TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 74

Because he had slept for so long, Moon truly didn’t know much about what had happened afterward.

As for the situation with the Goddess of Love, that would have to wait until they reached the Rose Kingdom to be confirmed.

Moon went on to recount a few more things he remembered.

Albin nestled in his brother’s arms, listening to his bedtime story. It felt just like when they were back in the modern world—his heart was full of contentment, and sleepiness slowly washed over him.

Moon, whose eyesight was excellent in the dark, noticed Albin’s eyelids beginning to droop. His voice softened.

“Good night.”

The God of Night pulled a warm blanket over the white-haired boy and kissed his forehead lightly. A faint magical glow shimmered as a trace of mana flowed into Albin’s body.

Albin blinked in confusion. “Brother, what kind of magic is that?”

“A blessing spell for sweet dreams,” Moon said gently. “After receiving it, a follower’s prayers can reach the ears of the god.”

Usually, temples would grant blessing spells during ceremonies, but in most cases, they didn’t really work—because the gods would block those prayers.

It was like having their phone number leaked; after too many spam calls, they simply turned on ‘Do Not Disturb.’

“Really?!” Albin perked up with excitement, quickly closing his eyes and mumbling something under his breath.

“You forgot my divinity is shattered, didn’t you?” Moon poked his forehead. “I can’t hear your prayers right now.”

It was like his phone number still existed, but he’d lost the SIM card—he couldn’t receive messages even if he wanted to.

Albin suddenly remembered that.

He clasped his brother’s hand like he was praying, smiling brightly. “That’s okay! Then I’ll just tell the amazing, super-powerful God of Night face to face!”

“I wish my brother will have a good dream too!”

Moon felt as if he were being wrapped in the softest bedding. Even in the dark, his brother’s face was clear—those crimson eyes looked up at him with pure sincerity.

“…I think your prayer was longer than that,” Moon murmured.

Albin stuck out his tongue, then added, “I was also thanking the great God of Night for letting me reunite with my brother—and wishing that we can always be together.”

A gentle warmth spread through Moon’s chest, making his throat tingle slightly. Though his body was usually cold, he felt an unfamiliar, lingering sense of warmth he couldn’t let go of.

His voice lifted faintly. “Mm. The God of Night heard your prayer—and decided to grant your wish.”

“Yay!” Albin whispered happily, snuggling closer as drowsiness returned.

This time, he didn’t fight it. Half-asleep, he mumbled, “Good night, Brother. Good night, God of Night.”

He held his brother’s cool arm tightly and sank into a blissful, blessed dream.

—

The next morning, Albin woke up full of energy.

“Good morning, Brother! I can’t remember it clearly, but I know I had a really good dream!”

He turned to look at his drowsy brother, unsure if he was awake or not, grinning brightly before pouncing on him.

“Sleepyhead Brother, get up!”

Moon raised his arm to his forehead; his messy black hair fell over pale skin, the casual disarray adding to his quiet, languid beauty.

Expressionless, his half-lidded violet eyes squinted at the sunlight filtering through the thin curtains.

When he saw Albin, his gaze softened a little. He looked around the bedside table, didn’t see a clock, and suddenly remembered—they were in another world.

The resolve that had barely gotten him out of bed evaporated instantly. His arm dropped.

“You don’t have school today… Let’s sleep a little longer,” he mumbled lazily, like a feather brushing against air. He pulled the wriggling, catlike boy back into the blanket, closed his eyes again, and muttered, “Maybe two more years…”

A knock came at the door. Moments later, Zeman entered with the clothes Albin was supposed to wear.

Wrapped up in the blanket, Albin squirmed and greeted him, “Good morning, Dad! I didn’t sleep in today—Brother’s the one who’s lazy!”

Zeman glanced at the completely unresponsive Moon and chuckled softly.

Albin had always been one to sleep in—it seemed a certain god had been a bad influence.

He stepped forward heroically to “rescue” his son, reaching out to pick him up.

But something tugged back. Zeman paused and looked toward the bed.

Moon, as if someone had stolen from him, clung tightly to Albin. His slender arm looped around the boy, and his violet eyes opened at once, fully alert.

He sat up crookedly, pulling his brother close, resting his chin on Albin’s shoulder, and said in a faint, lazy tone, “Good morning, little one. I had a good dream too.”

His slightly raised gaze carried a guarded edge as he looked at the intruder.

Zeman ignored him, taking a coat from nearby and draping it over Albin’s shoulders.

“Put on your clothes—we’re having breakfast soon. Edward’s leaving shortly,” he said, bowing his head to help tie Albin’s shirt strings.

Albin remembered and started getting dressed quickly.

Moon, feeling left out, watched the natural rhythm between father and son with mild displeasure.

It reminded him of the dreams he’d had before recovering his memories.

If he had remembered earlier and found his brother sooner, would this man even have a place here?

When Albin finished dressing, he turned around and noticed his sickly brother hadn’t moved—still uncovered, still in thin pajamas, exposed to the winter chill.

“Brother, you’ll catch a cold!” Albin hurried back to him, urging him to change while pulling clothes over the blanket.

Back home, on weekends, it was always Albin who had to get his brother out of bed too.

Moon changed slowly, unhurried as always.

To worry about a god catching a cold—his brother really was adorable.

The two brothers’ movements mirrored each other—they wouldn’t get out of bed until both had their shirts on.

Zeman frowned, casting a disapproving look at Moon’s laziness.

Seeing Moon lower his head so naturally to let Albin fix his collar, Zeman’s frown deepened.

A child taking care of him? Unbelievable.

This so-called “brother” was far too unreliable.

A chilly tension hung between father and brother — sharp, blade-like gazes clashing silently — while the boy caught in the middle, Albin, remained completely oblivious.

After washing up, the two brothers ignored their messy hair entirely and started heading toward the hall.

Zeman sighed helplessly and personally tidied Albin’s hair for him.

As for the older one… well, he wasn’t his son anyway — out of sight, out of mind.

—

In the hall, Edward looked up to see Zeman entering with one tall figure and one small one in tow. He couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, his shoulders shaking.

Ah, come to think of it… did this mean Zeman was now the father of two kids?

He shot Zeman a teasing look.

After breakfast, Edward was preparing to ride off. Albin hurried back to his room, grabbed the missing poster for Little Black, and asked Edward to keep an eye out for him.

“No problem,” Edward agreed warmly. “Can I take this drawing with me? I’ll have some copies made back home to post around.”

“Of course!” Albin said excitedly, handing over the picture.

After breakfast, while the morning light was still good, Albin sat down to do his homework.

Jacques had taught him basic literacy, but his vocabulary was still limited — he had more to learn.

Copying words and writing essays was tedious, and before long, his thoughts began to drift. Gazing out the window at the sky, he couldn’t help but think of Little Black.

Turning around instinctively, he caught sight of black hair — but this hair was finer, softer. It belonged to his brother, who was sitting on the other side of the room, fiddling with fabric and thread.

Having his brother nearby gave him comfort… but he still felt something missing.

Where was Little Black now?

So much had happened lately. Albin had so many things he wanted to tell him.

He’d reunited with his brother. He’d even discovered his father’s big secret!

His dad and Brother Padma were both magical beings — surely Little Black would get along well with them.

In fact, if he thought about it, he’d actually spent more time with Little Black than with his dad.

Over that year or so, he’d grown used to sharing every little thing in his life with Little Black. Now that they were apart so suddenly, it felt like a piece of his heart had gone missing.

He pulled out another copy of the missing poster he’d drawn and showed it to Moon.

“Brother, have you seen Little Black before? Is there a magic spell that can find someone?”

Moon studied the drawing of the crocodile face for a long moment, deep in thought.

Was this… a crocodile monster his brother knew?

He shook his head.

Albin lowered his gaze in disappointment and put the poster away. Well, it made sense — his brother was always sleeping, so there was no way he’d ever met Little Black.

He wondered when they’d see each other again.

When he turned back to his desk, he realized his handwriting had changed — the words he was copying had become Little Black’s name.

He paused, then decided to cut away the top of the page and turn it entirely into a letter.

As soon as he thought of it as something for Little Black, his pen began to move smoothly, as if he were simply speaking aloud. Only occasionally did he pause to ask about a tricky word.

When Padma entered the room, he happened to see Albin stopped mid-sentence, asking Moon how to spell something.

“Need me to take a look?” Padma offered helpfully.

If it had been normal homework, Albin wouldn’t have minded — but this was a letter for Little Black.

These were his secret words!

Like a diary or private chat, definitely not something grown-ups could read.

Albin quickly covered the paper with other sheets and shook his head. “No, that’s okay!”

He tucked away the nearly finished letter, bundled himself up in a scarf and hat, and got ready to leave.

“I’m going to ask around town again to see if anyone’s seen Little Black! I’ll be back by lunchtime!”

Moon immediately stood up. “I’ll come with you.”

But Albin was already halfway out the door. He waved cheerfully. “It’s okay, I’ve got Emerald with me! When I get back, I still need you to teach me magic!”

And off he ran — taking the freshly written letter with him, like a little thief sneaking away from the scene.

Padma watched his small figure disappear down the street, feeling a strange pang of emotion. “Looks like Albin’s got some secrets of his own now.”

He turned to see how Moon would react — only to freeze at the sight before him.

He blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Even someone as indifferent to Moon as Padma couldn’t help asking, “What are you doing?”

As soon as Albin left, Moon had withdrawn into silence.

Now, he was sitting there, sewing — stitch by crooked stitch — a small doll. His tone was cold, but with a hint of smug pride.

“It’s a Little White doll.”

Padma looked at the unrecognizable lump of cloth in his hands and fell silent for a long moment.

If he had to guess… maybe it was supposed to be a branch?

But Moon was calling that Albin?

Padma suddenly questioned everything he knew about life.

Could clumsy handiwork actually be the true proof of brotherhood?

—

Somewhere else on the continent.

After being deeply shaken by the dream, Black threw himself into relentless training.

He didn’t want the events of his nightmare to ever come true — didn’t want to stand by helplessly while Albin was in danger. He refused to be frozen again.

He had to gain control over his body.

But one day, after a reckless attempt born of impatience, he was seriously injured by a monster — and while unconscious, he accidentally entered a pitch-black unknown space.

In that darkness, he saw a magnificent, grand palace.

Not knowing how to leave, he decided to head inside. There, he discovered someone already seated within.

“How weak.”

A blond man sat on a splendid throne, elbow propped on the armrest, chin in hand. His condescending gaze fell upon Black — mocking, disdainful.

“Someone as weak as you actually thinks you can defeat that man?”

The fire in Black’s heart ignited instantly. He clenched his fists, eyes full of wary determination.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

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