—From the divination corner in this morning’s newspaper

1

When he woke that morning, he had a crick in his neck.

When he got out of bed, he stepped on a glass that was lying on the floor and fell down. The glass broke, and he cut the sole of his foot on the shards. When he got out the first-aid box to tend to the wound, he discovered he was out of ointment. With no better options, he wrapped it in plain gauze.

He looked in the mirror and tried to fix his cowlicks, but—today of all days—none of them got the least bit better.

When he drank his tea at breakfast, he accidentally put in salt instead of sugar: The containers had been in each other’s usual place.

After that, when he was walking across the courtyard at Pandora Headquarters, a swallow pooped on him from far up in the sky.

On top of that, the odd-jobs man who was tending the potted plants on the second-story balcony accidentally dropped the watering can, and the water splashed down right over him. On top of that, as he was on his way back to his room to change clothes, he bumped into a Pandora staff member, his hat fell off, and the other man stepped on it.

The hat-stomper hadn’t meant any harm, and he apologized frantically, so of course he forgave him.

It was his precious hat, given to him by a special person.

As he held his hat—his soaking wet, pooped-on, stomped-on hat—he couldn’t help but think a certain thought.

Although he’d only been awake for a few hours…

Gilbert Nightray felt compelled to mutter it to himself, silently:

“This is not my lucky day…”

Then. After lunch.

As if fate was trying to finish him off, he received a summons from the Nightray manor, his family home.

The business they’d summoned him for was trivial, and the matter was dealt with quickly.

Gilbert’s room had been left just as it was ever since he moved out of the main Nightray residence. They’d only wanted to ask him what should be done with it in the future.

Gilbert had told them to do whatever they liked with everything in it, that he left it entirely in their hands. He also wished they wouldn’t summon him over little things like that, but he didn’t say it. Saying it would only have earned him more scoldings and nastiness from his adoptive father and older siblings.

He wanted to get back to Pandora Headquarters, and to his master, quickly.

I can’t breathe… This house is seriously uncomfortable.

Ever since he’d started living on his own, he’d kept away from the main house as much as possible. After he’d finished his discussion with his adoptive father and siblings, Gilbert left the drawing room and walked down the corridor at a smart clip. It was almost as if he was saying he didn’t want to run into any other members of the Nightray family.

He hoped this senseless summons would be his last bit of bad luck.

…But.

But.

“……Phew.”

After he’d walked briskly down the long corridor, descended the great staircase, and arrived in the entry hall, Gilbert gave a small sigh of relief and slowed his pace. In front of him was a set of imposing double doors. Once he was through those, he’d be released from this oppressive mood.

“Gil, you came…”

Suddenly, from directly behind him, a voice spoke. Gilbert flinched violently.

It was a familiar voice. Its owner was…not the person he least wanted to meet, exactly, but the one who required the most nervous energy and the best mental preparations to deal with. The voice belonged to someone he absolutely did not want to meet this way: in the worst way possible, mere moments before he left the main residence as if he was running away.

It was his little brother’s voice.

Gilbert whirled around as if he’d been stung.

“……Oh, uh, Vince—”

His agitation and embarrassment made the turn an exaggerated one.

Gilbert twisted, arms flailing, turning back. The next instant, one of his arms struck something hard. Vincent Nightray—Gilbert’s full brother, just one year younger than he was—had been standing directly behind him, holding something to his chest: an old-fashioned vase. Gilbert’s arm sent this vase flying through the air.

“Ah.” Vincent’s lips moved. His mismatched eyes—one gold, one wine red—widened slightly.

“Eh?” Gilbert’s lips moved. His eyes followed the vase’s journey to the floor.

With an ear-splitting craaaaaaaash, the vase shattered. …Then there was silence.

For a moment, Gilbert didn’t understand what had happened. Confused, he looked from the shards scattered across the floor to Vincent, then back, several times. A faint smile crept onto Vincent’s drowsy face. “I happened to see you, so I spoke to you…” he said.

He’d stopped by the main residence, but had been attempting to leave without seeing his brother, and as he’d turned around, he’d broken the vase. These two things got muddled together in Gilbert’s mind, and he couldn’t order his words well.

“I, uh, they summoned me. —Sorry. I broke that…

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, his voice unsteady.

“And which one might you be apologizing for…?”

Vincent smiled, as if he’d seen right through Gilbert’s anguish.

“…Both of them.”

It was the only answer Gilbert could give.

Vincent averted his eyes from Gilbert, looking down at the fragments of the vase. His face was expressionless; it even held traces of cruelty, as though he felt contempt for the vase. His delicate lips moved: “I see…” Then, with his eyes still on the shards, Vincent continued:

“You’re probably busy, Gil. I’m sure you have to return quickly…”

At those considerate words, Gilbert felt a bit relieved.

“So you see…I don’t really mind that you were going to leave without saying hello to me.”

“Thank you for saying th—”

“That vase wasn’t terribly valuable, either…”

His brother’s words left Gilbert even more relieved.

“Only…someone special gave it to me, and it was very, very important…”

Vincent lifted his gaze from the fragments and looked at Gilbert.

The cruelty had disappeared from his expression. Looking gentle, ephemeral, and vaguely entertained, Vincent said:

“Could we talk in my room for a little while, Nii-san…?”

There was no way Gilbert could refuse.

2

Even though it was still day, the curtains in Vincent’s room were closed.

On the table, the flames of a candelabra flickered. In this room alone, Gilbert thought, it might as well be night.

The room was littered with broken dolls. Dolls that had had their arms and legs amputated with scissors; dolls whose torsos had been ripped open and the stuffing pulled out. Apparently his brother’s bad habit of cutting up dolls for fun was alive and well.

When he entered the room, he just stood there with the door at his back until Vincent prompted him: “Sit down.”

Vincent stretched out on one of two facing sofas, pointing to the other with a languid gesture.

With a small nod, Gilbert sat down on the edge of the sofa. He didn’t plan to stay long. Just until Vincent had said what he wanted to say.

When he saw that Gilbert had obediently taken a seat on the sofa, Vincent gave a faint smile.

Then he said a woman’s full name.

Even Gilbert had heard the family name. It belonged to a noble house that was influential in social circles.

“Her father favors the Nightrays, you see… From what I hear, Father is also somewhat in his debt. The young lady seems to have taken quite a liking to me… The vase you broke was a gift from her.”

“—I’m sorry.” Gilbert bowed his head conscientiously.

“Don’t worry about it… I wouldn’t get angry over anything you did, Gil. Only…I don’t know what she’ll think.”

Vincent furrowed his brow in concern.

“She’s asked me to see her socially many times… I’d rather not, so I turn her down, but… Considering the relationship between her family and the Nightrays, I can’t treat her coldly, so I accept her presents, at least. And you see…whenever her father brings her to visit, she checks. She makes sure her presents aren’t being treated badly…”

As he listened, tormented by guilt and remorse, Gilbert thought.

At first he’d wondered whether his little brother had acquired a “special lady-friend,” but apparently that wasn’t the case. He thought it was likely that both the “special someone” and the “important vase” were special and important, not to his brother personally, but to the Nightray family.

In that case, this wasn’t something he could resolve with an apology to Vincent.

“I’m sorry,” Gilbert said, bowing again.

“I’ll apologize to the lady and her father, Vince. I’ll tell them I broke the vase, and that you weren’t to blame—”

“An apology is all they’ll require of you, but…”

Vincent’s words held the implication that that really wouldn’t be enough to resolve things.

For an instant, the idea of finding and purchasing something identical floated into Gilbert’s mind, but he banished it immediately.

In matters between two noble houses, such deception was not countenanced.

“…What should I do?” Gilbert looked wretched. At the question, Vincent sat up, glanced at Gilbert, and smiled softly.

“You don’t have to do anything, Gil… If I comply with one or two of her requests for dates, she’ll probably cheer up. I’ll just have to endure for a little while, that’s all…”

“Vince…” Aside from calling his brother’s name, Gilbert could do nothing.

The room was as gloomy as night, and for a while, it was filled with the sort of silence that came in the small hours of the morning, when everyone was fast asleep.

At length:

“…What should I do? For you, I mean.”

Gilbert repeated the words he’d spoken before, with a brief addition. Even if Vincent told him not to worry about it, and that he didn’t have to do anything, he knew he did. As an older brother, how should he compensate his little brother for the unnecessary burden his mistake had forced on him?

In response to Gilbert’s earnest question, Vincent said, “You’re so serious, Gil…” He smiled. “Really, there’s no need to worry about it… But, in that case, I might make one request…”

“A request?” Gilbert’s eyebrows drew together, dubiously.

Vincent laughed and nodded, adding that, although it might be a request, it was quite simple and nothing important.

Gilbert brooded slightly. Then, as if he’d made up his mind:

“If that’s what you want. What is it?”

“It’s really very simple… Once in a while, I’d like you to hug me tightly…!”

“‘Hug’?!”

In spite of himself, Gilbert froze up. The request had been both abrupt and unexpected.

It was true that, for years now—no, for as far back as he could remember—although Vincent had touched him, he’d never touched Vincent.

It had been that way ever since he met Vincent at the Nightray manor, almost ten years ago. Gilbert had lost nearly all memories of his childhood, and he’d been so confused by this “little brother” who’d been abruptly set in front of him that he hadn’t been able to move. In contrast, no sooner had Vincent seen his big brother than he’d run up to him and hugged him.

And so it had gone.

Even afterward.

That relationship continued to this day. He was overwhelmed and flustered by his brother, who always cut in first and showered him with an excess of affection. Behind that smile, it was hard to tell what he was feeling, what he was thinking, and Gilbert hesitated to approach him.

However, it wasn’t as if Gilbert hated his brother.

W-well, a hug isn’t much to ask—

He’d been startled, and he was a bit nervous, but if that would console his brother, it certainly was a simple thing.

Gilbert nodded.

“All ri—”

Just as he was on the verge of saying All right and getting up from the sofa…

“Heh-heh…”

He froze, startled by the little smile on Vincent’s face. A warning signal raced through his mind. Yes, a hug wasn’t much to ask. However, the sheer simplicity of it provoked misgivings. Frozen halfway to his feet, Gilbert questioned himself. His eyes widened slightly.

A hug… Is that really going to be the end of it?!

Would his brother really release him for a mere hug? What was he really trying to do, or trying to make him do? What was lurking beyond that hug?

Gilbert didn’t know what his brother was thinking. Since he didn’t know, he couldn’t help but feel wary. He probably wouldn’t get eaten. Even so, Gilbert felt like an insect being lured by the scent of a carnivorous plant.

He couldn’t budge from his awkward, half-finished position.

“What’s the matter…?” Vincent asked, tilting his head to one side.

Gilbert was as unresponsive as a statue.

“Can’t you do it, Gil…?”

Gilbert didn’t react. A storm of uncertainty raged inside his head. Finally:

“…It’s not…that I can’t, but…” He’d spoken as if squeezing the words out, and he sat back down on the sofa.

He couldn’t look Vincent in the face. He turned aside, hesitantly asking him if he could change his request to something else.

“I see. That’s a pity…”

However, from Vincent’s expression, he wasn’t sorry at all. His brother’s reaction seemed to make him happy. His expression was that of someone admiring something beloved from the bottom of his heart; he even seemed to welcome his brother’s wariness of him. “In that case…” Vincent said, changing tactics easily:

“Come…Echo.”

When he murmured to no one in particular, a cold voice spoke—“Yes, sir.”—although there didn’t seem to be anyone besides the two of them in the room. In the same moment, a slight shadow slipped lightly out from behind the sofa where Gilbert was sitting. The shape leapt over Gilbert’s head to land on the floor. It was a girl.

The girl was standing with her back to Gilbert. He’d never properly met or spoken to her, but Gilbert did know of her. Her name was Echo. He was fairly sure she was his brother’s valet, or something of the sort.

Echo bowed to Vincent, then spun to face Gilbert. Wordlessly, she bowed her head. In combination with her perfectly blank expression, it made her look just like a doll.

Gilbert wondered if Echo had been in the room the whole time, behind the sofa. If she had been, had she overheard his exchange with his brother? However, he couldn’t read any emotion from Echo. She simply stood there.

Silently, Echo watched Gilbert with steady eyes. He didn’t know what he should say to her.

“Gil…”

Vincent spoke sleepily from the sofa beyond Echo.

“Would you make Echo smile for me…?”

Gilbert blinked. He mulled Vincent’s words over in his mind, then repeated them.

“—Make her laugh?”

“That’s right. The child hasn’t smiled in ages, you see… I was just thinking I’d like to see it…”

“She hasn’t smiled—”

“No tickling allowed… I doubt it would work anyway.”

Even as Echo listened to them talking about her right over her head, she only watched Gilbert, silently. Her face held no emotion whatsoever.

“Rrgh,” Gilbert groaned. He thought. It was easy to say “Make her smile,” but his master and Break were always telling him he didn’t have the knack for comedy. He’d always thought he didn’t need a knack like that. He’d never imagined it would prove necessary at a time like this.

Still, he had to do it. It was partially due to his feeling of responsibility over breaking the vase, but even more than that:

That’s right… I…

When he’d left Pandora Headquarters, he’d told Oz he’d be right back.

He couldn’t break that promise, a promise made to his master, so easily. He had to do what he was here to do quickly and return.

Tightening his lower abdomen, Gilbert looked at Echo, his eyes filling with resolve and determination.

“”

Echo looked as though she was completely disinterested in everything on the planet. Her blank face might have been carved from ice.

Gilbert came very near to losing heart on the spot.

Ghk… But I won’t lose! Wait for me, Oz!

Firing himself up, he ransacked his memories for something that might make her laugh.

Then Gilbert, serious to a fault, thought that, when trying to make someone laugh, it was important to know their preferences. He asked Echo, “When was the last time you laughed?” Of course, if she answered, he planned to ask what had been going on at the time, and what she’d laughed at.

Echo’s answer was terse.

“Never.”

Her voice was perfectly detached, like a doll’s. As Gilbert sat speechless, she continued:

“Echo hasn’t laughed once since she was born. She doesn’t even know what it means to laugh.”

“Oh, that’s right, isn’t it, Echo…”

Vincent spoke as if it had slipped his mind.

“Correct. It isn’t necessary for Echo.”

I can’t!!!!

Gilbert screamed, internally.

3

“Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere.”

He remembers.

The shunning, disgusted, curious stares people directed at them. The feel of all the rocks that were thrown at them.

“Child of ill omen.”

The sin he was made to carry, just because he was born with a red eye. Branded as something abominable. Abandoned by their parents, hounded by everyone, they lived stealthily in ruins where they wouldn’t be seen. Just him and his older brother. They weren’t even ten years old.

He remembers the rotten stench, like a garbage heap, and the chill of icy stone floors.

Being found by someone meant the beginning of torture.

Every time they were found, they were screamed at, struck with sticks, rocks were hurled, and they ran and ran. He didn’t know how many towns they’d wandered through.

“It was said red eyes heralded disaster.”

That legend gave full-grown adults permission to whip young children and throw rocks at them. The world held only enemies. His only ally was his brother. His brother was just a year older than he, still young, and he’d protected his little brother desperately with his skinny, underfed body.

He remembers.

The warmth of his brother’s body as he tried to protect him, shield him from a world full of hostility and malice.

The red of the blood that ran from the wounds he got in protecting him.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you, Vince?”

He’d been frail, so he’d always lain on pieces of hemp cloth spread out in the ruins, watching his big brother weakly.

“I’ll go find us something to eat. Wait there.”

When night fell, his brother would say those words, stand up, and go into town. They’d never had a satisfying meal. They didn’t have money to buy the raw ingredients, and when his brother said he was going to go find food, it meant he’d either beg somebody for it or steal it.

If his big brother went into town and didn’t come back, he’d be free. All he had to do to find release was abandon his little brother. If he’d done it, not a soul would have blamed him for it. After all, the little brother was a child of ill omen. There really shouldn’t have been any reason for him not to do it.

But, whenever he left him, his brother always said:

“Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere.”

He’d hold his little brother’s hand, and sometimes he’d hug him, tightly, tightly, as if to reassure him.

Those words were a knife.

4

“I-in a certain village, there lived a farmer.”

Even as he was tormented by a sense of despair, Gilbert began to speak. He was telling a funny little story he’d heard from somebody, a long time ago.

I’m pretty sure Oz roared with laughter when we heard this one…

Echo simply stood there. From her cold face, it was impossible to tell whether she was listening or not. Behind her, lying on the sofa, as he watched Gilbert talk with sweat breaking out on his forehead, Vincent was giggling.

Gilbert spoke with everything he had, reeling in the thread of his memories.

“That farmer had a friend. The friend had just been wed, and he and his wife lived happily in a cottage on the edge of the village. One day, as the farmer left to till the fields, he saw his friend and his friend’s wife walking toward him. The farmer was surprised. After all, the couple had vegetables in their mouths, and they were walking on their hands. So the farmer asked them, ‘Why are you two walking on your hands with vegetables in your mouths?’ At that, the two smiled and answered: ‘Obviously—’”

At that point, Gilbert’s story trailed off. All that was left was the couple’s answer, the punch line of the joke.

Echo was watching Gilbert, steadily. Vincent gave a small yawn.

The room was filled with a suffocating silence.

“A-at that, the two smiled and answered: ‘Obviously—’…”

He didn’t go beyond that point. Sweat rolled off Gilbert’s brow.

Indifferently, Echo opened her mouth:

“What is the punch line?”

“…………………………………………”

Gilbert’s lips worked several times, attempting to finish the story, but in the end, the words wouldn’t come.

His shoulders sagged.

“…I forget.”

“Snrk!” Vincent burst out laughing.

Echo’s face held neither disgust nor irritation, and she didn’t even change her position. She only said, “I see. That’s unfortunate.” And then:

“It isn’t funny at all.”

She hit Gilbert with a dispassionate final blow.

The room was filled with a bleak, chilly atmosphere. Echo stood like a doll, and Gilbert had been plunged into depression. Only Vincent snickered cheerfully to himself. When he asked, “Do you surrender, Gil…?” Gilbert nodded weakly.

He felt as if all the broken dolls scattered around the room were sneering at him.

“A-ask for…something else,” Gilbert managed, with difficulty. “Please.”

Vincent answered, “Sure,” quite easily.

“It looks as if that was…a bit too hard for you, Gil. All right…Echo.”

“Yes, Vincent-sama.”

Echo spun, turning her back to Gilbert, and answered Vincent.

“Would you get it ready for me? The chessboard…”

At Vincent’s order, Echo nodded and began busily moving about the room.

A small table was promptly set up right in front of Gilbert, between the two facing sofas where he and Vincent sat. A chessboard was placed on top of it, and the pieces lined up on the board.

Chess—?

Gilbert just watched the pieces being lined up on the chessboard, separated into ranks of black and white.

In front of him, on his side, were the black pieces, and beyond them, on Vincent’s side, were the white pieces.

When the preparations were complete, Echo went to stand behind the sofa where Vincent lay. Vincent sat up, reseating himself on the sofa, and picked up one of the pieces. As he toyed with the piece in his hand, he turned to Gilbert with a teasing smile.

“All right, this one really is a simple request… Be my chess partner…”

Gilbert did know the rules of chess.

When he’d lived at the Nightray manor, he’d played Vincent several times. They’d learned the rules at the same time, but possibly Vincent had had a talent for it; he’d improved rapidly, and Gilbert had never beaten him.

However, if all he had to do was be his chess partner… If it didn’t matter whether he won or lost…

“All I have to do is play chess with you?”

“Of course… I won’t say I won’t let it count as payment for the vase if you don’t win. Oh, but…”

“B-but?”

As his brother prepared to add a condition, Gilbert felt something ominous. What was he about to be told? He was sure it wouldn’t be anything good. For example, “But you have to make your moves while standing on your head.” Something like that would be physically impossible.

Instead of finishing his sentence immediately, Vincent got up from the sofa. Skirting the table that held the chessboard, he approached Gilbert.

Gently, he looked down at Gilbert where he sat.

“Vince…?”

When Gilbert spoke to him, questioningly, Vincent put a hand into his breast pocket.

Then—

“Wear these when you play…”

Clink.

Quickly, he fastened the shiny, black iron manacles he’d pulled out of his breast pocket around Gilbert’s wrists. “Wha—?!” Gilbert gave a shrill, nervous cry and looked down at his manacled hands. The chain that ran between the two cuffs clinked.

Gilbert looked up at Vincent with eyes that held a mixture of shock and bewilderment.

“Vince! What is this?!”

“What are they…? Manacles… Can’t you tell by looking…?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

Gilbert had absolutely no idea what point there was in making him play chess while manacled.

However, looking satisfied, Vincent returned to the sofa where he’d been reclining.

As he sat back down on the sofa, he spoke, sounding entertained:

“They suit you very well, Gil… You, who’s trapped by the chain of ‘loyalty to your master’…”

“!”

His little brother had intentionally phrased that to rub him the wrong way, and for a moment, Gilbert came very near to losing control.

…But he held on. If he took his brother’s teasing at face value, he’d never last.

Gilbert drew a long breath, then let it out, calming himself down. Then he turned a look that was nearly a glare on Vincent. “And anyway…” he managed. He sounded disgusted.

“Why do you even have these? What lousy taste…”

“They were a present. Apparently they’re used rather frequently among the nobility.”

“Used…? For what?”

He didn’t get it. As Gilbert cocked his head, perplexed, Vincent spoke, his expression cheerful and twinkling:

“I think it’s probably better if you don’t know, Gil…”

“!?” Gilbert shuddered, mutely.

Something it was better for him not to know. He didn’t know what it was, but just the way his brother spoke was enough to make him blanch and sink into the sofa.

The manacles—which were only binding his wrists, after all—had started to seem like a filthy “cursed item.” He wanted them off so badly he couldn’t stand it. When, just to be sure, he asked whether Vincent would remove them once they’d finished their match, Vincent answered, “Of course.”

Gilbert felt slightly relieved. In that case, he’d just finish the match as quickly as possible.

If it doesn’t matter whether I win or lose, I could lose on purpose and end it quickly—

As Gilbert’s thoughts turned in that direction, Vincent stretched out a hand from the sofa to the chessboard and picked up a single white piece. Gilbert thought he’d begun the match without warning, but Vincent didn’t move the piece on the board. Instead, he casually tossed it to the floor.

Vincent picked up piece after piece, letting them fall to the floor, until at last the only white pieces left on the board were the king and queen.

“Because I know you probably aren’t a regular chess player, Gil…”

“You’re…going to go easy on me?”

“Mm-hmm… In return, matches with nothing at stake are boring, so…”

“Wh-what?”

The original story had been that all he had to do was be his chess partner, but then the manacles had come out… What was next? Gilbert steeled himself. Clink— went the chain on the manacles.

Vincent’s lips wore an angelically innocent, sadistic smile.

“If you lose…you’ll speak ill of your master. Of Oz-kun.

“That’s simple, isn’t it?” Vincent said.

5

“—I can’t. I can’t play chess.”

Gilbert answered immediately. He looked Vincent squarely in the face.

He’d answered without any hesitation, and Vincent seemed slightly mystified. Then he giggled.

“It’s all right, I won’t tell anyone. He’ll never know what you said here…”

“That’s not the problem.”

Again, he answered without pausing for even a few seconds. Gilbert’s voice and expression were resolute. Then he added, “Ask for something else, Vince.” “Well, well…” Vincent murmured.

“Such integrity… You think a lot of your master, don’t you, Gil… Ah, or else…”

Still smiling, Vincent reached out toward the chessboard and continued:

“Could it be you don’t think you can win, even with this many pieces gone…?”

“It’s not about winning or losing. Besides, even if I lost, I wouldn’t say it.”

Gilbert’s voice was stubborn. “Hmm…” Vincent said. It wasn’t possible to read any emotion in his response.

Then:

“In that case—”

Only two of the white army’s pieces remained on the chessboard. Vincent picked up one of them, the queen, and threw it onto the floor. Then, in tones of exaggerated kindness, he pointed out that the king was the only piece he had left.

In chess, the player whose king is taken loses. The white king no longer had any pieces to protect it.

“All you have to do is win, Gil… See? With a setup like this, you have an overwhelming advantage…”

His little brother was beaming at him, but Gilbert said, “No, that’s not it,” and shook his head in refusal. Then:

“Betting my master in a game in the first place—that would be true betrayal.”

And so he couldn’t accept this chess match.

No matter what.

At Gilbert’s words, Vincent fell silent. His smile disappeared, and his face grew cold and expressionless. However, that lack of expression held a shadow. Some sort of venomous emotion seemed to lurk behind it.

“Heh-heh, honestly…”

But Vincent soon changed completely, breaking into a gentle smile.

“You’re so stubborn, Gil… Not that I didn’t know…”

“…I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine… In that case, you think of the next one, all right…?”

Vincent tilted his head as he made his request, presuming on Gilbert’s goodwill like the younger sibling he was. “Huh?” Gilbert said. His eyes went wide.

Vincent told him he’d made several proposals of his own. They’d all been turned down, and now he was out of ideas. At that, Gilbert grew a bit flustered.

“I-I wouldn’t know what to—”

“I’m fine, you know… You don’t have to do anything at all. You were the one who brought it up, Gil…”

When confronted with that, Gilbert had no way to argue.

That said, forced to think about it suddenly this way, he had no idea what would count as compensation. He hadn’t been able to tell what Vincent really wanted from their conversation up to this point. He felt like sighing. Simply being called to the Nightray manor on a pointless errand had been enough to depress him, and now this…

He’d meant to head straight back to Pandora Headquarters. He’d never imagined something like this would come up.

Ahh, this really isn’t my lucky day…

Gilbert remembered the newspaper he’d read at breakfast that morning.

That article in the divination corner.

YOUR LUCK IS OFF THE CHARTS TODAY! EVERYTHING YOU MAKE OR DO WILL GO WELL—

The second after he’d skimmed the article, he’d taken a mouthful of black tea he’d accidentally salted instead of sugared, and had choked in a big way.

What fantastic luck?! he’d fumed.

You couldn’t believe a word of anything printed in the divination corner.

“Go on, Gil. Hurry… Hurry…”

As his brother urged him on, smiling drowsily, he started to feel a bit irritated. It was rather late now, but he was sure. His little brother didn’t want him to make amends. He didn’t want to be consoled.

He was just having fun making trouble for him.

That certainty changed Gilbert’s irritation into exasperation.

If that’s how it is… I’ll do it!

Gilbert stood; his cheeks were flushed. He ordered Vincent to stand, too. Vincent got up from the sofa; he seemed to be looking forward to finding out what Gilbert would do.

The divination article had risen in Gilbert’s mind. The article had held these words, too: ON A DAY LIKE THIS, IT MIGHT BE GOOD TO ATTEMPT SOMETHING YOU DON’T USUALLY DO. Gilbert was more than half desperate. He felt he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

“Have you made up your mind, Gil…?” Vincent was beaming.

“Yeah,” Gilbert answered in a low voice.

And then:

Attempt something I don’t usually do?! Well, that would be this—!

Gilbert launched himself at Vincent, closing the gap between them. Just before he reached the startled Vincent, he raised his manacled hands high. He brought the ring the chain made of his arms down over Vincent’s head, his shoulders, trapping his little brother—

It was a surprise attack. An inescapably strong hug.

It was the first time Gilbert had made the first move in as long as he could remember. His little brother’s body was still slender, even in adulthood.

Just as Gilbert tightened the arms he’d passed around Vincent’s back…

“……………………!!”

He heard Vincent gasp sharply. He felt his little brother freeze up in his arms.

In the instant he was hugged, Vincent’s expression twisted into something very ugly.

However.

Gilbert, who was hugging his little brother tightly, his face buried in his shoulder, didn’t see it.

6

Child of ill omen.

He’d thought the idea that those with red eyes heralded disasters was a pointless, unfounded superstition.

However, for just one person, Vincent thought he really had been a “child of ill omen” who’d brought down disaster.

For his brother Gilbert, who’d protected him, been wounded, and suffered constantly.

“Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere.”

That was what his brother would say to him, long ago, kindly and firmly, whenever he left him.

Vincent knew. He knew the feelings hidden behind those words, the feelings his brother hadn’t been able to hide completely.

“Don’t worry.”

He knew which of them was really worried.

“I won’t go anywhere.”

He knew which of them that reminder was directed at.

Those words were a knife.

They were a knife his big brother pointed at himself as he wavered between feelings of being able to breathe freely if he abandoned his little brother, and of being unable to leave the little brother who depended on him.

They had been his brother’s naiveté, his kindness, and he’d clung to them.

But, Vincent thought. Even without wielding that knife, his brother probably wouldn’t have left him. He probably couldn’t have. His big brother wanted someone who depended on him, someone who needed him.

It was his weakness, the flaw in his heart, and, with his young instincts, he’d taken advantage of it.

His brother’s desire to be needed was so strong it could have been called a curse.

Yes. Those manacles…

They really did suit his big brother.

“What’re you grinning about? That’s seriously creepy.”

It was several hours after Gilbert had made his escape from Vincent’s room and left the main residence.

Vincent lay sprawled on a sofa. It was his visitor, a woman, who’d spoken. She had an impish air about her, and she’d casually flung aside a robe that could easily have enveloped her from head to toe that she had worn over provocative clothes with a plunging neckline.

She was holding a white cat, stroking its head. She said she’d picked it up on her way to the Nightray manor.

Vincent had the feeling he’d seen the cat somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where.

“Did something nice happen, Vince, my boy?”

“Mm, yes, well…”

Answering languidly, Vincent sat up, turning a vague, dreamy smile on the woman.

Her name was Lottie.

She was one of the Baskervilles, a group that was at total war with Pandora, the organization with which Vincent was affiliated.

Echo was standing in the room, by the wall, but Lottie paid no attention to her. It was as though she felt there was nothing there at all, as far as she was concerned. Either that or she was ignoring her, as if she was no more than a doll that had been placed there.

Vincent continued, cheerfully.

“Someone sent me a tasteless vase today, and I was annoyed, but…”

He’d told Gilbert it was important, but he’d been meaning to throw it out anyway. It was true that the woman who’d sent it to him had feelings for him, but he’d won her over long ago and had her wrapped around his little finger. If he’d broken it, she’d never have complained.

However, even that piece of rubbish had given him a way to play with Gilbert.

It might have been coincidence, or possibly good luck, that he’d happened to be holding a vase he was planning to throw away when he called to Gilbert.

And besides…

“Thanks to that, I remembered…”

There was no logical connection between his sentences, and Lottie looked as though they made absolutely no sense to her. “Huh?”

He didn’t mind if she didn’t understand.

Vincent had spoken in Lottie’s direction, but he was very nearly talking to himself.

“I remembered… No, that isn’t quite right. I’d never forgotten…”

The chill that had run through his entire body when Gilbert had hugged him. The nausea, the violent feeling of rejection. He’d pushed at Gilbert’s chest involuntarily, trying to shove him away, but Gilbert’s arms had been linked by the manacles, and they were a solid circle. They wouldn’t let him escape.

…And so he’d called to Echo, sharply. Echo had severed the chain on the manacles with a blade she’d had up her sleeve, freeing Vincent.

He really had thought he’d throw up. All because Gilbert had touched him.

Managing a smile with difficulty, he chased Gilbert from the room, telling him that was enough. Bewildered by his brother’s reaction, Gilbert had left.

He could catch his older brother when he was running away from him, but he couldn’t accept it when his brother approached him.

Never.

To the point where he felt physical, visceral rejection.

“Today was my lucky day…”

“Oh it was, huh? That’s great! Not that I have any idea what you’re talking about!”

Lottie sounded disgusted. Vincent just smiled at her.

No, he’d never forgotten.

What filthy, cowardly, unfair, villainous things he thought he could do for Gilbert’s sake. How unforgivable he thought it was for Gilbert to touch a body as impossibly soiled and cursed as his.

Today really is a lucky day…

Because he’d been able to reaffirm that with unexpected force.

“All right, Lottie. Shall we begin? There’s intrigue to discuss…”

When he spoke to her, Lottie’s irritated expression dissolved into a cruel smile.

Vincent smiled back, faintly.

Just wait, Gil… I’ll give you a life of happiness…

It was all for that. Only for that.

A world where Gil’s child of ill omen doesn’t exist. A world where I never existed.

Everything was for that alone.

7

About that time.

Back at Pandora Headquarters, Gilbert was in the drawing room, playing chess with Oz. Oz had suggested it, as a way to kill time until dinner. In contrast to Oz, who was glaring cheerfully and earnestly at the chessboard, Gilbert was rather absentminded.

When I acted the way the fortune said to, Vince let me go… Does that mean it was on target after all?

Then he thought back to how his brother had reacted when he’d hugged him.

Was Vince embarrassed? Was that why? W-well, it was sudden, after all—

Thinking about it embarrassed him all over again, and his face flushed a bit. Just then, Oz spoke to him reproachfully: “You’re thinking about something else, aren’t you, Gil?” “Sorry,” he answered, hastily yanking his attention back to the chess match in front of him.

They’d only just begun the game, but on the chessboard, Gilbert’s side was disastrously outnumbered.

“If you’re thaaaaaat not into this, Gil, I’m not showing you any mercy!”

Oz picked up a knight, raised his hand high, and set the piece down on the board with a loud clack.

“—And checkmate! ”

Gilbert examined the chessboard. His king was surrounded by Oz’s forces, completely trapped. He’d been pushed hard the entire match and ended up losing dismally. It was a natural result: He wasn’t good to begin with, and he hadn’t been concentrating on the game.

Meekly admitting his loss, Gilbert bowed his head. Sounding a little disgusted, Oz said, “Man, you’re weak, Gil.” Gilbert couldn’t help but smile wryly.

He thought of what had happened in Vincent’s room and silently murmured, “I really am. …You’re right. I am. I’m glad I didn’t do it.”

At his words, Oz—who didn’t know the circumstances—looked at him blankly.

~ Fin ~