The Dog Needs a Master

“What the hell? What’s going on?”

“You almost blew out my eardrum,” Erabelle muttered, rubbing the rim of her ear.

“What are you doing right now?”

[What are you doing right now?]

“What do you mean? Why?”

[Uh... when does your vacation end?]

“What’s with the sudden—? And for the record, it’s not a vacation, it’s field duty. Why? Did something happen?”

[Um, it’s just... where are the painkillers? I’ve looked everywhere and can’t find them.]

“You called me for that? They’re in the top drawer of the desk. I’m pretty sure I told you before I left. Are you saying they’re not there?”

[Yeah... I can’t find them.]

“Check again. What? I’m returning on the usual date, why? Oh—Mild 3mg? 18 capsules. Expensive, sure, but you’re getting them at a killer price. Do you know how much round-trip shipping costs alone? Anyway, if you’re bored, go wash your feet and take a—huh?”

Erabelle froze as a long shadow fell over her. Dezeb, freshly showered, reached out and casually plucked the phone from her hand.

[It’s not like I called because I was bored or anything. Honestly... I was wondering what you were doing. I... I kinda wanted to hear your voice, too.]

With the receiver to his ear, Dezeb chuckled softly.

“That thing you mentioned last time. You remember, right? If you pretend you forgot again, I’m seriously going to get mad. So please... answer me next time, okay? I... I miss you...”

Dezeb leaned against the home bar, pouring coffee from the pot into a mug.

“Yeah. I kind of miss you too... whoever you are.”

[Uh... w-who is this?]

“I asked you first.”

He let out a low, quiet laugh, clearly amused—the kind of laugh that sent a chill straight down your spine.

[Uh, um... is Lieutenant Erabelle...?]

“Erabelle? Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion is right next to me. But you didn’t answer my question. Who the hell are you?”

[Ah! Oh—Private Majia Oloror, Third Company, 30th Division!]

“Got it. Private Majia.” Dezeb now had a name.

[I-I mean... who are you? I-I’m Private Majia Oloror from the 30th Division...!]

The kid repeated the line verbatim.

The living room was dead silent, and the boy’s voice carried all too clearly. Listening to him babble as if entranced, Erabelle felt a creeping sense of dread.

“What reason would a Private have to get mad at a Lieutenant? Do you always talk to your superior officers like this? Are you two close?”

[I-I’m 21 years old!]

So? Dezeb’s expression plainly said.

[I’m 180 cm tall! I have light brown hair and amber eyes! I graduated from Oculus Academy {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} with honors! M-my hobby is surfing!]

Erabelle could bet actual money Majia had never even seen a surfboard in person. And his real height was exactly 178.9 cm. That 1.1 cm inflation was a outright lie. A difference of 0.1 cm might be a rounding error, but 1.1 was fraud—or so thought the girl who claimed to be 160 cm when she was actually 159.9.

Unfortunately, her bad feeling was spot on. Majia had launched into what sounded like a heavily exaggerated dating app profile.

And Dezeb’s voice was a Level 13 hazard.

You had to cut the poor boy some slack; enduring that voice raw, without so much as a recognition disrupter, was brutal. Still, understanding the situation didn’t stop Erabelle from breaking out in a cold sweat. Majia’s life was in genuine danger.

“I asked what your relationship with the Lieutenant is. Do you always struggle this much with simple questions?”

[Ah! Lieutenant!] Majia finally seemed to come to his senses. [Please put her on—n-no! That’s not what I meant. I was just worried about her... I-I wanted to see her, too... She said she’d be in the capital this evening, so... I know she doesn’t eat properly. She drinks too much and overworks herself. D-do we date? No! Not yet—]

Or maybe not. The kid was still rambling like a train derailed.

Why does his voice come through so clearly? Erabelle thought. I’d rather not hear it at all...

“Oh, not yet, huh? So it’s a ’maybe later’ kind of thing? How far along are you two, then? Confessions? Nice. Yeah, she does have terrible eating habits. Hmm? Want me to take better care of her?”

Dezeb laughed for a moment.

“I’ve been making sure she eats properly, thanks. It’s funny getting advice from someone who’s never even seen her face.”

Erabelle sat there in a complete daze. Dezeb kept the call going with Majia for a solid five minutes, wearing a grin the entire time. Who knows what else he said—eventually, he hung up and bent down to meet her gaze.

“Erabelle.”

“Yes.”

“Am I... your second option?”

Her eyes briefly lost focus. Dezeb, still smiling sweetly, added, “He talks like he’s the main one.”

“He seemed to be looking for the painkillers.”

“Doesn’t that company have a medic?”

“They do.”

Dezeb laughed aloud, genuinely entertained. “Then why is he calling you?”

“There’s a medic, but they’re out of supplies...”

“So, are you cheating on me?” He cut her off, not bothering to pretend he was listening.

There were several problems with that statement. First, they were not in a relationship where words like cheating applied. Second, even if they were, Commander Dezeb Avganis had a critically flawed grasp of monogamy. He was, after all, the main reason the original story was classified as a dark romance.

Still, Erabelle replied immediately. “No, sir.”

Her battle-hardened survival instincts answered for her, completely bypassing logic. At this point, she was effectively operating on auto-response.

“You speak informally to him. Are you two close?”

“We are not. He’s young and only recently made Private First Class.”

“Right. Twenty-one is young. Aren’t all the actors you like twenty as well? You have a thing for younger guys, don’t you?”

“I am not that much of a deviant.”

“But they are all twenty.”

“Not all of them.”

“Oh? There are others?”

“......”

Truthfully, there were a few more... but where was this conversation even going? Erabelle tried to shift the topic, however awkwardly.

“H-have you eaten?”

Suddenly, the steak that had made her so uneasy earlier seemed like food of the gods.

The meal she offered did nothing to distract him—he had already eaten. What saved her was Dezeb’s schedule. Early the next morning, he announced he had an urgent task and needed to leave.

“I won’t be back tonight. Don’t wait up—just go to sleep.”

Half-conscious, Erabelle caught his words through a haze of exhaustion. While that should have been welcome news, she had her own business to attend to.

With two injections in her sore lower back to numb the aftermath of last night’s ordeal, Erabelle left Dezeb’s residence early in the morning. After boarding an automated shuttle outside and paying an outrageous forty-credit fare, she stepped off in the commercial district, only to find the streets unusually crowded.

The reason quickly became clear.

Amidst the throng of pedestrians, Erabelle stopped in front of an appliance store, her eyes fixed on the massive display in the window.

Prince Ananasa was making a public appearance, visiting Imago—the 3,178th satellite annexed by the capital.

She finally understood Dezeb’s assignment for the day.

So the main partner is already here.

He was serving as part of the ceremonial escort at the prince’s side. Knowing Dezeb was a divine-level entity made the sight of him attending a royal even more jarring.

And yet, there was no denying how striking they looked together. The prince’s soft golden hair fluttered in the breeze, brushing lightly against Dezeb’s dress uniform. Under the clear blue sky and radiant sunlight, the two of them walking side by side looked like a scene straight out of a painting.

Like a pair destined for each other.

Perhaps because they were both men, it transcended romance—it looked like something more primal, more absolute. The weather was perfect, the wind ideal, the lighting flawless. They looked as though they had been born to stand together.

For a fleeting moment, it made her believe destiny might actually exist. Even someone like Erabelle—who navigated life like a game of high-stakes minesweeper—felt that quiet pull.

It was almost embarrassing, considering she had spent the night being unmade in that man’s arms. Compared to them, she was little more than a disposable accessory.

Then again, looking at the prince... standing beside someone like him, Dezeb might hurt you, but he wouldn’t kill you. Perhaps from that shared pain, something bright could eventually grow—even if that tiny possibility was the hardest part of all.

Erabelle shook her head. There was a reason she had kept herself buried in the remote provinces for so long.

She cut the thought dead before it could take root.