Boss, Does Being a Pretty Vase Really Work? - Chapter 4

I had been living in the town for a week.

By day, I was an ordinary carpenter.

At night, Holt would invent some excuse to carry me away, pin me down in a corner of his villa, and have his way with me over and over.

…He was a walking sex fiend.

Stranger still, every time Holt took me home, I somehow ran into Percy, who had yet to fall asleep. He would always find one excuse or another to make me share his bed.

Tonight, Percy spoke without warning.

“Brother, you haven’t given me a good-night kiss in a long time.”

I froze midway through secretly rubbing my aching waist, then looked away in embarrassment. “You’re a grown man. Why do you still need a good-night kiss from your brother?”

Percy said nothing.

He simply watched me in silence. The longer he stared, the colder my back became. I tried to ignore the goose bumps covering me, but it felt as though an invisible thread were stretched to its breaking point—and I doubted I could endure the consequences if it snapped.

I spoke very quickly. “Can I kiss your forehead?”

The cold in the room suddenly stilled.

Percy smiled with perfect innocence. Tilting his head, he said in a pure, guileless voice, “But you used to kiss me here.”

One long, pale finger touched his full lips. Expectation filled Percy’s cool, clear eyes.

…Excuse me?

Were brothers allowed to be this intimate?!

But I did not dare hesitate. I was afraid Percy would suddenly go mad again and produce some weapon from nowhere, as he had last time. A carpenter’s shop was already full of potential murder weapons.

I hurriedly rose onto my toes and brushed Percy’s lips with a featherlight kiss.

Before I could retreat, he seized the back of my head and pried my mouth open with savage force. The assaulting kiss went far beyond anything normal between brothers, and I nearly suffocated.

While he kissed me senseless, Percy grabbed my hand.

Something scalding, about the size and shape of a water bottle, suddenly filled my palm. Instinctively, I tightened my grip. When my sluggish mind caught up, I tried to fling it away.

I failed.

In a wheedling, almost aggrieved voice, Percy said, “Brother, it hurts so much… You haven’t helped me with your own hand in ages. Help me again, please?”

I tried to work out whether there was any truth in his complaint, but my oxygen-starved mind was blank.

By the time my senses returned, Percy had already wrapped his hand fondly around my wrist and begun.

…

At the first gray light of dawn, I was on the verge of sleep. Percy stared down at me as my eyes drifted shut in his arms, then said without warning, “Brother, someone died.”

The victim was another unlucky player transported into the game.

The known players in town had been assigned all kinds of occupations—farmer, butcher, newsboy, apothecary, and more. Several simulation routes ran through the town at once.

The player who died before dawn had been the butcher.

According to players who knew him, the psychological pressure of entering a horror game had driven him to drink all day, every day. Last night, staggering home drunk, he had been unable to resist dragging a woman off the street back with him.

The next morning, the butcher was found dead in his pigsty.

A knife protruded from the center of his chest. His eyes bulged in futile rage, his body was a bloody ruin, and no one knew which pig had eaten the miserable scrap of flesh between his legs.

The woman who had gone home with him was scarcely better off. She had been driven out of her mind and was eventually sent to the hospital by the town’s kindly residents.

…

I stood a short distance from the crime scene, unable to keep the blood from draining out of my face.

The sole condition for escaping the game was identifying the killer, but this town had more than five thousand residents. I did not have a single lead.

Other players hurried over after hearing the news. Once they saw the scene, despair filled their faces; each feared they would be next.

In truth, they did not need to be quite so afraid, provided they had committed no transgression.

Unlike me…

I had slept with Holt on my very first night.

Distracted, I stared at the white sheet covering the butcher while my thoughts tangled hopelessly together. Then I caught sight of Holt leading the police investigation.

When he noticed my pallor, something complex and deeply concealed crossed his eyes. I could not be certain it was concern.

I pressed my lips together and turned away. If the other players discovered what was happening between Holt and me, I might die even sooner.

I had not gone far when someone passing by bumped my shoulder. By the time I reacted, a folded note lay in my palm.

After rounding a corner, I opened it without attracting attention.

[I’ll send more men to patrol around Oak Street. Don’t be afraid, Chen. I’ll protect you.]

My heart, frantic with fear, skipped uncontrollably, then slowly calmed. I pressed my lips together, their corners lifting by the faintest degree.

The feeling did not last.

When I returned to the shop, I found an unexpected visitor waiting for me.