Bermuda

‘It’s pretty quiet today.’

Along the exit path leading to the outer wall of the arena, pillars stood in a row, each adorned with sandstone carvings at the top and bottom. Behind one of them—partly hidden by a pair of fully spread angel wings—a figure flickered in the shade.

He was watching the surroundings from concealment before leaving the arena after finishing the match.

Every time he promised himself he would slip out quietly, that resolution somehow dissolved halfway through. Today again he worried that attention might follow him. Yet strangely, the reporters who usually ran around chasing the League’s rising stars were nowhere to be seen. Only eliminated participants and staff trudged along the side paths.

He had sensed from the moment he entered that the atmosphere was different. It seemed the Council had taken measures to maintain order. Feeling lighter because of that, he withdrew the neck he had stretched out earlier and silently dropped down from behind the pillar.

Pulling his hood over his head, he blended into the crowd and headed toward the exit. Once he passed through the massive gate and stepped outside, a familiar street scene unfolded before him.

Colorful street markets and the savory scent of butter drifting from them. The aroma of spices and the sizzling sound of oil made the street feel almost like a festival.

If not for the Council legionnaires standing in double ranks everywhere.

Why are there so many....

As expected, they seemed to be controlling the surrounding roads. The problem was that, unlike before the match began—when passage had been relatively free—the current posture went far enough to dampen the atmosphere. Heavy riot shields, the kind used to suppress mobs, were lined up in rows, and the street that should have been bustling felt noticeably frozen.

It had made leaving easier, but the thought that nearby residents could °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° not enjoy the League atmosphere bothered him a little. After hesitating briefly, he judged the time by the long shadows stretching well past midday and quickened his steps.

As he entered the mouth of an alley, the strict security loosened somewhat.

Perhaps because neighborhood children were gathered there in little clusters.

“Can’t you show the fireworks now?”

“Just two of them. No—just one!”

“You can’t see fireworks properly when it’s bright out. You need the sky to be dark. And do you know how many I’ve already wasted because of you kids asking me to light them? Shoo. Bring your parents or bring money for the fireworks.”

“Mister—!”

Various fireworks were displayed on the stall, and children whose heads barely reached the vendor’s waist hung from the counter. From what he could hear, they had no money but kept begging the vendor to set some off for them. The owner, who looked as though he had already been bothered many times, waved them away with an irritated expression.

A memory surfaced.

When he had signed his League participation form here several weeks ago, brilliant fireworks had spread across the night sky.

Without even turning his head, he walked straight past the stall. No one paid attention to the man striding along with his cloak fluttering as if he had urgent business.

Then it happened.

Papapapak—boom.

“Waaah!”

Small fireworks suddenly shot up into the air and burst into sparks at the mouth of the alley. The scale was not large, but the unexpected fireworks in broad daylight drew attention for a moment.

The disappointed children shouted with delight, and the startled vendor jumped to his feet. He worried that sparks might have caught somewhere nearby. However, because inspections had grown stricter since the afternoon, there was not even a stray cigarette butt on the street.

Unable to find the cause, he hurriedly gathered the remaining fireworks into his arms to protect them.

That was when he noticed three unfamiliar banknotes sitting in the empty money basket.

“You shouldn’t get mixed up in things like this. But I’m in a good mood today, so I’ll allow it.”

With the lower half of his face hidden, he could not conceal the curve of his eyes as he quickened his pace. He widened the distance from the suddenly noisy alley.

Just as he was about to slip into a side path and change direction—

“Why are you in a good mood?”

A voice brushed across his senses in an instant. At the same time, a faint yet familiar magic lightly swept across the back of his neck.

He flinched and stopped abruptly.

Then he turned around.

“....”

No one was there.

He had clearly heard it right behind him.

Hiding his puzzlement, he stood still and swept his gaze left and right. Then, far away through the moving crowd in the alley, he spotted a familiar silhouette.

Anyone who knew him would never fail to recognize it.

A height and build that stood out absolutely.

A pure white uniform as spotless as winter snow.

And deep blue hair that looked as though a god had created it to hold just a little more of the world’s beauty before full darkness fell.

Everything else was blurred, yet one person appeared perfectly clear.

Why is he there?

The thought lasted only a moment.

As if drawn by a spell, he turned toward him.

Yet the other man continued walking forward leisurely, as though he had not seen him at all.

His long legs made even a relaxed stride surprisingly fast, and the crowd prevented the distance from closing easily. As people recognized the high-ranking figure, one after another they stopped to bow their heads, creating an irritating bottleneck behind the white cloak.

He slipped through the gaps, following the footsteps of the dignified man walking with his hands clasped behind his back.

For a while he simply followed, unable even to call his name.

Then suddenly the man turned a corner.

He followed immediately. Not once had that handsome back of a head looked behind.

They had crossed only one alley, yet the place suddenly felt like a different world. The number of people around them dropped sharply.

But by now his irritation was rising, and he paid little attention.

Around that moment, the large hand clasped behind the man’s back flicked its wrist slightly.

Perhaps because it rested near the lower back—or perhaps because of the pure white glove.

It looked almost like a fox wagging its tail.

As if to say: Catch me.

His eyebrow tilted upward. He wondered what the man was playing at, but quickened his pace anyway.

Just as he caught up and grabbed the hand—

His vision flooded white.

***

“Why are you in a good mood, hmm?”

The flat question brushed against his ear.

He looked up at the person he had grabbed. The languid sunlight of four in the afternoon poured down over the man’s head.

His features were shadowed by the backlight, yet his lines were so strong they remained distinct. Eyes reflecting a clear sky curved gently.

At the same time, the man’s familiar scent—cool, steady, and unmistakably his—filled the air.

The hand he had grabbed instead tightened around his fingers.

At some point his own hand had been pressed against the wall behind his back, their fingers interlaced while the other man pinned his wrist there.

The restrained posture did not feel suffocating.

Though his view was half blocked by broad shoulders, he could tell that they had somehow moved away from the alley they had just been in.

The surroundings were silent.

As if only the two of them remained in the world.

The tension in his eyes softened.

Ah... I didn’t intend for this from the beginning.

After blinking slowly for a moment, he pulled the hand from the wall and brought it before his lips. He twisted the wrist that had been teasing him earlier, gripping it firmly but not painfully.

Then he caught the neatly fastened button beneath the white glove with his teeth.

His gaze remained boldly locked with the other man’s.

Tilting his head—

Click.

The fastening button popped loose easily.

He pushed aside the loosened cloth and pressed his lips to the skin revealed beneath it, his tongue moving as if he intended to claim even the artery pulsing beneath.

The blue eyes that had been curved narrowed slightly, looking down with a strange expression.

With his lips still pressed to the skin, he murmured through muffled speech.

“Probably... for this.”

The mouth that had been calmly offering its pulse stiffened.

***

Footsteps echoed in steady rhythm.

At the same time, slightly uneven breathing created a discordant undertone.

“How did you do that earlier?”

“Do what?”

“I heard your voice right behind me, but when I turned around you were far away.”

They had entered the building behind them and were now slowly climbing a spiral staircase. The tower-like structure rose high with its center hollow, causing their voices to echo like inside a cave.

Only their low voices circulated inside.

From time to time sunlight from the afternoon filtered through small windows in the wall, brushing past their lips and necks.

Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his reddened lips shone in the light. Complaining that it was hot, he carried the cloak and mask he had removed tucked under one arm and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he passed through the beam of light.

Beneath his breathable black military short-sleeved shirt, the veins along his forearms stood out clearly. A faint sheen of moisture clung to his skin.

Following the lingering scent he left behind, Hugo’s gaze drifted down the man’s waistline and the firm curve of his hips climbing the stairs ahead.

“There’s a divine beast called a parrot. It can imitate my voice for a sentence or two.”

Each step caused the creases in the beige trousers to stretch and fold again. The round, firm curves became more pronounced with every movement.

Perhaps because he knew that texture with his hands, Hugo’s fingers curled unconsciously.

“That’s a strange talent.”

He turned his head halfway and let out a short laugh.

Below his jawline the muscle along his neck bore a bruise someone had left, yet he made no attempt to hide it. The fact that his natural charm made even that look good was oddly irritating.

One leg rested on the tall stair step, his toned thigh muscles pumped from the continuous climb. But perhaps because he had just finished the match, fatigue had set in and the place Hugo had expected was not swollen.

Hugo lowered his gaze slightly.

His eyes traced down to the Achilles tendon visible above the hem of the trousers. Only then did he slowly lift his eyelids again.

“If you want to meet Lion alone, you need a few tricks.”

He laughed softly and brushed away the dust floating around the staircase with a wave of his hand. Then he suddenly grabbed the other man’s right hand—now bare because of him—and tugged it.

“Let’s go up. But where is this place?”

“Hard to say. I’m not entirely sure either.”

“Hm.”

Teleporting there meant the man had already visited before.

Curious about the intention behind such a careless lie, he deliberately pretended not to notice.

“In the central districts there’s probably no one who doesn’t know your face. Is it really okay for a duke to wander the streets like that? Isn’t it dangerous to be alone without your subordinates?”

“Dangerous? But kissing someone in the street is fine?”

“...I knew there was no one around. That’s why we came inside halfway.”

His pace up the stairs quickened slightly.

Hugo extended one arm forward and followed behind him, matching his stride.

Watching the blond hair sway softly, he murmured as if speaking to himself.

“I once thought it would be nice to walk like this. With you. On an ordinary street.”

At that moment he stopped abruptly.

His lowered lashes lifted.

After letting out a short breath, he turned around.

A calm gaze met his golden eyes. The seriousness reflected there made it clear the words were not a joke.

Perhaps realizing the thought had slipped out too suddenly, Hugo forced his expression back into neutrality.

Raising their joined hands, he jerked his chin toward the front.

“We’re at the top.”