Into the Rose Garden Novel - Chapter 1.1 Past and Present

A man wandered at rock bottom.

His tattered and torn clothes were stained with yellowish-black grime that dripped down. His hair, with occasional bright strands, was matted and clumped in places, as if it hadn’t been combed in ages. His limbs, as dry as winter logs, protruded gauntly from beneath the worn fabric, swaying limply. Sometimes he would stop to catch his breath for a moment before moving on. The man was headed for the lowest depths of the city.

A corner of that barren alley where even pickpockets would spit and turn away, for no one had anything. His place was beneath the dark shadow where no light ever reached.

He hadn’t eaten anything today. He hadn’t eaten anything yesterday either. His shrunken stomach, too withered to even digest a mouthful of water, no longer cried out. He weakly knelt on the stone path. Slowly, as if fading away, he lay his body on the ground. He even closed his eyelids.

There was no one in the secluded alley. No one to hate him, no one to beat him, no one to rape him, and no one to abandon him. The black shadow of the grey wall became a blanket, blocking out the red world that still spun beneath his eyelids.

“Hey, wake up.”

A rough kick roused the man. His mind, which had just succumbed to darkness and scattered, slowly returned. The heel of a foul-smelling boot, hitting him so hard his bones ached, mercilessly trampled his grimy leg a few more times. Only when a cracking sound like something breaking echoed did the man open his hazy eyes and flail his arms like the legs of a dying insect in its final spasm.

The man who had brutally kicked him awake threw a paper bag he held in his hand. It fell on his face, feeling very light and smelling incredibly savory. The man managed to straighten his stiffening fingers and gripped the paper bag.

“Today, I specially brought one with raisins.”

He pulled the bag closer and managed to tear the incredibly tough paper, revealing a warm, freshly baked bread inside. The scent of bread permeated his nostrils, drawing in thin breaths of air. Saliva suddenly welled up in his desert-dry mouth. The man pulled the bread with both hands and opened his mouth.

As he bit into the savory bread, the man chuckled and grabbed his ankle. He yanked down the man’s dirty trousers in one swift motion and spread his legs. Even then, the man was preoccupied, burying his nose in the bread, tearing off large chunks until his jaw joint almost dislocated. The man made him turn over from his side and spread his legs again. His emaciated buttocks parted. The red flesh nestled within was hideously overgrown, covered in whitish mucus.

“No matter when I see it, it’s more arousing than any ordinary whore. And you’re just an Alpha bastard.”

Immediately after, the man lowered his trousers and pulled out his black, curved penis. He roughly shoved his fingers into the endlessly torn, swollen, and uneven crevices of the red flesh. The man, who had just swallowed the bread, choked and coughed.

“Stop eating so messily and relax your hole.”

The man swung his hand like a whip, striking the lean buttocks. The man’s body shook from the impact, causing him to drop the bread. He crawled on his knees to pick it up. As soon as he reached out and grabbed the rolled-away bread, the man seized him by the waist and pulled him back.

“You have to earn your meal, where are you going to run off to?”

The man struck his buttocks a couple more times, then spat on the red flesh. He then shoved his fingers deeper a few more times. The man, still holding the bread to his mouth, grimaced and let out a small moan.

“Crazy bastard, does it feel good?”

After thoroughly assaulting the hole, the man immediately shoved his hideously erect penis in all the way to the root. The man, with his mouth full of bread, seemed to scream, but the sound of horror was too faint for the man to hear. The penis, filling his brittle body, moved violently as if it would tear his insides apart.

Unable to withstand the pounding impacts, the man hugged the bread, lay prostrate, and only lifted his buttocks. Saliva, flowing from his parched lips, dripped onto the black dried fruit embedded in the savory bread.

Once, the man was a brilliant Count. He even had a name, though sometimes he forgot it because no one ever called him by it. He probably had a noble surname too. But now he was called ‘Hey,’ so a long name would only invite ridicule.

After the man left, he pulled up his clothes without wiping the semen dripping down his thighs. If others saw him taking an Alpha’s semen, he would be forced to eat semen until his belly burst, semen he couldn’t convert into calories for the day. He didn’t want that to happen. He had to quickly hide somewhere else.

He clutched the half-eaten bread. What was soaked with saliva and softened crumbled in his coarse fingers, scattering in dots on the ground. He quietly looked down at the bread crumbs with black raisins. The unusually glistening surface was terribly tempting. Soon, the man knelt, picked them up, and put them in his mouth.

After that, the man with the raisin bread would occasionally appear without warning. Sometimes he would bring companions. Enduring two penises at once brought extreme pain, but it was more bearable than hunger. After they left, the man would secretly hide and eat the bread. He would push the sweet lump down his throat, coughing repeatedly as he choked. Licking every crumb from his hands, the man cast his gaze far away.

The city’s gaslights dyed the sunken night sky orange. Like the scattering of sunlight at its extreme, the shimmering lace of that color resembled the layered petals of the most splendid flowers in the Count’s garden. Staring blankly at it, the man’s face contorted. He let his lips droop, raised his swollen tail, and formed fine wrinkles around his eyes, smiling quietly.

Aeroc Teiwind.

A noble among nobles, with a lineage older than the current royal family.

Just as he reached adulthood, he inherited the title after his father’s sudden death. The young Count, with splendid golden hair like the golden lion, the family’s symbol, and blue eyes like the azure sky, was renowned for never losing his aristocratic composure and dignity, no matter the circumstance. However, he hadn’t always been that way.

“Aeroc. Did you have a good day today?”

“Mother.”

The Countess, who welcomed her young son, carried a faint scent of medicine. His mother was a male Omega, not healthy to begin with, and had acquired a chronic illness from overexerting herself to bear a child, so she was always confined to her bed. The young son, not yet seven years old, clung to his mother’s emaciated arm, crawled onto the bed, and buried his face in her chest, where bones now clattered, quietly nodding.

“Did you see the rose garden? Will you tell Mother what color roses bloomed today?”

The rose garden was visible directly from the window by the bed, but she always asked her son that. Then Aeroc would use every color word and exclamation he knew to give a long, elaborate explanation. During that time, his mother would stroke his round head, which reached her chin, with her dry, twig-like hands.

Just after his seventh birthday, his mother passed away. Aeroc cried so much that his eyes felt like they would melt. At the funeral, his father, standing beside his son, was silent, his face expressing a world lost. He plucked every color of rose from the garden his wife loved most and threw them onto the polished coffin.

His father, who wished no blemish on the family’s prestige, raised his Alpha son with excessive strictness. Especially after losing his mother, he could not tolerate his son constantly crying over small matters.

“Where does a noble show tears!”

Sometimes, his father would catch Aeroc wiping away tears from his mother’s room, take him to the study, and give him a severe beating. Aeroc had to endure the pain and suppress his sobs, unable to even rub his swollen legs.

When he missed his mother, he would hide in the shaded corner of the rose garden, out of his father’s sight, and cry. He would heave his shoulders and stifle his sobs until the butler, who had the same strict expression as his father but gently held his hand, found him and hugged him tenderly. His eyes would be red and swollen, immersed in the scent of roses, and his tears would not easily stop, saddened by the fading memory of his mother’s scent.

As time passed, the roses all fell to the ground in the wind and rain. In the meantime, through his father’s scolding, he learned to straighten his shoulders and hold his head high. The seven-year-old child, who never ran but walked elegantly no matter what happened, forgot how to cry and learned how to smile.

His father, a noble to his very bones, dedicated everything to his duties as a noble. He didn’t merely assert his authority and boast, but rather bestowed as much of the vast wealth reaped from his extensive estate as possible for the benefit of society.

Of course, his methods were extremely ‘noble.’ While donating substantial sums to charities for starving children in the slums, he himself never directly interfered with the ‘bottom.’ Rather, he abhorred the bottom. It seemed he was displeased that such squalid and lowly places existed within the capital under the Count’s authority. Thus, his father decided to use others’ hands.

He sponsored gentry with high scholarship among commoners or collateral relatives among nobles who could not inherit titles, and had them handle the unsavory matters. This, combined with another tradition of the Count’s family, ‘The Rose Garden Tea Party,’ became a major event exerting considerable influence. His father, who was always nervous and not particularly healthy, was often ill, so Aeroc presided over the tea party as host from the age of 19.

The young man, almost too young, wore a navy suit that accentuated his typical Count’s deep blonde hair and blue eyes, and greeted guests with a faint smile, engaging in pleasant conversation. Unlike what others saw, it was not particularly difficult for him. No matter what the other person said, he only had to say, “Is that so?” Young people seeking sponsors clung persistently, all eager to gain his attention. Although all were several years older than Aeroc, they were busy showering him with flattery.

‘Spineless fools.’

Aeroc scoffed at them inwardly. There were countless things more important than money in the world. Someone who had learned soul-stirring melodies, heart-pounding verses, beautiful masterpieces that cleansed the mind, and profound classics of unfathomable depth would not be so eager to sell themselves cheaply. Aeroc had no interest in them, but he could not abolish his late father’s will after only a year, so he merely offered an elegant smile.

The vulgar job market disguised as a tea party held little interest for him from the start, and his aristocratic sense of duty to lead it soon ran dry. Using a non-existent cousin as an excuse to dismiss people, Aeroc left the garden filled with the rich scent of roses. He took a shortcut known only to those who had long resided in the grand mansion and went to his favorite cedar path.

The trees, lined neatly along one side of the well-maintained path, stretched straight towards the sky. These massive trees were planted by the first Count who built this mansion. They wouldn’t have been this large at first, but following the history of the Count’s family, which began from humble origins and now stood alongside the royal family, they too had become towering giants.

A cool breeze blew between the towering trees, rustling their leaves. The irritation that had been soaring moments ago vanished instantly. He walked slowly, inhaling deeply the bitter scent of the trees.

Aeroc loved strolling on this path and intensely disliked being disturbed. Thus, the mansion’s servants never entered this path, and the butler took care to subtly divert guests so that they wouldn’t ‘unintentionally’ disturb the Count’s private leisure, meaning only Aeroc could enjoy this path. No, it should have been that way. But who was that person standing idly in the distance, looking his way?

As the master of the mansion, turning back to avoid an outsider was absolutely out of the question. Rather, it was right to send away a guest who had entered an unauthorized space. Of course, a little embarrassment in return for the unpleasant intrusion would be fine.

Aeroc approached him with a smile. When he reached speaking distance, the man would surely loudly shout a name he’d rather not remember, spitting as he tried to sell how much of an investment he was. Aeroc narrowed the distance, observing the other person, considering what kind of embarrassment he would inflict on the unpleasant intruder.

Taller than average, he stood with his shoulders straight, looking his way. Dark brown hair and healthy, slightly tanned skin. A clear forehead and a very strong-looking nose bridge and cheekbones. His tightly closed mouth perfectly matched his chiseled jawline, as if sculpted. Unlike his strict expression and firm posture, which suggested strong pride, his deep gaze was pure and upright, unlike the vulgar individuals swarming the garden. The closer Aeroc got, the more he filled his vision, like a warlord commanding the giant cedar trees behind him.

By then, the thought of embarrassing him had vanished. Even when the distance became sufficiently close, Aeroc could not speak, only gazing into the dark brown eyes. He was slightly flustered by the awkward silence, but fortunately, his father’s strict upbringing shone through.

“You seem to be lost.”

“Yes.”

Even to his polite question, he merely gave a blunt answer without any flowery language. Aeroc felt the voice was incredibly sweet, even after hearing only a single syllable. His low, resonant, and serious voice suited his appearance perfectly.

“I will guide you.”

“I am looking for the rose garden, but it is so vast I cannot find it.”

This suggestion was met with a slightly softened reply. He must have been a guest invited to the tea party after all. But his demeanor was different from the usual swarm of ants. He didn’t fuss over Aeroc, nor did he scan him with overly curious eyes. Instead, he merely gave a reserved bow, displaying an indifferent yet disciplined politeness. He didn’t even reveal his name, nor did he ask for Aeroc’s.

This was the first time such a thing had happened. Even strangers he didn’t remember at all would act intimately, as if they had found a lost brother, upon seeing the young man with bright blonde hair, blue eyes, sophisticated manners, and a faint smile in fine attire. Aeroc thought he had finally met someone interesting after a long time.

It didn’t take long to go around the shortcut to where the rose garden was visible. During that time, the man merely accompanied him, maintaining a slight distance, without saying a word. Curious about the man’s name, Aeroc introduced himself first, despite his pride.

“My name is Aeroc Teiwind.”

Before it was too late, right in front of the cypress wall where no one else’s eyes could reach, Aeroc turned and asked. The tall man lowered only his eyes instead of his head, looking at the hand extended towards him. After a brief pause that was too short to be hesitant, he took the hand at a speed that was neither fast nor slow, and replied as succinctly as before, almost excessively so.

“Kloff Bendyke.”

Beyond that, it was a name that fit him impossibly well. Yes. For this man, ‘designation’ was a more fitting term than ‘name.’ The combination of sounds, resonance, and meaning was almost perfect. His dry hand was so large that it completely enveloped the noble’s white, soft hand with room to spare, and even though he held it lightly without force, Aeroc could feel the strength of the core within. He looked up into Kloff’s eyes. In those deep, unwavering eyes, he saw a single person.