Chapter 15 - Parallel Lines

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

And, as I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters.

A boy on the brink of adulthood ruffled his short, soft curls while reclining on a lounge chair facing the sea. His left leg was pulled up to his chest, while his right leg sprawled across his seat. Before him lay six photographs.

 

Tomorrow marked his eighteenth birthday. According to tradition, he had to choose one of the boys in the photos to be his "watchdog." A flattering term for what was essentially a human shield—a tool to kill for him and take bullets in his stead.

 

The entire ordeal left him disinterested. Why hide behind someone else when he preferred to fight his own battles? Whether it was toppling a rival or seizing a prize, relying on anything other than his own strength felt utterly meaningless.

 

"She*." A sweet, melodic voice called out from behind him. Without turning, the boy lazily raised a hand in greeting.

 

[T/N: Here, they're using the "she" from "Tengshe" to address him, and it can directly translate to Snake.]

 

"What are you up to?"

 

A soft body draped over his back, and slender, pale hands looped around his neck. The scent of the girl's sugary perfume quickly filled the air around him.

 

"Finished your lessons?" he asked, letting her cling to him without shifting his focus from the photos.

 

"Mm-hmm. Today's lesson was boring, so I... got rid of the teacher. Such an idiot. How could someone so incompetent think they could teach me anything?" Her lips, a delicate shade of pink, brushed his ear with every word, leaving faint traces of warmth against his sun-bronzed skin.

 

"Oh?" His response was indifferent, showing no curiosity about what she might have done to the unfortunate instructor.

 

In their world, violence, scheming, and power struggles were the norm. He didn't dislike it, but he had no inclination to discuss it.

 

"You'll be eighteen tomorrow!" Unfazed by his cold demeanor, she continued to chatter, her arms still draped around his neck. "Do you want anything for your birthday? Let's go to the villa for a vacation, okay?"

 

"Sara." He ruffled his hair again, its soft strands picking up the salty tang of the sea breeze. "I'm going to study in America. I'll probably be there for a while."

 

"Why? You already got into Bologna*! Why would you go to America?" Her hands tightened around his neck, and she struck his relaxed shoulder in frustration.

 

[T/N: Bologna is the capital and largest city of the Emilia-Romagna region in northern Italy.]

 

It hurt—especially since his shoulder still bore bruises from a recent fight—but he only raised an eyebrow. "Because I don't want to stay in Italy."

 

A gust of wind followed, and instinctively, he rolled off the chair, dodging the kick she had aimed at him.

 

"Strawberry-print panties today, huh? Sara, you're old enough to consider wearing something more seductive," he teased with a smirk.

 

"You jerk! Don't look at my underwear!" Her face flushed crimson as she hastily lowered her leg and clutched at her skirt, her violet eyes glaring daggers at him. "I won't let you go to America! No heir candidate can leave Italy!"

 

"Grandfather approved it. If you don't like it, you can complain to him. I don't mind." Rising to his feet, he dusted off his pants and began walking away, leaving the photos behind.

 

Sara cast a glance at the six photos on the chair before biting her lip and grabbing his hand. Her violet eyes glistened with determination as she stared into his reddish-brown gaze. "Who are you choosing? I know all six of them. Number 4 is the best."

 

"Why?" He didn't stop walking, forcing her to follow as she clung to his hand.

 

"I've seen their freestyle fights. Number 4 won eight matches in a row." Half-draped over him now, she clung tighter as they walked.

 

"I don't plan to choose any of them." When they reached the study, he finally halted, attempting to shake off her grip, but she held firm.

 

"She, you're so strange! Leaving Italy, ignoring the other candidates—how can Grandfather let you get away with this?"

 

"If you've got a problem, take it up with Grandfather." He tugged at his arm again, but she only tightened her hold.

 

"Tell me, who are you choosing? One day, we'll be enemies, but I don't want you to lose unfairly." Her soft pink lips trembled as she spoke, her lashes quivering slightly. She glared at him with a mix of stubbornness and concern.

 

"Sara." With a sharp movement, he freed himself from her grasp, his eyebrows arching into a confident smile. "It's none of your business. You'll find out tomorrow."

 

"Is it Fitch?" Her voice wavered as she stared at her now-empty hand. "Tengshe, tell me—is it Fitch?"

 

"What if it is?" he replied nonchalantly, his crimson-brown eyes flicking toward her before turning back to browse the bookshelves.

 

"Why would you choose him? He's not even on the candidate list! You can't keep protecting him!" Sara's voice broke with frustration as she grabbed his shoulders, trying to force him to face her.

 

Tengshe sidestepped effortlessly, leaning against the bookshelf with a wry smirk. His crimson-brown eyes glinted with a spark of amusement. "Sara, why do you care so much about my choices? Didn't Taotie also pick someone off the list?"

 

Sara flushed scarlet, biting her lip fiercely. "Taotie's watchdog proved himself. Fitch has nothing but blind admiration for you—he has no redeeming qualities! He should've been discarded, but you intervened!"

 

"I don't need someone to fight for me," Tengshe said dismissively, running a hand through his short, tousled curls. With a languid yawn, he added with a malicious curve to his lips, "I take what I want, and I don't bother keeping what I don't."

 

"What are you trying to say?" Sara's violet eyes widened slightly, her disheveled expression sharpening with a touch of ferocity.

 

Tengshe chuckled quietly, his gaze sliding past Sara to the study's doorway. "Fitch, what is it?"

 

Sara whipped around, and sure enough, a slender boy stood hesitantly at the door. His golden hair shimmered like sunlight, and his amber eyes gleamed with a childlike terror as he shrank behind the grand walnut door.

 

"M-Master, are you going to abandon me?" Fitch's large eyes glistened with tears on the verge of spilling over. He clung desperately to the doorframe, his small fingers turning white.

 

"Come here," Tengshe said, extending his hand. Sara narrowed her eyes menacingly, her hands curling into tight fists at her sides.

 

"Master, I'll work hard! Please don't abandon me!" Fitch's frail body finally stepped out from behind the door, his tears falling freely as he ran to Tengshe.

 

"Tengshe, think carefully! One day, we'll all compete for Grandfather's position. You need a capable ally, not a burden!" Sara exclaimed, her voice trembling with anger.

 

"Sara, Fitch is only eight years old. Don't be so harsh on him." Tengshe beckoned Fitch forward, and the boy threw himself into his arms, clinging to his leg like a lifeline.

 

"I'll work hard! I'll learn to kill, to protect you—please trust me!" Fitch sobbed uncontrollably, his small body trembling. Tengshe didn't console him but instead ran his fingers through the boy's golden hair with a faint smile.

 

"Tengshe, what are you thinking?" Sara gritted her teeth, clutching her forehead in exasperation.

 

"I simply made a promise." Tengshe gazed down at Fitch, who was clutching his leg and crying earnestly. After a moment's hesitation, he gently patted the boy's trembling back.

 

That had been eleven years ago. The entire family had questioned his decision to choose Fitch, except for his Grandfather, who merely chuckled indulgently and allowed Tengshe his defiance of tradition.

 

Tengshe Brelini exhaled the smoke from his cigarette, his reflection staring back at him from the mirror. His hair was the same short, wavy style it had been for decades, but now, a beard obscured much of his face.

 

Scratching his rough chin, he let out a low chuckle.

 

How long had it been since he'd last seen Sara? They'd met a few times during his first two years in America after his eighteenth birthday, but not since.

 

That bullet—had it been a failed attempt to kill him, or a deliberate move to protect him by targeting the freckled waitress? For the past couple of years, he'd always dined at the same restaurant, served by the same waitress—a girl with strawberry-red hair, blue eyes, and freckles on her cheeks. Her radiant smile had the warmth of sunlight.

 

He had never seen Zhuque's watchdog. By then, he'd already left Italy. Yet, lying low for years only to strike when the moment was right—that was undeniably Zhuque's style.

 

Tengshe scoffed at his own carelessness. He knew well enough that his grandfather's health had been deteriorating over the years and that the family elders were preparing for a transition of power. Yet, he had allowed himself to sink into the comforts of his American life.

 

Fitch had worked hard, mastering combat and killing techniques, even resolving a few troublesome matters for him. But… staring at the man in the mirror, Tengshe squinted. Those blood-red, rust-brown eyes refused to let him escape his own reflection.

 

Being a scholar had its appeal, but the violent, cutthroat world he came from was not without its own twisted charm either.

 

"Master?" A tentative voice broke through his thoughts. Despite nearing twenty, Fitch's voice remained soft and sweet, like a gentle thread of silk.

 

"Hm?" Tengshe stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray by the sink before turning around, his arms folded as he watched Fitch with a teasing smile.

 

"Do you… like that lawyer?" Fitch hesitated, clearly grappling with whether to ask. His head hung low, hands clasped tightly in front of him, shaking ever so slightly.

 

"Why do you ask that? He's just a lawyer." Tengshe's smile deepened. He did like that man, if he was honest. Watching the fire simmer beneath that calm, gentlemanly exterior, completely unaware of his own charm—it was endlessly amusing.

 

He'd always enjoyed this kind of entertainment.

 

"Are you going to abandon Fitch?" Lifting his head abruptly, Fitch's amber eyes overflowed with tears. He quickly ducked his head again, as if to hide his vulnerability. "I didn't win today… but if I had, would you have been even angrier?"

 

"It doesn't matter." Tengshe's tone was indifferent. What he desired, he would claim for himself. Everything else was just a pastime. "I won't abandon you. That was a promise I made fifteen years ago."

 

He had sworn it to his gravely injured father, vowing to shoulder this responsibility, no matter the cost—to protect Fitch.

 

"And if there hadn't been that promise?"

 

"Fitch, you need to learn that some questions shouldn't be asked." Tengshe exhaled, smiling as he reached out his hand.

 

Fitch threw himself into Tengshe's arms like a kitten, pressing his face into Tengshe's neck and nuzzling close.

 

Father, I've always kept my promise, haven't I?

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