Plin Ch 2.13

“I have a question.”

“…Yes.”

“Do you know Ethan?”

His ears, which had been drooping, perked up 90 degrees. The fox, clearly tense, with an awkward voice, pretended to be calm.

“W-Who…?”

“You’re going to pretend you don’t know. Even though I know everything.”

The fox’s heart, which had been pounding since a while ago, was now beating wildly. This heartbeat was like a confession. It was cute, but it was inevitably bittersweet.

Knock knock knock.

Even the sound of knocking was precise. The sound of someone knocking on the door three times, quickly and clearly, broke the tense atmosphere between the two.

“It’s a lively morning. I thought it would be better if I came instead of a maid, but I apologize for interrupting your pleasant time.”

Thibeau’s voice was not apologetic at all. It was a voice that definitely cleared the air. Thibeau, who insensitively pushed in a wooden carrier laden with an abundant tea set, had a different light in his eyes.

“Do you often hear that you can’t read the room?”

Hugo, still glued to Plin, calmly asked, with his eyes full of venom.

“The thunder caused a power outage, so we were late in preparing.”

Thibeau responded with a cheerful rhythm. As a faithful secretary, he didn’t show his emotions and poured the tea with discipline, but it was difficult to even control the corners of his mouth from turning up. What a good relationship they had.

Standing outside the door, he had listened to Hugo’s clumsy, childish courtship and felt his heart ache. His acting was so good because he was in pain all his life, but when he told the story of ‘the fairy tale his mother used to tell him and the dream of a white fox’, the tone of his lines was so contrived that he pitied Plin Fallfox, thinking he was trying to keep up.

But to think that the fox would take it seriously. And to say, ‘I’m not that kind of fox’… They were truly a match made in heaven.

Even so, wrapping up the karmic pain as a genetic disease of dragons was going too far.

Thibeau engraved the scene he was witnessing in his eyes. The two of them with their swollen lips, Hugo almost embracing Plin, and the fox, who was docile, though with a slightly dazed expression. All of these were shining, positive signs.

What was most surprising was his master’s clear complexion. The fever that had plagued Hugo all night had stained the area around his eyes and the nape of his neck like a fever blossom, but now it was all gone and he looked clear.

Thibeau tried his best to observe them without being intrusive. However, Plin had long been accustomed to being on the receiving end of attention and was sensitive to the gazes of others, and Hugo, with his senses heightened beyond human levels, was even more so.

“What are you looking at, is there a show going on?”

“Nothing at all, sir.”

His unruliness was on par with that of a wandering teenager. It was unbelievable that he had been appointed as an executive director of a company. However, from Thibeau’s position, knowing all of Hugo’s romantic history (a history of pure whiteness), he could fully understand. Not knowing how to manage his embarrassment since he hadn’t learned it in his teens, he was, in a roundabout way, trying to hide it… The thought brought a wry smile to his lips.

“A guest will be arriving soon.”

“Then I should get going.”

Seizing the opportunity to escape, Plin spoke quickly. His face was flushed, perhaps from taking on Hugo’s heat. However, Thibeau had no intention of letting this precious guest simply leave.

“Since you’ve come to visit the patient, it wouldn’t do if we didn’t offer you some hospitality.”

“But still…”

“If you’re in a hurry, at least have some macaroons before you go. That way, you won’t feel cheated. The Ydrohan family’s macaroons are made according to the traditional methods of Chaumont Boulangerie and are always well-received by our guests—”

“Who is the guest?”

Hugo interrupted Thibeau and asked.

“Sir Ethan is coming.”

“Why is that bastard coming?”

“I suppose he’s coming because his younger brother is sick.”

“He’s coming to gloat over my misfortune? And you set up the appointment? You’re as gentle as a lamb. That’s not what you’re paid for.”

Hugo rebuked him, and Plin felt extremely uncomfortable as soon as he heard the name ‘Ethan’. He couldn’t possibly eat snacks leisurely here.

Plin stood up abruptly. Since they were arguing, he thought he could take his coat first and then make a hasty farewell and slip out.

“Would he not come if you didn’t set up an appointment?”

“If he had come an hour earlier, tomorrow’s edition of Jubloids would have had a front-page exclusive of ‘Hugo K. von Ydrohan, suffering from an incurable disease, restrained in all four limbs’. Why do you work like that?”

The hospital room, for one person only, was wide and spacious. It was when Plin had taken about fifteen steps to grab his coat.

“Where are you going again, darling?”

He still had ten more steps to go to reach his coat.

“Ah… I thought you might be talking for a while…”

Plin turned around stiffly. He thought their eyes would meet, but he wasn’t even looking at Plin and was still nagging the secretary.

“Why is your well-oiled tongue so quiet?”

“I called him here to see for himself, in case he spreads any rumors. Sir Ethan has never seen you in pain, no matter how much it hurts. You’ve never been photographed while being restrained.”

There was no change in his tone. As if he didn’t know that he had once broken his teeth while enduring the pain.

“Do you think I endured that in my right mind?”

“What else can you do but endure? You were born a dragon.”

The retort was as smooth as if it had been buttered. Hugo’s jaw tightened.

“You need to manage your karma.”

Sensing some kind of crisis, Thibeau took a slight step back and said.

“Darling.”

“…..”

“Plin Fallfox.”

The way he called his full name sounded like an instructor. It was the strict instructor who made people run left and right if the answer was even 1 second late. Plin, who was just about to grab his coat, was startled and answered the call first.

“Y-Yes! Plin Fallfox is here. I didn’t run away.”

“Come here, let’s kiss.”

Plin wondered why he had to kiss him and why he had become his ‘darling,’ but he went as he was told.

As soon as he got close to him, he erased his grim expression from a moment ago and smiled brightly. In the meantime, Thibeau had moved far, far away.

“Why are you so stiff? I won’t force you if you don’t want to.”

“Yes… Executive Director, but that term… we haven’t agreed on it yet.”

Plin spoke with some determination. It was possible because he had been practicing the words for a few days.

“Then shall we agree on it now?”

“Ah, no. That’s not what I meant. And I have a delivery this evening, so I have to go home now.”

“Ah, delivery. That’s our fox’s livelihood. Then go.”

“Yes…”

He was unexpectedly agreeable, which made him tilt his head, but he was glad. He was sorry that he couldn’t eat the snacks the secretary had gone to the trouble of preparing.

Plin glanced at the ornate 3-tiered tray that looked like a white birdcage. On the first tier were fist-shaped, rough-textured bread and jam, on the second tier were thin sandwiches, and on the third tier were five or six round, flat cookies.

They must be very sweet. He was a little curious, and he was disappointed because the customers who had eaten them had all admired them, but there was nothing he could do.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t eat any.”

“It’s okay. Take the macaroons with you. They have strawberry and orange filling.”

Thibeau, who was far away, answered with a loud voice. He should have refused right away after hearing his words. But Plin had always lived with the belief that refusing kindness because of pride was foolish. As was his habit of always accepting kindness with joy, he smiled brightly and nodded.

“How would a commoner know what a macaroon is? You have to point out what’s what.”

Hugo picked a fight over something trivial.

“What do you think of commoners? Even commoners know what macaroons are. It’s not like we’re primitive people or something.”

Thibeau was about to vehemently criticize his master, who was obsessed with a sense of privilege.

“Actually… I don’t have the money to spend on cookies. I don’t know if macakongs… are on the first tier or the third tier…”

Plin said in a small voice. His face was not visible because it was lowered, but the tips of his round ears were bright red. He even mispronounced Thibeau’s ‘macaron’ with its strong French accent as ‘makakong’.

“Ah…”

Thibeau sighed. He should have said, “I’m sorry,” but he was so surprised that he couldn’t speak. How could someone living in the capital city not know what a macaroon was? Has he never been to a bakery? When he did the background check, he was careless because he saw the profits Plin was making from selling drinks.

“Have you never hosted a commoner before? This is why people who only think their own experiences are the whole world are the problem. Study up on commoners. The round things on the third tier are macaroons. They’re made with almond flour.”

Hugo scolded him sarcastically and then spoke kindly to Plin, being hypocritical.

“Yes…”

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s proof that a commoner not knowing about high-end desserts means they’ve been working hard to save money. Pack all of this up for him.”

Thibeau suppressed his annoyance and used small tongs to put the macaroons into a paper bag and handed it to him.