Chapter 3: Then, Will You Unlock These Shackles?

“Then, senior… will you unlock these shackles too…?”

Only then did I notice the shackles that had been hidden beneath the blanket.

I couldn’t help frowning.

‘That’s right.’

‘This lunatic had chained him up and locked him in this room so he couldn’t get out.’

Now that I was actually looking at the metal shackles fastened around the protagonist’s ankle, all I could do was let out a hollow laugh.

Thick iron shackles around an ankle thinner than my forearm.

‘Hmm…’

The longer I stared at the protagonist’s shackled ankle, the more strangely dangerous the atmosphere seemed.

It almost seemed fitting.

No wonder that lunatic had become obsessed with keeping him locked up—

‘Ahem.’

Anyway, those shackles looked as though they could snap such a delicate ankle at any moment.

“Of course I’ll unlock them.”

I smiled and rummaged around inside my clothes.

The lunatic in the novel had always carried the key to the protagonist’s shackles with him.

I searched through the pockets of the suit trousers I was wearing, and my fingers came across several objects.

I pulled out the one that felt like metal.

Bingo.

The key was indeed in my pocket.

‘Thank goodness it’s here.’

I smiled casually in front of the protagonist, but my hand was sweating with nerves in case I couldn’t find it.

I took out the key and approached the protagonist’s feet.

Then, to make it easier to unlock the shackles, I lifted the protagonist’s foot, which was even paler and more delicate than Snow White’s—

“Ah…”

A small but startlingly sensual sound escaped the protagonist, and his foot twitched.

Startled, I raised my head.

The protagonist’s face was completely red.

It was a level of redness entirely different from before.

Apparently, even the protagonist himself was surprised that he’d made that little sound.

His whole body was flushed, and with only his pale foot raised above the covers, the scene looked far too suggestive.

Under the oversized shirt, he seemed to be wearing little more than simple undergarments.

The position of his legs made his body shift slightly against the mattress.

‘No, no.’

‘Get a grip.’

‘You’re not gay.’

‘I’m not gay…’

I desperately repeated those words in my head, trying to calm down the traitorous reaction of the body I was currently inhabiting.

Seriously, what was wrong with this protagonist’s body?

Why was he so sensitive?

‘No wonder that lunatic became obsessed with him.’

For the first time, I felt a tiny bit of sympathy toward the lunatic I had been unable to understand throughout the novel.

I forced myself to remain calm, inserted the key into the lock, and turned it.

Click.

The shackles came loose with a dull sound.

The moment I saw those heavy things lying around such delicate ankles, the brief sympathy I’d felt for that lunatic disappeared.

But even after the shackles were removed, the protagonist didn’t move an inch.

Wondering what was wrong, I looked at him.

He was still curled up, his pupils practically shaking with fear.

Apparently, this situation was still frightening him.

I kept giving him my best ‘I’m a nice person’ smile and asked:

“What’s wrong, Ha-min?”

“Senior… am I really going home?”

This sweet potato still didn’t seem to believe me.

Well, if I really had been the original lunatic, I suppose I could understand why he’d be suspicious.

The guy had been showing obsessive tendencies even before the confinement started.

I continued smiling my ‘I’m not a kidnapper’ smile.

“Of course.”

“Ah, wait a second.”

“I’ll have a car brought around.”

I pulled out the smartphone I’d felt when searching for the key earlier.

The shortcut number for Secretary Kim, the man who apparently took care of every single mess the lunatic created, was probably…

‘Number zero.’

Secretary Kim had appeared so often throughout the novel that, if he’d been a real person, I probably would have cried for him because of what an unbelievably brutal job he had.

If it had been an old-fashioned phone with physical buttons instead of a smartphone, the zero key would probably have been completely worn down.

Whenever the lunatic caused some kind of trouble, he immediately called Secretary Kim.

If this dream continued a little longer, I hoped I could give Secretary Kim a vacation before waking up.

The call connected before the ringing had even finished three times.

As expected, it was Secretary Kim.

–Yes, Young Master.

–What can I do for you?

“Ah, Ha-min is going home right now, so have the car wait—”

I almost used honorific speech out of habit, but cleverly switched to informal speech at the last second.

‘Hah.’

‘As expected of me.’

–Yes, I understand—

–Pardon?

–Young Master Ha-min?

–Yes, yes.

–Understood.

–I’ll have the car brought around immediately.

Secretary Kim must have been extremely surprised, because he stumbled over his words for a moment.

He was always portrayed as meticulous and seemingly emotionless.

Although that might simply have been because the author had inserted him into the story solely to play the role of a secretary.

Still, Secretary Kim was human too.

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re surprised too, aren’t you?’

The person who’d actually been imprisoned was sitting there with those adorable rabbit eyes wide open in shock.

Of course he’d be surprised.

Considering the way this lunatic normally behaved, anyone would be.

‘I understand completely, Secretary Kim.’

‘Once the protagonist gets home and everything is sorted out, I’ll make sure you get plenty of vacation time.’

“Then.”

I pressed the end-call button with what I thought was a suitably cool flourish.

But then I felt someone tugging on my clothes.

I turned my head.

As expected, it was the protagonist.

‘Why is he holding onto my dress shirt and making that Puss-in-Boots face?’

His hands were trembling, yet he clutched my shirt tightly.

Then he looked up at me with wide eyes.

He looked exactly like a rabbit begging to be eaten.

Was there actually a pair of stars shining inside those eyes?

They were ridiculously bright and sparkling.

It was such a cute expression that even I felt like locking him up.

“Se-senior.”

“Am I really going home?”

Of course.

You should go home.

Your grandmother is worried about you.

Ah, now that I thought about it, I needed to take care of the poor grandmother who had raised this unbelievably beautiful child despite having no blood relation to him.

“Of course.”

“Do you know how worried your grandmother must be?”

“You’ve probably been startled and uncomfortable after being stuck in this room for several days.”

“I’ll have Secretary Kim arrange everything, so get some fresh air and buy plenty of things your grandmother likes before you go home.”

Even then, the protagonist still didn’t seem convinced.

His eyes continued trembling.

Then, eventually, tears began falling from those dark, night-sky eyes like drops of clear jade.

“I…”

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this, senior.”

Ah.

I suppose it had been too sudden to make it look as though a lunatic had suddenly reformed.

But seriously.

He’d said he didn’t want to be imprisoned, so why was he acting like such a sweet potato now that I was letting him go?

Shouldn’t he be saying ‘Thank you’ immediately?

He ought to be running out of here barefoot if necessary.

‘Don’t tell me Stockholm syndrome has already kicked in?’

‘Did I advance the plot too quickly?’

‘But I haven’t even touched you!’

‘Protagonist?’

I sighed at the sweet potato protagonist’s frustrating behavior.

But then he flinched and trembled again.

He was probably simply terrified because the owner of this body was such a lunatic.

Yeah.

It couldn’t be love yet.

‘No… it can’t be Stockholm syndrome either.’

At least, that’s what I wanted to believe.

I grabbed the protagonist gently by both arms and met his eyes.

“Ha-min.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I think I may have put you through something terrible.”

“All I want to do is sincerely apologize to you.”

“As for why I did this to you…”

“Ah, I-I think it was because I drank too much.”

“Y-yeah.”

“I have a pretty serious problem when I’m drunk.”

“I must have been drinking every day and failed to realize that you were begging me to let you go.”

“I’m really sorry.”

‘Phew.’

‘That should do it, right?’

“But you never smelled like alcohol while we were sleeping together, senior.”

Wait.

While we were sleeping together?

Why did this kid have to phrase things like that?

At any rate, I realized I needed to use the opportunity to clarify—or rather, deny—the crimes that the owner of this body might have committed.

My goal was simple:

‘Even in a dream, let’s not become a criminal!’

“Hmm…”

“Maybe it was because of my cologne?”

I smiled as I answered.

Ha-min lowered his head slightly and hesitated.

Then his face gradually turned peach-colored as he spoke.

“Then, senior…”

“When you told me that you liked me… was that all because you were drunk too…?”

When this peach-colored sweet potato spoke shyly, I suddenly felt like grabbing his face and shouting that I loved him.

My right hand refused to obey my brain and began trembling as it moved toward the protagonist’s cheek.

With an absurd amount of self-control, I grabbed my own hand and forced it back down.

Maybe it was because this wasn’t even my body, but controlling myself was ridiculously difficult.

“I suppose I startled you by saying something like that.”

“One of the things I do when I’m drunk is tell random people that I love them.”

“I hope you can understand.”

“Ra-random people?”

The protagonist looked shocked.

‘Ugh.’

Maybe that excuse had sounded a little too flimsy.

His already-pale face had become even paler, making him look painfully fragile.

“Yeah.”

“Telling people I love them, locking them up, and doing things like that is apparently what I do when I’m drunk.”

“That’s why I was trying not to drink in the first place…”

“I’m really sorry, Ha-min.”

The more I continued speaking, the paler the protagonist became.

By now, he practically looked bluish.

Seeing him like that, I wondered if I’d gone too far, especially since he clearly had feelings for the lunatic.

But for a sweet potato already heading toward Stockholm syndrome, I decided shock therapy was unavoidable.

I desperately resisted the urge to comfort him because he looked so pitiful.

Now was the time to bring this insane obsessive-confinement novel to an end.

“Ha-min.”

“You’ve probably been frightened and uncomfortable after being stuck in that room for several days.”

“Make sure you exercise, take care of your health, and spend time getting along with your friends.”

“I’ll reflect on what I’ve done and make sure I never appear in front of you again.”

‘Damn.’

‘Am I not incredibly cool?’

‘What an unbelievably refreshing development.’

Even though I was the one who had said it, I thought it sounded pretty damn impressive.

I was being the perfect kind senior, even giving the protagonist advice because I was worried about him.

Once we parted ways, this novel would finally have a perfect ending.

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