“No, that’s… that’s not it…”I panted, gripping Mrs. Stella’s hand tightly.“You said Jerome owed a debt to the . What debt? What debt did he owe…?”Only then did Mrs. Stella frown, as if finally understanding my question, and she flicked it back at me.“Why do you care?”Her words ignited the hatred buried deep in my gut. Rage shook my head, and my vision blurred. Heat flared to my scalp as I clutched my chest, gasping. I hated the sound of her voice talking about Jerome. It was abhorrent to hear his name spoken that way—so tenderly, pityingly. Unable to contain my mounting fury, I screamed, veins throbbing.“Why do I care? Because I owe Jerome a debt! Because Jerome was the ! The horrors you endured were nothing compared to what he did to me! He raped me! He gang-raped me! That bastard tortured and abused me!”I sank to the floor in a fury. Glass shards dug deeper into my sole, but I felt no pain. I glared at Mrs. Stella, whose gray eyes narrowed but showed no surprise. After a moment, she muttered in a low voice that chilled my nape.“He’s the one who killed the youngest Master. That was you.”“Gah… what… I don’t know about that…”“You killed Hugh.”At her words, pain flared in my foot—Mrs. Stella had removed the glass shard. She placed the bloodstained fragment on the table. My blood dripped down her hand. Though it was my blood, it felt alien. I felt nothing but rage.“We’ll need to stitch that.”She clicked her tongue, examining my wound, then twisted my ankle to pull off the shirt she’d wrapped around it.“I’m fine. That…” I panted, “I need to know about Jerome. Now.”“It’s a long story. We’ll have time on the way.”She retrieved a heavy coat from the hall stand.“Here—put it on. We’re going to the emergency room.”I didn’t move. Mrs. Stella frowned and urged, “Come on.” Instead of donning her coat, I ripped off my shirt and wound it around my bleeding foot, tying it tight.“Happy now? I’m fine.”I glared at her gray eyes.“Even if you tell me everything right now, it’s too late for me. So don’t make me wait.”Silence. I crossed my arms stubbornly, looking up at her. Finally, Mrs. Stella seemed to relent. She set the coat on the table and sat beside me—then, just as before, hoisted me onto her shoulder in one smooth motion.“Mrs. Stella!”“It’s too late to start now. It’ll take thirty minutes to reach the ER from here.”Before I could protest, she slung me over her shoulder, looping the coat over one arm and grabbing the sweater from the sofa in her free hand. I thrashed like luggage, but it was useless. When she opened the door, a gust of frigid air made me curl inward.The last I remembered, it had been a mild early winter sun; now the cold felt bone-deep. Mrs. Stella placed me in the back of a red truck I’d only ever seen once before. I hunched against the chill, and she draped coat and sweater over me. My weakened body shook with chills that rattled my teeth. I struggled into the sweater and coat as best I could.She started the truck immediately. Outside the window, we sped past a small, remote coastal village. Yellow headlights cut through the quiet, dark country road as we left the town behind.By the time the heater stilled my trembling, Mrs. Stella spoke without glance, her hoarse, weary midlife voice detached.“How did you and Jerome get involved?”“At school. We went to the same school.”“I see.”She scratched at her scruffy, bearded chin.“It’s been over ten years, hasn’t it? I heard the youngest Master got into serious trouble and was sent ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ to that country school until things calmed down. Never dreamed he wouldn’t return…”“…”“But did Jerome and the youngest Master… get along?”Her gentle tone calling him “Jerome” felt wrong. I snapped back.“If you mean Hugh, yes—they got along just fine.”“At school?”“Not just at school. He followed Hugh to America, found him, and did the same things again.”Mrs. Stella, fiddling with the radio dial, frowned.“People are inscrutable, aren’t they?”“What do you mean?”“As far as I know, that boy hated Hugh.”That made no sense. I opened my mouth to deny it, but a sudden memory surfaced: how George had once raged that he wished Jerome dead. How he’d urged me to kill Jerome, his voice shaking with excitement. When I failed, George seemed visibly disappointed. And it wasn’t just George—Jerome himself had whispered in my ear not to become George’s dog at Kellie’s, then abandoned me when I turned away. Even at Laborham, Jerome sided with George, reveling in George’s pain. I remembered Jerome’s face lighting up with joy in that darkness…“I can’t believe he got along with Hugh,” Mrs. Stella said softly.Her calm words ignited new anger.“What do you know about Jerome? You know nothing! Save your ‘believe it or not’ bullshit!”“How well do you know him?” Mrs. Stella asked evenly.“You’re the one who wanted to know about Jerome. Aren’t you the one who knows almost nothing about him?”I wanted to retort that no one knew him as I did—that no one could understand his cruelty better—but I found I could not speak. The whispers not to be George or Hugh’s dog, the stable at Kelly’s, the moment I could have stepped across the line, Jerome offering to let me flee to China or India, then unfastening Hugh’s leash and George’s handcuffs—Jerome’s contradictions surged, leaving me speechless.We sat in silence, watching the rushing scenery through the window. My rage burned away, leaving a hollow emptiness. Though I hated to admit it, I had to: I did not know Jerome. Yet I desperately wanted to.“I’ve been trying to find out. For a long time.”“…”“About him… about those top-floor boys.”I stared at distant lights glinting in the dark.“And, as you know, I’m still dedicating my youth.”I met them at twenty—just one summer from late spring to the monsoon—but it was enough. After that summer at Bluebell, they imprinted on my life forever. When I reunited with them at twenty-five, it lasted less than a season. Nearly ten years have passed since, yet they still dominate my existence.“As I said, I don’t know much about Jerome.”“…”“I only spoke to him recently. Before that, I’d barely seen him. He probably doesn’t even remember meeting me back then.”“Then how did you meet again?”“Through Chris. Seeing his face again, twenty years on, it was unmistakable. He’d changed, but you don’t forget a face like that.”Mrs. Stella’s tone confused me: she spoke of Jerome as if he’d been her predecessor. I recoiled instinctively—it felt odd, unpleasant, disorienting, like the unease of standing next to Christopher and Jerome at the same time.“By the way, who are these ‘top-floor boys’?”I recounted what I knew of Hugh, George, Jerome, and Simon.“They lived on the dorm’s top floor with the rest of us. We escaped, I killed Hugh in revenge, I killed George when he came for vengeance, and now…”I’d tried to kill Jerome and Simon, choosing the most painful deaths I could imagine after eight years of planning. Yet I never killed Jerome. I stared at my reflection in the dark window. I couldn’t face why I’d failed.“Killing Hugh was a fine thing.”Mrs. Stella’s voice, calm until now, sounded almost cheerful.“That brat was vicious. How did you kill him?”“I beat him, knocked him out… and set fire to it.”“So you burned down the entire dorm?”“Yes.”The thought of the knife I’d used filled me with gloom. I replied softly,“What do you know about Hugh?”“Not much. I tried to find out, but after Hugh died, his family locked everything away. Only recently did I meet his brother, Timothy. From what I knew at Bluebell: he was a swimmer, wanted to go to Cambridge, and he was dating George.”I suddenly recalled Jerome coming to our room every afternoon at four.“…And that he was Jerome’s friend.”Mrs. Stella let out a hollow laugh. Startled, I turned to her. She gave me a tired smile and asked,“Jerome told you that? That Hugh was his friend?”“Yes. He said so himself, and his attitude showed it.”“His attitude, huh…”“…”I’d had enough riddles.“Stop dancing around it. What debt did Jerome owe the ? And what do you mean he hated Hugh?”Mrs. Stella chose her words, gazing at the endless country road. The scenery hardly changed, making me dizzy with frustration. As I pressed her, she finally spoke.“Jerome was the purebred stallion the Dunwell Masters treasured. A rare royal lineage.”On that deserted midnight road, illuminated only by our yellow headlights, the secret felt palpable—like someone hidden in the shadows could overhear our private conversation. I struggled to grasp the astonishing truth, the hidden lineage of those top-floor boys I’d chased for eight years.“A stallion… a stallion? Meaning, like us… what he did to me? Like the countless others before me…?”“You? No, not like you.”Mrs. Stella’s calm voice remained unchanged.“I don’t know how Hugh treated you, but he didn’t treat you like Jerome did.”“Hugh….”“…”“Hugh beat me, raped me, gang-raped me. Stripped me, put a dog collar on me, forced me to eat like an animal, crawl on all fours. If I obeyed, he’d praise me; if I resisted, he’d punish me. He tried to train me like a dog.”“They thought of us as dogs.”“What?”“They expected only their momentary pleasure from us. They didn’t care what we felt or how our minds shattered. If we couldn’t perform, they discarded us. We were replaceable—like animals in a pet shop. To them, our world was one big pet shop, and people like us were just dogs to be swapped out at will.”Suddenly, I saw Jamie’s bloodied face—an ordinary man dragged and trampled, his life desecrated. I recalled trying to save him, only to suffer more violence from those very hands.

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