Chapter 12: A Seat of Thorns and Tiny Chicks

“So, that’s the lowest seat?”

“It’s both the lowest seat and a seat of thorns,” Siohan replied. “Sitting opposite the Emperor, one receives his gaze but cannot speak. They’re pitiably anxious and fidgety, constantly checking for his mood.”

“However, if one can remain composed despite that, they are an individual who sits in opposition to the Emperor. In such a case, the seat becomes fitting for them in its own way.”

In the cavernous dining hall, their quiet voices echoed softly. Lee Doha, who had several times found himself reaching out to Siohan, suddenly felt a surge of irritation at the sheer, unnecessary size of the table.

It was utterly devoid of practicality.

Even with just six people, conversations naturally splinter into separate groups. They weren’t holding a company dinner with the Emperor, so why on earth did they need a table that could comfortably seat thirty?

Even if one sat there, could they actually converse with the Emperor?

“Of course, if you sit there, you can’t have a conversation,” Siohan replied, offering a surprisingly common-sense answer that felt rather uncharacteristic of him.

With a hint of amusement in his voice, he calmly explained that the enormous table would never be filled to capacity. At most, only about six people, starting with those at the head, would ever sit there.

It was merely an extension of discussing state affairs or a part of social engagements.

“It’s not very interesting, is it?” Siohan had remarked, accepting a neatly cut piece of meat.

“This is my first time sitting at this particular spot.”

“Is that so surprising?”

With just the two of them rattling around in such a vast space, the surroundings felt particularly desolate. Lee Doha, glancing around once more, replied with indifference.

The head seat remained empty, while Siohan sat directly opposite him.

“Indeed…” Siohan murmured.

At the languid tone, Lee Doha turned to him. Siohan was propping his chin with his hand, watching Lee Doha’s every move.

As their eyes met, Siohan’s languid expression instantly softened. Faced with such overt tenderness, Lee Doha needlessly bit his lip.

He had no immunity whatsoever to such shameless tenderness. Unable to fathom how to react, words once again failed him.

He looked utterly devoid of humanity, yet his actions overflowed with it. It was truly baffling.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something since earlier, Hwairam.”

“…What?”

“Do you like cute things?”

“What?”

‘Just based on these sudden, out-of-the-blue questions…’

Siohan slowly tilted his head, pointing downwards. ‘Down?’ Lee Doha instinctively tilted his head as well, then flicked his gaze downwards.

‘The cute thing’ caught his eye.

“Ah.”

It was Lee Doha’s pajama bottoms, adorably embroidered with tiny yellow chicks on a black background.

“It’s not that I like cute things…”

These were comfy, modern lounge pants his mother had bought. She had been lured by a “buy one, get one free” offer at the market, purchasing two pairs for ten thousand won.

Thus, the cuteness was entirely his mother’s preference. Lee Doha was simply a son who wore them without complaint whenever his mother bought him such items tailored to her taste.

Since he would wear them to sleep anyway, he cared little if they had chicks or pigs on them, as long as they were comfortable. He hadn’t even realized he was wearing such pants.

In other words, he had been strolling through this vast imperial palace, holding the Emperor, all while wearing pajama bottoms adorned with tiny chicks.

The Hilt, who had glared at him with murderous fury; the palace attendants who immediately prostrated themselves excessively upon seeing him and the Emperor in his arms; and the servants who had fumbled while placing food on the table—all their reactions suddenly made perfect sense.

‘That was an excessive affront.’

A moment of sudden introspection washed over him.

“…It’s my mother’s taste,” Lee Doha replied concisely.

A sudden wave of fatigue washed over him. He pressed a hand to his forehead.

“You’re a filial son, then.”

“Not particularly.”

His reply was brusque. He knew it was because Siohan kept looking at him like that, saying things that made his toes and fingers curl—things Lee Doha had absolutely no immunity to. Yet, having said it, he inwardly clicked his tongue in self-reproach.

Soft, fluffy things—Lee Doha had no affinity for them. To counteract this cloying feeling, he stared at the cold, sharp prongs of his fork.

Light, diffused from the many branches of the chandelier that filled the high ceiling, scattered in all directions.

“Did I summon you while you were sleeping?”

“It was time for me to sleep, yes.”

“Last time too, it seems. My timing always seems to be poor.”

“If you know that, then at least give me a heads-up this time, like a blinker.”

Siohan, who understood the meaning of ‘blinker’ as a privilege of his contractor, chuckled softly.

“I’ve summoned you the same way every time,” he said.

Hwairam. Hwairam. Hwairam.

“I missed you.”

With his stomach adequately full, a wave of languor washed over his tired body. He had been summoned in the middle of the night and eaten a lavish meal, which could be considered a late-night snack. Yet, since it was morning here, it was a late-night snack that wasn’t a late-night snack.

How would his body interpret this, he wondered? Such trivial curiosity drifted through his mind.

Lee Doha, who had been idly toying with his fork, raised his head.

“I truly missed you, Hwairam…”

“…Siohan?”

Siohan’s eyes were half-closed. ‘Was he dozing off?’ The thought flashed through Lee Doha’s mind.

But just then, as if on cue, Siohan’s body swayed precariously. Lee Doha’s languid mind instantly sharpened.

He sprang to his feet. Dishes on the table scattered haphazardly and shattered, splattering food onto his chick pants.

Lee Doha leaped over the table as if flying, barely managing to catch Siohan’s head before it hit the floor.

“What is this…”

Siohan’s body was a burning inferno. A fever raged through him, and cold sweat drenched his fingertips.

His complaint about the spoon feeling heavy hadn’t been an exaggeration in the slightest!

“Damn it! Old man, snap out of it, Siohan!”

‘Is every meeting going to end with you fainting?!’ Lee Doha slapped Siohan’s cheek, his body limp in his arms.

Had his retainers witnessed this, they would have been appalled. Unfortunately, no one else was in the vast dining hall.

“Hey! Is anyone out there?! Your Emperor has collapsed!”

His voice boomed powerfully, echoing through the dining hall. ‘f*ck, a different kind of fainting spell every time!’

Lee Doha floundered. The fever was so intense that he wondered if he should use a healing ability, but he had never tried healing before.

Moreover, that would only intensify this hellish cycle.

‘Mr. Lee Doha, you’re an Insatiable,’ he recalled. ‘A powerful medium requires a lot of the contractor’s magic. No matter how extraordinary Emperor Orphenos is, hailed as a miracle incarnate and all, even he has limits.’

‘The only solution is for me to disappear quickly,’ he thought. ‘What kind of extraordinary person is he, anyway? If this is the case, what was the point of a contract and an oath sealed with so much blood?’

Siohan’s limp body was utterly devoid of strength. Lee Doha carefully lowered him to the floor.

“Your Majesty—!” Just then, a shout echoed from outside the door. With one last glance at the pale, collapsed Siohan, Lee Doha closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was back in his own bed, where he had been tossing and turning earlier. Just moments ago, chaos had gripped him, yet with a single blink, he lay in the silent night.

Lee Doha stared blankly at the night-hued ceiling, not even blinking. It felt as though it had all been a dream.

If not for the sour scent of food clinging to his pants, a chaotic mix of smells, or the insistent thumping of his heart, he might have believed it.

Thwack! Lee Doha sprang from his bed. He snatched his phone from the desk.

The number he had adamantly refused to take had finally proven its worth. Without even a ringtone, the other person’s voice abruptly burst forth.

–Wow, Hyung!

“Yoo Seo.”

–Hyung, I’m filming right now! But this is live, so can I call you back later?

‘Filming? What kind of filming in the middle of the night?’ But he couldn’t wait for ‘later.’

“I don’t care what kind of filming it is, stop it. You’re about to be summoned.”

–Huh?

‘What’s wrong? Is it urgent? No, wait a minute.’ A bustling murmur of voices could be heard through the phone.

“Tell Siohan,” Lee Doha growled.

“Tell him not to pull any tricks and just stay in bed and recuperate quietly.”

–Uh, uh, Hyung, this is live, oh, wow, it’s real!

Yoo Seo’s flustered voice quickly shifted to excitement. “Everyone, I’m sorry, I’ll be right back!” he chirped, his bright farewell the last thing Lee Doha heard. Though murmuring voices lingered, Lee Doha ended the call.

He stood for a moment, catching his breath, before irritably tossing his phone onto the bed. The phone bounced, slid, and disappeared into the gap between the wall and the bed.

“…”

‘Nothing works out…’ Lee Doha pressed his lips together, raking a hand through his hair. Siohan’s condition was critical.

It was better than the very first time, when he was on the verge of death, and better than the second, when he coughed up blood. But it was merely a difference between more critical and less critical. It couldn’t be called an improvement.

‘A contractor like a sunfish? A paper-thin human? And it’s all my fault?’

It wasn’t just the night making everything dark before his eyes. Lee Doha groaned, pressing his palm against his throbbing head. The contract was made, and it couldn’t be undone.

His life plan, which had aimed for a tranquil lake, was utterly shattered, and now he had no idea where he was headed—and his contractor was a paper-thin human…

There was one simple method, though. He couldn’t cancel the contract, but he could put it on hold. Lee Doha let out a hollow laugh at the thought.

He could, but he wouldn’t.

‘I truly missed you, Hwairam.’

“…When did we ever meet?”

Recalling Siohan saying he missed a person from another world whom he had never seen in his life, Lee Doha suddenly kicked the desk. However, his leg, which had shot out unexpectedly as if hit by a small hammer on the knee, aimedlessly struck a desk leg. Lee Doha crumpled to the floor in pain, his toes jammed.

‘Shit…’ He hugged his foot, swallowing his curse. He had only himself to blame for running into it.

Even while ailing, Siohan would summon him the moment he felt even slightly better. There was no way Siohan would put him on hold. Not after making a contract by cutting his wrist and all. And why not? Just… just because.

He was annoyed.

Lee Doha, who had refused over thirty summons, dismissing the contract as worthless, only to find himself completely snared, hugged his toes and thought, without understanding why: if Siohan were to put him on hold, he could perhaps try to piece together his tranquil lake-like life plan again. But he wasn’t some aged kimchi to be put away, so that wasn’t right, anyway.

His toes were to blame for his bad mood. His toes.