Chapter 1 Part 8: I, Who Was a Top in Reality

The two Imera bastards were the main culprits behind the #HighSteam and #Hardcore tags in Endless Darkness.

Thanks to their goal of coexisting peacefully with humans and the presence of that brown-haired, green-eyed paladin, it was easy to attach a righteous, virtuous image to them.

But all that setting was just smoke and mirrors designed for a bigger shock.

Especially this Tower Lord in front of me.

“How strange…… why are you so composed?”

After a one-sided chase that lasted a couple of hours, El and I were caught by Killian and dragged to the Wizard Tower.

Well, technically only I was dragged here, but El, who refused to let go of me, ended up being brought along as well.

That crazy bastard, as soon as we reached the top floor, made me kneel on the carpeted floor and wrapped me up in a ribbon about the width of a palm.

The knot looked loose, but no matter how I twisted my arms, there was no sign of it coming undone.

“You were quite cute acting like a frightened rabbit.

And you didn’t even cry.”

Rabbit, to a grown adult man.

“If you’re not satisfied, you could just untie me.”

“Hm?

That’s not what I meant.

Even an untamed beast can be a delicacy from time to time.”

A chilling remark.

Killian paced in front of me, then lightly nudged El, who was standing beside me, with his foot.

The boy, who had been trembling while clutching my sleeve, looked up at him with a stiff face.

“This one looks like someone I know.

What’s your relationship?”

“He’s my servant…… a servant.”

“I’m the servant?”

I threw out a cover story, since this bastard was the type who’d toss a kid out the window without a second thought if things went south, but El opened his eyes wide and asked back cluelessly.

Hmm.

Suspicious eyes scanned the boy.

A gaze like he was appraising an object.

“Well, whatever.

It’s not that important right now anyway.”

Killian tapped my knee with the black rod he was holding and murmured.

“Anyway, since you lost at hide and seek, you’ll have to be punished, right?”

Despite looking like a middle schooler with his boyish face, shorts that showed his knees, and garter belts holding up his socks around his calves, there was a peculiar intimidation in Killian’s voice.

His upturned mouth reminded me of the Cheshire Cat from a fairy tale illustration I’d seen once.

This was really……

“Playing with you myself would be fun too, but this time, you’re not the only one who needs to be punished.”

Thud, thud.

A concise knocking sound came from behind me.

“Looks like he’s here.”

Heavy footsteps thudded against the ground rhythmically.

I turned around instinctively and met eyes with a man entering with a face turned the color of dirt, his head bowed low.

Soon, the man’s green eyes grew moist with tears.

“Gideon, you lied to me, didn’t you?”

Killian asked coldly.

“……Yes.”

The man answered in a voice that seemed about to fade out.

“Then you’ll have to be punished, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Killian, looking satisfied, walked toward the door with its ornate latch.

Gideon, as if following a natural order, picked me up and carried me there.

Inside was a lavish bedroom.

“With your own hands, ruin the ‘Lord Rudan’ you cherished so much.”

I f*cking knew it.

Gideon nodded with a solemn face.

I’m sorry.

The low whisper by my ear sent a surge of irritation through me.

I’m the type who prefers to be the one doing the penetrating, you bastard……

‘How did you end up with that kind of personality?’

Whether we dated long or short—even one-night stands—sooner or later, my partners would say something similar to me.

They’d say they liked the cold, intimidating vibe, but now they were getting comfortable, were they?

The answer I gave back was always the same.

‘What about you?

Embarrassing.’

I’d ignore the gaze soaked in regret as it stared intently at my hands fastening my buttons, and I’d sense the end approaching.

Soon, one of us would drop out.

Whether it was me, unable to hide my boredom, or them, exhausted by my failure to return their affection—it didn’t make much difference.

Why is my personality like this?

It’s not like I was born a twisted person.

My mother said that even as a toddler who cried and threw tantrums at the drop of a hat, I was a healthy, well-behaved child who required less attention.

As I got older, I had an easygoing personality and smooth friendships.

My grades weren’t exceptional, but they were decent enough to be called upper-tier.

I was always a head taller than my peers and had noticeable looks.

Being at the center of the group was only natural.

That is…… until I was outed.

The trigger was ridiculously simple.

Among the group I hung out with at the time was a guy who proudly boasted about being obsessed with AVs and having nearly 1TB of illegally downloaded videos.

Naturally, his nickname was “One-Terabyte.”

Whether his claims were true or laced with exaggeration wasn’t important.

The real problem was the atmosphere of that group of boys at that age—they’d latch onto any sexual joke without filter and cackle away.

Honestly, they weren’t much different from seven- or eight-year-old kids laughing hysterically at dirty talk.

It was too childish to entertain.

Whenever those topics came up, I’d slip away without showing any discomfort, but it seemed One-Terabyte had been watching me closely.

At some point, he started pestering me about why I never joined in the fun, often coaxing me with promises of showing me something good.

Politely refusing once or twice was one thing, but eventually I lost my patience and blurted it out.

‘One-Terabyte, sorry, but I like guys, so watching male-female stuff is kind of uncomfortable for me.’

‘……Huh?’

‘If you really want to show me something, bring something that fits my taste, okay?’

……Well, thinking back, my personality wasn’t exactly great even then.

After I realized I saw the same s*x as romantic partners, I never felt the need to come out deliberately, but I also didn’t think it was something I had to hide.

The reason I could maintain such an optimistic attitude was probably because the world surrounding me at the time was quite kind to me.

Being outed?

Of course I knew it would happen.

So what?

I was confident that this solid world wouldn’t even ripple from such a small pebble.

‘Hey, a gay guy’s coming through!’

I paid dearly for my complacency.

‘I always thought he was a bit too soft.’

Open mockery poured down.

Their veiled glances and whispers they threw among themselves.

Words spit out by people who didn’t even know me, raining down relentlessly.

Still, I didn’t cower and shrink away.

For some reason, that “soft” comment really stuck in my craw.

So they wanted to say I lacked social masculinity, did they?

A bunch of mediocre acorns—or potatoes—with tiny dicks, trying that was just laughable……

Even if I had been short and ugly, I’d tried to be as kind as possible to those around me—why would that be a problem?

If I’d been brusque, they would’ve called me rude.

I was simply better brought up than the rest of them.

On the flip side, did I appreciate those who acted favorably toward me?

Not really.

I didn’t understand why people felt the need to come offer unsolicited encouragement or support—they just wanted to satisfy their own curiosity.

I grew sick of it.

Maybe that was it.

I didn’t want to be a harmless, pitiful victim that fit everyone’s expectations.

So I beat the hell out of the seniors who called me out to the backfield to bully me, and spewed unfiltered venom wherever I went.

‘Feeling nauseous?

I get that way looking at your face.’

‘Don’t you dare patronize me with that face……’

‘Sorry, I couldn’t hear you—what’s small?’

‘Your life going to shit is because you’re shit, so why are you taking your stress out on me?

You want to go to the backfield too?’

It wasn’t intentional, but I was quite satisfied that the word “psycho” appeared more frequently than “gay” to describe me.

My relationships were ruined, but I had more time for self-improvement, and my grades went up.

If that outing hadn’t happened, my life might have been a bit smoother.

My father, who had been waiting—I knew because he’d often said, “If only you were an adult, I’d cut you off”—cut off financial support and kicked me out the day I turned twenty.

To get my college diploma, I had to become a part-time job king and a scholarship student.

Either one alone would have been tough, but I managed both.

It wasn’t like I never thought it would be nice to live comfortably at home instead of suffering from chronic sleep deprivation and headaches, but I endured it.

The freedom of having all the reins loosened was so sweet.

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