“Spirited, aren’t you. You heard seduction won’t work, so you’re changing tactics?”
“Changing tactics, my ass—hey! Wait!”
She twisted as she protested, but the bindings on her arms were tight.
The sudden lift in her line of sight gave her a view of the tent’s full interior. Unlike the antechamber, this space was considerably larger. Besides a working desk piled haphazardly with papers, books, and inkwells, there was another table and chairs that seemed meant for visitors. It wasn’t a proper building, so there was no sofa, but even so, a table large enough to seat six was lavish, and it had intricate carvings worked into its surface.
So there were furniture craftsmen in the afterlife too?
Or perhaps discarded furniture ascended and became this.
She still didn’t understand the system at all. But everything looked and felt real. More importantly, the rug she’d been sitting on a moment ago had been soft beneath her.
Even as she was carried, she couldn’t help craning her neck and looking around, half out of sheer curiosity.
A thin coat hung from the side curtain. Since it wasn’t winter and yet there was a coat, it was probably meant for rain. The shoulders were decorated with gaudy ornamentation, but to Masumi it looked less “cool” and more “impractical.”
A low, suppressed chuckle reached her ears.
“You’ve got a foolish face. There’s nothing rare here.”
“You’ve been calling me stupid and foolish and all sorts of things! That’s beyond rude!”
“Says the one who snuck into my territory without permission.”
Without warning, he tossed her aside.
Her vision spun, but no painful impact followed. Instead, there was a soft thump, and her body sank into something cushioned.
…Wait.
Huh? Bedding? Did I just think “bedding”?
She was far too calm about her own situation, and that realization came with a jolt. She whipped her eyes left and right.
She had been thrown onto a bed, wider than a double.
The frame creaked.
Ark’s knee pressed into the mattress as he climbed up. His mouth curved into a fearless smirk, and his right hand shifted one step closer. Those combative obsidian eyes flashed in the lamplight.
And a simple, instinctive thought surged up in her chest.
He’s going to devour me.
Only now did she understand. This was why the blond, blue-eyed Aisel had looked at her with such bleak resignation.
They’d spoken of “devouring,” and at this rate Ark truly looked as though he might bite into her. Perhaps her throat, perhaps something else. Either way, a future even more painful than the present flickered before her, and tension squeezed the air from her lungs.
Faced with an opponent who looked every inch a wild beast, Masumi tried to scramble backward. But with her hands and feet bound, her body didn’t move the way she wanted. And it hurt.
While she struggled, Ark leaned over her.
With nowhere to retreat, Masumi’s back was pressed into the mattress. Looking up, she saw the sharp-eyed man smiling as though he’d already won.
“You can’t even undo bindings of this level? I suppose your body truly isn’t trained at all.”
The moment he finished speaking, her hands and feet were free.
The rope she couldn’t budge no matter how hard she strained, he had apparently torn apart with one hand. Seeing that overwhelming strength up close made her body go cold.
“Did they set a complex release key out of fear of being discovered? But a concealment spell that doesn’t activate at this point is pathetic.”
“That’s why I keep saying—release keys, conceal—whatever spells, I don’t have any idea—”
“Of course you don’t. That’s how concealment works. But…”
Ark’s right hand captured Masumi’s left and pinned it against the bed.
“…Are you some fool’s disposable pawn? You don’t even have the magic power needed for release.”
The posture was intimate, but the words were vicious.
Ark frowned, his brow creasing. The playful look he’d worn while cornering her earlier was gone. Now he looked genuinely perplexed.
“This isn’t contact with Kasmi-leaz. Not my name, not physical contact. Don’t tell me you’re truly just a woman? And yet the defensive line doesn’t react at all. That makes no sense.”
Before she could process it, he grabbed her breast.
So naturally. So familiarly. And with startling carelessness.
“Hey—don’t. Don’t just grab me!”
Thud.
Her right hand, now free, chopped down on the crown of the beast’s head. The rough, blunt wording was unavoidable in an emergency.
“Couldn’t you say that with a shred of modesty?”
“You’re the one grabbing my chest without permission, and you’re talking about modesty? Don’t make me laugh!”
“You’re entertaining, you.”
He chuckled again, unmistakably amused.
Even in the dimness, almost backlit by the tent’s lighting, she could see the corner of his mouth lift. His features were handsome and sharp, with a predatory intensity to his gaze. Masumi stared up at him, stunned, and then the weight of his large body pressed down again.
Hot breath brushed her neck.
Her skin prickled, and then a hotter, wetter tongue traced up along her throat.
“Nn—no, stop… ah—!”
“Stop? Someone truly resisting would try to escape even if they had to hit me.”
“Hit you…?”
At the option presented, Masumi’s eyes flicked to her left hand, still tangled with his. Their fingers were interlaced. His palm was so large it swallowed her wrist, gripping it firmly.
If she wanted to flee, she would have to wrench her hand free.
But she couldn’t imagine this man allowing that easily. If she struggled recklessly, it felt as though he could snap a finger or two without effort.
The thought made her heart clench with an ugly sound.
I might never play again.
Her left hand, indispensable for the violin. Even tendonitis could be fatal. If she damaged a tendon or broke a bone, the consequences would be immeasurable.
A brilliant stage flashed through Masumi’s mind.
From childhood, her technique had been praised. Prodigy. A once-in-a-century talent. Even genius. She swept domestic competitions, attended a high school and university famous for music. Among her peers, no one involved with the violin failed to know the name Todo Masumi.
Then came the dazzling international competition.
On that bright stage, her performance was condemned as emotionless, and she withdrew entirely from the world of music. The evaluation she received at that renowned proving ground clung to her like a lifelong brand. With the mark of failure stamped upon her, her path might as well have ended there.
And yet even if she had given up living as a performer, she had not given up playing itself.
That hesitation showed in her movement.
Her gaze darted toward the violin case on the work desk. Ark didn’t miss it.
“So you were hiding a weapon after all.”
He rose at once, the bed creaking. With long strides he approached the desk, and a rough hand brushed over the violin case.
Masumi managed to sit up, but remained perched on the edge of the bed, unable to stand. The bindings were gone, but her body still ached in too many places, and her ankle was sprained. Worse, the dizzying turns of events had outpaced her understanding. She didn’t even know what reaction she was supposed to give.
Ark’s hand examined the case’s surface.
At last he found the zipper. For an instant he looked faintly confused, then opened it.
The rectangular case unfolded wide in the middle. On one side lay the violin. On the other, three bows. Beyond that, only a shoulder rest, rosin, and spare strings. There was nothing resembling a weapon, of course.
“Villard…? It seems a bit small for one, but. Are you a spy masquerading as a musician?”
Ark asked, throwing her a glance. Despite accusing her yet again, his expression remained relaxed.
“I told you I’m not—hey!”
She raised her voice mid-denial.
Because she saw something she couldn’t ignore.
She jumped down from the bed to stop him. The instant her foot hit the floor, a sharp pain tore through her left ankle, and she staggered. Even so, she lurched toward Ark and clung to his thick arm.
He was holding the violin in his hands. With his strength, he could snap strings if he wished, knock the bridge loose, even smash the instrument itself.
This is a keepsake.
When her teacher, who had guided her since childhood, died, the violin was passed to her by will. It had been when she was in middle school, just as she moved up to a full-sized instrument. Since then, she had played only this violin.
She had played it every day, forgetting sleep and meals. At first, because she wanted to feel her beloved teacher close to her. Later, when the grief began to fade, because she simply wanted to play. Even when she had a fever and was bedridden, she wanted to play so badly she played from under the covers.
No other famous instrument could produce it. Only this violin could sing with the tone that was her very life.
“Don’t. Please, don’t handle it roughly.”
Her weight on her left foot made it scream. Pain shot through her like a current, and sweat beaded at her brow. She had grabbed his arm before he could do anything to the instrument, but her body gave out. She collapsed, knees hitting the ground, leaning into him.
Her breaths turned shallow and quick.
Looking down at her, Ark turned the violin over in his hand, studying it, then shrugged as if to say he couldn’t understand.
“Is it that important to you?”
His finger plucked a string. The A string quivered, and the reference pitch rang into the night’s stillness.
When silence returned, Ark said quietly.
“Play it. If you’re masquerading as a musician, you should be able to.”
“No.”
She answered instantly. Ark blinked.
“If you’ve figured out it’s an instrument and not a weapon, isn’t that enough?”
“So that’s your logic.” Ark sounded almost amused. “Then how do you explain the suspicion that you’re a spy?”
“I told you I’m not! I don’t know anything about spies. I’m just an ordinary person.”
“A musician isn’t an ordinary person.”
“Having an instrument doesn’t mean I’m a professional. What are you even saying?”
Their conversation didn’t connect at all.
Was it because there was a five-hundred-year gap between their eras? In her world—though she was dead now—instrument-making had long since become commonplace. Not only violins but all kinds of instruments could be purchased. If one didn’t insist on a high-end model, it didn’t even cost that much. A flutist or a trumpeter carrying their instrument wasn’t unusual among ordinary people.
But perhaps in the medieval era he’d lived in, things were different.
That thought cooled Masumi’s mind a little. The Industrial Revolution hadn’t even happened in his time. Mass production by machine would have been impossible. Instruments would have been made to order, and those predecessors of the violin likely belonged to what he called “musicians,” meaning professionals.
If so, the disconnect made sense.
And if so, arguing about “professional” versus “amateur” was pointless. Masumi shifted course.
“Then what do I have to do for you to believe I’m not a spy?”
“Did your intelligence get concealed along with the rest of you?”
“Why do I feel like you just insulted me again?!”
“No, I’m impressed. You’re a novel kind of spy.”
Her fist clenched before she could stop it.
This man was beyond rude.
Her voice rose despite herself. Masumi stood there, panting, shoulders heaving, and Ark thrust the violin toward her.
“Just play.”
“…Why are you so determined to make me?”
Her voice turned wary. Her brow furrowed.
Even if she played, she didn’t see how it would clear the spy accusation. A spy could practice the violin. Playing itself wasn’t impossible. If you had a good ear, you could manage decently even starting as an adult. Only if she produced nothing but a saw-like screech would it truly be suspicious.
Ark had already checked the case and the violin while talking. A violin wasn’t made to hurt people. It was just dry wood. The case could perhaps be used as a blunt object if one were desperate, but that was all.
Given those facts, her conclusion was simple.
Playing wouldn’t change anything.
So playing would be pointless.
That was her doubt, but Ark merely looked back at her as though she were the strange one.
“It’s a rare chance to rise in status.”
“I’m still being accused of spying. How exactly am I supposed to ‘rise in status’ in this situation? Also, how many times do I have to tell you I’m not a professional? Are you listening to anything I say?”
She had never imagined a day would come when conversation consisted of trading questions back and forth like this.
It truly, truly did not connect.
“Do you remember my name?”
The mismatch multiplied.
A vein throbbed at Masumi’s temple.
“You seriously don’t listen. You’re Ark-something, right. I only remember it’s long. You didn’t even give me a business card.”
She might have dropped out, but she had once belonged to a major corporation. She knew painfully well how important business cards were. Not having one at a greeting was unforgivable. The standard excuse was, “I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve run out at the moment.”
She had used it. She had heard it from others.
And every time she had thought, As if that’s true. Yet office life had its oddities. Different companies, the same excuse. Somehow it created a faint sense of camaraderie, that subtle “we’ve all been there.”
She shook herself back to the present and fixed her attention on the man in front of her. Ark seemed entirely unfazed by her pointed remark, and recited his full name again.
“Arkrestav=Albaarse=Kanova.”
“…Yeah. That sounds about right.”
Was he subtly ordering her to memorize it? Someone, bring paper and pen.
“When I say ‘musician’ and ‘rise in status,’ you truly don’t understand?”
“Nope. Makes no sense. Sorry about that.”
At this point she began to wonder if they actually spoke the same language. She understood the words. But understanding the words and understanding each other were entirely different things, and she couldn’t grasp how that was possible.
“Hm.” Ark considered, then returned the violin to its case.
“It’s hard to believe you care this much, yet won’t play.”
His hands, despite his words, were careful.
“Well. This Villard doesn’t seem to be a weapon. I’ll grant you that.”
“Oh, thank you ever so much.”
“Now prove that you yourself are not dangerous.”
She wasn’t given time to ask, How? again.
A rough hand seized her chin and tilted her face up. Before she realized it, a strong right arm had slipped around her waist, pinning her in place.
The distance between them was too close.
Heat returned to those pitch-black eyes.
In the next instant, Masumi was lifted effortlessly into his arms. A real sense of danger surged through her, and she tried to resist, but his thick chest didn’t budge. While she writhed and struggled, she was thrown back onto the bed once more.
“You should’ve just played. You’re weak, but you’re stubborn.”
“Why do I have to be inspected by some incredibly rude man I just met?!”
“Even in this position, you’re still talking tough. That too is…”
Ark laughed, still calm and unruffled. Masumi, however, had no such luxury.
Her knees had been forced apart, his hard hip settled between her thighs. As if it were nothing, her hands were gathered together in his grip. No matter how she strained, she couldn’t move.
An atmosphere thick with dangerous, intimate heat filled the tent.
After that, there was no time for anything resembling conversation.
Even when her mouth was sealed by his, even when her clothes were stripped away roughly, Masumi refused to yield. As if determined to break her, Ark’s hands moved without mercy over every inch of her.
He made it sound so easy.
Play, he’d said.
He could never understand. Playing to entertain someone, and playing to be judged and appraised, might look like the same performance, but they were nothing alike. The first was fine. The second terrified her. Yet if she admitted it aloud, it would be the same as acknowledging defeat.
She had already lost once.
She had no desire to feel that again.
So she would not say “help me,” and she would not say “I’ll play.”
Masumi bit down hard on her lip.
And thus began the long night of struggle.
