* * *
“…Sorry?”
Imprint? Where the hell did that come from?
“Yeah. Like this.”
When Ben hesitated at the sudden question, the twins stuck out their tongues.
“…What is that?”
Across the red surface of each tongue was a vivid, distinct line—identical on both of them.
The “imprint” Ben knew of was never something that showed outwardly.
Traditionally, imprinting was understood as a ceremony where an Esper and a Guide engraved their existence into each other for life, binding them together.
He had never heard of it leaving a mark like that.
“A gold string,” Haimar answered casually.
A gold string? Imprinting was one thing, but what the hell was a gold string?
The abrupt curveball scrambled Ben’s thoughts as he tried to land on the right answer.
If, contrary to common knowledge, the twins bore some kind of imprint mark, it would have to be an unusual case.
And if they were asking him about it, then “gold string” must be a possible thing to have…
Which left him with only one plausible guess.
“…Is it something only irregulars have?”
“Yup! Over here, we also call it a sign ring. But—you don’t have one? You don’t?! Why not?!”
“Penka, calm down. Penka and Pinka were born with them, but Haimar and Ben are post-bond partners, so maybe you just don’t.”
Ben had gotten close to the answer, but the mystery was far from solved.
And the twins’ chatter only made his brain more tangled as he tried to sort through it.
“What a shame! So irregulars do imprint kind of like normal Espers and Guides, huh.”
“Yeah, but post-bond irregular sign rings are so rare, there’s hardly any data. Tricky stuff.”
They went on to explain—though not very helpfully—that “gold string” or “sign ring” was originally a term in the Eastern Continent for a sacred object tied with a special rope.
Whatever about the word’s origin—in the end, what shook Ben more was realizing that, despite thinking he knew all there was about irregulars and imprinting… he actually didn’t.
He’d wondered before if there were any special exceptions when it came to the mark between ordinary Espers and Guides, but he’d never imagined it would just pop up like this.
He’d once heard that Irregulars could have compatibility rates as high as those with marks, so he’d casually assumed—maybe they don’t have marks at all—and brushed it off.
That had been a big mistake.
Now that he was paying attention, that one thin yet vividly sharp black line stood out like nothing else.
Ben’s eyes refused to leave the twins’ chattering tongues.
“Ben’s staring at Penka and Pinka’s tongues!”
“How embarrassing!”
“Ah—sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
Looking a bit awkward, Ben turned to Haimar.
Haimar’s eyes swept over the twins without much expression.
“So… why is there even a mark? Does it mean there’s something different?”
“It’s not something you can define in the first place.”
“Haimar’s right! There are barely any cases to use as a reference! And even then, ours might be on our tongues, but it’s totally different depending on the partner!”
“That’s why hardly anyone knows! It’s normal you didn’t!”
True enough—there weren’t many standardized cases, and the Reablem twins were outliers even among Irregulars.
They weren’t exactly the best example for explanations.
Haimar probably already knew, but neither he nor Ben were the type to speak without certainty.
The reason Haimar hadn’t brought it up first was likely because of that.
But the twins, with their soft, floating strands of pinkish-gold hair swaying, gave sly little smiles that didn’t match their cute faces.
“But there is a way for Ben to find out.”
“How?”
“Well, you see—!”
“You just have to get marked!”
…He really shouldn’t have asked.
Ben shook his head quickly, his expression cooling, but the twins, oblivious, emphasized it once more.
“Marking!”
“Marking!”
Then they looked at each other, burst into laughter, rolled on the bed clutching their stomachs.
Of course. It all comes back to marking.
They were far too bright and cheerful.
If cheerfulness could be weaponized, these twins would be fully armed from head to toe.
The existence of a “sign ring” that appeared only in Irregulars was more than enough to stir Ben’s curiosity and surprise—but that was it.
If marking could happen just by deciding to do it, then there wouldn’t be people agonizing over it.
Besides, marking’s most basic prerequisite was that both hearts had to be in sync.
Could he and Haimar really value each other the same way right now?
Honestly, Ben wasn’t confident.
His feelings had changed from before, and that made it even harder to believe Haimar’s would match.
“Marking would be great! It’d be amazing!”
“Right, Haimar?”
“…Marking, huh.”
The faint smile in Haimar’s voice was directed at Ben.
His gaze was blatantly teasing, but Ben couldn’t bring himself to respond easily.
Normally, he could just throw back a line and be done with it, but for some reason, even putting on a light smile felt hard.
How was he supposed to respond so it would slide by naturally, like a snake slipping over a wall?
Only when the sparkle in those blue eyes dimmed did Ben feel he needed to say something—anything.
In truth, Haimar probably attached no special meaning to marking at all.
He was the only one being unnecessarily serious.
Still, the question bubbled up in his chest, tight and restless: What do you think about marking?
Once, he would’ve tossed the question out without a second thought.
…So why was he hesitating now?
“Uh… mind if I take a sip of your coffee? My throat’s a bit dry after eating.”
Despite the turmoil in his head, Ben made his voice sound casual.
It was an out-of-place request given the mood, but it was enough to break the subtle silence.
The only problem was that the coffee he received tasted twice as bitter as usual.
In the inky black surface, his own face stared back—eyes slightly swollen, hair a messy bird’s nest.
The sight was so pitiful it drove away the thoughts crowding his mind.
But Haimar’s gaze didn’t waver from him.
In moments like this, Ben was glad Haimar couldn’t read his thoughts.
Since he couldn’t read Haimar’s either, that was fair.
It was too soon to let him catch onto this undefined confusion.
If only Haimar would stop looking like he was about to take someone apart and put on one of his fake smiles instead.
His expression was so cold Ben almost thought the room temperature had dropped a degree.
Even the twins had lost their grins, shrinking slightly, and their earlier boldness was nowhere to be seen.
Ben, feeling the tension, ducked over his coffee cup.
“Um, Haimar… Penka and Pinka have something to say—”
“Quiet.”
The tiny, retreating voice didn’t even finish before shutting.
The lack of an answer meant the twins had perfectly sensed it was time to stop.
But the heavy mood wasn’t doing Ben any favors either.
This was one of those moments where he had no choice but to step up, from “pretty bold” to “recklessly bold.”
After a brief hesitation, Ben reached out, brushed his fingers against Haimar’s cheek, and smoothed back strands of hair that had fallen forward.
The gesture was part pacifying a dangerous beast, part innocent ‘I don’t know anything’ act.
“…Is something wrong?”
Haimar caught his wrist, pressing lips against his palm with a practiced familiarity.
His blue eyes were languid but edged with sharpness, as if to say— ‘Why ask when you already know?’
His instincts really were too sharp for his own good.
Still, unless Ben said it out loud, Haimar wouldn’t know.
He’d never guess that the word “marking,” casually dropped earlier, had him tying his brain in knots.
All the while, a clear, almost refreshing energy shimmered faintly at Ben’s fingertips, and he pretended that’s all he was focused on.
As he absently stroked Haimar’s face, the dangerous edge seemed to settle somewhat.
The twins took that moment to straighten up, their expressions turning serious as they finally spoke.
“…Penka and Pinka really, really have one last thing to tell you.”
“Yeah. We didn’t just come here to hang out.”
The sudden shift from playful to grim made both Ben and Haimar turn toward them.
“Penka and Pinka were both sent to Haimar.”
“As hunters for Integra.”
Ben stiffened at the weight of the words.
If Haimar had been targeted, then he couldn’t be an exception either.
He knew exactly what a hunter from Integra meant, so he waited for them to continue.
“Oh?”
But Haimar’s eyes narrowed, an intrigued sound escaping before they could explain.
If he could react like that before hearing the rest, it meant he’d already figured it out.
He even looked… entertained.
Ben, unable to follow the one-sided exchange, looked at the twins, who kindly clarified in words.
And the moment he heard them, Ben wished he could turn time back exactly thirty seconds.
He would have been much happier not knowing.
For Haimar, it might’ve been idle curiosity.
For him, it was an enormous, unwelcome problem.
“Your target is to hunt Roilnia Lanilgraph.”
“Message from Integra.”
* * *
