“... …Ah… it’s noisy…”
This time it was a muttered soliloquy.
Christoph clicked his tongue and muttered anxiously before suddenly kicking off the covers and getting out of bed. Immediately, he headed into the bathroom. The sound of rushing water followed.
“...”
Jung Tae-ui stared at the open bathroom door for a while.
He briefly frowned but then sighed and relaxed his expression.
Since he seemed to have woken up, maybe it was time to leave. Still, as he tidied the blanket half-fallen from the bed, making the bed neatly, Christoph emerged shortly, lightly splashed with water.
Ignoring the water dripping from his body, he only dried his hair with a towel and walked straight to the wardrobe.
“You usually don’t get up until late, near noon, but what’s with getting up this early today?”
Though it had only been a few days since Jung Tae-ui’s arrival, Christoph had been getting up late almost every day.
In contrast, the ever-diligent Reinhardt woke up early every day. When Jung Tae-ui opened the window to air the room around five or six in the morning, he could see Reinhardt jogging below, already returning.
—Even before being selected as heirs, those two were entirely different types. Christoph was a genius type, Reinhardt was the diligent type.
Yohan’s murmured words came to mind.
As he said, Reinhardt was an incredible hard worker, rumored to sleep barely a few hours a day.
Even Jung Tae-ui, new here, could tell he was earnest in all things.
Today too, when Jung Tae-ui came to wake Christoph, Reinhardt was already dressed neatly and leaving the West Wing. Rumors swirled that he was going to inspect a business with a VIP staying in the East Wing—a guest who could influence the succession decision. There was talk that Reinhardt was trying to curry favor, but Jung Tae-ui paid no heed; he didn’t seem like that kind of man. Character can be faked, but diligence cannot.
Thinking about Christoph who refused to leave bed till midday, Jung Tae-ui sighed unintentionally and startled when he realized he had sighed.
After only meeting a few times, he was somehow emotionally supporting Christoph—though he had promised to stay neutral and only find the books.
Jung Tae-ui looked at Christoph standing before the wardrobe, troubled and staring at the underwear basket. Waking this early was surprising, but considering Reinhardt had already left fully prepared, Jung Tae-ui found it hard to praise Christoph as diligent even in jest.
“I have to teach the kids.”
“...What?”
Jung Tae-ui stared blankly, thinking what Christoph had said. Realizing it was the answer to his question, he doubted his ears.
Whoever said it, such a sudden remark was puzzling, but coming from this man, it was even more bewildering.
He said he taught the kids. Christoph Tarten.
“What kids?”
“The kids of this house.”
“The kids of this house? Who are they... and why are you teaching? And more importantly, who let you teach that?”
Christoph, having carefully picked out his underwear, looked at Jung Tae-ui coldly.
“What do you want to say?”
“I want to say that people have work suited for them and work not suited.”
“If anyone in this house knows more than me about information warfare and cryptanalysis, I’d gladly hand it over anytime.”
Christoph said this with a displeased expression, clearly showing he didn’t want to be involved, then put on his underwear. Then he glared at the pants hanging nearby.
“...Does Tarten even teach kids that kind of stuff?”
“Not all. Only those with potential to inherit this house in the generation after next get that service.” Get faster updates on g.com.
Jung Tae-ui started to say something but stopped and nodded in understanding.
He had heard that a few succession candidates are chosen as children to receive maximal education and support.
Still, despite nodding, he felt skeptical and looked at Christoph with wide-open eyes.
He remembered his uncle had said this man excelled in some ways beyond Jung Jae-ui.
Jung Tae-ui scratched his head. People are really unpredictable.
“Don’t teach the kids anything weird…”
Jung Tae-ui joked, but with some seriousness. Christoph, now pondering which shirt to wear after choosing pants, glanced sideways at him. Suddenly a faint gleam of pleasure lit in his eyes.
“If they don’t understand even one thing properly, you have to teach them a lesson until they cry their eyes out.”
Whatever thought struck him, Christoph suddenly began humming cheerfully.
The sudden change from a man who just looked utterly annoyed was striking.
“Why do you want to torment the kids?”
“There’s a son who looks exactly like Reinhardt mixed in.”
The wicked smile in his words left Jung Tae-ui speechless for two reasons.
First, the childish spite of an adult sulking over the son of a hated person was surprising, and second, the fact Reinhardt had a son was shocking—he thought all the young people in the West Wing were unmarried.
“Married?!”
“Not just married, but divorced too.”
Speaking of another’s misfortune in an oddly casual tone—perhaps even savoring it a bit—Christoph picked out a wine-colored knit shirt.
Jung Tae-ui stared blankly, almost dazed.
Not just social status and diligence, but marriage, divorce, children, and so on...
Though Jung Tae-ui lacked competitive spirit, he felt very behind as a man and opened his mouth in surprise, muttering without realizing it,
“But you probably never experienced being targeted by a lunatic like me, becoming a terrorist, and being imprisoned long-term.”
After saying that confidently, he quietly sank to the floor after a second.
Saying it made him feel even more frustrated.
Christoph’s gaze, quietly watching from beside, felt sharp. He thought it was the look of a ridiculous fool, but it was surprisingly one of sympathy and consolation.
“That’s much better than divorcing because your wife couldn’t endure your perversion.”
“...What’s that supposed to mean...”
Still muttering with his face in his knees, Jung Tae-ui was already bitter. The idea of that nice and diligent Reinhardt and the word “perversion” felt completely disconnected to him, and his twisted mind shouted loudly, “If I were to run away from that perversion, I’d have to risk my life.”
Unaware of Jung Tae-ui’s distress, Christoph finished dressing and nonchalantly tidied his shirt cuff.
“Live hard and do your best. Rick’s got good conditions too. Good looks, lots of money, strong, and being with him lets you laugh off most things, right?”
“...Think about the hardships to get there…”
Jung Tae-ui muttered gloomily. Life suddenly seemed bleak. Or rather, it had always been bleak, but he’d forgotten for a while and now was reminded.
Scratching the floor with his nails, lamenting reality, he suddenly realized Christoph had remained motionless beside him.
Today too, the perfectly dressed statue was watching him.
“...Wanna come to me?”
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Not knowing what he’d heard or what it meant, Jung Tae-ui blurted out an unintelligible word.
Christoph’s expression stayed blank but his mouth twitched slightly. It wasn’t displeasure but awkwardness. After a brief silence, he spoke.
“Rick’s not the type to cling to things or people much. He’s happily handed over people who stayed with me for a few days to his colleagues before. So if I say the right thing, he might send them to me. ...If you want, I could arrange that.”
Jung Tae-ui stared vacantly. Christoph looked steadily at him, then opened a drawer in the wardrobe and pulled out cufflinks. Fiddling with his sleeves, he muttered, “If you don’t want, forget it.” His tone was utterly indifferent.
Jung Tae-ui quietly watched him and sighed shortly. Then with an ‘oh well’, he stood up, scratching his head with a sigh.
“Before teaching the kids, you should first...”
Christoph looked at him with a puzzled face as Jung Tae-ui muttered and sighed. Jung Tae-ui sighed again.
He thought he might now understand the subtle discomfort he’d vaguely felt.
This man didn’t know how to express his goodwill. Perhaps he rarely had the chance. Having lived alone without mingling with anyone.
“Yeah, just talk properly later.”
Jung Tae-ui shrugged. He didn’t have any thoughts of leaving or going anywhere but somehow felt like a cat expecting praise after catching a cricket in front of him.
He wanted to reach out and stroke those shining white hairs, but the moment before his hand touched the face that grew cold at others’ touch, he stopped.
Christoph muttered ‘hmm’ and withdrew his hand from the cufflink.
Even dressed perfectly in clothes that would make him shine despite wearing rags, he stood there.
Like an angel—Jung Tae-ui almost murmured but stopped, realizing how embarrassing the phrase was.
Sometimes people doubt their past.
Looking back, it’s unimaginable how they said or did certain things at the time.
Usually, that doubt comes with regret.
Jung Tae-ui felt that doubt in this very moment.
“How on earth did I ever think that face looked angelic, even for a moment?!”
His rough muttered words echoed hollowly in the room, along with swirling dust.
The dust danced in his breath and floated from the bookshelves to settle on his eyebrows and above his lips.
He wiped the dust off with the back of his hand but only smeared the dust more, which had already coated his hand in a layer.
“Ugh, my eyes sting…”
He probably got dust in his eyes. Pretending to sob, he rubbed the back of his hand on his pants and wiped his eyes, though it was pointless—there was no one else in the room.
Only Jung Tae-ui and the book-filled shelves.
Just the two of them.
Yet those shelves—if exaggerated a little—filled this room as if it were a stadium.
With books stuffed irregularly and haphazardly without any order, Jung Tae-ui was organizing them.
In his hand was a note with the Dewey Decimal Classification Christoph had given him.
“The connection between the Hundred Years’ War and the Wars of the Roses... This must be 900 history. So here. Next, the riddle of mythology. This should be religion, 200... No, if the author is Will Clander, it must be humanities, then 300 social sciences? Damn, I should’ve read it first to know.”
Jung Tae-ui impatiently flipped the pages, glaring at the lines. Muttering “Social sciences,” he gloomily shelved it in the 300s.
He kept doing this all afternoon.
“I thought only my uncle and Kyle were crazy about this stuff, but this guy takes it even further... Freud’s understanding of religion and the aesthetic consideration of psychoanalysis... This is driving me crazy. Where should I classify this?”