“Mulsbi’s , as you know, must have shown you just how powerful the Dunwell family is.”“…Why do you say that?”“The Dunwells have run the family business for over a century. Not just run it—they’ve made it wildly successful. ‘Maryann’ is the second best-selling cigarette after Marlboro. Think about it: what could those two brothers possibly lack in this world?”“Please, Ma’am, stop dancing around it…”“But there are things even they can’t have. No matter how high-born they are, they couldn’t bring a royal pet home, could they?”Only then did I realize where Mrs. Stella was leading.“Who would dare bring a member of the royal household home and train them like a dog? No matter how influential the Dunwells are, they’d never dream of that. But have you ever seen Jerome on television or in the newspapers?”At the edge of my consciousness, the puzzle clicked into place. My sole, which had hardly registered pain, now throbbed sharply. Every nerve in my body stood at attention.“Have you ever—just once—seen Jerome’s face at a royal event? Even online, has his name ever come up?”I had always wondered the same thing. Jerome seemed «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» erased from the world: no articles, no photos. In all the years I’d hunted him, no one ever mentioned him. He didn’t exist in any official royal record.At first, I thought him simply insane—banished here after causing some scandal, sent away to reflect. But even so, years passed, and he remained unmentioned. This spring’s gala wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge was broadcast live—I watched in case, but still no mention of Jerome. Only once had his name appeared in public:List of victims in the St. Bartholomew’s School fire.And at Timothy’s estate, when Christopher and Jerome spoke, Jerome mentioned someone was after him, and Christopher said they were agents the royal household had sent.“I don’t know the full story, but anyone who knew the royal family would know they tried to hush Jerome up and hide him away. How did those Masters see him? A rare royal bloodline, handsome, but powerless—a boy no one valued.”Suddenly, as if flipping a page, we left the country road and entered a quiet small town. Though it was past midnight, cars still drove by. I stepped into a world of noise and light, dazed, staring through the window. The streets, lit by headlights and streetlamps, felt peaceful and still.From the start, Mrs. Stella had driven calmly, as if our entire conversation about Jerome had been a dream. We crossed into town in silence. I rubbed my eyes, still seeing afterimages of the streetlights.When we stopped at a traffic light, I finally spoke.“What do you mean by ‘stallion’?”“I mean it literally.”Her tone was brusque.“A prize stallion: fed the finest grain, pampered, bred in front of an audience to showcase pedigree and virility, then cared for until the next breeding season.”When the light turned green, Mrs. Stella resumed driving as if nothing had happened. We reached the emergency room without another word. I was so stunned by her words I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the truck. She opened the passenger door and helped me down. While she checked me in, I sat in the waiting room, staring at the hospital’s whitewashed walls.At first—at the very beginning—I believed Jerome alone was the world’s greatest evil. I thought Simon was my only friend. I realized only at the brink of death that both boys were conspirators. Then I believed George was the mastermind—he was my predecessor, and yet my fiercest accomplice. In that moment, I formed one hypothesis: perhaps all the top-floor boys belonged to the Dunwell family’s .Soon I sat on a cot, having my foot stitched. The wound wasn’t as deep as I’d feared. While the nurse stitched me up, Mrs. Stella washed dried blood from her hands. Once my foot was bandaged, she supported me out of the hospital. Instead of going straight home, we stopped at a café in front of the hospital for tea. The air was chilly, but we sat side by side on a bench, sipping our drinks in silence. At last, our long night of conversation came to an end.“Jerome is still a thorn in the royal family’s side. Paradoxically, thanks to the elder Master, he’s alive—but only just. From Jerome’s point of view, living as those Masters’ plaything was preferable to death.”Mrs. Stella said.“I’m not sure he’s still serving as a stallion for the , but I stepped away from it ages ago, so I don’t know the current state of affairs.”“…When I went to the , Jerome wasn’t mistreated.”“What else would being a stallion involve? I saw all manner of horrors at the , but as for Jerome…”I wanted to know what had happened to him, and yet I dreaded it. Fear clutched me as I asked,“What did you see?”Mrs. Stella hesitated before she drank her tea. The longer she paused, the more my dread swelled. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my trousers, waiting. Finally, she avoided my gaze and muttered hoarsely,“How old was Jerome then? …They drugged him to force arousal and had him rape someone… it was said to be his nanny, someone he’d clung to like family.”“…”“They set him on a stage like a circus and made him perform. It was one of the ’s most notorious shows. I only saw it once, so I don’t know details.”“…”“After that, I didn’t see Jerome for a long time… I never thought I’d see him again, but fate stepped in. And that’s the debt Jerome owes to the .”Suddenly she turned to me.“Jerome has been preparing to repay that debt—to the elder Master and everyone else he owes. Did you live like that? Trying to repay Jerome?”I said nothing. She nodded impassively.“If that’s your choice, so be it. If that’s your life.”Mrs. Stella took a sip of tea, then added after a long pause,“If you want revenge, live. Do whatever it takes. Death is frightening. Don’t die.”I felt once more the sea breeze that had rushed over the cliff. Instead of answering, I drank my tea. Mrs. Stella patted my back until my tears subsided. We returned to the little house by the shore. She thought I wouldn’t jump from the window again, so she left me alone in the room. I didn’t leap. Instead, I lay in the warm bed and fell into a deep sleep for the first time since killing and reviving Jerome.When I woke to morning sunlight, my body was heavy, but my mind was astonishingly clear. I hobbled through the house, cleaning for hours until a wave of lethargy forced me to collapse onto the carpet—yet by Mrs. Stella’s return, the house was spotless. She said nothing, simply set before me a heartier meal than her usual patient fare: more meat than I’d seen in days.After chores, I began exercise. Unable to weight-bear on my stitched foot, I did push-ups on one leg and lifted dumbbells. Strength training after a long time brought sweat pouring down. Once my foot had mostly healed, Mrs. Stella and I walked the beach, her supporting me as she talked about the gallery she ran. I hardly replied, yet she kept up her chatter, seeming relieved for company.By the time my sole had fully healed, winter’s chill made walking without a hat unthinkable. My condition had improved. Until then, I never asked Mrs. Stella about Jerome or the ; she never brought it up either, and strangely, daily life felt peaceful. We went nowhere except for walks, and I kept busy with household tasks.When I could jog several kilometers without trouble, I shaved my beard and cut my hair short. Mrs. Stella, arriving home, said nothing at my new appearance and simply fixed dinner. Over the meal, she spoke only of paintings she’d sold that day. I answered little, eating my pasta in silence, then suddenly broke the quiet.“Where is Jerome now?”Mrs. Stella raised an eyebrow, displeased at the abrupt change. She dabbed her lips with a napkin.“He’s hiding in Rellium, just outside London.”“So Timothy didn’t work out, after all.”“In a manner of speaking. But not only him.”She sipped wine, her expression sombre.“I’m trying to rescue Chris.”Her words surprised me not at all—Timothy, aboard the helicopter, had surely gone to help someone else.“Is Timothy there?”“Likely so. The elder Master has a large estate in Rellium.”“Good. Give me the exact address.”She studied me for a moment. I met her gaze unflinchingly. Then she fetched a notepad and pen from the living room and, without hesitation, scrawled the address. I folded the note and tucked it into my coat.“There’s one more thing I want to know.”Mrs. Stella lifted her head as she adjusted her wineglass.“Ma’am, if you suffered at the … then avenging Jerome might also be your vengeance, right?”“I don’t seek revenge anymore, but… yes, I understand your question. And yes—that could be.”“Then you can sympathize with being on the brink of vengeance only to be thwarted.”Mrs. Stella’s gray eyes were calm and steady, as if nothing could disturb them. I didn’t wish to unnerve her or wound her—I needed her on my side, for she had saved my life.“The best way to get revenge on Jerome is to prevent him from taking revenge himself.”“…”“I will avenge myself on Jerome.”Mrs. Stella blinked slowly.We were going to live together, Jerome. Riding in Mrs. Stella’s red truck, we traveled to the city train station. She bought me a ticket to Rellium and handed me some money. The day was cold; the trees along the avenue were bare, and people wore wool caps and scarves. Mrs. Stella stayed with me until I boarded the train, waving slowly as it pulled away. I did not wave back; I only stared until I could no longer see her.We would live together, Jerome. Though the train sped, by the time it reached Rellium, the sun was noticeably low. I pulled my coat collar up against the wind and left the station. Hailing a taxi, I handed the driver the folded note. The unfamiliar cityscape blurred past. We stopped before an aging apartment building in the old quarter—no doorman, its entrance forlorn. We would live together, Jerome. The carpet in the vestibule was stained and dusty. The manual elevator was broken; a boy sat on the chair beside it, flipping through a comic book. I climbed the stairs slowly, reaching the door at the end of the third-floor hallway, where no nameplate hung. I knocked lightly.We would live together, Jerome. A sound came from behind the door, then it opened. Jerome stood there, his right arm bandaged, eyes wide. I stared at his involuntary grin. Yes, Jerome, we would live together. Until the final moment, I would be with you. Sharing your deepest despair and frustration—together, we would live on.“Hello, Jerome.”“Raymond.”Though surprised, Jerome wasn’t entirely taken off guard; he seemed almost amused, reaching out and touching my cheek without hesitation.“Did you come because you were worried about me?”I brushed his hand away and glanced at his arm—thick bandages from elbow to shoulder, a single handcuff dangling at his waist. I shoved him aside and entered the apartment. Jerome stepped back without protest. Inside was stark: a single mattress, a covered cardboard box in the living room, and two empty rooms. A hideout should leave no trace.I turned over every inch, even searching the bathroom, until I was certain no one else was there. Only then did I face Jerome, still standing in the doorway watching me. Our eyes met, and Jerome asked with that smiling face,“Looking for someone?”“No.”“Christopher?”“I told you no.”He frowned.“What happened to your arm?”“Worried? So you came to check on me after all?”His shy smile made my skin crawl. I would rather talk to a wall than with Jerome.

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