He was definitely a boy. No girl could hit that hard with such small feet.

Yuri winced at the indescribable pain, his brow furrowing, but pride made him force his expression flat as if nothing had happened.

Today, he had to make this child speak. The boy, tireless, came at him again.

“Is it because you’re afraid I’ll tease you about your little pee-pee?”

“......”

The child bristled like an animal raising its fur. On all fours, he looked ready to pounce at any moment, but the more he did, the more Yuri acted unbothered.

“I’m not such a bad guy, you know. What would I do, looking at a little kid’s thing?”

The moment he said it, though, he ironically felt like a real bastard.

Haah... why does this just make me feel lame and self-loathing? Yuri raked a hand through his hair, forcing his face to stay calm.

What he really wanted was to grab the brat, dunk him into the bathtub, and scrub him clean—but there was no guarantee he’d win if it came down to force. Just then, the child stepped back, bumping into the bookshelf, which wobbled precariously.

“Alright, alright...!”

Yuri raised both hands. To lower the child’s guard, he had to at least stop looking threatening.

“Then we’ll wash together next time, with big bro—ugh!”

A book came flying straight at his head, smacking him dead-on. Yuri clutched his crown, staring in disbelief at the child. The short little thing was panting angrily, as if he was the one more offended.

Hah...! He almost laughed from sheer absurdity. But if the shelf toppled, it would be disastrous. Yuri glanced out the pitch-black window and hurried to draw the curtains.

“Kid, what’s that mouth of yours for?”

Don’t lose your temper. Set an example, Yuri Solzhenitsyn.

“Throwing your fists first thing isn’t gentlemanly behavior.”

“......”

“If you’re a person, you should speak properly.”

“――”

After a bit of nagging, the child snapped his head away. His prickliness rivaled a cat’s, but Yuri didn’t actually dislike it.

He hated his classmates’ stupid pranks and idiotic words, but this child’s rudeness felt different somehow. Frowning, Yuri tilted his head. Maybe... maybe I wanted a younger sibling all along?

At that moment, the child, who had only been cautiously watching, suddenly began splashing his feet against the floor—plop, plop—like in a pond. Yuri flopped onto his knees, chin in hand, and chuckled softly, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Want me to touch your feet again?”

That was how their secret meetings began.

The soles were callused like horseshoes, scarred in many places.

Yuri barely kept his face from hardening as he rubbed the small feet over and over with a warm towel. Each time, the child’s shining eyes fixed curiously on Yuri’s hands.

“Did this hurt?”

When he gently brushed a scar, the child flinched. From his ankle up to his calves, even his knees, he was covered in wounds. Yuri ground his teeth. Words pricked at his throat again and again, until at last he bit them out.

“Was this Maxim Solzhenitsyn’s doing?”

“......”

But the child only tilted his head. A strange blue bruise of emotion seeped into Yuri’s chest.

Where on earth was he supposed to start, how could he help? Lost in thought, his hands stilled—and the child jabbed at his hand as if asking why he’d stopped.

“――”

Poke, poke. Sharp little nails scraped at his skin. Yuri let out a half-laugh, half-sigh.

“Are you going to keep bossing me around without saying a word?”

Those big eyes shone oddly as they bore into him.

“If you’re going to be mean, better do it with words instead of your fists.”

“......”

Had he hurt his vocal cords? Yuri longed to hear even a single clear syllable. But the more the child kept his lips sealed, the more guilty Yuri felt.

“If you won’t speak, then—”

Yuri suddenly shouted, startling himself.

“No, don’t bite again!”

The child had grabbed his hand and was bringing it toward his mouth. His lips parted, and Yuri’s fingers slipped between them like prey.

Yuri stiffened his arm, holding back, pushing the child away. For a fleeting instant, there was betrayal in those fiercely glaring eyes, and absurdly, it made him laugh.

“What makes you think you can look at me like that?”

“――”

“Even if it’s a joke, this counts as cheating. You can’t just put things in your mouth like—”

But the child shook his head hard, snatching Yuri’s hand back. Then, as if hiding stolen fish, he tucked it firmly under his armpit. Yuri squinted, trying to interpret.

“...It’s not cheating?”

Nod, nod.

Ah... Yuri was left speechless. He pulled the little beast into his arms, cradling him tight. What am I supposed to do with this foolish, pitiful thing?

Then the child dragged over a blanket with a grunt and spread it across Yuri’s shoulders. The gesture was just like the first time, when he’d been wrapped in a warm coat.

So Yuri pulled the blanket to cover them both and patted the child’s back. A faint puff of breath came from beneath his chin.

The child was laughing.

Like that, they met every night.

No matter how many times he tried, the mask never came off. He still couldn’t clip the child’s nails.

Even when Yuri brought nail clippers, the child’s eyes would flash, and he’d grab the utility knife from the desk in defense.

“You haven’t even grown into your britches, use a colored pencil instead!”

Yuri scowled and handed him a colored pencil. The child jabbed its blunt end into his palm, then looked at him coldly as if to say, What use is this junk? Nothing came easy.

One day, of all things, he picked up a book on the history of firearms, worked himself into a fury, and tore it to shreds. But Yuri no longer startled at such outbursts.

You need to learn to calm yourself down, too.

Was this what experience was? Whenever the child lashed out with his feet, Yuri simply scooped him up. Thankfully, the moment he was lifted, he stopped struggling. In that quiet, Yuri would bring out the fairy tales he used to read as a child.

Today we’ll read about Prince Ivan and the Firebird.

A story where every hardship is overcome and ends in happiness. Each page turned made him think of his late parents.

Don’t read thick books, read picture books instead! They used to bite his nose and scold him, and only now did Yuri understand their feelings. For the first time, thinking of his dead parents didn’t hurt—he even smiled.

After nearly two months of this wrestling, the child finally took the colored pencil first, not the knife. He gritted his teeth and covered the paper in red, but at least it was a drawing, and he even offered his nails ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) without a fight.

Sometimes Yuri wondered, Maybe he’s a girl? But gender didn’t matter anymore.

One day he set the child on his feet and taught him the waltz. The child had such sharp reflexes he picked it up at once, and later, whenever Yuri missed a step, he’d stomp down hard on Yuri’s instep.

“Tch...! You again!”

Then Yuri would scoop up the little thing who barely reached his chest and blow air into his belly. Once, the child would’ve gone into fits if anyone touched him—but now he only hunched his shoulders and laughed.

If this black-haired child were really my little brother, maybe Winter Castle wouldn’t have been so cold.

They drew together, melted chocolate to eat, clumsily waltzed, sang lullabies.

None of it was any use in catching Maxim Solzhenitsyn, but still Yuri taught with all his heart. And the more he did, the more he was the one being healed. Cradling the boy, who dozed off against his shoulder, Yuri realized—

“......”

The things torn away when he saw his parents die. He hadn’t even known they were missing. What he was recovering was affection for people.

The smallness of things.

Tenderness.

Gratitude.

Wonder.

Yuri pulled the child’s warm little body close and shut his eyes. The ice inside him seemed to thaw at last.

By morning, as always, this nimble mouse would vanish without a trace.

Tomorrow, I’ll get a new pair of skates. The first since I threw them away six years ago.

Yuri went back to mixing herbicide and cleanser.

When he said he wanted to follow the child below, the boy went white as chalk and slapped him across the face.

Yuri couldn’t believe he’d let himself get hit again, but there had to be a reason he resisted so violently.

Then let’s try again. This time, through the path he often used—by corroding Father Ivan’s chambers.

There was no time left. Vacation was ending, and once his fourteenth birthday passed, he’d be back at school.

And then, what about the child...? Unease clawed at him.

“Can you split the belly of a beast?”

A cold voice cut off his thoughts. Yuri gripped the knife his grandfather had forced into his hand.

He and Maxim stood together in the forest, looking down at the deer sprawled at their feet.

Its dead black eyes, blank and staring.

Its belly swollen, like it carried a fawn.

But the stitches across its stomach were strange. Yuri frowned.

What trick is this now? His chilling gaze turned to his grandfather. Maxim exhaled a cloud of white breath and nudged the deer’s back with his boot.

“What is it, Yuri? What’s so difficult about this?”

“......”

“Split its belly. Let’s see what’s inside.”

“I can’t.”

“What?”

“I won’t.”

The words leapt out of his mouth before his brain had even calculated.