Help, I'm in Another World and All the Men Are Are So Dangerous! [BL]-Chapter 59: The Summons of Marcus Di Malvento

"Of course, Master has me, so everything’s fine!" chirped Georgio, grinning mischievously. "Anyone foolish enough to mess with you will have to face me. I’ll crush every last one of them, no problem!"

Ah, so it was Georgio after all.

If only he had approached normally, calling out instead of sneaking up like that.

Rocco sighed, shaking his head at Georgio’s typically ominous demeanor.

Slowly, he released Ragar from his hug, twisted his body, and turned around to embrace Georgio head-on.

"Thanks, Georgio. But try not to go overboard with all that crushing, okay? If you ever got hurt... I’d be really sad."

Rocco’s voice softened as his mind flashed back to the first time he met Georgio.

His brows drooped weakly, and his words trailed off.

When he had first seen Georgio, bloodied and broken, it hadn’t stirred much in him beyond a vague sense of pity.

It had seemed painful, but that was all—just the sort of distant empathy anyone might feel.

But now, things were different.

Now, even the thought of Georgio getting hurt caused a pang of pain in his chest.

Watching a member of his family suffer was something he could never bear.

Georgio blinked down at Rocco, his eyes wide in surprise, before his lips softened into a warm, gentle smile.

"You’re worried about me getting hurt? Master, you’re really something else."

Rocco tilted his head at the syrupy, melting tone of Georgio’s words.

He was being completely serious—how could Georgio find this amusing?

Puffing his cheeks indignantly, Rocco glared at him.

However, this only seemed to amuse Georgio further, his smile deepening mischievously.

Then, with a sudden, sultry lick of his lips, Georgio leaned closer and whispered into Rocco’s ear.

"If I ever get hurt, Master, all you’d have to do is lick my wounds, and I’d be good as new."

The whispered words sent an involuntary shiver racing down Rocco’s spine, goosebumps rising all over.

"W-what the—?!"

Before Georgio could come any closer, Rocco raised a hand and smacked him squarely on the face, using the distraction to dive back into Ragar’s waiting arms.

"Ragar! Georgio’s being a total creep again!"

"It’s just how he is. No need to worry, Young Master."

Rocco gave Ragar a deadpan look as the latter gently patted his head, trying to soothe him like one might a child.

But even Ragar had his quirks, Rocco thought, his irritation simmering down into a resigned huff.

"There’s no way I can relax around here..."

"Oh, that’s right!" Georgio suddenly chimed in, his voice playful again. "Young Master, I came here to give you something. But you’re so cute, I completely forgot!"

While Rocco buried his face into Ragar’s broad, muscular chest, indulging in the feel of its firmness, his senses tingled at the sight of an arm suddenly reaching out from behind.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion—until Georgio spoke, instantly easing his tension.

Something to deliver? Hmm.

Curiosity piqued, Rocco twisted around and accepted the object Georgio held out to him.

It turned out to be a letter.

Letters weren’t something Rocco received often, so his brow furrowed as he flipped it over to check the sender.

"Uh... oh, f-father?!" fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Rocco’s voice shot up in panic as his eyes landed on the name scrawled in the sender’s section: Marcus Di Malvento.

Marcus Di Malvento was none other than the head of the Di Malvento family—his father and the person who despised him most.

For a letter to come from him, of all people...

Wait.

Could this be that?

Rocco’s face turned pale, his mind racing with dread.

Could this be the fallout from his mistakes at the birthday party?

Or perhaps his failure to fully protect Sylas, which led to the latter diving into the lake?

The list of potential grievances was endless, but one conclusion loomed large: this letter was likely connected to some plan to disown him, using his many mistakes as a pretext.

Whatever this was, it could only spell trouble.

"Ugh... I’m terrified, but I have to read it. I have to..."

Tears pooling in his eyes, Rocco steeled himself and broke the seal.

Inside was a single sheet of paper containing one curt sentence.

"Let’s see... ’Come to the main residence as soon as your condition improves.’"

The letter slipped from his trembling fingers, fluttering to the floor as he collapsed from the bed, utterly dejected.

Striking a dramatic pose of despair, his pale, ashen face looked as though he were a man who is resigned to his fate.

"It’s over..."

His voice was a whisper of defeat as he muttered, "My life is nothing but regrets."

Utterly crushed, Rocco lay there, embracing the depth of his misery.

...

The day after the letter bearing the simple response, "I will visit the main residence tomorrow," arrived, the morning of Rocco’s visit to the main residence finally dawned.

Normally, Marcus would already be seated at his desk, diligently working.

But today, he was standing before a mirror, fussing with his hair or meticulously checking the "gift of gratitude" he had prepared.

He moved restlessly around the room, his figure flitting into the edges of his servant’s vision in a manner that was, frankly, a tad irksome.

Of course, it wasn’t as if the servant could voice such irreverent thoughts aloud.

"Master, there’s no need to fret. Young Master Rocco will be arriving shortly."

"...I am well aware of that. And I am not fretting."

Oh, is that so...?

The servant hid a wry smile behind a mask of professional decorum and returned to quietly observing.

A few minutes passed.

Suddenly, Marcus, who had been gazing out the window, straightened his posture as though startled.

The servant followed his gaze and understood—Young Master Rocco had finally arrived.

From the window, they could see Rocco’s charming appearance crossing the gate with steady steps.

Behind him, one of his attendants trailed with a soft smile of fond amusement.

However, as if sensing something, the attendant’s expression abruptly sharpened, and his sharp gaze turned directly toward the house.