IIAD | Chapter 1.5

Guilt spun inside him like a jagged wheel, tearing into his heart with every sharp edge.

“I… Nika.”

Baran bit his lip, desperately trying to suppress his greed.

No, that was a lie.

The truth was, he didn’t want to let guilt take away this chance.

And the moment Nika pulled back the veil and met his eyes, Baran couldn’t stop himself. The lie spilled out.

“I’m your lover.”

Baran Taltamio, the wretched opportunist. A liar. Pathetic. Selfish.

Nika would never love someone like him.

His face contorted as if he were about to cry. Nika, startled, sat up in bed and looked up at him.

“You don’t remember, but… I’m your lover, Nika.”

Baran forced himself to smile, barely holding back tears.

If he could dream a sweet dream, even for a little while, it would be enough.

And if that meant lying over and over again, then Baran would do it.

── .✦

“I’m your lover.”

The moment the man said those words, Nika’s thoughts came to a halt.

Ever since he opened his eyes, he had been buried under an avalanche of unfamiliar sensations. The feel of luxurious sheets against his skin, the sight before him, the scent of herbs, the warm air inside the room, and the lattice-patterned window. These were all things that had always been distant from his life.

But the strangest thing of all, Nika thought, was the man smiling at him as if he were about to cry.

The fiery red hair didn’t quite suit him, but he looked like a prince straight out of a fairy tale—someone that anyone would admire.

Did he know this man? He tried to recall, but his mind tangled and unraveled in a mess, bringing a sharp headache. As he groaned, someone took hold of his rough fingers.

Nika’s gaze followed the warmth that touched him.

Was there a sight more beautiful in the world than this?

The man’s bright smile bloomed like a bursting flower bud. Strands of red hair cascaded down, partially covering his pale face. And his eyes—those melting, tender eyes—were something Nika had never encountered before.

Because Nika had only ever received looks filled with contempt and disgust.

Who was this man to look at him so warmly? Did he know that Nika’s body was covered in scales, that he was nothing but a lowly half-blood? Surely, once he realized, that beautiful face would harden in revulsion, and he would turn away without hesitation.

As Nika hesitated, a beam of light flickered, tickling his vision. The morning sunlight that had slipped through the window shattered against the man’s cheek in a clear, radiant glow.

The man gently stroked Nika’s rough hand.

Nika instinctively tried to pull away, but—

“It’s okay.”

At those soft-spoken words, his body froze as if under a spell.

Then the man smiled slightly and added, “There you go, good boy.”

His voice was unlike anything Nika had ever experienced before—gentle, affectionate, dripping with warmth.

Nika had no idea how to handle emotions like these. He had never known such tenderness. His entire body stiffened, his mind blank. He couldn’t even muster a single word of protest.

Like a traveler stripping off their clothes beneath the sun’s warmth, the hardened shell around him slowly lost its strength, melting away piece by piece.

“I like you. Even if you don’t remember me, that’s okay… My Nika.”

The man called him his Nika.

Everyone desires to possess, but just as strong is the desire to be possessed.

Nika, who had always been excluded from the tangled web of human relationships, harbored a deep-rooted yearning for that simple possessive phrase.

‘Your Nika?’

Yes, if he were being honest…

For a fleeting moment, Nika wanted to believe every single word that came from those lips.

── .✦

“My Nika.”

What a ridiculous notion.

Baran scoffed at himself. Not even for a single moment in his life had Nika ever belonged to him.

Of course, with no memories, Nika wouldn’t know that. But the fact that he neither questioned nor outright denied it made Baran’s heart race. A fragile, white bud of joy sprouted in the midst of his guilt. He could die right here and still be happy.

“…So I…”

Nika, hunched over and nervously darting his eyes around, took a long time before finally speaking again.

“…You’re saying that I’m your lover?”

Baran’s lie had taken shape once more in Nika’s mouth. The way he repeated it felt eerily like an interrogation. Did he remember something? A sudden anxiety gripped Baran, but instead of showing it, he leaned into his confidence. He tilted his head back, stretched his arms behind him, and assumed a relaxed posture.

Nika’s gaze wavered before lowering hesitantly.

‘That uncertain expression… He’s definitely not the Lord Nika I used to know.’

Nika studied Baran carefully, his wariness palpable. Then, slowly, he lifted his head. Baran would have preferred for him to stay lying down and rest, but as he stepped closer, Nika instead threw off the blanket and tried to get up.

For the first time, it was Baran who felt anxious.

He clenched and unclenched his fists, beads of sweat forming as he watched Nika push aside the covers, rise from the bed, and neatly adjust the collar of his clothing. And before he could stop himself, a feeble excuse tumbled out of his mouth.

“Nika, I understand that you’re surprised. If I were in your position and some stranger suddenly claimed to be my lover—”

“Why would someone like you tell such a lie to someone like me?”

Nika’s quiet voice cut him off.

Baran fell silent. He replayed those words in his mind over and over again. The meaning wasn’t immediately clear.

Nika averted his gaze and bit his lip. Just as Baran was about to speak, Nika interjected, his tone sharper now.

“I know people like you. Young noble lords, rich, good-looking, charming with words… You could have anything you want. So why, of all people, would you waste a lie on someone like me?”

“A lie?”

“Saying that… you like me.”

When Nika lifted his head, the first thing that caught his attention was Baran’s eyes. A shade of blue rarely seen among commoners. Even though they were an icy color, they burned as if they could set everything ablaze.

Nika swallowed thickly. That wasn’t the look of someone merely irritated. It was pure, unrestrained fury.

And the problem was—Nika had no idea why this man was so enraged.

He suddenly realized just how precarious his situation was. With a single flick of this nobleman’s hand, an orphan like him could lose his head in an instant. No matter how kindly Baran had smiled at him before, no matter how gentle his gestures seemed, status dictated reality.

Before Nika could decide whether to beg for his life, Baran grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward.

It was a rough motion, dragging him up effortlessly. For a moment, Nika debated whether he should start pleading for mercy right then and there.

But instead of violent words or cruelty, Baran did something far more shocking.

He kissed him.

Not on the lips.

But on the left cheek—right over the patch of reptilian scales.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he pulled away.

A kiss.

Nika’s entire body froze.

Even after the lips had left his skin, the warmth remained. The soft sensation lingered on the very spot where everyone else had looked at him with revulsion.

It was unbearable. He wanted to scratch at his cheek until the feeling disappeared.

But the irritation was infectious.

The moment stretched on, and suddenly, it wasn’t just his cheek—it was his throat, his stomach, his chest. Everything felt strange, ticklish in the worst way. His blood was rushing too fast.

Nika could only stare up at Baran in dumbfounded silence.

Baran’s face was flushed red, his breath coming out in uneven huffs.

“…You can dismiss me as some foolish noble, call me a coward, or think whatever you want about me,” Baran murmured.

“……”

“But don’t belittle my feelings. And don’t talk down about yourself.”

And then, his voice sounded even more wounded than mine.

That warm voice.

Nika hesitantly touched his left cheek, recalling the sensation of Baran’s lips that had landed there. They had been as warm as his voice.

With bewildered eyes, Nika looked up at Baran. Half of the man’s face was now hidden behind his hand.

Nika wasn’t crying, yet his entire face had flushed a deep red. His expression twisted slightly, making him look as if he were on the verge of tears. Eighteen years old, he had said. That childishness in his expressions and tone, so different from usual, amused Baran.

After watching Nika for a long moment, Baran reached out and smoothed the wrinkles in his tunic before stepping back.

Sensing his intention to leave, Nika hurriedly called out.

“Your name—what’s your name?”

A name.

Baran remembered how the old Nika had never cared to know his real name. He had always substituted it with more colorful titles—“bastard,” “vile marquis,” or something similarly charming.

But now, Nika was asking for his name.

Baran unearthed the memory buried deep in his heart.

‘My name is not ‘vile marquis,’ not ‘the duke’s hound,’ not ‘bastard.’ It’s Baran Taltamio.’

Of course, he would love whatever name passed through Nika’s lips. But there had been times, just sometimes, when he’d felt a flicker of regret.

Instead of an answer, a sharp sword strike had come his way. He barely managed to deflect it, his grip straining from the force. He had laughed then—perhaps out of disbelief, perhaps out of habit. Seeing his smile, Nika’s fury had only intensified.

With two steps back, Nika had spoken, his tone utterly devoid of emotion.

‘Your name doesn’t matter, vile marquis.’

He had readjusted his grip on his sword, his eyes burning with something fierce.

That gaze had always terrified Baran.

People often said that it was better to be hated than ignored, and it sounded poetic enough. But when razor-sharp hatred brushed against his skin like the tip of an arrow, he always found himself wanting to plead.

‘It hurts. Please… stop.’

‘He wouldn’t call my name anyway.’

Baran had told himself that over and over again, trying to convince himself that it didn’t matter.

But it did.

He had never dared to ask for something as excessive as love.

All he had wanted was for Nika to say his name. Just once.

A trembling sigh escaped his lips.

Has anything changed between then and now?

Baran slowly traced his lips with his fingertips, only now realizing how warped his smile had become. His eyelashes trembled, breaking his world apart into scattered fragments.

Everything.

Everything had changed.

“Baran. Baran Taltamio.”

His lips quivered as he barely managed to say his own name.

The feeling was different from when he had resigned himself to never hearing it from Nika’s mouth.