SOTBW - 143

Caught off guard by the unexpected request, Maximón absentmindedly ran his fingers along Najane’s ribs as he sank into thought. He had never told anyone about himself before.

He had mentioned to Najane that he saw himself as a monster, but that was merely a ploy to gain her sympathy.

As he brushed his palm over her flat stomach, Maximón suddenly thought of Lucas. He didn’t know why that trash came to mind at this moment.

“Do you remember Lucas?”

“Your brother?”

Najane, as if the memory still sent shivers down her spine, absentmindedly touched her cheek.

“Of course. I’ve never seen a lunatic like him before.”

“We don’t get along. It’s not just a simple dislike—we genuinely want to kill each other. The more we fought, the more it weighed on our father, so after I grew up, I started avoiding him on purpose…”

Maximón trailed off, pulling Najane closer and resting his chin on her shoulder. Najane, stroking the arm wrapped warmly around her, tilted her head in confusion at the sudden silence.

“Since when did you two start not getting along? From the beginning?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Maximón furrowed his brow slightly, trying to recall when their relationship had soured, but it only made his head hurt. He rested his forehead on Najane’s shoulder. Trying to remember his early childhood felt like wading through a fog—frustrating and unclear.

“I was five… or six… I don’t remember anything before that. I’ve tried to recall, but it’s as if someone erased my memories. Nothing comes to mind.”

Maximón first noticed the unnatural gap in his memory when he began learning swordsmanship under Taylor.

Noble children from all over the country flocked to Taylor to learn the sword, and they would chatter endlessly about how talented they had been since childhood. Listening to them, Maximón tried to recall his own early years—around five or six years old—but strangely, nothing came to mind.

“Father said I was quite the troublemaker back then, but I don’t really remember. I don’t know if I was really like that… Not that I doubt Father’s words, but I can’t imagine myself acting like a reckless brat. It feels like something happened back then…”

Maximón trailed off again, pulling Najane’s soft, pliant body closer into his embrace, as if trying to shake off the frustration of that unreachable past. Dwelling on forgotten memories was pointless.

What mattered was now. This moment, being with Najane, was the most precious thing to Maximón.

Suppressing a smile, he nuzzled his lips against her pale shoulder.

My love… my everything…

He kissed along her slender neck, his heart swelling as Najane giggled and hunched her shoulders, ticklish.

“I have a question… Can I ask?”

Najane asked plainly.

Maximón nodded, indicating she could ask anything.

“Why does Elderketh call you ‘Mash’?”

“That’s…”

Maximón hesitated.

He fiddled with Najane’s hand for a moment before muttering reluctantly.

“…It’s ‘Mash’ as in mashed potatoes…”

“…What?”

Completely taken aback by the absurd answer, Najane turned to look at Maximón. His expression, as if recalling his time under Taylor, was oddly sullen.

“When I was little, I was a bit of a picky eater, and it drove my father and teacher crazy. For some reason, though, I loved mashed potatoes with ground meat mixed in…”

Back then, Maximón had stubbornly refused to eat anything alive or raw, and now, looking back, he couldn’t understand why he had been like that. And why, of all foods, he had particularly enjoyed mashed potatoes.

It wasn’t as if Edwin particularly liked that dish either. It was something the kitchen could whip up in no time, but young Maximón would hug the plate to his chest and shovel it into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for days whenever the maids brought him an unusually large portion.

Whether it was out of sheer embarrassment or a desperate attempt to distance himself from that time and the nickname “Mash,” Maximón quickly defended himself to Najane.

“It was just a phase during my swordsmanship training when I was being picky. I used to eat everything normally. Really.”

As Maximón spoke desperately, Najane tried to stifle her laughter.

“Do you still like that dish now?”

“I haven’t touched it since my teacher started calling me that.”

“In a way, that’s still being picky.”

Najane turned to look at Maximón, teasing him.

“Picky eater Maximón.”

“That’s…!”

Maximón, about to argue that it wasn’t like that, clamped his mouth shut. Najane imagined a young Maximón stubbornly refusing to eat in front of adults and found it increasingly hard to hold back her laughter, biting her lip.

“Just laugh.”

“I’m not trying to make fun of you, but imagining it is kind of cute…”

“That laugh of yours makes it even worse.”

“Who would’ve thought Maximón Elgort was a picky eater? So, what else did you refuse to eat as a kid?”

Maximón ignored her question, as if determined not to answer, but ultimately couldn’t resist her gaze and reluctantly spoke.

“...Raw carrots, anything that smelled like vinegar, cheese made from goat’s milk, dried cherries, anything with garlic or cloves, and I wouldn’t even look at dishes with fish in them.”

“At that point, weren’t you just disliking most foods…?”

“That’s how it was back then.”

“Do you still dislike any foods now?”

“Not really.”

“What about foods you like?”

“I don’t have any particular favorites, but I do like you.”

At Maximón’s words, Najane blinked in confusion before belatedly flustering. His response wasn’t calculated to elicit any specific reaction—he had simply answered “you” when asked what he liked.

Maximón absentmindedly twirled Najane’s wet hair around his finger, noticing her pale neck turning red. He thought the bathwater might be too hot, but it had cooled to lukewarm by now.

Thinking she might be uncomfortable, he shifted slightly, and Najane turned to look at him. Her crimson eyes, now free of fatigue, glistened as if filled with moisture.

Sitting on Maximón’s lap with her knees drawn up, Najane rolled her eyes shyly before quietly meeting his gaze.

“I like you the most too. Out of everything…”

“Out of everything?”

Maximón repeated her words, prompting Najane to clarify, her face turning bright red.

“I mean… you’re my favorite in the whole world…”

At that, a subtle change flickered across Maximón’s otherwise impassive expression.

“Does that mean I’m your first?”

At his question, Najane turned to face him fully, their eyes locking.

Maximón, running his wet fingers over Najane’s cheek and ear, spoke with an oddly desperate tone.

“There’s no one but you. You’ve always been my first. If I had to choose between saving my father or you, I’d choose you without hesitation, and I wouldn’t regret it. This is what it means for me to love you.”

It was as if he were pleading with a bluebird, trying to escape from his arms and fly far away, begging it not to go anywhere.

Najane looked down into Maximón’s moist eyes. He was afraid of something. Even with Najane right in front of him, he seemed anxious, as if convinced she would soon leave his side.

Wrapped in anxiety and distrust, Maximón seemed as fragile as a child who had once been abandoned by their parents. This side of him was unfamiliar and disconcerting, but perhaps this was the true self he had been hiding all along.

Najane often thought about it too.

If they could love only each other forever, there would be no hurt, no abandonment. If the world consisted solely of the two of them, with no room for anyone else to interfere, there would be no loneliness or insecurity.

Najane leaned up and gently kissed Maximón.

Shyly avoiding his gaze, she whispered softly.

“I’ll think of you as my first too.”

“No matter what happens?”

“Yes, no matter what…”

At her bashful reply, Maximón finally relaxed and pulled Najane into his embrace. Holding her warm body close, he whispered like someone who had found peace after enduring hardship.

“I love you, Najane.”

Those words clung to Najane’s body and soul like an ancient, unshakable curse, refusing to let go.

---

Maximón quietly left the mansion after watching Najane fall asleep. The knights, having finished their lunch, were likely napping in their rooms. Since they would be guarding the field again tonight, everyone would be desperately trying to replenish their strength.

A cold wind, sharper than usual, blew as if to announce that the good days were over. As Maximón headed toward the main building, he glanced down at the training ground where young soldiers and mercenaries were organizing into groups for mock sparring.

Belshua was leading the young soldiers.

Maximón’s eyes narrowed slightly as he spotted Belshua. He had thought that removing Daniel and Amelia would be enough, but now a new obstacle had appeared.

Maximón watched Belshua moving among the young soldiers, correcting their stances, before turning away. If he hadn’t heard Najane say she loved him, he might have pushed Belshua out of the knight order as well.

Amelia seemed to have wisely secluded herself within the Recheo Knight Order. Najane also hadn’t mentioned Amelia in front of Maximón.

Maximón tilted his head back and looked up at the sky. He felt more at ease than ever. Had he ever been this happy since coming to Noctis? He ran his fingers through his hair, suppressing a smile.

The main building was bustling as merchants unloaded their goods, leaving no room to step. Jacob, checking the count of newly ordered holy swords and shields, spotted Maximón and greeted him respectfully.

Maximón watched as weapons were carried to the training ground in wooden crates.

“Everyone’s working hard.”

Jacob, who was jotting down numbers, paused at Maximón’s unexpected words of encouragement. In all his years at Romsoa, he had never heard such a thing from Maximón. Flustered, Jacob opened and closed his mouth before bowing his head sheepishly.

“The Archbishop’s envoy is waiting in your office.”

“Gwyneth Spello?”

“Yes. He said he has urgent matters to discuss…”

Maximón nodded in acknowledgment and entered the main building.

Gwyneth had been absent from the Romsoa Knight Order for some time.

Maximón didn’t know exactly what he was doing at the cathedral, but he knew Gwyneth had been staying there, working on something with Venus.

When Maximón entered his office, Gwyneth waved as if he owned the place.

“Hey, long time no see.”