After that night, Asou Akiya cast aside every last shred of hesitation.
To have such a French beauty living under his roof and not draw him close — that would make him less than a man.
Yet out of the Eastern reverence for the sanctity of marriage, Asou Akiya held back from full physical intimacy. He wanted Randou to come to him willingly, without even the faintest shadow of coercion born from amnesia. Even if memories returned one day, Randou must be able to look back and know, without doubt, that his feelings for Asou Akiya had been genuine.
When Akiya spoke of needing time to nurture their bond, Randou followed his intuition and asked softly, "Akiya, are you afraid I'll change my mind?"
Asou Akiya lifted Randou's hand and brushed a kiss across the ring on his finger. "Yes."
His dark eyes held no exaggerated depth of passion, nor the mesmerizing intensity of foreign hues that could drown a soul. Yet with each passing year they had narrowed toward the elegant phoenix shape, framed by features grown ever more refined and gentle — an Eastern beauty that Randou found undeniably captivating. Randou trusted his own taste without question; he could not understand why Akiya harbored any insecurity. Was their love truly so fragile it could not withstand trial?
"I raise a laurel wreath to you," Asou Akiya recited in a low, melodic murmur. "We sail together on a vessel laden with fragrance, drifting across a forgotten sea. Perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow, you will glimpse lovelier blossoms and realize how fleeting I am — merely a brief sojourn in the vast journey of your life."
Randou protested at once. "I am not that sort of person."
Asou Akiya smiled inwardly. If your memories truly return, this day next year might well become my death anniversary.
Their time together remained too brief — far too brief to reshape the core of Arthur Rimbaud's nature. One need only consider it: the man bold enough to seize Arahabaki's power possessed confidence bordering on arrogance. Even after catastrophe struck, surviving proved the formidable strength of this literary stray's beautiful Rimbaud.
Arthur Rimbaud was young — one of the mere handful of Transcendents in this world, wielder of the supreme spatial ability Illuminations. He commanded the power to store corpses within subspace and transform them into humanoid abilities. Had fate granted him access to the White Kirin's body after Shibusawa Tatsuhiko's death, Randou's strength could have risen even higher.
Asou Akiya's fingertips traced the face before him — no longer cold or enigmatic, yet beneath the serene surface of a tranquil lake lurked a soul that soared proud and untamed through raging storms.
"Randou, I will take all the time needed to root myself deep in your heart — to sprout, to twine, to wrap irrevocably around every chamber."
"Do not mock me for my hesitation."
"I am only…"
"A mortal who, beneath your spell, longs to seize the wind itself and hold it in his hands."
He spoke without a trace of falsehood, baring his heart completely as he whispered and nuzzled against Randou's ear.
If there were a grave.
I would gladly lease it with my love.
Randou's body ran cool, forever plagued by chill, and he nestled closer into Asou Akiya's embrace for warmth. In a voice soft with tenderness he replied, "Do not treat me as some figment of fantasy — I, too, am merely mortal."
Asou Akiya wrapped him in a blissful hug, greedily savoring the languid morning hours.
Randou was simply too considerate.
He added with a gentle smile, "Akiya, let's go eat hot pot again — I've suddenly grown fond of the warmth the chili brings."
Asou Akiya could only laugh through his exasperation. "…All right."
At midday he slipped away from work and hurried home, bringing freshly baked French pastries for Randou. They fed each other bite by bite, sharing the sweetness in perfect, unspoken intimacy. When evening finally released him from the office, Asou Akiya clocked out first — no lingering to bond with colleagues, his mind filled with nothing but the urge to rush back to his beloved.
Their late-night supper was hot pot once more. Asou Akiya had purchased all the ingredients and prepared a rich Sichuan-style feast at home.
Randou sipped milk to soothe the spice, leaving a faint white mustache on his upper lip.
His wife was the most adorable creature alive!
Asou Akiya tenderly wiped the beads of sweat from Randou's forehead and carefully filtered the pot's contents before serving him another portion.
In the end, when the mood struck, Randou joined Asou Akiya for a beer — their glasses clinking softly in quiet celebration.
"Cheers."
The very next second, Randou's teeth chattered. "Hiss — beer with ice cubes is so cold."
Asou Akiya burst into laughter. "Haha! It's summer, Randou!" This was the first summer they had shared, and in the years to come there would be six or perhaps seven more summers spent eating hot pot side by side.
You are Randou — my Randou — the poet from France.
…
Randou's recovery finally reached its end.
He removed the last bandages; even the most stubborn bruises and scars had faded from the surface of his skin.
Randou soaked blissfully in the tiled bathtub, pure delight radiating from him.
The Japanese truly knew how to live well.
His only regret was the tub's modest size — once he submerged himself, scarcely any room remained. Akiya, unwilling to crowd him, chose the shower instead, keeping his gaze averted to preserve both their peace of mind.
After bathing, Randou immediately reached for his insulated thermos and took a slow, satisfying sip of warm water. Asou Akiya had showered him with thoughtful gifts — the couple's rings, the peridot necklace, even the painstakingly compiled volume of Rimbaud's poetry that had cost a traverser untold effort — yet the one Randou cherished most was the simple white thermos.
Elegant, stylish, complete with a digital screen displaying the water temperature.
Price at the department store: two thousand yen.
Asou Akiya: "…"
He glanced at the thermos, shook his head in fond resignation, and poured himself a cup of hot water to warm his stomach as well.
Living together with Randou naturally meant adopting a shared routine of mindful self-care.
That night, Asou Akiya and Randou kissed beneath the blankets, the covers shifting several times in the heat of the moment. He finally pinned the ardent Frenchman gently beneath him. The chill-fearing beauty clung tightly, arms wrapped around his back, gazing up with eyes glistening and dewy — a look of faint indifference laced with an innocence that belied his appearance, as though silently tempting Asou Akiya to cross the line.
Asou Akiya refused to fall for it. He licked his lips once, then drew Randou's wandering hand out from beneath his shirt.
On the surface it was intimacy; in truth it was simply a quest for warmth.
Take it seriously and you lose.
"Randou, are you of age?" To be honest, Asou Akiya could not gauge a Frenchman's years. Randou's aura leaned toward elegant maturity, yet up close his eyes remained clear and limpid, his features strikingly youthful.
"I am," Randou answered with certainty.
"You're amnesiac, though?" Asou Akiya pressed, skeptical.
"I simply can't recall my past." Randou pulled the blankets tighter around himself, his long frame molding against Asou Akiya's body, one leg entwining comfortably as he basked in his lover's heat. "Come now — amnesia doesn't turn a man into a fool. Some things remain etched in the subconscious."
Asou Akiya threaded his fingers through Randou's long hair, reveling in the silken slide of strands between them — an explosively satisfying sensation.
Natural waves of deep, lustrous black — undeniably sensual.
"If anything comes back to you, remember to tell me."
"Mm."
Randou murmured his assent, those gray-green eyes carrying their innate romance and languid ease. Though his emotional responses often seemed muted, the many days spent together had woven a soft, dreamlike attachment into his feelings for Asou Akiya.
Randou inhaled the scent rising from Akiya's skin. "Akiya, you smell better without cologne."
Asou Akiya sighed in fond surrender. "Understood."
Randou's gaze drifted across Akiya's jawline, then lowered to tease and nip at his throat, leaving faint, deliberate marks.
Asou Akiya made no move to stop him, only letting out a low, muffled chuckle.
"Does Randou lack a sense of security?"
"Mm… I need to leave my marks on you. Since you're with me, no one else is allowed."
Randou answered in that soft, gentle tone, and Asou Akiya harbored no illusions — if he ever strayed, he would likely face a guillotine ending. The man named Arthur Rimbaud had no entry in his personal dictionary for "endure silently for love."
Asou Akiya lifted Randou's chin with a teasing finger. "Will you remain faithful to me?"
Randou replied with effortless ease. "Perhaps."
Ah, the French.
Asou Akiya had not truly expected a flawless vow. He simply pulled the Randou he had spirited home into a fierce embrace and inhaled deeply.
"Wife~."
"…"
"Why isn't my wife speaking?"
"…I'm still adjusting to Japanese terms of endearment."
"Heh heh."
In any case, he had never claimed to be Japanese.
The next day, Asou Akiya headed to work, coaxing Randou into tying his necktie for him. Randou studied the motions carefully, a touch of melancholy in his voice as he worked. "I'm afraid I won't make it look good."
Asou Akiya reassured him. "A few more tries and you'll have it perfect."
Randou undid the knot he had just made and began again. This time his fingers moved with far greater smoothness and confidence.
"Mm, I've remembered the feel of it."
He stepped back to admire his handiwork. The black-haired young man stood before him in a sharp black suit, crisp white shirt, and dark tie.
Handsome down to the marrow of his bones.
Randou reaffirmed his impeccable taste once more — being with Akiya brought him nothing but quiet joy. Out of the blue he asked, "Akiya, you're always so busy every day — what exactly is your work?"
Asou Akiya had prepared his answer in advance. "A port trading company. Mostly translation and reviewing contracts."
Randou nodded. "Oh."
Asou Akiya picked up his briefcase and called over his shoulder as he left, "I'll be back at noon to see you."
Randou watched him go, drifting to the window to follow the understated black sedan as it pulled away toward the company.
He drew the curtains closed. "Only four or five more hours until I see Akiya again."
The morning hours did not drag unbearably… though the truly unwelcome surprise remained Akiya's evening overtime.
Inside one of the towering buildings of Port Mafia headquarters, Asou Akiya arrived punctually for work. The high collar of his shirt concealed most of the kiss marks, yet one or two faint red traces still peeked through — sharp-eyed colleagues did not miss them.
"Asou-kun, your wife is quite passionate," remarked a single colleague with evident envy.
Before winning Randou, Asou Akiya had spun all manner of wild tales; now that he had succeeded, he kept his private life firmly sealed.
He offered only a polite smile and returned to his desk.
When thirst struck, Asou Akiya habitually poured himself a cup of hot water and blew gently across the steam. The habit drew sidelong glances from those around him, but he declared with perfect confidence, "I'm simply taking care of my health — unlike the rest of you, shedding hair every day."
The words provoked a chorus of rueful sighs. Colleagues gazed jealously at Asou Akiya's thick, lustrous hair.
That day, the number of salarymen sipping hot water suddenly multiplied.
Asou Akiya finished his morning translation tasks, closed the folder with a snap, and stepped out — only to nearly collide with Takekawa Izumi, the senior who had guided him through his early days. Takekawa's face glowed with satisfaction as he waved a contract in the air. "We just landed a massive smuggling deal — translation fees are sky-high. Hurry back after lunch."
Asou Akiya shook his head. "Spending time with my wife is more important."
With that, he vanished in the blink of an eye, utterly unwilling to sacrifice a single minute for extra pay.
Takekawa Izumi rolled his eyes skyward. "When you've spent every last yen on her, don't come crying to me with that mournful face!"
Asou Akiya had no intention of confessing that recent stock gains and manuscript royalties had padded his wallet once more.
Money is truly the foundation for happiness.
After purchasing ingredients for lunch, Asou Akiya could not resist adding a bag of goji berries to the basket.
Later, he soaked and rinsed them carefully, then — with covert delight — sprinkled a few into Randou's thermos. Randou's body suffered such constant chill, his lips often pale; surely his vital energy needed bolstering.
Gazing at the bright red berries bobbing on the hot water's surface, he felt an inexplicable surge of accomplishment, mingled with the quiet pleasure of sharing his wellness wisdom. Had he not feared Randou might find the taste too strong, he would have added far more — but drinking hot water ranked as Randou's greatest daily bliss.
That afternoon, Randou unscrewed his thermos and discovered three small red objects floating within.
Randou: "?"
He tilted the cup and found a note tucked beneath, written in Akiya's neat hand. It explained the benefits of goji berries — a medicinal herb known to protect the liver, kidneys, and lungs.
Randou read it through, then silently drank every drop.
From that day forward, Asou Akiya's enthusiasm for enriching Randou's thermos grew unchecked.
The second day: four berries.
The third: five.
The fourth: six.
The fifth: ten.
The sixth: still ten.
Randou exhaled in quiet relief — Akiya had finally stopped increasing the dose.
Under Akiya's subtle influence, Randou had evolved from simply drinking hot water to habitually steeping goji berries in his thermos, coming to regard their distinctive flavor as a tangible expression of Akiya's care for him.
While composing poetry, he cradled his beloved thermos in one hand, taking careful, appreciative sips.
He let his pen wander freely across the page in casual practice.
[Summer, the afternoon arrives.]
[Twilight slips silently into the hall, gazing across the fervent sky at noon.]
[Dawn by the seaside.]
[Slumbering deeply for love, embracing the night in its final second.]
[Oh, shepherds of the city.]
[May they soothe their weariness with fine wine.]
[Awaiting the sea breeze's embrace.]
A shift in his inner landscape had turned Randou's attention toward the ordinary laborers of this city; his lover was one of them, never uttering a complaint about work yet radiating an unwavering positivity toward life.
In his former existence, Arthur Rimbaud had pursued pleasure without sparing a glance for the ants beneath his feet. Power granted ability users the capital for arrogance, erecting an invisible wall between them and the world. The literary realm withered; few ability users still bothered to write, leaving ordinary people to dominate the field instead.
Yet those whose souls truly blazed with light infused their words with the same brilliance.
Regrettably, they poured the fire of their lives into ideals, leaving little strength for the page.
Randou set down his pen and reached for a book on the shelf.
— Kokoro, by Natsume Souseki.
"I hope it won't be too difficult to read."
He was genuinely curious about any author Akiya recommended, especially since this particular novel had nearly vanished from circulation. Akiya had spent considerable time tracking down a copy.
After finishing it.
Randou calmly placed the book aside, utterly baffled by the intricate, delicate inner world of the Japanese characters. Why would someone torment himself with guilt and unease over a rival's suicide, all because he had pursued the woman he loved?
"As I thought, Akiya's novels are far more entertaining."
He picked up one of the light novels Asou Akiya had written purely to establish himself as an author.
At their core, those stories boiled down to a single word.
Thrilling.
The protagonists were never useless, never plagued by inferiority, never repressed, never trapped in unspoken love. They acted with clean decisiveness — no hesitation, no dragging feet. What they desired, they seized; what they did not, they cast aside without a backward glance. Such a style would have fit seamlessly into Asou Akiya's previous life, but in Japan mere decades ago — still shrouded in the shadows of war — it stood out as outrageously extreme, as though infused with the unrestrained joy of a peaceful era where one could finally spread one's wings.
The Japanese literary establishment heaped scorn and derision upon Asou Akiya's works; his style ran counter to every prevailing trend.
"A mudslide crashing through the world of novels!"
"Heresy in literary form!"
"No matter how much money it earns, this kind of writing possesses not a shred of depth!"
"How could anyone possibly admire such shallow protagonists… it's inconceivable! Utterly outrageous!"
"Shattering the shackles of the era! The author's mindset is utterly unlike that of ordinary men."
"Could such a reckless, unrestrained protagonist ever emerge from a worldview devoid of ability users? In a normal society, the police would arrest someone like him on day one!"
No matter the clamor of external criticism, Asou Akiya — cloaked behind his pen name — remained utterly unconcerned. The ordinary society he depicted in his novels had instead become their most distinctive hallmark.
A peaceful world without ability users, where everyday people shone brilliantly.
The extraordinary hidden within the commonplace formed the true melody.
His stories poured out one bowl of toxic chicken soup after another, enough to knock readers flat on their backs. For instance: all men are born equal, and in death we are all merely a handful of yellow earth — the only difference lies in whether your grave is a villa mausoleum or a modest brick plot. Or: why does Cinderella find her happy ending? Because Cinderella was the duke's daughter all along. And the most infuriating of all — why does the ugly duckling transform into a beautiful swan? Because it was the offspring of swans from the very beginning!
Ordinary readers in the world of literary strays clutched their hearts in collective agony.
Fairy tales lay in ruins.
Across worlds, they were pierced through the heart by summaries penned by a horde of irreverent netizens.
Randou burst into laughter while reading, experiencing for the first time the sheer, unbridled joy a novel could bring. So this was Akiya's perspective — strikingly original, refreshingly unconventional. Only… in the story, wealthy little heiresses, tsundere young ladies, infirmary beauties, and more appeared one after another, every last one falling for the protagonist.
Randou murmured in puzzlement, "Does the protagonist have multiple wives?"
Akiya, what exactly are you thinking?
He glanced once more at the cover. Bold, incendiary promotional text screamed across it, brimming with provocation: "The ultimate male fantasy — a crystal palace harem!"
Randou: "…"
That evening, when Asou Akiya returned home, Randou confronted him about the books, and Akiya adopted an expression of perfect innocence.
"Those stories were just written for fun."
Propping his chin on his hand, Asou Akiya shared his true thoughts. "It is human nature to admire beautiful things — I will glance longer at a stunning face, yet with my own looks, do you truly believe the reason I remained single for so many years was inability? Pursuing several beauties at once would hardly have been difficult for me."
In the end, it was the traverser's mindset that held firm to his principles.
If he were to pursue anyone, it would be the very best.
In the early timeline of this world — where most canon characters were still little more than children — only two figures had ever captured Asou Akiya's heart: Randou and Mori Ougai.
Compared to Mori Ougai, whose heart grew darker with each passing day, Randou was nothing less than a gift from the god of love himself.
"Pretty faces are commonplace, but a captivating soul is one in ten thousand." Asou Akiya drew out his wallet and solemnly placed his salary card into Randou's hand. "My dear, this is my sincerity."
Money mattered deeply to ordinary people.
Asou Akiya was no exception, yet he willingly rose above its constraints, striving to be a man worthy of trust.
Randou lowered his gaze to the card but did not take it.
The French beauty leaned in and brushed a kiss against Akiya's cheek.
"I believe you."
Even penniless and entirely dependent on Asou Akiya's support, Randou coveted no wealth. In his eyes shone a distant utopia far removed from worldly dust — a realm of imperishable souls bathed in the golden radiance of endless summer.
Randou's innate freedom left Asou Akiya feeling quietly humbled.
A spirit as untamed as the wind.
"Randou, from this day forward, I will no longer write those frivolous, chaotic tales." A distant, lingering smile curved Asou Akiya's lips — one that seemed capable of stretching across countless years, proven true over an entire lifetime.
"I will write for you… a story of love that endures until death."
"Please, let me be your Drunken Boat."
…
From "The Drunken Boat": "Ah, million golden birds — O future vigor?" But I weep no more! The dawns are heartbreaking, every moon is atrocious, every sun bitter. Acrid love has swollen me with intoxicating torpor. Oh, let my keel burst! Let me go to the sea!
—Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud.
---
Author's note:
Update delivered.
I stumbled across some hilarious internet lines and had to share them with you all — haha.
When middle age creeps in uninvited, goji berries soak in the thermos cup.
Goji can't hold back the march of years — add a pinch of angelica root to the brew.
Angelica struggles to mend the body's debts — toss in cordyceps, it's not too dear.
Cordyceps is fine and all, but deer antler and kidney tonic make the perfect pair.
Deer antler and kidney tonic fall short of true repair — brown sugar and ginseng unleash the mighty force.
Brown sugar and ginseng pale beside wine — stick to Hongmao, it has everything you need.
Hongmao tonifies the kidneys but won't save your life — buy insurance for peace of mind.
Insurance bought, yet worry lingers — pockets empty, hanging alone in the wind.
Pockets empty, off to labor — year after year of toil, year after year still poor.
Even in poverty, don't short yourself — tomorrow you'll need strength to mend the body once more.
Whether tomorrow finds you still in this world — in the end, you become nothing but a cup of earth.