* * *
Ranshel’s mind went completely blank.
Without thinking, he brought his hand to his mouth, about to bite his nail—but the glove pressed hard between his teeth.
“Ow…!”
This time, he couldn’t hold back the cry.
Zavad, startled, turned to him.
Tears welled up in Ranshel’s eyes.
They were close enough that there was no way Zavad could miss it.
Was it even fair for it to hurt this much from just a torn nail?
Ranshel looked down at his hand with teary eyes—then, suddenly, Zavad grabbed his wrist.
“W-wait, what are you doing?!”
“Keep your voice down. They’ll hear us next door.”
Zavad took hold of Ranshel’s wrist and started trying to take off his glove.
His fingers slid easily through the gap in the black cloth—chosen specifically so that blood wouldn’t show.
The fingers sliding smoothly across his palm were just too gentle.
Before picking up a sword, Zavad was simply a young nobleman, but with natural talent for knighthood, his innate strength actually exceeded Ranshel’s.
“H-Hey, what are you doing?! Let go of me!”
“Hold still. It’s not like I’m going to eat you.”
Ranshel’s face flushed bright red from putting all his strength into resisting, while Zavad remained perfectly calm.
It was a deeply unfair system.
He could complain all he wanted, but it wouldn’t suddenly make him stronger.
Desperate to keep Zavad from pulling off his glove, Ranshel used his free hand to hold on with all his might.
His fingertips were being crushed in the process, and the pain made tears spring to his eyes.
“Just relax, would you? I’m not doing anything weird.”
“You could just let go, you know!”
He knew he didn’t have to put up this much of a fight… but still, he didn’t want to show it.
Zavad had messed with it so much, the bandages came undone.
Some of the damage was barely noticeable—a slightly lifted nail—but the worst part was raw and red, where the skin had torn deep.
Garry had once said it looked disgusting.
A delicate noble like Zavad might straight-up gag at the sight.
He could just show him to gross him out… but for some reason, he really didn’t want to.
Ranshel was sniffling with tears pooling in his eyes when, suddenly, Zavad pulled his hand out of the glove.
Caught off guard after resisting so hard, Ranshel stumbled and bumped into a towering pile of books beside him.
The stack, taller than him, wobbled—and came crashing down.
“……!”
Ranshel might not be strong, but his reflexes were better.
He quickly shoved Zavad aside and threw himself over him.
Thud, thump— the books pelted Ranshel’s back and head.
It wasn’t unbearable, but when he braced against the floor, his fingertips stung like hell.
“Damn it, ugh…”
Tears finally spilled over.
A natural reaction to the pain.
But one of the drops landed right on Zavad’s cheek, who was lying beneath him.
Ranshel blinked, his vision blurry, and a few more tears fell—sliding down Zavad’s nose and over his lips.
Realizing a bit too late, Ranshel hastily wiped at Zavad’s face with the back of his gloved hand.
“Ugh, sorry. I told you, you should’ve let go sooner…”
He expected Zavad to freak out, maybe even yell about how gross it was.
But oddly enough, he just lay there, dazed.
Why is it that a pretty face stays pretty even when it’s dazed?
When he zones out, he just looks dumb.
Whether looking up or down at him, there wasn’t a single angle that did Zavad injustice.
It was just unfair.
And later, once he trained his body, he’d have that too?
Ranshel almost wanted to send a complaint to the game developers.
But now wasn’t the time for that.
As soon as he finished roughly wiping Zavad’s face, Ranshel braced against the floor again.
His stamina was already shot—he couldn’t hold this position much longer.
‘If I collapse, it’s going to be a disaster.’
No way Zavad would just lie there and let a servant fall on top of him.
Ranshel did not want to get crushed under another pile of falling books while trying to calm a panicking noble.
He didn’t have extra lives to throw away like that.
He wanted to get up so bad.
But the weight of the books on top of him was heavier than expected.
Moving too much might knock over even more stacks—total chaos.
And wait… didn’t that crash make a pretty loud noise?
What if someone came to check the room?
That thought made him tense up all over again.
Ranshel lowered his upper body, bringing his lips right next to Zavad’s ear.
Naturally, their bodies were now nearly pressed together.
“Sir, I’m going to get crushed if this keeps up…”
“…What?”
“Please… move the books. They’re too heavy…”
Ranshel panted, breathing hard.
He was practically going through a trial trying to hold himself up without putting any weight on Zavad.
‘Ugh, I’m gonna die.’
Forget rank or formality—couldn’t he just lean on him a bit?
But no, Zavad wasn’t the type to let that slide.
As Ranshel struggled to maintain the awkward position, Zavad suddenly grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him down.
Ranshel nearly collapsed on top of him but barely caught himself.
“Stop holding back and just lie down.”
“What? I told you, move the books—”
“I’ll move them if you lie down.”
“If I lie down now, between my weight and the books—”
“You really think someone as scrawny as you weighs anything? Quit your nonsense.”
“I’m not that scrawny…!”
Ranshel wanted to keep arguing, but he had no strength left.
With a soft thud, he slumped forward.
Zavad’s body, which had always seemed delicate, was surprisingly firm.
Must be from good bones.
It felt totally different from when he’d hugged him from behind earlier.
Was it because Zavad was conscious this time?
The tension in his body and muscles made the contact feel completely different.
‘He’s still just a little brat,’ Ranshel thought.
But Zavad clearly had the opposite thought.
“…Seriously? What, do you starve yourself? And you were mocking my portions?”
“You just don’t know how servants live. The food here’s actually pretty good. Big servings and tasty too—”
“Oh please. You go after other people’s food like a starving dog.”
“…”
Ranshel felt wronged, but it was true he’d eyed Zavad’s food more than once, so he didn’t have much to say.
Still, servant meals weren’t bad.
Free, and even if there wasn’t meat, soup refills were unlimited.
He’d line up at least three times a day for extra portions, and mealtimes were the only moments he felt like he could settle down for good.
Of course, Zavad’s meals were on a whole other level.
He tried to act uninterested during this recent cold war between them, but it probably still showed.
Maybe because he kept swallowing back saliva…
But really, was it his fault good food made his mouth water?
* * *
