“Hmm.”
Shadin frowned at the noise coming from outside and poured the simmering liquid from a small pot into the beaker containing the black liquid.
The two liquids mixed and turned transparent. Shadin’s hands were extremely careful as he shook the beaker a few times to check the color and then put it back down.
This was an eye drop that changed the color of the eyes. It had the disadvantage of having to be put in every three or four hours, but thanks to this, Shadin was able to enter the capital without any problems.
“When this cools down...”
Shadin, who was about to order that the eye drops in the beaker be transferred to a small vial once they had completely cooled, opened his mouth at the loud noise coming through the window.
“Everything is nice here, but it’s too noisy. Please divide this up when it cools down.”
“Yes, priest.”
Shadin shook his head and headed to the next room, which he used as his bedroom. It was noisy everywhere. It couldn't be helped, since it was an alley full of shops.
“Do lawyers make a lot of money here too?”
Shadin muttered as he spread out the sleeping bag he had purchased nearby.
Since the upper part of the building was three stories high, there was no separate furniture such as beds, so Shadin and the Followers were using sleeping bags as if they were camping.
“Cliff may be dead, but the building remains.”
This was the safe house Cliff had prepared for him. To be exact, it was a building that Cliff's butler, a Followers, had told him could be used as a hideout.
He heard that it was prepared for use when a necromancy was successful on Erne, so the priest had to stay in the capital and give orders to Erne.
Well, things got messed up so he couldn't come here.
"Ha."
Shadin, lying down on his sleeping bag, let out a long sigh.
If all had gone according to plan, by now he would have been 'Charlie Marlton' packing his bags and heading south.
He felt his stomach boil as he remembered the plan that had gone awry just before success.
“What the f*ck.”
The anger that made him want to smash everything was directed at Erne. The author inside the shell is called Erne.
He wants to take revenge on someone for their curses and murder, but he doesn't have any items related to Erne anymore. Without those, a curse thrown into the air won't have much effect.
No, they're all about money. How can you kill the golden duck just for one writer?
Shadin, who had been nervously tossing his hair, suddenly stopped what he was doing.
“No, no, you know that. Let’s use that.”
On my way back from meeting the captured Followers, I stopped by Smith's office.
The interest payment date is coming up soon, so I'm going to pay it back and ask for help in catching Shadin.
“They’re probably still in the capital. In the slums? No, they wouldn’t have gone there. It’s easier to hide in crowded places.”
The hideout they used to visit Wilbur's estate was also near where a regular market was held.
Hearing that story, I was reminded of Smith's office.
Although he was a notorious moneylender, Smith's work was not illegal. But it was hardly entirely legal either.
His office was also in that exact location. It was secretly crowded with people, but secretly unsafe.
Up to a certain point, it is safe enough for children to walk around, but beyond that point, it is classified as a black market.
I thought that if he was going to hide, this would be the perfect place.
“Huh? What’s that over there?”
After asking Smith for help with the investigation, I was about to return to the mansion when I discovered a crowd of people gathered at the end of an alley.
“I guess they’re selling something.”
“I wonder what they sell. Can we go there too?”
Erne nodded obediently. If he had known that there was a stall selling single-sheet paintings, I wouldn't have taken Judith.
But when he regretted it, it was already too late.
"...and."
Erne wiped his face with his palm at the small exclamation he heard from the side. Judith couldn't take her eyes off the single-sheet paintings spread out on the table.
The pictures were vivid and explicit. They could have easily been just plain obscene, but they strangely caught my attention.
She hates to say this, but this is a really well-drawn picture, isn't it?
But she thinks she understands why Vinchero said this wasn't art. It was obscene and provocative. It had a clear purpose of making money.
“Can you buy me one?”
When Judith couldn't leave the stand of single-sheet paintings, Erne asked if she had to buy one before going home.
Of course, Judith shook her head. She had no interest in spending money on such things.
She stared at it for too long, but that wasn't just because the picture was provocative.
“This guy, doesn’t he look like you?”
Judith whispered so that only Erne could hear and pointed to a painting. It was a painting of a naked man lying on a bed, seducing a woman.
The woman was only slightly shown from behind, but the male protagonist was drawn with considerable effort, and the more she looked at him, the more he resembled Erne.
Even though they lowered the saturation of his blonde hair and changed his eye color to blue, things like his body and the scar on his chest kept reminding her of Erne.
“...”
Erne, who had discovered the painting, glared at the vendor. The vendor, who was wearing a hood and a mask that covered his face, flinched and shook his shoulders at Ern’s gaze.
“Stop it.”
Haa, Erne took Judith out with a long sigh. He warned her with his eyes, so she wouldn't do it again.
“Isn’t that the person who drew that picture of Erne? They look so similar.”
As she was being dragged out by Erne, Judith kept tilting her head.
“The guy who sells those paintings is a secretary who is broke.”
He noticed that Vinchero flinched noticeably when he criticized the single-sheet painting. Ilhe didn't expect to meet him like this.
“No, then the model in the picture from earlier was Erne.”
There was a note of dissatisfaction in Judith's voice as she muttered that it was somehow too similar.
It seems like you feel uncomfortable showing my body to an unspecified number of people, right?
Erne was pleased that Judith was secretly possessive.
“Shouldn’t you have received a modeling fee? It sold really well.”
Oh, is that possessiveness towards me?
The joyous feeling subsided in an instant. Erne pretended not to hear Judith talking about modeling fees all the way back to the mansion.
“But when I think about it, I wonder if it’s really necessary to criticize it by saying it’s not art.”
The single painting must have been very impressive. When she returned to the mansion, Judith continued talking about the single painting until the moment she lay down on her bed.
She guessed she should have just bought one. Even if she grumbles that it's a waste of money, if she actually buys it, she'll probably look at it until it wears out.
It was unpleasant to see another person's body, but there was also a painting there modeled after Erne, so she could have bought that.
But is it really necessary to buy a picture of your body? Why can't you just show it to me?
“There is something that stimulates the imagination. Then it is art. What is so special about art?”
“Looking at that, what were you imagining so intently?”
There was a playful expression on Erne's lips as she raised them.
“What did you imagine?”
“You said it stimulated the imagination, but who said it was imagined?”
As Erne approached with an expression that said he had found a joke to make, Judith avoided his gaze and muttered.
“That’s right. Since your imagination was stimulated, you must have imagined something. What on earth did our Miss Harrington imagine that led to the definition of art?”
His footsteps stopped in front of Judith, who was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Tell me, what are you imagining?”
“What am I imagining? Does it matter?”
“I can make that fantasy come true.”
Erne bent down slightly and pushed Judith's long, loose hair over her shoulder. Judith shivered slightly when his hand brushed her earlobe.
“...”
Silence flowed between them. Only the crackling sound of firewood crackling in the fireplace and the mingling of their breathing nearby settled in silence.
Judith's hair, which she had washed and roughly dried in front of the fireplace, felt damp between his fingers.
He just wanted to play a little prank on Judith. He was as excited as an immature child who had just seen a pornographic picture for the first time.
He was going to tease her a little, play with her flushed cheeks, and then hug her and fall asleep like usual. But was that an inappropriate joke?
“...It wasn’t a very healthy imagination.”
Am I mistaken in thinking that Judith's answer is telling me not to stop this prank?
Erne licked his dry lips with his tongue.
He wanted to make their first time a little more romantic, but contrary to his head, which said that it wasn't romantic at all, his instincts kept leaning towards Judith.
“I wonder how unwholesome it is. Is it more unwholesome than I can imagine now?”
“What did Erne imagine?”
With the last shred of reason left, Erne placed the string of his bathrobe in Judith's hand.
“You might regret it after hearing it, but is that okay?”
Shadin frowned at the noise coming from outside and poured the simmering liquid from a small pot into the beaker containing the black liquid.
The two liquids mixed and turned transparent. Shadin’s hands were extremely careful as he shook the beaker a few times to check the color and then put it back down.
This was an eye drop that changed the color of the eyes. It had the disadvantage of having to be put in every three or four hours, but thanks to this, Shadin was able to enter the capital without any problems.
“When this cools down...”
Shadin, who was about to order that the eye drops in the beaker be transferred to a small vial once they had completely cooled, opened his mouth at the loud noise coming through the window.
“Everything is nice here, but it’s too noisy. Please divide this up when it cools down.”
“Yes, priest.”
Shadin shook his head and headed to the next room, which he used as his bedroom. It was noisy everywhere. It couldn't be helped, since it was an alley full of shops.
“Do lawyers make a lot of money here too?”
Shadin muttered as he spread out the sleeping bag he had purchased nearby.
Since the upper part of the building was three stories high, there was no separate furniture such as beds, so Shadin and the Followers were using sleeping bags as if they were camping.
“Cliff may be dead, but the building remains.”
This was the safe house Cliff had prepared for him. To be exact, it was a building that Cliff's butler, a Followers, had told him could be used as a hideout.
He heard that it was prepared for use when a necromancy was successful on Erne, so the priest had to stay in the capital and give orders to Erne.
Well, things got messed up so he couldn't come here.
"Ha."
Shadin, lying down on his sleeping bag, let out a long sigh.
If all had gone according to plan, by now he would have been 'Charlie Marlton' packing his bags and heading south.
He felt his stomach boil as he remembered the plan that had gone awry just before success.
“What the f*ck.”
The anger that made him want to smash everything was directed at Erne. The author inside the shell is called Erne.
He wants to take revenge on someone for their curses and murder, but he doesn't have any items related to Erne anymore. Without those, a curse thrown into the air won't have much effect.
“Solitude?”
Shadin, who had been nervously tossing his hair, suddenly stopped what he was doing.
“No, no, you know that. Let’s use that.”
***
On my way back from meeting the captured Followers, I stopped by Smith's office.
The interest payment date is coming up soon, so I'm going to pay it back and ask for help in catching Shadin.
“They’re probably still in the capital. In the slums? No, they wouldn’t have gone there. It’s easier to hide in crowded places.”
The hideout they used to visit Wilbur's estate was also near where a regular market was held.
Hearing that story, I was reminded of Smith's office.
Although he was a notorious moneylender, Smith's work was not illegal. But it was hardly entirely legal either.
His office was also in that exact location. It was secretly crowded with people, but secretly unsafe.
Up to a certain point, it is safe enough for children to walk around, but beyond that point, it is classified as a black market.
I thought that if he was going to hide, this would be the perfect place.
“Huh? What’s that over there?”
After asking Smith for help with the investigation, I was about to return to the mansion when I discovered a crowd of people gathered at the end of an alley.
“I guess they’re selling something.”
“I wonder what they sell. Can we go there too?”
Erne nodded obediently. If he had known that there was a stall selling single-sheet paintings, I wouldn't have taken Judith.
But when he regretted it, it was already too late.
"...and."
Erne wiped his face with his palm at the small exclamation he heard from the side. Judith couldn't take her eyes off the single-sheet paintings spread out on the table.
The pictures were vivid and explicit. They could have easily been just plain obscene, but they strangely caught my attention.
She hates to say this, but this is a really well-drawn picture, isn't it?
But she thinks she understands why Vinchero said this wasn't art. It was obscene and provocative. It had a clear purpose of making money.
“Can you buy me one?”
When Judith couldn't leave the stand of single-sheet paintings, Erne asked if she had to buy one before going home.
Of course, Judith shook her head. She had no interest in spending money on such things.
She stared at it for too long, but that wasn't just because the picture was provocative.
“This guy, doesn’t he look like you?”
Judith whispered so that only Erne could hear and pointed to a painting. It was a painting of a naked man lying on a bed, seducing a woman.
The woman was only slightly shown from behind, but the male protagonist was drawn with considerable effort, and the more she looked at him, the more he resembled Erne.
Even though they lowered the saturation of his blonde hair and changed his eye color to blue, things like his body and the scar on his chest kept reminding her of Erne.
“...”
Erne, who had discovered the painting, glared at the vendor. The vendor, who was wearing a hood and a mask that covered his face, flinched and shook his shoulders at Ern’s gaze.
“Stop it.”
Haa, Erne took Judith out with a long sigh. He warned her with his eyes, so she wouldn't do it again.
“Isn’t that the person who drew that picture of Erne? They look so similar.”
As she was being dragged out by Erne, Judith kept tilting her head.
“The guy who sells those paintings is a secretary who is broke.”
He noticed that Vinchero flinched noticeably when he criticized the single-sheet painting. Ilhe didn't expect to meet him like this.
“No, then the model in the picture from earlier was Erne.”
There was a note of dissatisfaction in Judith's voice as she muttered that it was somehow too similar.
It seems like you feel uncomfortable showing my body to an unspecified number of people, right?
Erne was pleased that Judith was secretly possessive.
“Shouldn’t you have received a modeling fee? It sold really well.”
Oh, is that possessiveness towards me?
The joyous feeling subsided in an instant. Erne pretended not to hear Judith talking about modeling fees all the way back to the mansion.
“But when I think about it, I wonder if it’s really necessary to criticize it by saying it’s not art.”
The single painting must have been very impressive. When she returned to the mansion, Judith continued talking about the single painting until the moment she lay down on her bed.
She guessed she should have just bought one. Even if she grumbles that it's a waste of money, if she actually buys it, she'll probably look at it until it wears out.
It was unpleasant to see another person's body, but there was also a painting there modeled after Erne, so she could have bought that.
But is it really necessary to buy a picture of your body? Why can't you just show it to me?
“There is something that stimulates the imagination. Then it is art. What is so special about art?”
“Looking at that, what were you imagining so intently?”
There was a playful expression on Erne's lips as she raised them.
“What did you imagine?”
“You said it stimulated the imagination, but who said it was imagined?”
As Erne approached with an expression that said he had found a joke to make, Judith avoided his gaze and muttered.
“That’s right. Since your imagination was stimulated, you must have imagined something. What on earth did our Miss Harrington imagine that led to the definition of art?”
His footsteps stopped in front of Judith, who was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Tell me, what are you imagining?”
“What am I imagining? Does it matter?”
“I can make that fantasy come true.”
Erne bent down slightly and pushed Judith's long, loose hair over her shoulder. Judith shivered slightly when his hand brushed her earlobe.
“...”
Silence flowed between them. Only the crackling sound of firewood crackling in the fireplace and the mingling of their breathing nearby settled in silence.
Judith's hair, which she had washed and roughly dried in front of the fireplace, felt damp between his fingers.
He just wanted to play a little prank on Judith. He was as excited as an immature child who had just seen a pornographic picture for the first time.
He was going to tease her a little, play with her flushed cheeks, and then hug her and fall asleep like usual. But was that an inappropriate joke?
“...It wasn’t a very healthy imagination.”
Am I mistaken in thinking that Judith's answer is telling me not to stop this prank?
Erne licked his dry lips with his tongue.
He wanted to make their first time a little more romantic, but contrary to his head, which said that it wasn't romantic at all, his instincts kept leaning towards Judith.
“I wonder how unwholesome it is. Is it more unwholesome than I can imagine now?”
“What did Erne imagine?”
With the last shred of reason left, Erne placed the string of his bathrobe in Judith's hand.
“You might regret it after hearing it, but is that okay?”
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