

So he swallowed his pride and played along.

He took a slow breath. “I realized… that Sampo cares about me. Far more than I ever imagined.” He shook his head, voice thick. “Aeons… it’s overwhelming.” The truth crashed over him like a tidal wave, drowning every assumption he’d ever held. Even now, he could barely believe it.

But one thing was certain—

“I care about him, too,” Gepard said firmly. “Sampo once told me never to sacrifice myself to protect someone else—because it only causes more pain for the people who truly care. He said that kind of pain cuts deeper than any wound… Back then, I didn’t really understand. But now—I do.”

“When I watched you force him to do those things…” Gepard’s jaw tightened. “His reactions, his expressions, the way he moved, the words he chose—all of it. The truth he tried so hard to hide beneath the surface. His past wounds. The people or forces that caused them—every single detail…” He drew a ragged breath. “It cut deeper than I can say. I wished it were me. Or at least that I could share his burden.”

“I should’ve realized sooner,” Gepard murmured, shame darkening his voice. “When he said that… he was talking about himself. And I was too blind to see it.”

“Mmm, no worries,” Sparkle chimed in, somehow already seated in a chair she’d dragged over, scrolling through her terminal with one hand while crunching sunflower seeds with the other. “Watching you two talk past each other was pretty entertaining.”

Gepard scowled.

“Oh, and yes—that Abomination? Totally my doing. You’re welcome, hehe～” She waved without looking up.

“I knew it!” Gepard snapped. “That thing shouldn’t have been able to manifest in Belobog!”

“Ehh, I just wanted to test you!” Sparkle giggled. “The way you threw yourself in front of it so fast—I knew I hadn’t misjudged you! You’re just as much a fool as he is.” She paused. “By the way, if you’d hesitated even a second, Sampo would’ve slit its throat. He didn’t dodge because he couldn’t—he just wanted to mess with you.”

Gepard flushed crimson.

“And the best part?” Sparkle cackled. “He never said a word! Isn’t that hilarious? He’s usually so loud!”

“…I realize now how little I know about him,” Gepard admitted quietly. “I never asked. Never even thought to.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Sparkle shrugged. “He wouldn’t have told you anyway.”

“Really?” Gepard’s heart sank further.

“He never talks about it,” she said, popping another seed. “Ask him, and he’ll just crack jokes—you know how he is. My guess? He’s from Kalevala. Aha plucked him from there as a kid and brought him to the World’s End Tavern. Just a guess, though～”

“Kalevala? Aha? The tavern? And these ‘Masked Fools’—what are you people?” Gepard frowned.

“Just like you’re a Pathwalker of Qlipoth—that boring, self-important Stellaris—we follow Aha, the Aeon of Elation. Our masks are our credentials. The World’s End Tavern is our home. Fun is all we care about～ Kalevala’s a planet. As for the rest…” She waved a hand. “Ask him. He won’t tell me, but maybe he’ll tell you. You two are kindred spirits. Me? He sees me and runs like hell—can’t get away fast enough～”

Gepard wanted to rebuke her blasphemy against Qlipoth—but the sheer weight of her words left him reeling.

He hesitated, then asked the question burning in his chest: “What… what was his childhood like? Are all Masked Fools like you? Do you… enjoy hurting him? Bullying him?” He hated even voicing it—but he needed to know.

“Hah! Excellent question.” Sparkle’s eyes gleamed. “Who knows? He rarely stays with us. Prefers hopping between worlds. Jarilo-VI’s the longest he’s ever lingered. As for your last question…” She smirked. “I’d say yes. Though I wouldn’t use such harsh words for our idea of fun. Among us, he’s one of the kindest, most upright—basically a goody-two-shoes, you know? And us? We live for chaos. How could we resist teasing such a deliciously dramatic soul? I’m sure I’m not the only one who gets itchy fingers around him. Hehe.”

Gepard stared at her—unrepentant, even proud—and felt equal parts rage and nausea. If someone had called Sampo “kind and upright” a week ago, he’d have choked on his dinner. Now? He might never eat again. Because it was true—and they’d used that goodness as a punchline.

Sparkle sipped tea from a cup that seemed to appear out of nowhere, then added casually, “Take this one time: someone caught a friend Sampo made off-world and dragged them to the tavern. Strangled them right in the main hall—just to watch Sampo’s face when he rushed in and found the body. Honestly, it was the highlight of our year—no contest!” She sighed dreamily. “He screamed, cried, raged—voice so loud it nearly shattered every glass in the place! We joked he should lead the Mourning Actors—they’re staunch anti-Elation extremists, yet Aha blessed them with power. Isn’t that ironic? Hahaha!”

“Of course, Sampo nearly killed the guy on the spot,” she continued. “Would’ve, if his brothers hadn’t pulled him off. Shame, really—if he’d died, the show would’ve been even better～” She shook her head, genuinely disappointed. “After that, they took his mask. Clearly spooked. Heh.”

“What’s wrong, Blondie? Cat got your tongue?” Sparkle finally looked up.

And froze.

Gepard sat with his head bowed, eyes squeezed shut—tears streaming silently down his cheeks.

This delighted her immensely.

“You two really are made for each other,” she sneered.

Gepard lifted his head, eyes bloodshot, voice trembling with pain and fury. “I may have no right to judge your faith or your morals. But speaking for myself—I find nothing about this funny. All I see is your utter contempt for life, your mockery of love, your soul-deep cruelty!” His hands clenched. “I loathe you—every last one of you deranged, joy-obsessed monsters.”

Sparkle didn’t flinch. She laughed—a sharp, bone-chilling sound. “If we’re monsters, then you’re just a rabid dog barking at shadows. If you hate us so much, come kill us yourself! I’d love to see Qlipoth’s face when they realize their precious follower’s turned traitor～”

Gepard said nothing. His ice-blue eyes burned with silent, searing rage. Unshed tears evaporated into mist. Hatred flooded his veins—but trapped in his bones, it could only scorch him from within.

Sparkle watched him, arms crossed, lip curled in disdain. Then she stood. “Alright, little master—I’m out of time. I’m leaving. Sampo’s yours to deal with.”

She stepped forward and undid the mystically reinforced chains binding him.

“…Wait.” Gepard’s voice was hoarse. “You healed my wounds. So you can erase memories, right? At least… today’s. These past few hours.”

“Oh?” Sparkle blinked, genuinely surprised. She studied him anew—as if seeing him clearly for the first time. “Why? He’s finally starting to grasp his own feelings. Still won’t admit it, of course.”

Gepard shook his head. “I am grateful you showed me my own heart. But forcing change through violence is wrong. He doesn’t need anyone teaching him lessons.” He sighed, gaze drifting to Sampo. “And after what you just told me… it makes perfect sense he’d build walls. He’s not pushing people away—he’s shielding them. And himself. The last thing he needs is more trauma shoved down his throat to break the defenses he built to survive. You might not understand that… but your so-called ‘lesson’ was pure cruelty.”

“Interesting take,” Sparkle mused. “But I’m a Masked Fool—not a Weaver of the Garden of Recollection. Though… I do know one. Getting her to help won’t be cheap…”

“I’ll pay whatever you ask,” Gepard said firmly. “I have no ‘fun’ to offer you. But even people like you need to eat.”

Now that stunned her. She burst out laughing. “Look at you, rich boy～ Fine! Since you’re so generous—I accept. I’ll bring her tonight. Rush fee—double the price～”

Gepard nodded, tension easing slightly. For the first time, his expression softened. He managed a stiff smile. “Thank you. I’ll wait here.”

Sparkle skipped around him twice, delighted. “Pleasure doing business, little master! Come to me anytime for similar services—though nothing too far back, okay?”

Gepard considered. “Understood. Though I must say, memory alteration should never be encouraged. It’s a profound violation of autonomy. Only under extreme circumstances like this…”

“Ugh, spare me the lecture, darling～” Sparkle cut him off. Then her eyes lit up. “Oh! Want to wipe your own memory too? Discount if you bundle～”

“No.” Gepard refused instantly, without hesitation.

“Really? Not even a little?” She pouted.

Gepard exhaled. “This memory isn’t joyful. But I need it.”

Sparkle grinned, understanding dawning. “Heh. Then I’ll be watching closely, Belobog’s little hero～”

But Gepard wasn’t looking at her.

His eyes stayed fixed on Sampo—raw, quiet, brimming with something Sparkle had long forgotten how to name.

She shrugged, opened her terminal, and dialed the Weaver of the Garden of Recollection.

- 8 -

Moonlight spilled over Gepard’s golden hair.
Belobog at dawn was silent—only the low hum of geothermal heaters and the soft rustle of turning pages filled the air.

The study was warm. A cup of coffee sat within reach. Gepard ran his fingers over the page, trying to read through the towering stack of books he’d hauled from the Belobog Library not long ago.

…Yes, the library had been closed—he’d pulled rank to drag the head librarian out of bed at midnight. Just so you know!

He rubbed his temples. Aeons, he was really losing it.

But there was no choice. He had to finish these books before Sampo woke up. No—more than that. He needed to understand them, master them, commit every technique to memory, and learn to improvise beyond the text!

He strained to recall his university days—when he could blitz through an entire textbook in a single sitting. Yes! That’s the spirit, Gepard. You’ve got this!

He sighed quietly, pushed down the rising tide of anxiety and resistance, and forced himself back into the words on the page.

…

The Master Performer: Mastering Deception in Three Days
By Astarion Ancunín

“…From a practitioner with over two centuries of… shall we say, specialized field experience. This tome systematically dissects the four pillars of true mastery: psychological puppetry, the architecture of a flawless lie, the cultivation of an irresistible allure, and—naturally—the delicious liberation of shedding one’s tedious moral compass. Follow my lead, and you shall find your Deception checks result in a Natural 20… every single time…”

“…Wield your exquisite beauty and a certain… suggestive tone to disarm your quarry entirely. Weave a tapestry of tempting endearments into your speech to cloud their simple minds. Call them ‘darling,’ ‘sweetheart,’ or ‘my sweet’ while absentmindedly running your fingers through your lovely hair. This inspires a certain… wicked desire in them—a longing that leaves them utterly vulnerable. While they are busy dreaming of the impossible, you may casually slip in your request. Most won’t even register what you’ve actually said; they’ll simply be desperate to agree…”

Gepard read carefully… then frowned.
No. This book seemed… questionable.

…

The Incarnation of Deceit and Mischief
By Amon

“…His wisdom—His theories and His techniques—is, naturally, the apex of all existence. As a ‘devoted’ follower (in my own curious way, of course), I shall graciously impart the revelations I’ve gleaned. It was beneath the gaze of the crimson moon, amidst the ever-drifting gray fog, that these truths were unveiled…”

“…Blatant lies are for the unimaginative; they are, quite frankly, crude. A true master of deceit understands that truth is the most exquisite veil. Present them with nine parts reality, then deftly misplace or distort the tenth—the crucial one. Better yet, offer a mere fragment of the truth and watch, amused, as they eagerly fill in the blanks with their own delusions. A deceiver must always master their mask; hide your true thoughts behind a smile. Never let them see the… Error…”

Gepard read carefully… and nodded repeatedly.
This one was excellent—though a bit mystical. He scribbled key points furiously into his notebook, mentally synthesizing each principle.

…

The Invisible One
By Brughel Poisson

“…She walks through the mist—crows circling, rotting leaves falling—unseen by any.
She walks through the ocean—masts rising, salt wind blowing—unseen by any.
She walks through the flood—thunder cracking, clouds cascading—unseen by any.
She walks through ice and snow—blizzards howling, blood staining the plain—unseen by any…”

“…‘Sister, why can’t anyone see you?’ asked the child.
‘Because I don’t belong to this world,’ smiled the blue-haired woman.
‘Then why can I see you? Am I not of this world either?’ The child’s eyes welled with tears.
‘No. It’s because you haven’t grown up yet. When you do, you won’t see me anymore.’
‘Then I won’t grow up! I want to play with you forever!’ The child burst into tears.
The woman smiled, saying nothing…”

Gepard read carefully… then drifted into a daze.
How did this prose poem end up in his pile? Ah—he remembered. The cover was deep blue, like Sampo’s hair. He’d thought it looked nice, so he’d taken it too.

Blushing faintly, he closed the book and tucked it gently into the very bottom of the top drawer of his desk.

…

By the time Gepard had skimmed every volume and recorded every tactic he deemed useful, dawn was nearly upon him.

He quickly laid his notebook open beside him and began drafting a contingency plan for explaining everything to Sampo—using the behavioral logs Sparkle had provided (yes, learning those details had made him want to cry again, but he’d shoved that pain aside; a greater crisis demanded his focus). After half an hour of intense brainstorming, he settled on the safest approach:

He would prepare a photocopy of an official Silvermane Guard incident report. It would state:

“At 16:00, the Guard received a report from an anonymous citizen identifying themselves as a staff member at Goethe Hotel. The individual claimed that around 15:00, while entering a room for cleaning, they discovered an unconscious guest. Initial assessment confirmed the guest suffered no serious harm.”

He would recount this incident to Sampo—and while doing so, casually place the report on his desk, tucked beneath a folder. If Sampo grew curious, he could flip it over himself.

Of course, Gepard wouldn’t hand it to him directly—that would be more convincing, but distributing internal Guard documents was strictly prohibited! …Though technically, forging one was also against regulations. Gepard frowned. But he quickly rationalized it: this document would exist only within his private residence, never filed or executed. So… technically, it wasn’t real forgery. Right? Satisfied, he nodded.

Next: explaining why Sampo was in his home. He’d already solved that.

He’d tell Sampo he’d “just happened” to be returning from dinner when he encountered the responding Guard unit en route to the hotel. Since he had nothing better to do, he’d tagged along.

Upon recognizing the unconscious guest as Sampo—and having no idea where he lived, nor feeling comfortable leaving him alone in a hotel room—he’d brought him home.

Perfectly reasonable. And if Sampo doubted him? He’d invoke his duty as a Warden Officer. Sampo wouldn’t suspect a thing—because the old Gepard would have said exactly that.

Mid-conversation, his mobile terminal would ring. He’d check it with grave concern, then exhale in relief and smile as he told Sampo: his comrades had just cracked a major arms-smuggling ring operated by the Wild Wolves—a gang active primarily in the Underworld. All members, including their leader, had been apprehended and would soon stand trial.

He’d then deploy a series of pre-rehearsed reasons—among others—to persuade Sampo to stay a few extra days:

• Sampo hadn’t fully recovered; as a Warden Officer, Gepard was obligated to ensure citizen wellness.
• Releasing a still-convalescing “criminal” would be irresponsible to Belobog.
• His own back wound hadn’t healed completely, so he needed Sampo’s care.

He’d avoid the last point unless absolutely necessary—it sounded utterly unlike him and would raise suspicion. Better for his sister, Serval, to “accidentally” text Sampo that detail later, framed as a concerned sibling’s worry. He’d message her shortly.

Gepard nodded. This felt solid. He reviewed the plan, added a few more contingencies, and drafted backup options for nearly every scenario.

There. That should cover it.

He stood, locked the entire stack of books into his safe—temporarily. He’d return them to the library later.

He swiftly drafted the fake report, double-checked every detail, printed a single copy, and then permanently deleted the digital file.

Only then did he allow himself a sliver of relief.

He walked to the mirror and practiced facial control.

First: no random smiling. It was unnerving—Sampo would think he’d been body-snatched. If he must smile, lips could lift no more than five degrees.

Second: his gaze mustn’t burn too intensely. No overt warmth, no visible affection. Absolutely no pity or tenderness—not even a trace; any hint would raise suspicion.

Finally: do not blush. Don’t stare, but don’t avoid eye contact either. Neither fixated nor evasive. And during any direct look—recall Sampo’s criminal record from the past year.

Perfect. It worked instantly. He was already scowling.

Gepard gave a curt nod to his stern reflection in the mirror and left the dressing room.

…

By the time he finished washing up and returned to the bedroom, the sky had lightened to pale gold.

Seeing Sampo asleep in his bed—peaceful, breathing evenly—filled him with quiet reassurance. He climbed in as softly as possible, settling on the opposite side, propped on one elbow, pillow beneath his arm, watching.

He wasn’t worried Sampo might wake suddenly. After so long without rest, he’d surely sleep deeply. After all, Gepard had bathed him, changed him into sleepwear, and carried him to bed—and Sampo hadn’t stirred once.

Emboldened, Gepard reached out and gently took Sampo’s hand where it lay sprawled across the pillow.

…Just as warm as he’d imagined.

He let out a soft, contented sigh, lowered his elbow, and lay flat. His eyes flickered between their joined hands and Sampo’s sleeping profile.

After a while, he felt his cheeks flush helplessly.

A perfectly normal physiological response, he told himself—given who the person was.

And who was that?

The answer was simple. He didn’t need a stack of books to know:

The one he cared about. The one he worried over. The one who fascinated him, inspired him, moved him, hurt him.
The one he liked. The one he loved.
The one he wanted to comfort, protect, praise, encourage, heal, cherish.
The one he longed to hold, to kiss.
The one he wanted to cook for, watch sunrise with, give all his money to—just to stop the scams.
The one he wanted to share his dreams with, his secrets, his fears.
The one he wished to see proud, confident, joyful—always.

Too many words. None sufficient alone.
But together, they pointed to only one person.

If he wanted, he could write a prose poem of his own.

Gepard watched the thin sliver of golden sunlight slipping through the heavy curtains, replaying yesterday’s events in his mind. The light caught in his ice-blue eyes, making them gleam. In the shadows beyond its reach, his expression remained unreadable—haunted by the past, weighed by the future.

He wasn’t tired at all.

Chapter Text

- 9 -

“My aeons… has my head finally decided to secede from the rest of me…?” Sampo groaned, forcing his eyes open and pressing his fingers to his temples. Help. His skull felt like it had been slammed in a door.

Wait. No. Something was off.

Could someone please explain why there was a golden head resting on his chest? And if he wasn’t hallucinating, that thing was wrapped around him like an octopus—and weighed a ton, crushing the air right out of his lungs.

Without thinking, he shoved it.

…Which proved, once again, that one should always think before acting—especially when circumstances are clearly abnormal. (Though forgive him; his brain felt like scrambled eggs.)

The moment that head lifted and revealed a face, their twin screams nearly shattered the ceiling—hopefully not loud enough to summon the Silvermane Guard. But that worry was moot, because the Silvermane Guard was already staring down at him. Specifically, its commander.

The captain gaped at him, looking even more bewildered than Sampo felt. The sheer panic and existential confusion on Gepard’s face were too funny for Sampo to keep calm.

So Sampo abandoned all attempts at rational thought and threw his head back, laughing.

“Hey there, dear Captain,” he teased, winking at Gepard. “Scared to see little old me? That hurts, Sampo’s heart is broken～” He arched a brow pointedly at Gepard’s arms, still coiled possessively around his torso. “All courage, no follow-through, hmm?”

“Ahh!” Gepard finally registered his own sleeping habits, yelped, and scrambled backward so fast he tripped off the bed.

“Hahahaha—!” Sampo doubled over, clutching his stomach.

“I—I might have some… unfortunate sleep tendencies!” Gepard stammered from the floor, scrambling up. “But I swear—nothing happened! Absolutely nothing!”

His cheeks burned crimson, ears included. Realizing it, he covered his face with one hand, voice muffled. “I’ll explain in a minute. Let me get you something to eat. Stay put.” And he vanished through the door.

“…I must still be asleep,” Sampo murmured, sinking back onto the pillow with a smile. “But this is a good dream.” He sighed contentedly. “Then again… shouldn’t I open my eyes? Waste not, want not.” So he sat up again.

“First time seeing this room from this angle,” he mused, scanning the space. “Kind of novel. Guess you really do dream what you dwell on by day?” He tapped his chin. “So what’s the meaning of this dream? I’ve always believed dreams reveal deeper truths. Some psychoanalyst once claimed they’re fulfillments of desire…” He smirked. “Well, finally—a dream that fits the theory. Huh. Maybe that guy wasn’t full of it after all.”

He traced his lips thoughtfully. “Though… why did it cut out the best part? It’s a dream—why am I still such a coward?” He scowled. “…Wait. Why am I the one on the bottom?!” Sampo gasped in horror. “By Aha’s grace, that’s unscientific!”

Before he could unravel this cosmic injustice, a knock sounded at the door.
“I’m coming in?”

Sampo chuckled. “Captain, did you forget this is your room?”

“…Right. Uh, Sampo.” Gepard entered stiffly, balancing a tray, and set it on the small table beside the bed. Water droplets still clung to his damp hair. “I toasted some bread, warmed some sausages—just to tide you over. Coffee and milk. Oh—do you usually take sugar?”

“Ah, either’s fine, but I normally skip it.” Sampo noticed only one set of utensils. He raised a brow, teasing, “Captain, are you waiting for me to feed you?” He placed a hand over his heart and gave an exaggerated bow. “The honor is mine, sir.” He dropped his voice to a mock-deep purr.

Predictably, Gepard’s expression crumpled. He opened his mouth—likely to protest—but nothing came out. Face flaming, he shot upright and practically fled the room. “…I’ll get another set.”

Sampo snorted. Too easy.

Moments later, Gepard returned with a second tray. He moved toward the window. “I’m opening the curtains. Close your eyes—it might be bright outside.”

“Oh?” Sampo tilted his head, watching as Gepard hovered, clearly waiting. “Alright.” He shut his eyes.

Sunlight—soft, amber-gold—flooded in as Gepard drew back the drapes. When Sampo opened his eyes, he saw dusk painting the sky.
Aeons, how long had they slept?

Gepard sat on the edge of the bed. Sampo couldn’t resist: “Captain… are we really eating breakfast in your bed? Is that… allowed?”

“Normally? No.” Gepard fixed him with a stern look. “But you absolutely shouldn’t be moving around yet. If it weren’t for your needing food, I wouldn’t have let you sit up at all. You need more rest.”

Now Sampo was genuinely curious. “Uh… I’ve been too nervous to ask. Do I have some terminal illness? Because your eyes keep giving me this look—like… pity? Am I dying? Is this my last meal before ascending to the stars?”

Gepard paled. “What? No! Why would you think that?!” He snapped his jaw shut, refusing to meet Sampo’s gaze. “You’re just exhausted. Rest is all you need. Don’t worry.”

He thrust a fork into Sampo’s hand. “Eat. I’ll explain.”

Gepard took a breath, stood, and walked to his desk, flipping through a folder. “Yesterday, around 3 PM, I was heading home after work. Near my building, I saw Pat—my colleague—rushing past. I stopped him, asked what was wrong. He said Goethe Hotel got a report…” He pulled out a sheet of paper and waved it. “A guest collapsed in a room. The caller was a hotel staffer—he’d gone in to clean and found them unconscious.”

He paused, then added with a wry smile, “After being stuck at home healing under Pela’s orders… I figured, since it’s right outside my door, I’d check it out.” He casually slid the report under a folder. “Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be you. Seemed fine—just dead tired. So I checked you out of the room and brought you here. Didn’t know where else to take you.” He narrowed his eyes, suspicion lacing his tone. “Speaking of… what were you even doing there? Planning another scam?”

Sampo studied him. If he looked closely, beneath the sternness… was that hope? Or nerves? He shook his head. Must’ve imagined it.

“So… it wasn’t a dream, then?” Sampo mused aloud.

“What? A dream?” Gepard blinked, voice tightening with sudden anxiety. “What… what kind of dream?”

Sampo stroked his chin. “Hard to imagine any reality where I wake up in your bed, eating your cooking, chatting with you like we’re… normal.” He gave Gepard a half-smile, eyes sharp.

Gepard visibly relaxed—then flushed again, stammering wordlessly.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “If you’d prefer I arrest you, I can. But I’d suggest waiting until you’ve fully recovered.”

Sampo burst out laughing. “Come on, Captain—stop hovering. Sit and eat with me.” He grabbed Gepard’s sleeve and tugged.

“W-wait—!” Gepard stumbled forward.

“Honestly, just a headache. I feel perfectly fine,” Sampo declared, smug.

“Hmm.” Gepard frowned, gaze unreadable. Was that… concern?

“…It’s alright. I’ll massage your temples.” Gepard stepped closer, hands hovering near Sampo’s head, blocking a sliver of sunlight. “Ah—um… is that okay?” He froze mid-reach, suddenly self-conscious.

Sampo’s instinct was to refuse. Not because he didn’t want Gepard’s touch—in fact, he did (he’d barely registered it upon waking before scaring the man off… what a waste).

But because he wanted it, he knew he shouldn’t say yes. It felt wrong—like stepping onto thin ice. A deep, wordless resistance clawed inside him, making his skin prickle.

He looked up. His silence must’ve terrified Gepard—the man’s ice-blue eyes were wide, his suspended arms trembling faintly.

For a heartbeat, Sampo drifted. What if I say no? Will he bolt? Get angry? Think I’m ungrateful? Hurt? Regret offering? Pull away forever because I made him lose face? Or…

Suddenly, he wanted to refuse—just to see which fear would win. It was fascinating, really.

“Uh, I—” Gepard started, voice cracking. “I was… overstepping…” His eyes glistened pink at the corners. His hands began to retreat…

Sampo seized them. “Of course,” he said, curving his lips into what he hoped looked like a genuine smile. “I could use some ‘help.’”

Gepard stared, stunned.

“What’s wrong?” Sampo asked lightly. Just a massage. Nothing more. Nothing will happen. He told himself firmly.

Gepard’s fingertips brushed his hairline—tentative, feather-light.

And Sampo realized he’d been arrogant. Arrogant enough to think he could endure this. His body betrayed him, shaking minutely. He knew his expression must’ve turned ugly—because he saw his own fear reflected in Gepard’s eyes. Whose was it? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t want Gepard afraid. So he closed his eyes.

Time blurred. Then—warmth. Gepard pulled him close, cradling his head against his chest, arms loose but sure.

Sampo had never realized how loud a human heartbeat could be. He felt Gepard trembling too. Why? he wondered distantly.

“It’s okay… it’s okay…” Gepard whispered, voice thick but steady. “You’re safe. Don’t be scared. Everything’s alright.” —Except his words hitched with unshed tears, betraying the lie.

Gepard’s fingers threaded gently through his hair, slow, rhythmic strokes. So tender it confused him. So absurd it almost made him laugh.

So he did. “You keep saying it’s not a dream. Then why are you being so kind to me?”

Gepard’s hands stilled.

There it is, Sampo thought. The dream shifts when I defy the script.

But instead of pulling away, Gepard crushed him tighter—as if afraid he’d vanish.

“…Because you deserve it,” Gepard said, voice low, fierce, brimming with conviction.

That was new.

“…Deserve it how?” Sampo sneered. “Because I’m a criminal?”

Silence. Long, heavy silence.

Gods, what have I done? Sampo thought. Ruined it again, haven’t I?

Yet Gepard held on—tighter, if anything. Sampo was dumbfounded.

“I can’t condone what you’ve done,” Gepard murmured. “But no one’s perfect. I know evil when I see it. And Sampo—you’re not that.” He swallowed hard. “You’ve never murdered. Never tortured. Never preyed on the helpless. If you’d done even one of those things, I wouldn’t be here. But you haven’t. Your crimes? They’re… fixable. Repayable. Forgivable. So why chain yourself to that label? You know it’s not who you are…”

The sincerity in his voice was terrifying. Sampo’s chest ached.

“What if I told you you’re wrong?” Sampo forced a grin. “What if I love fencing relics? Love forging documents? Love watching victims rage helplessly? What if that’s just… who I am?”

Gepard didn’t answer for a long while.

Finally, he sighed.

“Then I’d pay your fines,” he said quietly. “Negotiate restitution with every victim. And if prison’s the sentence—I’ll arrest you myself… then bail you out.”

By Aha’s grace, Gepard’s lost his mind.

Sampo erupted in laughter—harsh, brittle. He shoved Gepard back, relishing the shock on his face. Poor Gepard. He had no idea what he’d done wrong. Because he’d done nothing wrong. The fault was all Sampo’s.

“Captain,” Sampo drawled, voice edged with acid, “I knew you were compassionate, righteous—but I never pegged you for a savior.”

He watched Gepard’s eyes well up, tears blurring the blue.

Hilarious. Truly entertaining.

…So why did he feel nothing? Not an ounce of joy.
Sampo wondered.

- 10 -

Gepard couldn’t fathom how things had spiraled to this point.

From the moment he woke up, everything had been wrong.
First—he shouldn’t have woken up at all. Gods, who even knew why he’d fallen asleep? One second he’d been mentally rehearsing every possible dialogue for when Sampo opened his eyes; the next, he was staring into Sampo’s utterly bewildered face…

No. He refused to relive it. It was mortifying—especially once he realized he’d been shamelessly clinging to Sampo like a barnacle. Merciful Aha, Sampo hadn’t kicked him off the bed outright only because of his legendary tolerance and grace…

What followed had, at least, stayed within the realm of the comprehensible. True, he was certain his face had cycled through every shade of red known to man—but considering he’d nearly flawlessly executed what he’d feared would be the hardest task (“explaining why Sampo woke up in his bed”), he allowed himself a sliver of satisfaction. Even if his expressions had mostly betrayed him, it proved his rehearsals hadn’t been entirely useless.

So perhaps that was precisely why, after exhaling in relief, he’d grown careless—or worse, complacent. He’d actually dared to cross a line.

But he swore every word he’d spoken afterward came straight from his heart, however sudden or ill-timed they’d sounded. His brain must’ve been hijacked by something—anything—to make him blurt out those reckless confessions without a single thought for the consequences.

He’d unburdened himself. Spoken his truth. But what about Sampo? After everything that had happened, didn’t he know how fiercely Sampo resisted gestures like this—how he recoiled from affection, from being seen? He hadn’t untangled Sampo’s knots. Hadn’t addressed the root of the pain. Hadn’t healed a single wound. He’d done nothing. Made no effort. Couldn’t even guarantee he ever would. So how dare he stand there, so smugly, so casually flinging those weightless, ridiculous words into Sampo’s face?

He knew what had happened. But he’d “forgotten” that Sampo didn’t. He should’ve played ignorant. Should’ve moved slowly, patiently, steadily—doing the quiet work of helping Sampo step out of those shadows. Instead, he’d done nothing… and expected Sampo to simply understand his heart.

He’d wanted to be Sampo’s blade, his shield. Yet in the end, he was just another arrogant perpetrator—no better than the rest. Selfishly imposing his own feelings onto Sampo, heedless of whether he could bear them.

Yes, his words had sounded gentle. Sincere. Even passionate.
But that was exactly what made them grating. Coercive. Patronizing.
They weren’t what Sampo wanted to hear.
Weren’t what he wanted to carry.
So they shouldn’t have existed—least of all then, in that fragile moment.

Imagine: Sampo wakes up disoriented, with no memory of how he got here—and is immediately bombarded by a torrent of “heartfelt” declarations. Of course Gepard knew he meant every word… but to Sampo? It must’ve looked like a performance—a self-indulgent monologue staged by the very Silvermane Captain who’d been hunting him the day before. Hollow. Laughable. Gepard could practically feel Sampo’s quiet humiliation.

Where had he been all this time? What had he been doing during Sampo’s darkest hours? Lounging in his gilded cage, basking in the “honor” and “respect” his name afforded him—completely oblivious to Sampo’s suffering. Never offering support when it mattered most. And now? Now he presumed Sampo would just… accept this?
Childish. Arrogant. Selfish. Irresponsible.
He’d wanted to give Sampo safety, comfort, joy—but instead, he’d only deepened his insecurity.

He just… gods, he just saw it—the numbness in Sampo’s eyes, the hollow smile, the tremor in his voice, the bitter self-mockery, the barely concealed self-loathing—and lost all control.

He’d felt he had to do something, say something. Panic had clawed at his throat. And in that desperation, laying bare his own heart had seemed like the only option. He’d thought it would help. Thought it would comfort.

But he’d been wrong. Horribly, devastatingly wrong.

Keeper above, what had he done? Why had he pressured him—forced his feelings onto him so relentlessly—when those feelings were nothing but empty sentiment? So cruel. So insubstantial.

He wasn’t a savior. Just another foolish sinner.

Gepard bowed his head, hands covering his face. His legs felt like they might give out. Gods, he was so useless.

“I’m… I’m really sorry.” It was all he could say.

Then—he felt arms wrap around him.

Sampo.

He looked up, startled. His gaze crashed straight into Sampo’s eyes—those fathomless, gem-like pools of emerald that stole his breath. They held so much emotion he couldn’t parse a single thread. Or maybe… nothing at all.

They were so close.

He watched as Sampo raised a finger and gently wiped away his traitorous tears. The touch of his fingertip against Gepard’s cheek was cool, yet impossibly tender.

Suddenly, Gepard wanted to sob. And he did. Tears spilled over uncontrollably, streaming down his face. He heard his own ragged cries.

Sampo cradled his face, catching the flood with his palms. His thumbs kept trying to brush the tears away—but there were too many, leaving his fingers fluttering helplessly across Gepard’s skin.

And then—it struck him as absurd. After everything, he was the one weeping like a helpless child, while Sampo comforted him. So he laughed.

He must’ve looked ridiculous—laughing and crying at once, every action utterly nonsensical.

But Sampo laughed too. Softly. Beautifully.

Which only made Gepard laugh harder. He lunged forward, burying his face in Sampo’s shoulder, arms locking tight around him.

“Aeons,” Sampo mumbled into his collarbone. “You’re gonna knock my lungs out.”

Gepard burst out laughing. “Sorry,” he choked out between giggles.

Sampo just shook his head, saying nothing—but held him tighter.

Aeons, Gepard thought. I love him so much. I want to scream it to the sky.

But he couldn’t. So he whispered instead: “…Sorry.”

He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for anymore. He just kept repeating the words.

They must’ve held each other for a long time—because eventually, a polite knock at the door pulled them back to reality.

Like two startled deer, they sprang apart.

Gepard flushed crimson. “Ah—uh. That’ll be dinner. Right after I woke up, I asked the household chefs to prepare something proper. My little toast-and-sausage thing wasn’t real food. And, well… you know, nothing’s open at this hour.”

Sampo seemed… normal again. Not that he’d been abnormal before—just that he’d returned to his usual self. If anything, his gaze still held a trace of softness, lacking its typical guarded distance. It filled Gepard with quiet joy. Maybe he wasn’t entirely hopeless.

“You know, Captain,” Sampo teased, smiling genuinely, “it’s only moments like this that remind me you’re truly a scion of Belobog’s elite.”

Gepard squirmed—pleased and embarrassed in equal measure. “Uh, well… that’s good! I mean—I’ll learn to cook properly. They’re my parents’ chefs, after all. Can’t keep relying on them forever.”

Sampo arched a brow but said nothing. If he caught the implication, he let it slip away unchallenged.

Which only made Gepard more flustered. He swiped a hand over his damp face and blurted, “I’ll get the door!”—then fled.

They sat together at the dining table.

“Mmm. I have to say,” Sampo mused between bites, “I never knew Belobog had food this good. Your chefs are clearly geniuses.”

Gepard coughed awkwardly. “…Glad you like it.” Truthfully, he hadn’t tasted cooking this exquisite in ages.

For a while, they ate in comfortable silence.

Then—Sampo froze mid-chew, as if struck by a sudden thought. His expression tightened with unmistakable tension.

Gepard, who’d been watching him closely, noticed instantly. And in that same heartbeat, he remembered: he’d planned to casually mention during dinner that the Silvermane Guard had dismantled the Wild Wolves gang.

But he couldn’t say it now. It would be too obvious. Even if Sampo couldn’t guess why he’d bring it up, he’d still find it strange.

So Gepard kept his expression neutral and deliberately avoided looking at Sampo.

“By the way, Captain,” Sampo finally asked, lifting his head, “how’s the wound on your back? Still hurting?”

“…Oh.” Gepard hoped his surprise didn’t show. He hadn’t expected that question. But Sampo’s words triggered a delayed wave of pain—sharp, insistent—from his spine. Hiss… he’d completely forgotten about it. “It’s better,” he said at last.

Sampo raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Alright, fine,” Gepard admitted with a sigh. “It stings a bit. But it’s nothing serious—really, don’t worry about me.”

The reassurance fell flat. Sampo’s eyes kept scanning him, searching for proof of discomfort.

Then—Sampo’s gaze locked onto something.

Oh no.

Gepard followed his line of sight—and nearly jumped out of his skin.

Sampo was staring at his wrist. His loose sleepshirt sleeve had slipped back, exposing the skin beneath. Under the dining room’s bright lights, the brutal map of his ordeal was laid bare: livid purple-black bruises crisscrossing his forearm, raw scratches from struggling, scabs half-healed.

Gepard froze, fork suspended mid-air. Internally, he cursed Sparkle to the deepest pit of the Underworld. That bastard had only erased the wounds she inflicted—not healed him properly! Damn it, he seethed silently, isn’t the hole she dug for me deep enough already?!

Helplessly, he looked up at Sampo.

Those beautiful green eyes remained fixed on his wrist—unreadable, shadowed.

It’s over, Gepard thought. The Sword of Damocles hanging over my head… has finally fallen.
He closed his eyes.

tbc.

Chapter Text

- 11 -

“Gepard… what is that?” Sampo asked softly.

The sound of his name sent a jolt through Gepard’s spine. He’d wondered—idly, privately—when Sampo might finally call him by it. But never like this.

His mind raced, scrambling for a plausible cover story. Then he recalled a line from The Incarnation of Deceit and Mischief.

“Another method is to reveal most of the truth—but conceal or distort the critical detail. This makes the lie far more credible.”

He took a breath. “I… did hide something from you. After I brought you here last night, someone broke in. They drugged me and took me to their warehouse. From what I can tell… their goal was likely… revenge.” Gepard frowned, forcing his voice to align with the narrative Sparkle had fabricated. Undoubtedly, she’d painted him as a tyrant who abused power and trampled lives—and portrayed the Silvermane Guard as lawless thugs. It was pure slander. But… damn it, what choice did he have? One lie demanded a hundred more to hold it up.

He swallowed his discomfort and pressed on. “Fortunately, they didn’t get far. My team tracked the location within half an hour and dismantled the entire operation. Honestly, it worked out well for us. The Guard’s been monitoring this arms-smuggling ring for months. Their impatience played right into our hands.”

“But… it’s a bit embarrassing,” Gepard added, rubbing his temple with practiced sheepishness. “So I didn’t mention it earlier. Hope you understand.”

He knew this version would sting Sampo—reducing his own efforts to nothing more than a fainting spell that got him “rescued” like a damsel. But the truth? That would be far crueler.

Time seemed to warp. Gepard braced for judgment, feeling the weight of Sampo’s unblinking stare.

Finally, Sampo sighed. “…I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Gepard lowered his hand. He looked up to see Sampo walking toward him.

Without warning, Sampo seized his wrist and yanked his sleepshirt sleeve up to his shoulder. The bruises trailed all the way to his collarbone—dark, mottled proof of Sparkle’s restraint.

Gepard flushed, mortified, as Sampo let out a sharp hiss of shock—then urgently began unbuttoning his shirt. Then the whole thing came off. Gepard sat frozen, certain his face was burning crimson.

He glanced down. His torso fared better—only faint marks from chains, no fresh wounds.

When Sampo reached for his trousers, Gepard panicked. “No, really—that’s all! I swear!”

Sampo narrowed his eyes. “Sure?”

“Sure!” Gepard nodded earnestly.

“Fine,” Sampo relented with a pout, finally releasing him.

Gepard watched as Sampo returned to his seat, looking utterly bewildered. “So… the Silvermane Guard are actually pretty capable?” he muttered. “Never would’ve guessed…”

Gepard opened his mouth—then closed it. He wanted to correct Sampo’s skewed view of the Guard. But how could he, when even he couldn’t refute the facts of this incident? Besides, the Guard’s duty was to protect Belobog—not him personally. They shouldn’t be blamed, even if circumstances were unusual.

The real relief? Sampo showed no anger, no suspicion—far better than Gepard had feared. And now Sampo knew the Wild Wolves were neutralized. All in all, a clean outcome. Gepard smiled, tension melting away.

“Pfft… that kind of ‘compliment’ makes you this happy?” Sampo chuckled.

“Ah? Uh… yeah. Happy,” Gepard admitted, realizing too late that Sampo thought he was basking in praise. The truth was far more embarrassing—but he owned it anyway. How foolish.

Yet Sampo just shook his head, smiling faintly. “…Adorable.” The word was so soft, Gepard would’ve missed it—if not for how attuned he’d become to every whisper from Sampo’s lips.
And so his cheeks flamed again, helplessly.

“…Let’s just finish eating!” Gepard blurted before Sampo could say more.

Sampo tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh? Why not, dear Captain?” He picked up his fork without further teasing.

Gepard exhaled. For now, it’s over, he thought.

After dinner, Gepard cleared the dishes and returned to the living room with two glasses of milk.

He’d suggested Sampo rest—but Sampo claimed he wasn’t tired and offered to wash up. Gepard, of course, refused. They compromised when Gepard gently but firmly pressed Sampo onto the sofa.

Now, Sampo sprawled across the chaise longue, legs splayed, eyes locked onto Gepard as he moved. Gepard set down the glasses stiffly and perched on a smaller couch nearby.

Sampo’s gaze made his skin crawl. “What?” Gepard rubbed his face, flustered. “Do I have something on my face?”

Sampo shook his head. Kept staring.

Aeons above, Gepard had never realized silence could be so torturous.

He shut his eyes and began mentally reciting Sampo’s criminal record—loudly, in his head. After a moment, he felt braver. Opened his eyes.
Sampo was still watching.

“What?!” Gepard snapped.

Sampo burst out laughing. “Captain, your face writes your thoughts in neon letters. It’s adorable.” He even winked—left eye only.

Forget it. Just stay quiet. Gepard groaned inwardly and buried his face in his hands.

Sampo’s laughter only grew louder. “Damn it,” Gepard muttered, glaring up.

“Hah! Captain, you never fail to delight old Sampo.” Sampo’s grin was radiant.

And that—that joy—washed away Gepard’s embarrassment, replacing it with warmth, with quiet pride.

Sampo’s eyes crinkled at the corners, emerald light dancing in their depths—each flicker mesmerizing.

Gepard stared back. Suddenly, he saw it: Sampo was beautiful. Not just when he dropped the masks and mockery—but always. Even then. Especially then.
Alright, fine—he’s always the most beautiful.

“What? Stunned by your old Sampo’s charm?” Sampo’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Gepard jolt. How did he—?! No—wait! Qlipoth above, what had just flooded his brain?! He scrambled backward into the sofa corner, clutching his head.

Sampo laughed lightly and stood. “Relax, Captain. I’m leaving.”

“What? Wait—” Gepard shot up, shame forgotten. “Don’t you need more rest? I’d feel awful if you left like this…” He hoped his voice didn’t sound as hollow as his chest felt.

“Thank you, dear Captain,” Sampo smiled. “But I’ve matters to attend to… And thanks for the sleepwear—” He leaned in, breath warm against Gepard’s ear: “It smells lovely.”

Gepard’s breath hitched. Every nerve went taut.

Sampo laughed again, clapped his shoulder, and strode toward the bedroom.

Gepard watched him go, jaw clenched. He’d rehearsed a dozen ways to make Sampo stay—but now, words failed him. Because the truth was selfish: he wanted Sampo close, not just for his health, but because he couldn’t bear to let go. Yet he had no right. Dreams end. So he stood silent, watching the back of the man who always slipped away.

Only when the bedroom fell quiet did Gepard enter.
Sampo was gone—through the window, of course. His sleepshirt lay neatly folded on the bed. The clothes hanging on the rack? Vanished.

Just like that… Gepard thought, hollow. Again. Not hundreds of times—but enough. Always the same. He could only watch the retreating figure.

He picked up the sleepshirt, pressed it to his nose—where was the “lovely” smell? All he caught was Sampo’s scent.
…Wait. Actually, it was sweet. He inhaled deeper.
Oh no. He was getting addicted.

Gepard collapsed onto the bed, balled the fabric in his fists, and buried his face in it.

He probably looked like a deranged stalker—or a pathetic fool. But so what? He had nothing left to lose. Let him be a fool, just for tonight.

Sampo moved through the dark—stars veiled, silence absolute, unseen by any.

Something was wrong. Everything was wrong.
And the strangest part? Gepard himself.

Yes, his story held together—logical, seamless. He’d clearly tried to make Sampo understand.

That was the problem.
Gepard had been eager to explain—as if terrified Sampo might misunderstand.

Knowing him, he should’ve just grunted, “It’s my duty as Silvermane Guard Captain,” and left Sampo to piece it together. Gepard wasn’t a talker. He was a doer.

So why the elaborate performance? It felt like a gift box wrapped in silk—with a bomb inside.
Suspiciously familiar. Like something Sampo would craft: lies layered under charm, truth twisted into theater…

Those flickers of anxiety beneath forced calm—the tension in his jaw, the tremor in his hands—they were subtle, expertly masked. Too expertly. Not like Gepard at all. (Not because he lacked skill—but because he’d never stoop to deceit.)

That’s what chilled Sampo to the bone: Gepard—steadfast, honorable, rigidly truthful Gepard—had willingly lied. For something big enough to break his principles.

Spirits below, the mere thought made Sampo shiver. What could possibly justify that?

He hoped—prayed—it wasn’t because of him. He didn’t want Gepard reshaped into something unfamiliar. He missed the old Gepard: bright as sunlight, unbending in his goodness, burning with righteous fire—the kind of man who made you believe in youth, in hope.

Not this version—eyes shadowed, words trapped behind clenched teeth, shrinking into himself. That hesitance grated on Sampo’s nerves.

Tch.

Unless… the kidnapping was worse than described? If it were just torture, Gepard—seasoned soldier that he was—wouldn’t bear such frantic, desperate marks. Those bruises spoke of terror, of fighting with everything he had.

Just remembering them made Sampo’s chest ache. What had they done to him?

Still… even if he refused to dwell on it, one truth remained: whatever broke Gepard, Sampo needed to fix it. Waking up to find the mighty Captain weeping like a child? Unbearable.

(Though… admittedly, it was endearing. But seeing Gepard cry twisted something inside him—something raw and tender. For his own sanity, he had to restore him.)

Honestly, he owed those tears gratitude. Without them, he might’ve kept spewing those bitter, cutting words—words he never meant, words that poisoned the air. He wasn’t cruel by nature; he knew too well how words could carve wounds.

Joy built on another’s pain is the lowest form of Path of Elation. No matter how the Masked Fools or Mourning Actors tried to twist him, he’d never accept that creed.

Thank the Aeons he’d come to his senses in time. Still… he’d hurt Gepard. Gods…

Yet miraculously, Gepard hadn’t held it against him. Sampo couldn’t even recall what he’d done—just wiped tears, held him—and Gepard had brightened almost instantly.
So easy to please, Sampo mused, shaking his head.

One thing was clear: he had to uncover the truth. Not for curiosity—but to heal whatever shattered Gepard’s spirit. As he walked toward his safehouse in the Underworld, resolve hardened in his step.

- 12 -

Early the next morning, Sampo arrived at Natasha’s clinic.

He pushed the door open and immediately spotted Natasha disinfecting surfaces. The clinic had just opened—no patients lined the waiting area yet.

“Good morning, Miss Natasha~” Sampo whispered as he shut the door behind him. “I’m here to check on Hook. How’s she doing?”

“She’s fine,” Natasha murmured back, glancing toward a corner bed. “Still asleep over there. No new complications. Give her a few more days, and she’ll be bouncing off the walls again.”

“Let me see…” Sampo rubbed his hands together and tiptoed to the bedside.

Hook did look much better—rosy-cheeked, breathing evenly in deep slumber. Sampo nodded approvingly and gently ruffled her hair. “Ha. If she were awake, she’d never let me touch her.”

“You’re asking for trouble,” Natasha chuckled. “Careful—she might bite you if you wake her.”

“Then I’ll count on you to wrap my bandages, heh.”

Natasha studied him for a few seconds. “Speaking of which… how are you holding up?”

“Huh? Me?” Sampo blinked, confused—until realization dawned. He scratched his head awkwardly. “Oh! Yeah, I’m great. Took your advice—slept like a log when I got home.”

Natasha crossed her arms and stared.

“Sampo,” she said finally, “come with me.” She turned and headed downstairs.

No— Sampo groaned inwardly. Damn it. Big Sis is getting serious.

In the basement, Natasha remained seated at her desk, arms still folded, watching as Sampo dragged a chair over.

“Heh,” he offered weakly. “Miss Natasha, what can I do for you?”

“Cut the act.” Her gaze was sharp, unblinking. “Out with it. What’s going on?”

Sampo cleared his throat. “Aw, c’mon—it’s nothing! Just… someone got targeted, so I tailed them for a couple days. But it’s all wrapped up now! That’s why I rushed over to see Hook.” He flashed his most earnest smile, hoping she’d drop it.

Natasha listened, then gave a slow, unreadable smile.

Sampo’s stomach dropped. “…Any profound insights, Doc?”

“That Silvermane Guard Captain,” she said, her smile deepening. “Right?”

Sampo nearly choked. “What?!”

“Gepard Landau. Who else would make you this invested~?” Natasha teased.

“I’m not invested!” Sampo protested. “How am I even—?”

Natasha twirled a pen between her fingers. “We all know.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Sampo sputtered.

“Anyone with eyes.” She leaned forward slightly. “Like last time—when His Lordship came to inspect the clinic, and you were hovering around him like a lovesick shadow, eyes gleaming, never leaving his side? Hard not to notice.”

“I was monitoring him!” Sampo shot back. “Making sure he didn’t sabotage our operations! You made me sound like a creep!”

“Oh, please,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “You’re the bigger threat here. And admit it—was I wrong?”

“Miss Natasha!” Sampo clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me!”

Natasha tapped his forehead sharply with the pen. “Don’t deflect. Was it Gepard or not?”

“Ow! Fine, fine!” Sampo threw up his hands. “You win. It was Gepard. Now that you know, can I go?”

“No.” Natasha’s tone turned grave. “I’m serious, Sampo. Haven’t you noticed something… off? About how you feel toward him?”

Sampo’s playful mask froze.

“…What’s ‘off’?” His fingers tightened unconsciously. He sat up straighter—and deliberately ignored the second half of her question.

Natasha sighed, shook her head, then stood. She walked over until she loomed above him.

Sampo tensed like a coiled spring.

“Relax,” she murmured, placing gentle hands on his shoulders. “I’m a doctor, remember?”

“Ha! So is this couples counseling now? Or trauma therapy?” His voice carried a brittle edge of mockery.

Natasha kneaded his arms soothingly. “You know me, Sampo. No malice. Just a reliable physician.”

He stayed silent.

“Sampo,” she said softly, pulling a chair to face him and cradling one of his hands in both of hers, “we all care about you. I don’t think love is some grand necessity—but since you’ve clearly developed feelings for Captain Gepard… why not give yourself a chance? Having someone by your side isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“‘Love’?” Sampo scoffed. “I never thought that word would ever touch my life. It’s absurd. Sure, I’ll admit I like him—but not like that. I just enjoy messing with him. And honestly? I don’t need anyone. I’m perfectly happy alone.”

Natasha nodded. “I understand. I’m just saying… consider it.”

Sampo fell quiet again. Her gentleness disarmed him—no rebuttal, no pressure. His rehearsed defenses crumbled mid-air. Suddenly, he felt exhausted.

“Sampo,” Natasha continued, her voice low, “when you showed up at the clinic the other day—with those dark circles, looking like you hadn’t slept in weeks, wound so tight you might snap any second—I was genuinely shocked. In my memory, you’ve always been the one who values survival. I’d worry more about Seele or Luca—they’re the reckless types.”

She squeezed his hand. “So seeing you like that… scared me. Even now, you haven’t truly relaxed. This isn’t over, is it? I don’t know what’s pushing you this hard—but from experience, people who act like nothing bothers them? When they finally crack, they spiral deeper than anyone expects. Please, Sampo… take care of yourself. Don’t bottle everything up.”

“I… didn’t mean to worry you, Natasha,” Sampo murmured, eyes fixed on a warped floorboard nearby. “It’s just… I can’t quite piece it together. My memories feel… altered. Like something’s been edited out, or blocked. I… I don’t even know if I should say—”

“Say it,” Natasha urged. “It’s just us. You’re safe here.”

Sampo took a slow breath. Nodded. “…Yesterday, I woke up in Gepard’s house. You can imagine how strange that sounded. But he explained it—and logically, it checks out. The real oddity is… he seemed terrified. Desperate, even. And he was hiding it—which is the weirdest part. Can you picture Gepard hiding anything?”

Natasha frowned, thoughtful.

“I can’t explain it…” Sampo rubbed his temples. “It’s like he suddenly cares intensely about every little thing I do or say. One wrong move, and he flinches. I hope I’m imagining things—but I don’t think I am. If Belobog weren’t so isolated, I’d swear he’d been replaced by an imposter.”

After a long pause, Natasha spoke carefully: “Sampo—as your friend, your family—when I look at your health, all I see is you worrying about him. And that’s not a complaint. It’s just… you care about him more than you realize.”

The words hit Sampo like ice water. After a beat, he latched onto the safer thread: “…We’re family?”

Natasha laughed. “Aren’t you the one always shouting ‘family’ at everyone? Changed your mind now?”

Sampo flushed—a rare sight. “Uh… that’s just a habit, you know.”

“Enough joking.” Her expression softened. “I do see you as family. I grew up in an orphanage too—I know what it’s like to have no one. So when I got the chance to choose my own family? Of course I held onto everyone I cared about. You, Seele, Klara, Hook, Olek, Luca… You’re all my family. You helped me get where I am today. I care about each of you—just like you care for each other. Isn’t that what family is? Unconditional support. Love without terms.”

Sampo’s mind went blank. He just stared at her, speechless.

Natasha giggled. “Don’t look so stunned. We all care about you—it’s not your imagination. We just don’t say it out loud. Tell me you don’t see us as family?”

“Uh… well… no,” Sampo mumbled after a struggle, eyes darting away. “Not… exactly.”

Natasha pulled him into a quick hug, patting his back. “Honestly, Sampo—you’re one of the toughest men in Boulder Town, and you’re acting like a shy kid. Isn’t that a bit childish?”

“I’m not—!” he started, then faltered. It wasn’t that simple—but how could he explain?

Natasha assumed he was just being stubborn. “Point is—we’ve got your back. Always. If you’re struggling, come to me. I’ll help carry the weight.” She winked. “Especially about Gepard. I’ve got a few years on you two—in matters of the heart, I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Thank you, Natasha,” Sampo said quietly, brushing his bangs from his eyes as he stared at the wall. “I’ll… consider it. But about Gepard—I really don’t have any ‘extra thoughts.’ It’s… more complicated than it seems. I hope you understand.” He spread his hands helplessly.

Natasha studied him for several seconds. Then she shook her head. “That’s alright, Sampo. Whatever you decide—I support you. As long as you find your happiness.”

At the word happiness, Sampo froze. He looked up, a hollow laugh escaping him. “Happiness?” Since when had he needed someone else to remind him what that even meant?

Natasha nodded firmly. “Yes. Happiness. Health. Freedom. Friendship. Peace. Love. Aren’t those what life’s about? What we strive for? You deserve them, Sampo.”

Sampo said nothing.

Then—perhaps because the air felt too warm, or because Gepard’s raw vulnerability had seeped into his bones—he heard himself whisper:
“Do I… really deserve them?”

Natasha went very still.

After a long moment, she pulled him close, stroking his hair. “Oh, child…” Her voice trembled. “Of course you do. Why would you think otherwise?”

“…Why wouldn’t I?” Sampo muttered into her shoulder. “I chased those things once. They got destroyed. Maybe it’s easier not to want them anymore.”

Natasha held him tighter. “Everyone has the right to happiness. It can’t be taken away. It doesn’t expire. No matter who hurt you—that was their failing, not yours. You don’t have to punish yourself.” Her voice softened further. “I know it’s hard. But things are different now. You have us. We’ll stand with you. All you need to do… is give it a chance. What do you think, Sampo?”

Sampo closed his eyes, thinking. Finally, he frowned. “…I’m not sure. I… need more time.”

Natasha hummed gently. “Take all the time you need. You’ll find your answer.”

She cupped his face, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “Remember this: this place is your home. We are your family. When you’re lost—come to me. Understood?”

Sampo stared into space for a long while.

Then, slowly, the ghost of a smile touched his lips.
“Okay.”

tbc.

Chapter Text

- 13 -

In those rose-red eyes, countless pristine white petals were whipped up by a gale, darting and churning through the air. The rose-red deepened, darkening until it bled into crimson, soaking and drowning the white flowers in a tide of blood.

That smile grew wider, too. The corners of the mouth stretched further, longer, curving into an impossible arc. Exaggerated. Absurd. Uncanny… Terrifying.

Gepard felt soaked in cold sweat, paralyzed. He felt the sweat trickling into his bleeding wounds, stinging with vicious clarity. He struggled, desperate, futile struggles—but he couldn’t move an inch closer. He was trapped inside a massive, one-way glass sphere. A shell that silenced every sound he made. If it weren’t so, why did no one see him? Why was everyone indifferent to his screams?

He saw Sampo kneeling at that person’s feet. He saw Sampo begging them not to hurt him.
And the price? His dignity.

No. Don’t. If this was the cost, he didn’t want it. He’d solve it himself. And if he couldn’t solve the problem… he’d solve himself.

Gepard clenched his fist and smashed the iron chains binding him.
Crack.
Ah. So simple.

He dragged himself up, fingers closing around a small knife.
Trembling, he drove the blade deep into his own abdomen. Pulled it out. Drove it in again. Out. In.

Watching the blood gush forth, savoring that extreme, blinding pain, he finally felt a wave of relief wash over him.
Yes. Just like this.

Satisfied, he watched them finally stop their movements, turning in unison to stare at him.
“How’s that?” Gepard lifted his chin, looking down on them from a height he shouldn’t possess. “Your threat is void. You don’t need to force him to abandon himself to buy my safety. Because I am not a lamb waiting to be slaughtered, nor a pawn for your amusement. I choose my own ending.”

Their figures shuddered violently. Then vanished.

Gepard collapsed onto the floor, strength gone. The knife slipped from his grip, clattering aside. He clutched his abdominal wound, watching blood seep through his fingers, staining his clothes.

Clothes?
Gepard froze. Why was he wearing clothes? No… wait. This… this wasn’t there.

He looked around, bewildered. Familiar walls. Familiar furnishings. This was his home.
“Ah…” He cried out in pain. Sudden clarity brought the agony rushing back like a breached dam. “Qlipoth… have I lost my mind? Cough…” He retched, shivers and dizziness washing over him in waves.

Damn it. Gepard forced himself up, clutching his stomach as he crawled toward his medical kit. For a soldier who wore injuries like badges of honor, ample supplies were essential—and right now, he was grateful for that foresight. He certainly couldn’t call a doctor… Good news: the wounds were in the lower abdomen, missing vital organs. Bad news: he’d stabbed himself deep.

Gasping for air, Gepard pressed hard on the wound with one hand while frantically grabbing gauze and bandages with the other. After a hasty disinfection and wrapping, he slumped against the wall, exhausted.

His hands hung limp over his knees. He was freezing. Blood loss made him dizzy; pain kept him sharp. Strangely, he wanted to laugh. So he did. He felt… light. It was miraculous. Since that day, he hadn’t felt this sensation in ages.
He wondered where this lightness came from.

「Geppie, today’s our “routine meet-up”! Don’t forget! Come early—I made cake. New recipe~」

It was a message from Serval. Gepard rubbed his temples and typed back:
「Okay, Sis. I’ll come after work.」

He held his terminal away. As predicted, the notification alarm bombarded him seconds later.

「???」
「What do you mean, Gepard!?」
「After work?? Bronya gave you leave! Are you sneaking back to work again??」
「How many times have I said health comes before work? Are you deaf?!」
「Take your potted plant back. I’m done with it.」

Gepard sighed, rubbing his forehead. He knew it. He typed quickly:
「No, Sis! Let me explain!」
「Special circumstances, I promise! I’ll tell you tonight.」

A pause. Then:
「You say that every time.」

Gepard stared at the screen for a moment, then stopped replying. He rubbed his face, put the mobile away, and forced himself to focus on the road ahead.

It had been several days since Sampo left that night.
He’d returned to duty the very next day. Simple reason: every minute spent at home was just a reminder that someone had been there, and was now gone without a trace. Not to mention the nightmares that descended with nightfall… Gepard pressed a hand to his aching lower abdomen. Somehow, those dreams were growing more terrifying. More… real.

He wanted to find Sampo. But he had no excuse. Aside from having no idea where Sampo was—even if he found him, what could he say?
Hey, criminal, I think you have trauma, let me heal it.
Or, Hey, sweetheart, I love you, and my brain tells me I want to stand by your side every second to protect you.

Oh, Qlipoth, he might as well just kill himself now.

Expressionless, Gepard resumed his patrol in the Underworld, supervising the Silvermane Guard’s reconstruction efforts.
Since the Stellaron crisis was resolved, the Guard had been dedicated to rebuilding security down here. So Gepard’s presence was logical.

What wasn’t logical was that, despite combing through the Underworld for days, he still hadn’t “bumped into” Sampo. Only now did he vaguely realize how rare those previous encounters had been—how Sampo used to pop up every few days to pull some stunt, giving Gepard an excuse to chase him furiously…

Wait. A possibility struck him.
Was Sampo avoiding him?

He fully realized now that Sampo’s capabilities were no weaker than his own. If Sampo wanted to stay hidden, no one would find him. So those easy encounters in various places before… had they been intentional?

Gepard frowned. He was completely confused. Why would Sampo do that? Was it for some… uh, as Sparkle said, because those on the Path of Elation were just “looking for fun”?
The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. What other reason could there be? Did Sampo have a fetish for being hunted? But why would anyone derive pleasure from that?

Gepard couldn’t figure it out. Finally, he gave up. He simply couldn’t comprehend Sampo’s mindset. What exactly was “fun”? It wasn’t that he didn’t know the definition—he just wondered how one defined an activity as “fun,” and why anyone would make pursuing that the meaning of their life.

If asked, he would undoubtedly say his life’s purpose was to protect the people of Belobog. It required no thought; it was natural, needing no explanation.

Gepard gazed at the crowd flowing through the alley entrance.
An elderly man approached, carrying a cloth bag full of vegetables, nodding with a kind smile. A young father, holding a sleeping child in one arm, walked with his wife, chatting and laughing, their eyes full of affection. A street vendor shouted invitations to passersby to pick out his handmade crafts, drawing a small crowd. Children chased each other along the sidewalks, laughter rising and falling; occasionally, a parent called from afar, and the child would shout a long “Okay!” before continuing their game.

The opening between the Overworld and Underworld had undoubtedly filled the lower district with joy. They hadn’t felt this relaxed and free in too long. Gepard thought with a pang of guilt: If only this day had come sooner. But there are no “if onlys” in reality. All he could do was devote himself from now on to protecting every single one of them—guarding their lives, their rights, their smiles.

Perhaps this was his “Elation.” He looked up toward the distance. But there was no azure sky or lingering clouds there. As far as the eye could see, only endless darkness remained.

“Waaah!!” A sudden scream.

Gepard felt something collide with his leg, jolting him from his reverie. He looked down.
A gigantic hat.

Gepard bent over, puzzled. Then the hat lifted, revealing a tuft of yellow hair. A pair of wide yellow eyes stared up at him, mouth formed into a perfect ‘O’. These features felt familiar… Ah, the “Hook the Great” Sampo mentioned. After a few seconds of thought, he reached a tentative conclusion.
“Are you… Pitch-Dark Hook the Great?” Gepard asked.

The big eyes blinked. “Are you… Gep… ah, Captain Gepard Landau?”

Gepard nodded. “Just Gepard is fine.”

“Wow! It really is Gepard…Hook’s fame has spread far and wide! Even Mr. Gepard knows me! I’m so amazing!” Hook peeked around curiously, circling him. “Mr. Gepard is as majestic as the legends say! Your armor is so cool! Hook wants to be like you too, protecting everyone! So cool!”

“Uh, thank you. It’s the Silvermane Guard’s duty. If you wish, you can become someone like us someday.” Gepard crouched down, resting his hands on his knees to meet Hook’s gaze.

“Wow~ Yay!” Hook nodded excitedly. “See, Mr. Sampo was right! Mr. Gepard really is a gentle person!”

Gepard’s mouth twitched slightly. “Mr. Sampo…? Calling me… gentle?” he repeated in disbelief. Who gave him that impression? In all his years, this was the first time anyone had described him that way. Truly terrifying.

“Mhm! Mr. Sampo! He often tells us glorious stories about Mr. Gepard! Super interesting! And how he perfectly escapes from under your nose! So amazing!” Hook chattered enthusiastically, eyes sparkling.

Gepard tried his best to control his expression. Hook is innocent.

“By the way, Pitch-Dark Hook the Great… do you know where Sampo… lives?”

At this, Hook looked at him warily. “Mr. Gepard, are you going to arrest Mr. Sampo?”

“Ahem, no. Just… private business.” Gepard realized his question did sound rather unfriendly.

“Oh~ Hook understands.” Hook nodded knowingly. “Mr. Gepard wants to play with Mr. Sampo.”

“Hiss…” Gepard winced. “…Yes. I want to play with him.”

“Hmm, but I don’t know where Mr. Sampo’s house is… He always appears when we want to play, like he’s everywhere…” Hook pondered carefully. “But I really don’t remember him having a home… Hey! Maybe Mr. Gepard should ask Old witchy… ah! Ask Miss Natasha? Maybe she knows!”

“Miss Natasha…” Gepard nodded, despite his disappointment. “Thank you, Hook. I understand. Stay safe, go home early.” He gently patted Hook’s shoulder. “Um… I have matters to attend to, so I’ll be off. See you later.”

“Oh… okay.” Hook sounded a bit reluctant. “Mr. Gepard, can I come find you to play later?”

Gepard nodded. “Of course. You and your The Moles friends are welcome anytime. Just not while I’m on duty.”

Thinking for a moment, Gepard pulled out a business card and handed it to Hook. “This has my contact info. If you want to find me, just send a message.” He paused, adding quietly: “Please… if you see Sampo, message me too. And… don’t tell him I’m looking for him. Okay? Uh… I have a surprise for him. If you tell him beforehand, it won’t be as effective. Can you keep a secret for me?”
Gepard thought sadly: I’m getting smoother at lying by the day…

“Oh, I see! No problem, Mr. Gepard! Mission accepted!” Hook nodded excitedly, then dug a small piece of paper out of her clothes and shoved it into Gepard’s hand. “Mr. Gepard, this is my card! If you want to find Hook and The Moles, use this number!”

Gepard looked down at the paper. Scrawled across it was a string of characters, a hand-drawn self-portrait, and a stamp of The Moles emblem—or so he guessed. Gepard couldn’t help but smile. He folded the paper carefully and placed it solemnly in the inner pocket of his chest armor, nodding. “I will.”

Hook looked extremely happy. She reached out her hand. Gepard shook it.

“Bye, Mr. Gepard!” Hook waved and ran off.

A truly adorable child, Gepard thought. No wonder Sampo likes her.
He watched her disappear for a few seconds, then turned to continue his patrol.

- 14 -

Neverwinter Workshop in the Administrative District.

Gepard shook the snow from his shoulders, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

“Sis, I’m here!” he called out, locking the door behind him before unclasping his armor and hanging it on the rack.

“Oh—coming! Hold on, let me grab the cake I made. You’re so late! I haven’t even had a bite yet!” Serval’s voice drifted down from the second floor, accompanied by the rhythmic click-clack of meshing gears. She must be in the middle of a repair.

Gepard thought for a moment, then headed straight up to the kitchen to help her retrieve the cake.

“Behold! A Rose-Blueberry Cake you’ve never seen before! It’s called ‘Deep Sea & Eternal Freeze.’ I just learned this recipe~ Didn’t expect my first try to be such a success. Looks like your big sis isn’t just gifted in research and rock ‘n’ roll—I’ve got culinary talent too!” Serval opened the fridge and carefully lifted the cake out.

It was, indeed, a masterpiece. The deep blue rose petals, like waves of the sea, layered upon one another in endless embrace across the cake’s surface. So fresh were they, dewdrops still clinging to their edges, refracting an ethereal, distant azure. That blue shimmered with radiant light, yet deepened into shadowed veils—sacred, mysterious, haunting. Each blueberry nestled within the petals, a star adrift in the moonlit depths of the ocean, scattered like whispers from the abyss. The cream, snow-white and silken as silk, lay beneath the blossoms, light as air, melting into the sea like endless silver ice dissolving upon a midnight tide.

This was more than just a successful cake. “Sis,” Gepard sniffed, feeling a strange swell of emotion. The blue-and-white palette was perfection. “You’re a genius. This cake is beautiful.”

“Ha!” Serval laughed loudly. “Told you! There’s nothing in this world I can’t do~”

Gepard nodded in full agreement.

“But Sis, why did you suddenly decide to make a cake? And… come to think of it, I don’t recall ever seeing this kind of… blue rose before?” Gepard asked, puzzled.

Serval set the cutlery on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down; Gepard followed suit.

“Haha, Geppie, you’re still such an old bureaucrat. Haven’t you seen this month’s Crystal Daily? It’s all the rage! This recipe is the #1 hit in the monthly food chart! Plus, it’s super easy to follow. As for these blue roses… who knows? They just seemed to pop up in every flower shop overnight. I guess it might be related to the Stellaron crisis being resolved? You know, our contact with the outside world is increasing… Also, these roses are cheap and smell incredibly sweet, unlike regular red ones. Geppie, I think they suit you perfectly! They match your cape~” Serval rattled off a torrent of words, clearly thrilled with her success.

Gepard was happy for her. He smiled. “I suppose I really haven’t paid attention to these things lately. I didn’t notice new rose varieties… By the way, Sis, could I borrow that magazine? I… ahem. Might want to try cooking sometime.”

Serval looked at him with newfound curiosity. “Wow… you interested in cooking?” She leaned in close to inspect his face.

“Uh,” Gepard flushed, awkwardly. “You know, I’m alone at home a lot. Just thought I’d try something different.”

Hearing this, Serval’s expression softened into a mix of pity and pride. “Poor little Geppie, guarding an empty house. But hey, wanting to learn to cook is already huge progress. Here, the magazine is on the counter behind you.”

“…Oh, right. Thanks, Sis.” Gepard pretended not to hear the teasing part, stood up, and grabbed the magazine.

Serval, used to his reactions, didn’t press further, turning her attention back to the cake.

Gepard flipped through the pages until he found the food column Serval mentioned. Wow, the cake in the photo looked exactly like the one on the table. His sister was truly a genius, excelling at everything. If only I were that capable…

He noticed the columnist’s recommendation:

“Have you seen the sea? Have you gazed at the stars?
Have you braved the blizzard to pluck a blue rose,
And give it to the one your heart holds most dear?
— Brughel Poisson”

Gepard tilted his head. Hmm? That name felt vaguely familiar.

He glanced at it again, then closed the magazine and set it aside. Looking up, he saw Serval staring at the cake with a grave expression.

“What’s wrong, Sis? Is something off?” Gepard asked, confused by her look.

“Geppie, don’t you think…” Serval gestured at the cake. “…this cake kills the appetite a bit?”

Now that she mentioned it, Gepard studied the beautiful blue confection again. True, it was stunning—but yes, it also looked utterly unappetizing. That probably explained why they’d talked for so long without cutting a single slice. “Yes,” Gepard finally nodded in affirmation.

“Pfft.” Serval burst out laughing. “Maybe that’s why nature doesn’t have many blue foods.”

Still, she decided to give it a chance. “Even so, I think we should taste it. Maybe it’s delicious?”

Gepard thought for a second, then nodded. “Naturally. Let me cut it, Sis.” He stood up to help.

Serval rested her chin on her hand, ready to enjoy Gepard’s service. She tilted her head, watching as he picked up the knife.
His hand started trembling uncontrollably.

?

Serval shot up, slamming her hand over Gepard’s. His hand continued to quake beneath hers. When she looked up at his face, his forehead was beaded with cold sweat, eyes squeezed shut.

“Gepard, what’s wrong?!” Serval shouted, yanking the knife from his clenched grip and tossing it aside.

She guided him back to his seat, wiping the sweat from his brow, pulling his head against her chest to comfort him, stroking his cheek. “It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay. Big Sis is here…”

She kept soothing him, unsure of what was happening but desperate to calm him. Gradually, she felt Gepard beginning to settle.

After a long while, Gepard coughed lightly and pulled away from her embrace. “Um… I’m fine now, Sis.”

Serval watched him with deep concern, trying to gauge if he was truly okay.

“Uh. Sis. Really, I’m fine. Just now, for a split second, I felt dizzy. Maybe seeing the knife… uh, maybe I overreacted.” Gepard ruffled his hair, sighing.

“What’s going on? How could you suddenly have… that kind of reaction?” Serval looked even more worried.

“Ah, uh, I… I don’t know either. It just felt like that knife had so much… um, so much story?” Gepard seemed to realize he was rambling nonsense. He pressed his lips together awkwardly, trying to reassure her. “Probably hallucinations from lack of sleep. Sis, I swear, I didn’t know I’d react like this. If I had, I never would’ve touched it.” He sighed, avoiding Serval’s gaze, looking genuinely regretful.

“So why the lack of sleep?” Serval frowned skeptically. “You still haven’t told me why you snuck off to work.”

Gepard looked even more panicked. He covered his mouth with a fist and coughed. “Um, I just couldn’t sit still, Sis. It felt stuffy at home. I needed some air. Plus, there’s so much backlog of official duties piling up.”

Serval felt her blood pressure spike. She rubbed her temples, raising her voice. “Gepard! Haven’t I said it a dozen times? Belobog won’t explode if you take a day off! And you’re still recovering from such severe injuries! Damn it, that brat Sampo Koski—just thinking about him makes me mad! This is all his fault!”

“Uh, no, no, Sis, it’s not like that,” Gepard shrank back, hurriedly denying. “It has nothing to do with Sampo. My brain just short-circuited and I insisted on…”

“You’re still making excuses for him!” Serval put her hands on her hips, cutting him off. She pointed an accusing finger. “What spell did that bastard cast on you? Oh, Gepard! You’re going to be the death of me…” She dropped her hand, slumped back into her chair, turned away, and crossed her arms, refusing to look at him.

After a few seconds of silence, Gepard stood up, walked over to Serval, and crouched down beside her, resting a hand on the chair back. He looked up at the back of her head. “I’m sorry, Sis… Um. Actually, it’s not what you think. Sampo didn’t do anything. In fact, quite the opposite—I’ve been the one clinging to him. Uh, not in an ‘arresting a criminal’ way. Ahem. To be precise… I think I have unusual feelings for him.”

At those last words, Serval whipped her head around, eyes wide with shock.

“Say what?” she breathed, incredulous.

Gepard locked eyes with her. “I said I care deeply about Sampo, Sis. To be exact… I love him. I want to protect him.”

Serval looked utterly stunned. She clutched her chest, gasping for air. She wanted to say something, but the words felt wrong. Her brother looked deadly serious. Clearly, he wasn’t in a state to hear reason. So she said nothing. She simply asked one question:

“Sampo Koski needs your protection?”

Her tone was sincere. She was genuinely confused.

Gepard fell silent. His gaze dimmed. He lowered his head, bangs obscuring his expression.

After a long pause, he murmured, “You’re right, Sis.”

Another long silence stretched before he spoke again. “…Then… how on earth am I supposed to protect him?”

His voice sounded strange. Serval stared at him blankly. She didn’t understand why Gepard suddenly looked so fragile. Were they even talking about the same thing?

She asked again, “Why do you think he needs your protection?”

Somehow, Gepard looked even more wounded. He closed his eyes. She could see him struggling. She could even see the vein throbbing at his temple.

Finally, he opened his eyes. They were the eyes of someone clutching at a straw.

“Maybe he doesn’t need it. Because he’s suffered so much in the past, yet no one ever stood by his side. Maybe I can’t do anything… but at least… I can be the one who stands there. …I won’t give up.”

Serval was completely lost. Were they really talking about the same person? The same situation?

“I’m sorry, Sis, I…” Gepard used the chair to pull himself up. He stood there for a moment with his eyes closed.

A beat later, he continued, “I have to go. I’m tired. I’m sorry.” He turned and walked out.

Serval watched his retreating figure, wanting to call him back but finding no words.

Listening to his fading footsteps, she shook her head. After a moment, her gaze fell on the cake left on the table.

“Sure enough, blue kills the appetite. Beautiful to look at, inedible to eat~”

Serval gave a self-deprecating smile, stood up, carried the cake, and placed it back in the fridge.