IIAD | Chapter 1.8

Feeling awkward, Baran’s gaze naturally drifted to Nika’s hands. Calloused, knotted with scars—those hands were what he loved most about him. His lips unconsciously curved into a soft smile.

But the moment Nika realized where Baran was looking, he startled and quickly hid his hands behind his back.

Then, as if suddenly worried that his reaction might have hurt Baran, he glanced at him hesitantly, gauging his response. His personality was more delicate than he let on. Inside, he was still very much an eighteen-year-old.

But Baran was used to this. He had been pushed away by Nika in far crueler ways before, so this mild rejection barely fazed him.

Still, the Nika standing in front of him had no memory of that. He hesitated for a moment before unexpectedly muttering an apology.

“…My fingers… they look even worse now.”

At first, Baran didn’t quite understand what he meant.

Nika fidgeted restlessly before finally confessing.

“They’re even more scarred than I remember. That’s why… I don’t want to show them.”

“Hideous?”

Baran blinked stupidly for a moment, trying to process the meaning behind Nika’s words. Did he have any idea how many times Baran had traced those so-called hideous fingers while he slept? Did he have the slightest clue how much Baran would be willing to give up just for the chance to press a kiss against them? Could he even fathom how much comfort those rough, scarred hands had given him—back in that cold, damp forest, when they had been prepared to face death together?

“They’re not hideous. Let me see them.” Baran whispered, his voice gentle.

Nika flinched slightly, instinctively recoiling. But he didn’t resist when Baran reached for his hands, pulling them toward him. Slowly, Baran pressed his soft cheek against Nika’s calloused knuckles and closed his eyes.

“They’re beautiful. So, so beautiful, Nika.”

Nika had always been hyperaware of how others saw him. It was only natural that he had started to withdraw, avoiding places where their eyes could reach. Growing up as an orphan in a world that despised beast-blooded people, it would have been a miracle if he had developed any sense of self-worth at all.

He always let his long black hair fall over the left side of his face, hiding the truth beneath. The sparse black scales—reminiscent of an Earth Dragon—gave away his lineage. Anyone who looked at him closely could instantly recognize what he was: a child of a beast-blooded creature that had walked on two legs and a human woman.

Of course, compared to others of his kind—many of whom had tails or more pronounced reptilian features—Nika was lucky. As long as he kept his slitted pupils and the scales on his left cheek hidden, most people would mistake him for a lowborn gypsy rather than suspect the truth. But once they did find out, they always reacted the same way. Their kindness would dissolve in an instant, replaced by disgust. They would spit at his feet, curse the parents he had never even known, and walk away.

Some had even made the sign of the cross before him—not in a prayer for his salvation, but as if trying to ward off something filthy.

Nika had lived his entire life like that—long before Baran had ever known him.

Baran reached out carefully, his emotions tangled between deep sorrow and something even more desperate. Something aching.

Nika must have sensed it, too.

For a moment, an unseen force seemed to exist between them—some kind of magic binding them together. Baran gazed into Nika’s dark eyes. He was trembling, just slightly.

Then, as Baran gently brushed aside the curtain of black hair covering his left cheek, something in Nika’s eyes ignited. A spark of raw emotion.

And just like that, the magic shattered.

“Stop poking at me with your half-hearted pity. And stop talking like that.”

“Talking like what?”

“Saying things like ‘beautiful,’ ‘like,’ or—” Nika’s voice caught, and his expression twisted in fury. ”—‘lover.’ Those words make me sick!”

Baran didn’t quite understand, but instead of arguing, he simply furrowed his brows.

“I know how people like you think,” Nika spat. “Spoiled nobles like you enjoy this sort of thing, don’t you? You give a little kindness, pretend to be interested, and once you get bored, you toss people aside like broken toys!”

Nika shoved Baran’s hands away, his voice rising.

“Let me make this clear—you won’t get anything from me.”

Baran tilted his head slightly, watching as Nika’s chest rose and fell with ragged breaths.

“I don’t understand why you’re so angry, Nika.”

Nika’s shoulders trembled.

“I don’t want you to be angry,” Baran continued, his voice calm but unwavering. “I love everything about you. But if possible, I want to see you smile. That alone would make me the happiest person in the world.”

He hesitated for a moment before adding,

“You said I wouldn’t get anything from you? That’s not true. You’ve already given me so much. Happiness, joy… and sometimes, even sadness and anger. Every emotion in this world, both good and bad.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to force yourself to understand,” Baran said with a faint, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “Honestly, it’s not easy for me either. But if you can understand just one thing—”

Nika frowned. “What?”

Baran met his eyes directly.

“That I really, truly like you.”

Nika grimaced at those words, but he couldn’t stop his cheeks from turning red. With his face flushed bright red, he kept repeating like a chant, “Stop saying nonsense. I know it’s a lie. So just quit it. Take those words back.”

Baran simply chuckled, replying, “Yeah, yeah,” but never once took back his words about liking him.

Nika still bristled, insisting he didn’t believe Baran, but it was clear that his attitude had softened. Baran was pleased. The vast distance that had once stretched endlessly between them seemed to have shrunk just a little, as if he could finally see the end of it. It was exactly the kind of situation he had dreamed of.

Seeing that Nika was looking much better, Baran called for a physician once again to check on him. After tilting his head a few times in puzzlement, the physician confirmed that Nika was in perfect health, saying it would be harder to find any trace that he had even been sick in the first place.

The wound on his shoulder had also nearly healed, with fresh red skin forming. As long as it was kept clean, there would be no issues, and the scarring could be minimized. 

The physician even remarked in amazement that he had heard the healing ability of a dragonkin was dozens of times faster than a human’s, and now he could see it was true. However, after making the mistake of mentioning the uniqueness of dragonkin, he shrank back at Baran’s sharp glare and was practically chased out of the room.

“You must have a lot of questions, Nika.”

Nika, who had been forcibly seated on the bed for the examination, turned his gaze toward Baran. Despite all the reckless and disrespectful things he had done toward a noble, there were still moments like this where he looked up at Baran with hesitant, almost timid eyes. Baran found Nika’s raw, unpolished, and impulsive nature—so fitting for an eighteen-year-old—deeply endearing.

“I’ve been thinking. It’d be nice if we had dinner together and talked about a few things.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah. You’ve been eating in your room all this time, so you haven’t even gotten to taste Taltamio’s finest dishes, right? I’ll send someone for you later.”

Nika looked uncomfortable but didn’t argue, which Baran took as a sign of agreement. After that, Baran went on enthusiastically about the variety of dishes that would be served at dinner, but Nika didn’t seem to be listening properly. Even so, as Baran continued talking excitedly, Nika would occasionally sneak glances at his flushed, delighted face—acting as if he wasn’t looking at all.

── .✦

“I don’t want to make it too obvious. It has to look natural.”

Baran muttered as he looked at his own reflection in the mirror, dressed in a formal suit. It was the kind of attire he only wore for official events. Normally, he wandered around like a stray cat in loose shirts or tunics, so suddenly dressing so sharply was downright painful.

“But it should still feel like I put some effort into it….”

“Then do this.”

The middle-aged maid, who had been watching his fussing with amusement, loosened his tie.

“A tie is a definite no. Who wears a tie at home?”

Baran shot her a skeptical glance, but after carefully looking over his reflection, he admitted, “Well… it’s better.” Just wearing neatly tailored pants and a cotton shirt was already a huge change for him. In fact, Raymond, the butler who had passed through the dressing room earlier, had clicked his tongue and asked if Baran was drunk.

Nika must not notice a hint of awkwardness in his appearance. The thought of it made Baran’s head spin from worrying over something as trivial as clothing.

Then, suddenly, the maid reached out and undid two of his shirt buttons. Baran was about to protest, but he stopped and looked at the mirror. The reflection showed a young man with unruly red hair, wearing a high-quality suit with his usual air of casual arrogance.

“Much better.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course. Just be yourself. Ever since you were a child, you’ve always dressed like some common street—oh dear, my apologies.”

Baran pursed his lips in irritation. If she weren’t someone he’d known for years, practically like family, he might have fired her on the spot. But the maid, undeterred by his sour expression, calmly continued.

“Anyway, you’ve always preferred a loose, comfortable style. There’s no need to pretend to be someone you’re not. That’s what makes you Baran Taltamio.”

Baran spent quite some time standing before the mirror, checking his appearance from every angle. If the maid hadn’t interrupted by asking, “Shall I send a message to Lord Nika?” he might have spent the entire day in the dressing room. He gave her the go-ahead and debated for a moment whether to wear a coat. In the end, he decided to put it on before heading out of the room.

The dining hall was on the first floor of the castle. Taltamio Castle, located near the border, had endured countless wars throughout history, resulting in its fortress-like, no-nonsense architecture. Every time a siege destroyed it, it had to be rebuilt, leaving no room for unnecessary extravagance.

Baran arrived first. He meticulously inspected everything—the candlelight, the flowers, and even the romantic touch of the tablecloth—before finally nodding in satisfaction.

But there was one problem. The dining table was too long.