DDP 18

chapter 18

Velita stretched as soon as he woke. His outstretched arms and legs relaxed, arching his back like a bow.

Reaching to the side, he found the spot cold. Sylvester had apparently gone early to prepare for work.

Velita staggered to his feet and headed for the bathroom.

Unlike Sylvester’s plumbing, which drew water from the basement, Roman’s house was more convenient. In the mornings, the servants would heat and provide warm water even to the guest rooms.

Although it was a hot summer day, Velita wasn’t accustomed to cold water. He turned on the lukewarm water as he entered the bathroom.

His body ached and felt grimy after the long night they had spent together. He had immediately fallen asleep afterward, knowing that warm water would be ready in the morning anyway. There was no need to fuss and wash late at night.

Velita soon filled the bathtub and stepped in. Lost in trivial thoughts, he washed himself and relaxed his tired body.

Not long after, he finished his bath and left the bathroom.

“What should I do next?”

Shaking the dampness from his hair, he settled on a long canapé. He considered exploring the mansion a bit—though he wondered if the servants would follow. Then he remembered something Roman had said.

“Ah, right.”

Roman had told him to make use of the servants as he pleased. They were placed there for his convenience; if he needed anything, he could ring the bell by his bedside.

Velita got up and walked to the head of the bed. A golden handbell sat beside his pillow.

“Ring this…”

He lightly shook the bell. Ding-dang. The sound was faint; nothing happened.

He rang it again, producing a louder chime. Soon, there was a knock at the door.

“Did you call?”

Velita answered, raising his voice:

“Yes, come in.”

The servant waiting outside entered. Her name was Eli, he thought.

Whether he rang the bell or called for someone in person didn’t seem to make much difference. He wasn’t particularly impressed, so he set the bell aside.

Velita joined his hands politely and looked at Eli, who had entered.

She wore a white lace apron over a black dress. The apron reminded him vaguely of clothing from the era he had lived in. He spoke.

“Could I ask you for some snacks? I want to spend time where Sylvester is.”

Since Roman had said to tell the servants what he needed, Velita added the request. Eli responded cheerfully, as if it were no trouble at all.

“If you mean a simple picnic, I can prepare some finger foods. Do you have any preferred dishes or desserts?”

“Finger foods… that’s just food you can pick up with your hands, right? Just make whatever. And when it’s ready… hmm. Do you know where Sylvester is right now?”

“Sir Sylvester is currently in the Swan Garden.”

“Are there swans in the garden?”

“No. It’s named after the previous Marquis of Barsen, who liked swans. Each garden has its own name.”

“I see. Is it far from here?”

“Not very. Shall I guide you?”

Velita nodded.

“Yes. Not now. Just let me know when the snacks are ready.”

“Understood. I will come to escort you then.”

Once their business was done, Eli bowed and left.

Velita watched the door for a while, then turned his gaze elsewhere.

After some time spent admiring the view outside and observing the room’s furniture and decorations, he heard a knock again—not too long afterward.

“Mr. Velita, the picnic is ready. Shall I help you prepare to go out?”

“No. I can go on my own.”

There was nothing to bring along, so he simply smoothed his clothes and stepped into the corridor.

Outside, Eli and two other servants each carried a basket, along with a picnic mat and a tray covered by a dome.

Velita peeked into the baskets, seeing them filled with fruit and bread. He didn’t need so much, but appreciated the effort.

“Shall we go?”

Eli asked. Velita nodded and followed her lead.

The outdoors felt much milder than it did from inside.

The temperature was pleasantly warm without causing sweat, the gentle breeze was moist and refreshing, and each garden they passed had flowers in bloom. Velita walked happily.

The mansion was certainly large, but it didn’t take tens of minutes to traverse.

Soon, Velita arrived at the lawn where Sylvester was visible.

“Sylvester.”

He approached Sylvester softly. Roman’s servants had prepared a picnic spot in the shade of a nearby tree.

They offered to assist whenever needed, but Velita declined, telling them they could stay in the greenhouse nearby and call if he needed anything.

Though he felt slightly guilty for leaving them waiting, Eli reminded him that attending to the guest was their duty, and Velita merely nodded.

Finally, everyone departed, leaving only Velita and Sylvester on the mat.

A gust of wind passed. Velita spoke.

“You draw well.”

He observed Sylvester working while sipping from a glass. The champagne Eli had introduced was chilled, sweet, and refreshing.

“When did you start drawing?”

Sylvester’s hands moved swiftly across the paper.

“Well… probably from the time I became able to draw anything.”

“From the time you became able to draw?”

“Yes. When I was little. Before holding a brush, I used to draw on sand with stones or on walls. People praised me for it.”

A faint smile touched Sylvester’s lips as he recalled his childhood.

Velita silently watched that smile. Childhood… He had said he was an orphan last time, hadn’t he?

“Who praised you?”

“Just a few people. An older boy I knew, a passing man, shopkeepers…”

“Hm.”

Velita studied Sylvester carefully: his body showed no concern for nutrition, his clothes were loose and shabby, his hair clearly cut roughly by someone, and he exuded a timid, somber aura.

I wonder what his days were like as a child… Curiosity welled up. He finally asked.

“…What were you like as a child?”

Velita blinked as he spoke, looking closely at Sylvester’s face.

Sylvester’s eyes, usually focused on drawing, shifted slightly. His black hair fell over his high nose bridge, catching the sunlight in its iridescence.

“You seem interested,” Sylvester said.

“Yes.”

“This is the first time someone has been interested in me, isn’t it?”

“Really?”

“Yes. I like it.”

Sylvester made a soft nasal sound. Judging by Velita’s reaction, he tilted his head and spoke quietly:

“Then let’s make a wager.”

“A wager?”

“Yes. If you win, I’ll tell you my story. If I win, you must tell me one of your old stories.”

A proposal worth considering, he thought, tilting his head.

Really… a wager with a devil who likes to win at any cost. Velita smirked.

“Fine. Let’s do it.”

He raised his chin. When he asked what kind of wager, Sylvester considered briefly and suggested a race.

When asked why running, Sylvester said he rarely exercised outdoors while living as a painter and wanted to try it now. He added, modestly, that he wasn’t very fast, so it would be a fair match.

Velita rolled up his sleeves. The race would go from the current tree’s shade to the sixth tree ahead. The first to arrive would win.

They stretched lightly and took their positions.

And the result?

“…Ah, ha… I didn’t expect you to be this fast…”

Of course, victory belonged to Velita.

He watched Sylvester, who panted heavily with breath catching at his chin, sweat beading on his forehead. Black hair clung to his skin.

“Total defeat, right?”

“Yes. Total defeat.”

Sylvester smiled weakly, his tone tinged with disappointment.

Velita looked at him once, then flopped onto the grass, stretching his legs and leaning back on his hands.

He knew why Sylvester sounded disappointed. Velita had recently shown curiosity about his past but had given him no opportunity to share.

He probably saw this as a rare chance.

But Velita had no intention of letting him win.

Velita ran with all his might. A devil was naturally competitive; if there’s a wager, he would win. Sympathy, age, or fairness didn’t exist in his dictionary. Even though Sylvester’s body was fine, Velita wouldn’t hold back.

He looked up at the sky. A line of sweat ran down his neck.

It was hot.

They caught their breath together, alternating deep inhales and exhales. Slowly, their breathing stabilized, and the heat around their bodies dissipated.

Finally, Velita noticed the soft rustle of the wind and spoke.

“I… I’m curious about your childhood.”

He felt Sylvester’s gaze.

“For example?”

Velita didn’t look at him, keeping his eyes on the sky as clouds drifted and changed shape.

“Just… what you liked, what you ate, how you played, where you grew up… things like that.”

“In other words, you’re really curious about me.”

“Yes.”

Sylvester fell silent, reflecting on his past while staring at the sky like Velita.

This time, Velita looked at him. Beneath his exposed forehead, Sylvester’s golden eyes reflected the blue sky. Velita admired the view.

“But I’m not sure if my answer will meet your expectations.”

“I’m just curious. I’m not expecting anything.”

A stronger breeze blew, restoring Sylvester’s bangs to their place, partially shading his golden eyes.

A cool voice drifted with the wind.

“Do you remember I said I was an orphan?”

“Yes.”

“Ha… this story will be really boring.”

Sylvester shook his head. He glanced at Velita but quickly returned his eyes to the drifting clouds.

“I don’t know my parents’ faces. The earliest memory I have, I was already without guardians, living with older boys from the neighborhood.”

“Older boys?”

“Yes. Boys without parents, homes, or who were poor… some my age, some younger later. I don’t even remember their faces now.”

The wind tousled Sylvester’s hair again. He continued calmly.

He grew up with children in similar circumstances, then found a shelter for homeless children. But some—older siblings seeking independence, friends afraid of unfamiliar places, children who distrusted adults—chose to stay behind. Velita and some others parted ways with them.

“Did I… ask you to find happiness?”

“At that time… I think I was somewhat happy.”

A faint smile spread across Sylvester’s face.