If Kurl were to speak his mind, he’d say that the brothers Olvia and Ostinaro are truly worthy of being called siblings—their coordination is almost too perfect, though perhaps not the kind Ostinaro would have wanted.
Every time Ostinaro provokes Kurl, Olvia steps in to “clean up” after his brother, thus inevitably crossing paths with Kurl.
At this point, Kurl doesn’t even need to react—Olvia can single-handedly act out the entire script, achieving his own goals while thoroughly disgusting Kurl. Like a stubborn piece of gum stuck to the sole of a shoe, Olvia is impossible to shake off, leaving Kurl utterly exasperated.
Watching Olvia, who maintains an icy, pure demeanor while subtly flirting with him, Kurl’s mask-like smile remains perfectly still. But anyone familiar with him would notice the growing impatience in his eyes, revealing his deep aversion and disgust toward Olvia.
Kurl sneered internally: *Hmph, when it comes to elegance masking innocence, my Davi is leagues ahead of Olvia. Put them side by side, and the difference between the genuine and the fake is glaring. No matter how well a counterfeit disguises itself, it can never hide its flaws next to the real thing.*
Kurl desperately wanted to punch Olvia and throw him far away, but the latter had the backing of a powerful duke. Not that Kurl feared him—after all, the increasingly senile duke was already on the radar of higher authorities, marked for downfall.
Since someone else was bound to deal with the duke, Kurl saw no reason to get involved. Stirring the pot from a distance, watching the flames rise, and waiting to claim his share of the spoils—that was the smarter play.
Facing Olvia, Kurl took a deep breath: *I’ll endure it! Just wait until your downfall—then you’ll see my revenge.*
Kurl, fully aware of his own flaws, admitted—*I don’t have many shortcomings, just a slight tendency to hold grudges.* (Yaanrona: *Hah, “slight”?*)
Suppressing his fury, Kurl exchanged pleasantries with Olvia before finally, subtly, managing to shake him off. Relieved, he finally entered the library to meet Davist at their agreed spot.
Too preoccupied with dealing with Olvia, Kurl didn’t notice that, in an unnoticed corner nearby, Davist had witnessed the entire “friendly exchange” between him and Olvia.
Watching Kurl and Olvia chatting effortlessly, Davist lowered his head, biting his lip, his heart twisting with discomfort—sour and bitter, an indescribably awful feeling.
Davist, inexperienced in matters of the heart, didn’t understand this jealousy. He compared himself to the noble, elegant Kurl and Olvia—just a small-town boy, ignorant and unremarkable, with nothing impressive to offer.
And those two?
Kurl was a renowned figure, noble and exceptional. Olvia, too, had an impeccable reputation, raised with the finest education.
The way they stood together seemed enviably perfect. Yet, no matter how many times Davist saw it, the sight only made him feel worse.
Still, Davist would never show it. After all, what was he to Kurl? At most, a classmate, roommate, or friend. Kurl’s affections and choices were his own—Davist had no right to interfere.
Even if Kurl had always seemed to dislike Olvia, who could say for sure?
Whatever Kurl decided, Davist would offer his sincerest blessings—even if it tore his heart apart.
After struggling with his emotions for a while, Davist realized he was late and hurried to meet Kurl. There, he found Kurl, uncharacteristically anxious, visibly relieved upon seeing him.
“Thank goodness, Davi. I was worried something had happened to you,” Kurl said, exhaling in relief.
Warmth flooded Davist’s chest. He tilted his head slightly, his ears reddening. “I’m fine, I just… Sorry for being late.” He couldn’t bring himself to explain the real reason, quickly apologizing to divert Kurl’s attention.
But Kurl’s sharp instincts sensed something amiss. The stronger one’s power, the keener their sixth sense—and Kurl’s was exceptionally sharp.
He wouldn’t let this slide.
Yet, with Davist, Kurl softened. Smiling warmly, he guided Davist to sit beside him, offering juice and snacks before gently steering the conversation to uncover the truth.
Slowly, like a frog in warm water, Davist unwittingly fell into Kurl’s rhythm. His buried jealousy and resentment toward Kurl and Olvia’s closeness spilled out.
Kurl couldn’t help but laugh.
*So, it’s not just me? Davi feels something too? This is… amazing.*
But joy aside, Kurl wouldn’t leave this misunderstanding to fester. His adoptive father, the First Cardinal of the Holy Church, had once warned him: *Lovers may keep secrets, but honesty is crucial. Misunderstandings can wound the most precious bonds.*
So Kurl took Davist’s hand, pulled him close, and kissed his cheek. Davist froze, stunned.
Raised in a simple elven village, where physical affection was rare after childhood, this kiss—though chaste—felt overwhelmingly intimate. Especially coming from Kurl, the one who had stirred his heart.
Though still unsure of his feelings, Davist’s mind erupted in fireworks, leaving him dazed.
Kurl’s smile was genuine now—not the polite mask he wore for others, but radiant and unrestrained, even roguish.
Squeezing Davist’s hand, Kurl said firmly, “Davi, the one I love is you—only you. Olvia? You know how little I think of him. How could I ever like a two-faced hypocrite?”
Davist, still reeling, looked at Kurl with hesitant disbelief and lingering insecurity. “R-Really? You… love me?”
“Of course.” Kurl held him tighter, willing away his doubts. Then, he brushed a kiss to Davist’s lips. “I love you, Davi. It’s always been you.”
And so, they became a couple, clinging to each other until reluctantly parting. Even then, Kurl refused to let Davist leave his embrace.
Glancing around, Davist noted their secluded corner. Unwilling to defy Kurl—and secretly craving his warmth—he stayed.
Leaning together, they shared stories of their pasts—because lovers, after all, long to know each other deeply.
And so, they talked, word by word, heart to heart.
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