Jealousy's Storm

"Young Master…," Ragar murmured softly.

His words were drowned out by the sound of rain and thankfully didn't sully Rocco's ears.

Yet, the storm within Ragar raged on.

Ugly jealousy bubbled to the surface.

Rocco was supposed to be his angel, a presence graced solely for him.

For a blood-stained killer to steal that light away—it was unendurable.

It could not be allowed.

Driven by emotions he couldn't suppress, Ragar brazenly scooped Rocco up into his arms.

It was a grievous overstep, an act of insolence that no slave should commit.

Yet, Rocco showed no anger, no rebuke.

Instead, with the boundless kindness Ragar had come to revere, Rocco forgave his misconduct entirely.

And then, as if that weren't enough, Rocco went further.

He reached up and gently touched Ragar's ears—those detested, animal-like ears.

"I love your voice, Ragar. And your fluffy ears—they're adorable," Rocco said with a tender smile.

To say such things, to call a Beastmen's voice lovable and its ears cute—Ragar wondered if he had gone mad, if this were all some delusion.

The words Rocco spoke were so brimming with grace and compassion that they felt unreal.

From the moment they had met, Ragar had thought Rocco an angel.

Now, he realized he had underestimated him—Rocco wasn't merely angelic; he was divine.

"Master, I revere you with all my heart," Ragar whispered.

"Hm? Heh, I adore you too, Ragar," Rocco replied lightly.

Even the forbidden feelings Ragar harbored were met with Rocco's boundless acceptance.

Gently holding Rocco's frail body as he rested, Ragar's gaze shifted to the "brother" he couldn't stand.

Although Ragar longed to eliminate this interloper immediately, he could not disobey Rocco's wishes.

"If you dare to do something suspicious, I will eliminate you instantly," Ragar growled.

"And you—don't you dare lay your filthy, beastly hands on my angel," the man retorted coldly.

Why Rocco had chosen to bring this deranged killer into his family, Ragar could not comprehend.

Yet, it was not his place to question Rocco's decisions.

His sole duty was to protect Rocco from harm—even from this lunatic.

With that thought, Ragar gently held Rocco closer, his arms encircling the sleeping boy, shielding him.

Rocco's peaceful, chubby face softened Ragar's resolve even further.

Whatever it took, he would protect his small master.

...

When Rocco awoke, the first thing to fill his vision was a vivid red—a crimson hue as striking as fresh blood.

It reminded him of the day he first met Ragar, a peculiar sense of déjà vu tugging at him as he sat up.

Rocco immediately deduced what had happened.

There was no way Ragar or the other members of the household would ever allow a stranger to slip into his bed unnoticed.

That left only one possibility: Georgio must have sneaked into the room on his own.

For most of people, moving freely within the heavily guarded Di Malvento estate would be impossible, but for an assassin like Georgio, such feats were like a child's play for him.