Episode 34
When Zenox went down to the kitchen, chaos broke out.
All the servants helping with the cooking had already run away, and only the head cook was left, trembling like a trapped mouse against the wall.
Sensing that it was time to hand over his will if needed, the cook stammered without even looking at Zenox.
“Uh… Is there something wrong with the food…?”
Zenox silently held out a plate.
When the cook saw that it was a light plate used for feeding animals, his eyes widened.
“Food for the fox.”
It was a short order, but the cook’s survival instincts made him understand quickly.
“Yes, right away.”
Zenox crossed his arms and watched the cook move.
Fresh milk began to boil in a small pot.
Smelling the milk, Zenox suddenly asked, almost without thinking:
“Does a fox only drink milk?”
“P-Pardon?” The cook was startled but quickly answered.
“Foxes are omnivores, but since this one is still a baby, we’ve only been giving it milk.”
Its teeth had grown in, so maybe it was time to try other foods.
After a moment of thought, Zenox ordered him to prepare chopped fruit and finely minced meat as well.
Zenox carried away the food he had more or less “seized” from the kitchen and placed the plate in front of the little fox.
The fox’s bright blue eyes sparkled like sunlight on water when it saw the food.
“Kya-ong!”
Its happy cry made Zenox let out a short laugh.
Even though he felt like he was being used, somehow he didn’t dislike it.
The fox buried its head in the plate, eating with enthusiasm.
Its little pink tongue kept moving without pause, as if it wanted to lick the dish clean.
Watching it, Zenox frowned and reminded himself coldly:
“If you make me do this kind of thing again, I won’t forgive you.”
Normally, such a threat would terrify anyone, but the baby fox just turned its head away as if it didn’t want to hear it.
Then, as if telling him to take the empty plate away, it pushed it forward with its paw—before trotting lightly out of the room.
When Zenox came to his senses, he realized he was holding the empty plate.
From then on, the fox often came carrying a dish in its mouth, as if treating Zenox like a cafeteria.
“I’ll make a scarf out of you,” he would mutter each time, but the threats never worked.
Even as he kept feeding it, Zenox didn’t understand why he was doing this—and the confusion unsettled him.
Though reckless, the little fox was very clever. No—more than clever. Its intelligence seemed worthy of being written about in a scholarly journal.
It understood time, expressed its wants clearly, and even seemed to understand human speech.
Its nature was usually gentle, but if he didn’t feed it, it became picky and bad-tempered.
If the food wasn’t good, it would spit it out and toss it at Zenox, as if to say, “Is this a meal?”
Crazy fox.
Yet even as he cursed, Zenox found himself waiting for the fox at mealtimes. That feeling was unfamiliar to him.
So, their strange cohabitation continued.
Now, when the fox suddenly appeared, he just let it be.
Still, he tried not to give it his heart. His walls were too strong and too narrow to let anyone in.
He told himself it was only temporary, just an odd relationship.
And yet, living with the fox was becoming normal.
But Zenox knew—it was almost time to leave the capital.
He told himself he would stay a little longer for unfinished business.
The days passed, simple but not boring.
“Already…?”
Checking the calendar, Zenox’s expression darkened.
The anniversary of his parents’ death was near.
Whenever this time came, he lost all energy and wanted to do nothing.
It was the day his life had been torn apart.
Even his butler, who usually stayed close, stepped back, knowing how irritable Zenox became during this period.
And strangely, the fox wasn’t around either. Perhaps the butler had locked it away on purpose.
Finally, the dreaded day came.
From the morning, the sky looked ominous.
The sun disappeared, heavy clouds rolled in, and soon rain poured down.
The sound of the rain drowned out the world.
Zenox sat alone in a dark room, staring blankly out the window.
It had rained the day his parents died too.
“Young master… the lord and lady…!”
“Their bodies were in a terrible state.”
“He’s still a child. Can he really inherit the family title?”
Voices echoed in his head, sharp and painful, stabbing him no matter how he tried to block them out.
His emotions surged wildly.
At times he wanted to smash everything apart, at others he felt too empty to move at all.
His mind, always unstable, was especially weak today.
Dark thoughts urged him on—
How long would this last?
Maybe it would be easier to end everything…
His golden eyes dimmed like a sun losing its light.
Then—
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
The sound of claws came from behind the door.
Like embers reigniting, his eyes regained focus.
When he turned, the door creaked open, and the little fox trotted inside.
Zenox stared blankly at it.
“Go away.”
He wasn’t in the mood.
If it lingered, maybe this time he really would act on his threats.
Sensing something different, the fox paused.
Then, tilting its head, it suddenly leapt into his lap.
Zenox froze.
The fox lowered its head, as if asking to be petted.
Until now, it had never offered its head—only its back or sides. If he tried to touch its head, it would always run away.
But now…
Slowly, hesitantly, Zenox reached out and stroked it.
Soft white fur slipped through his fingers. Its tiny head was so fragile, he felt he might break it if he pressed too hard.
As he petted it, his tangled thoughts cleared.
The harsh voices faded.
Even the violent rain no longer bothered him.
Feeling its warmth, Zenox closed his eyes.
Peace, at last.
The next day, he visited the memorial room in the mansion.
Since the family graves were far away in the northern duchy, this was where he usually came to pay respects.
This time, the baby fox came too.
The place was plain, with only two altars under a round skylight.
“Kyung.”
The fox whined, wriggling to be let down.
“You really do whatever you want,” Zenox muttered, setting it on the floor.
It padded around the room, then lost interest and went outside.
Zenox let it go, expecting it would return soon.
He stood before the altar with his parents’ names carved into it and closed his eyes.
Normally his reports to them were bleak and empty, but this time was different.
Lately, his days had been filled with the little fox.
When he finished and opened his eyes, the fox had returned—
carrying a sunflower larger than its head.
It waddled in, almost tripping, and dropped the flower before the altar.
It looked like an offering.
The bright yellow scent of summer filled the air.
Zenox stared at the sunflower for a long time, then looked at the fox.
Not knowing what to say, he opened his mouth several times before finally muttering:
“That name still sounds strange.”
The fox tilted its head.
“Bokseul (Fluffy)… It’s awful.”
He had never once called the fox by that name. But he had never given it another either.
Watching its fur gleam white under the sunlight, he suddenly said:
“Whitey.”
It wasn’t much better than “Fluffy,” but it felt right.
Nodding firmly, he declared:
“Let’s call you Whitey.”
“Kya-ang!”
As if it understood, the fox cried out and wagged its tail happily.
And Zenox realized, too late, that the fox had already crossed the walls he had built so carefully around himself.
