TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 25

Albin’s mind was a chaotic mess.

He couldn’t understand why someone would impersonate his father, nor could he figure out why he felt the person resembled his older brother.

It was so strange.

Where had his real father gone?

How could his brother possibly appear in this world?

Perhaps it was just an impersonator who somewhat resembled his brother, or… maybe he was dreaming?

His thoughts were jumbled as he gazed at the person eating in the same manner as him.

The way he held the spoon, the way he drank the porridge, the absent look in his eyes when he was daydreaming, the slight furrow of his brows when he drank sheep’s milk, disliking its gamey taste…

The more he looked, the more it seemed like his brother.

That was exactly how his brother used to be. Although there were some foods he didn’t like, he would still eat them without objection, as though he couldn’t be bothered to react, or didn’t even realize he disliked them, not knowing he should resist.

In short, he was a slow-witted fool!

Always nonchalant, “Anything is fine,” indifferent to everything, with a neutral expression. You could poke him, and there wouldn’t be any emotional fluctuation. His favorite activities were sleeping and staring off into space.

Albin used to worry so much about his brother, always afraid that others might take advantage of him.

But it got better over time. When he was younger, he liked to monopolize the TV to watch cartoons, and his brother was always dragged along to watch with him.

Whenever Albin was emotionally moved or fired up about a plot, his brother would analyze the characters’ reactions, breaking them down one by one. Over time, he mastered the patterns and started predicting character reactions. He even began exploring more works, developing his own preferences, and made some enthusiastic online friends.

Unfortunately, his brother never mentioned the characters he liked. Albin only found out on the last day, when the mermaid cosplayer sister casually mentioned that his brother had a favorite character.

If he had known sooner, he would have watched Fatum more times and discussed it with his brother.

Speaking of which, what kind of person was the “Albin” his brother liked?

It was a meaningless question that would never be answered, but Albin couldn’t help being a bit curious.

Lost in thought, Albin unknowingly chewed on sheep’s milk cheese, and suddenly met the eyes of the person across from him, who seemed displeased with his behavior.

“Why didn’t you feed it to me like last night?” the impersonator asked.

Albin stared in confusion and broke off a piece of cheese to feed him.

The cheese still had a faint gamey taste. If it were his brother, he probably wouldn’t like it, so why was he asking for it?

The impersonator bit down on the cheese, his brows furrowing slightly, though there was still some confusion in his expression.

It was as if he hadn’t received the reward he expected after completing his task.

Albin chuckled and left his seat to sit next to him. He carefully studied his features, kneeling on the nearby chair and propping himself up, poking the impersonator’s cheek.

It really looks just like the real thing. How did they pull this off?

The impersonator turned his face toward him, looking puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

Albin asked bluntly, “Where is my dad?”

The impersonator froze for a moment.

“I am your dad,” he said firmly.

Albin tilted his head, thinking for a moment before asking, “Is this a dream?”

The impersonator eyed him with surprise. “How did you figure that out?”

His ability shouldn’t have been detected by a child.

Once Albin realized it was a dream, he breathed a sigh of relief and smiled mysteriously. “I’m not telling you!”

It must have been because he missed his brother so much that he was having this strange dream.

Perhaps in this life, he could only see his brother in his dreams.

His brother, disguised as his father… It was weird, but somehow it felt interesting to think about.

After all, it was just a dream!

Dreams were always chaotic and nonsensical.

Albin quickly accepted this explanation.

“Since it’s a dream, can I switch the sheep’s milk for cow’s milk?”

“Sure,” the impersonator replied.

Albin took a sip from his cup, and it had indeed turned into cow’s milk.

He happily pushed the cup toward the impersonator and eagerly asked, “I want fried chicken, French fries, hamburgers! Also, sugar-coated haws, hotpot, and spicy snacks!”

The food from this world, while initially interesting, didn’t taste all that different. It was mostly bread, cheese, and bean paste. He missed the delicious food from his previous life.

And fruits!

The fruits here were expensive and lacked sweetness—they were sour and astringent, and it was winter, so they were hard to find.

He longed for the sweet watermelon that his grandmother had cultivated!

The impersonator looked at him with a confused expression.

“What’s that?”

Albin paused.

It seemed his dream brother didn’t know about those things.

“Then… how about apple pie?”

This time, the hard bread on the table turned into a freshly baked, sweet apple pie.

“Brother, I mean, Dad, you should eat too!”

Albin thought to himself that calling the man “Brother” while pretending he was his father was indeed strange.

Since it was a dream, Albin ordered a lot of food and stuffed himself until his stomach was round and full. He satisfied his cravings in the dream.

He collapsed into the impersonator’s arms, asking him to rub his belly.

As he gazed at the happy smile on the impersonator’s face and the bright, cheerful red eyes, it seemed like some sweetness remained in his mouth from the sugar and honey, flowing straight into his heart.

These foods had never seemed special to him before—just sustenance that had to be eaten—but today, they evoked a feeling that was hard to describe.

It was like the warmth of a cozy blanket in the morning, only softer.

He speculated that perhaps that was why the nobility liked to use sugar—to show their status with it.

Was that feeling… pleasure?

He touched the corner of his mouth, realizing he wasn’t smiling.

But if it wasn’t pleasure, then what was this emotion?

He looked at the reflection of Albin in his red-tinted eyes. The white-haired man remained expressionless, with an indifferent look. His disguise didn’t have any flaws.

It seemed that this child truly liked the person he was pretending to be.

This realization stirred something inside him.

The soft feeling quickly faded, replaced by something more sour and astringent, like the taste of wild fruit.

After tasting the apple pie, the flavor felt out of place, stuck in his throat, hard to swallow.

He furrowed his brows but couldn’t understand what this emotion was.

In the same scene, two wildly different emotions suddenly rose in him. Why?

Outside the dream, the dark-haired, handsome youth gazed at the impersonator with growing malice in his eyes.

Mysterious purple pupils narrowed with contemplation.

If he killed this person and controlled their body, would those emotions become his?

–

Inside the dream.

After overeating, Albin took the impersonator out for a walk to help digest. They went to see the sheep.

It was the first time Albin had seen live sheep, and he was so excited, bleating along with them.

Whenever he bleated, the sheep would bleat back, and it felt like a huge encouragement to him, so he called even louder.

A white-haired sheep blended in with the flock, looking like a little lamb in human form.

Watching him with joy, the impersonator asked, “Can you understand what they’re saying?”

There were people in the world who could understand animal speech, like some of the people from the Shepherd’s Temple.

“I can’t understand them, but maybe they can understand me!” Albin said confidently. “See? They’re responding to me!”

Right in front of him, a little lamb jumped high without any running start, almost as if bouncing on a trampoline.

Albin was amazed and started jumping too, though he couldn’t jump as high as the little lamb.

“Meh-meh, it’s so nice to meet you!” He jumped twice, and the little lamb did the same, as if they were having some kind of communication, or maybe competing.

The child and the lamb jumped around until Albin got dizzy. He staggered into the impersonator’s arms.

Now that the spinning had stopped, he still wanted to jump, but his strength was gone. It looked like he was just leaning into the impersonator’s arms, like a dizzy lamb, weak and unable to push back.

The person holding Albin thought to himself, perhaps this was what his emotions felt like.

Albin begged him to turn the winter grass into green grass. He lay down to watch the little lamb munching on the grass, his eyes sparkling.

“So cute!”

He copied the lamb, bending down to nibble on some grass, chewing in sync with it. The fragrance of fresh grass filled his nose. It wasn’t particularly tasty, but the smell was refreshing.

Was it cute?

The impersonator, watching his every move, memorized the word.

To him, it wasn’t the sheep that were cute—it was the child in front of him.

Albin rolled around on the grass. When he saw the impersonator standing still, he rushed over, scattering grass clippings and grinning mischievously.

“Brother…”

Albin sniffed the scent of grass, gazing at the winter scenery around them.

He knew that everything in this dream wasn’t real, but it felt like a reminder that it was just a dream.

“Even if it’s only in a dream, I’m so happy to see you, Brother!”

The impersonator, lying on the grass, suddenly looked at him with great confusion. He opened his mouth, about to correct him, but then saw the almost tearful expression on his face.

“In the next dream, can you come to me as you originally were?” Albin sniffled, holding back tears. “I’m so afraid that one day I’ll forget what you look like…”

—Brother.

That title exploded in the impersonator’s heart.

Countless intense, unprecedented emotions surged through him, like a sudden tsunami, pulling him into the waves.

He clutched his chest, unsure how to face those surging emotions. His hands trembled, and his face showed signs of confusion. His red-tinted eyes started to faintly reveal their original purple color.

A fierce, unfamiliar wave of emotion crashed against him, filling the heart that was usually as calm as an ancient well. It consumed his soul.

He had never felt so unsettled before, unable to analyze those emotions in detail. He glanced at Albin and, as if burned, the water inside him began to boil.

This unfamiliar emotion made him panic, his throat tight, unable to speak a word.

He seemed to flee, suddenly exiting the dream.

An image of intense emotion flashed in his mind.

In a cramped space, like a carriage, a white vehicle flashed red and blue lights, accompanied by the sound of urgent bells.

Inside, a bloodied child lay in a narrow bed, surrounded by various medical instruments. People in white were rushing about.

Someone asked urgently, “What’s the patient’s blood type?”

“Use mine!” He heard his voice trembling. “We have the same blood type. He’s my adopted brother, not my biological one. It’s fine.”

He felt his heart tremble and realized that those were feelings of panic, worry, and fear.

The people in white began to take his blood. He stood by the bed, watching the child struggling for breath.

Beneath the mask, he saw the child’s lips moving, his eyes trying to open a tiny slit.

“Brother… Brother…” the child whispered faintly, struggling to open his eyes.

“I’m here!” He gripped the child’s hand, his calm facade shattered, trembling all over.

The child looked at him weakly, as if sensing the trembling through his own hand.

“Don’t… be sad,” the child said with great difficulty, his voice faint and broken, as if there was something he needed to prove, “Last time I messed up… I was bad… I fought, pretended to be sick… ate secretly…”

It was like he was scolding himself, trying to prove something.

“I’m not good… I’m a bad kid, so Brother… don’t be… sad…”

The child held back tears, trying to return his brother’s grip. He fought against the force pulling him away, trying to open his eyes, as if wanting to remember, or confirm something, repeating those words.

“Don’t be sad.”

His brother trembled in response.

“Okay… I won’t be sad.”

The child’s lips curled into a small satisfied smile. He opened his mouth, breathing growing weaker, as though he still had so much to say. But in the end, his last strength was spent whispering just one sentence.

“Goodnight, Brother.”

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