After this piece, titled "The Growth Record of a French Literary Giant", was published, it immediately climbed to the very top of Randou's personal list of favorite novels.
The reason was disarmingly simple: Akiya drove the plot without a flicker of embarrassment, his face calm and his heart steady as he "stepped on the accelerator" right there in the novel.
It wasn't explicit—not that sort of writing—but it was thrilling all the same, the kind of tension that made the imagination race and the heart beat faster.
Randou eagerly cast himself into the role of the male protagonist, while in his mind he substituted Akiya for the female lead. When he imagined the two of them, in the story, roaming the world together and embarking on adventures across distant lands, he couldn't help but beam with delight and say cheerfully, "Akiya is really cute when he turns into a girl."
The moment those words left his mouth, Randou failed to notice that he had inadvertently revealed a rather glaring "flaw."
——This guy was bisexual.
Ever since getting together with Randou, Asou Akiya had lost count of how many times he had complained about the French. It wasn't just that they were romantic and overly affectionate; when it came to matters of the heart—and the body—so long as the feeling was right, they didn't care whether the other person was male or female. The logic seemed to be: sleep first, sort it out later. In order to minimize the dual risk of Randou cheating both emotionally and physically, Asou Akiya had poured an absurd amount of effort into "raising" him, worrying himself sick in the process.
Sex and love were both beautiful things, but Akiya hoped Randou would come to understand that love was ultimately more important than desire.
"Randou," he said seriously, "when you see a pretty young lady out there, you still have to keep your distance. You have to think about me."
"Will Akiya get jealous?" Randou asked innocently.
"Extremely jealous," Asou Akiya replied without hesitation. "So jealous that I only want Randou to like me, and me alone."
"I'll try my best," Randou said.
Randou was someone who followed his heart; he would never casually agree to something he couldn't truly promise.
The French beauty cradled the publisher's sample copy of the novel in his hands. On its title page was Asou Akiya's handwritten signature. He leaned in and kissed the author lightly on the cheek. "Right now, the person I like the most is Akiya."
Asou Akiya was filled with tenderness, and in his mind, a familiar imaginary notification chimed automatically—
Affection level increased.
He intended to weave a net out of love, one strong enough to catch Randou and hold him fast.
Tighten it!
Tie the knot!
He absolutely could not allow a Frenchman who treated emotions so irresponsibly to slip away!
Perhaps it was a shared illusion of humanity, but the latter half of the year always seemed to pass faster than the first. Before one realized it, without having done anything particularly momentous, the year's end had already arrived. During this year, Asou Akiya's life shifted from a single track into a multi-threaded existence. He worked hard, earned money to support his partner and the children living outside the household, and maintained a relationship that could be described as "half a teacher" with Nakahara Chuuya from Slum Bowl Street.
It was only "half" because Asou Akiya chose to give unilaterally, with no intention of asking for anything in return. He merely hoped that Chuuya would not grow up illiterate. With his own background—having once fought through the gauntlet of university entrance examinations and graduated from a proper college—teaching a Japanese orphan was more than within his capabilities.
Unknowingly, Nakahara Chuuya's orphan life began to include a new routine: biting the end of his pen, wearing a pained expression, and staring at books.
Within the entire "Sheep" organization, there were hardly any who were willing to read.
The moment they saw thick textbooks, everyone scattered.
Asou Akiya found this arrangement perfectly agreeable. Once a week, he deliberately set aside time to focus on teaching Chuuya, who was too embarrassed to refuse him, and would even assign homework afterward, planning to return the following week to check on his progress.
Randou, for his part, knew that Akiya often went to Slum Bowl Street and was warmly welcomed by the orphans there. Since he himself did not particularly like children and harbored lingering psychological shadows associated with that place, he chose not to accompany him. Each time Akiya explained that he was providing targeted assistance to these orphans, Randou would simply smile and think to himself, Akiya is such a kind person.
Work was work, but outside of it, in his spare time, Asou Akiya truly was a rare sort of good man.
He had the courage to help an elderly woman who had fallen, and when someone asked for directions, he would answer patiently and kindly.
These small responsibilities and obligations instilled by his homeland's education were things Asou Akiya chose to preserve. Much like the moral boundary he held deep in his heart, he did not demand that everyone live as he did or refrain entirely from bullying the weak with strength, but he could at least ensure that he himself lived without shame, able to face his own conscience.
In this regard, Asou Akiya was consciously learning from Nakahara Chuuya as he existed in the original work.
"Chuuya, winter's almost here. You need to wear a bit more."
Rather than continuing to donate large quantities of supplies indiscriminately, Asou Akiya brought the surplus cold-weather items from his own home to the little "Sheep." Among them were "old things" discarded by Randou—sent out to be resized and altered—then given entirely to Nakahara Chuuya. The orange-haired boy, still carrying traces of baby fat, was bundled up layer by layer until he resembled a fluffy little ball of fur.
Things a mother no longer wants, passed down to her child—perfectly natural and justified.
The others, however, did not receive such treatment.
Within the "Sheep" organization, everyone gradually noticed the increasingly obvious affection Mr. Asou showed toward Chuuya. The one consolation was that Mr. Asou had no intention of formally adopting him, which meant they could still, from time to time, receive relief aid as before.
Nakahara Chuuya's cheeks were flushed red, tucked beneath a warm scarf. His blue eyes, clear and untainted, gazed purely at Asou Akiya, the person who treated him with such kindness. His life had been fortunate—first taken in by a mutual-aid group, and later encountering Asou Akiya, who took a liking to him and taught him knowledge that normally could only be acquired through formal schooling in the outside world.
Nakahara Chuuya was very smart.
So smart that he understood his own value, concealed his origins, and behaved with exceptional obedience and maturity in front of Asou Akiya.
This lamb, so unlike the future "King of the Sheep," was a limited-time-only, eight-year-old version.
Extra! Ordinarily! Adorable!
Little flowers drifted through Asou Akiya's heart as usual. He set down a thick stack of homework exercises, only to see Nakahara Chuuya—clumsily trying to act cute—puff up his cheeks like a steamed bun, his eyes growing watery and pitiful.
[Chuuya: I don't want to do the problems.]
[Akiya: Objection overruled. Our household does not raise the uneducated—we can't afford to be looked down on! Especially considering that partner of yours who apparently only had some form of home education and ran off to Yokohama to commit suicide at fourteen.]
This exchange took place entirely within their minds, silent and unspoken, yet vivid all the same.
Nakahara Chuuya, small in stature but far too worldly for his age, let out a quiet sigh that carried an air of resignation far beyond what an ordinary child should possess. After a brief pause, he made his promise earnestly.
"Mr. Asou, I'll finish them all."
Asou Akiya reached out and gave the boy's orange hair a gentle rub, his palm lingering for just a moment longer than necessary as he forcibly restrained the impulse to order milk for him on the spot.
"Do your best, Chuuya."
With that, Asou Akiya lifted his briefcase and headed home, his footsteps fading into the distance.
The moment Asou Akiya left, the Sheep immediately swarmed around Nakahara Chuuya, who had just endured another round of merciless knowledge-stuffing.
Yuan, the pink-haired girl, took advantage of her status as the youngest. She pounced onto Chuuya's back with a laugh, clinging to him as she teased, "Chuuya, didn't you see the way Mr. Asou looks at you? That's totally the look someone gives their own kid."
Chuuya planted his feet firmly, refusing to be pressed flat by his companion's weight. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, words failing him entirely.
The others chimed in all at once, voices overlapping in cheerful chaos.
"Chuuya, why don't you just call him 'Dad' next time?"
"Yeah! Even without a formal adoption, calling him Dad doesn't cost you anything."
"Mr. Asou doesn't look like a rich guy, but that actually makes him safer, you know. I don't think he's a bad person."
"He's probably just a regular office worker. Way better than those reporters who keep talking about pity—at least he brings us candy every time he visits."
Lowering his head, Nakahara Chuuya quietly organized his textbooks and scratch paper, deliberately avoiding their gazes as he searched for an excuse he could stand behind.
"I… I have my own parents."
Yuan poked a hole straight through the flimsy justification, her tone light but unyielding. "You don't remember them."
Chuuya turned his head away.
The necklace around his neck weighed heavily on his heart, like an unsolved riddle that refused to leave him alone. He wanted to know who it was that had turned him into a human being, who it was that had fastened this longevity lock around his neck, wishing him a long life—one hundred years of living, safe and whole.
"I… I won't give up on finding them…"
Nakahara Chuuya refused to accept the kind of choice an ordinary person might make. No matter what, he would never abandon the search for his origins, never stop seeking the truth of where he came from and who he belonged to.
Hearing this, the Sheeps could not help but feel a swell of sympathy.
There were many people who had lost their parents in the explosion—far too many. Yet a child like Chuuya, who had not only lost his parents but had also lost all memory of them, existed in a far crueler ambiguity. No one could say for certain whether it was more tragic to witness one's parents die with one's own eyes, or to live on without any memory at all. Perhaps both kinds of suffering were unbearable in their own ways, each cutting deeply into a child's heart.
In the second winter Chuuya spent in Japan, the fireplace in Asou Akiya's home was lit early. The charcoal burned brightly, crackling with steady warmth. Randou sat on a small sofa in front of the hearth, hugging a plush, fluffy pillow to his chest. He leaned lazily against a thick fox-fur rug, and the elegant, refined Frenchman looked as though he were on the verge of melting into a puddle, like an ice pop left too close to the fire.
The metaphor was a little ridiculous, admittedly, but it was also undeniably accurate.
Winter.
The season Randou feared the most.
There was no competition.
Not only did the frequency of his nightmares increase at night, he also became reluctant to go outside, clinging to Asou Akiya whenever possible, unwilling to let him out of his sight. Even more dangerously, the frequency of his intimate advances toward his boyfriend once pushed Asou Akiya to the very limits of endurance.
It was a mixture of anxiety, hollowness, and an instinctive, bone-deep fear of winter that made him tremble.
Every day after work, the first thing Asou Akiya did was take Randou's icy hands into his own, warming them as he spoke softly, almost coaxingly, "I won't leave you. I love you. You don't need to prove anything through other means."
Randou replied with an expression of innocent sincerity, "But I want to feel warmer. I want my body to be hot, too."
Asou Akiya very much wanted to cover his own waist.
At last, he fully understood why health supplements were eternally bestsellers. Men all over the world shared one universal wish: to have strong, reliable kidneys.
Ah—perhaps next time, the Port Mafia should go and invest in that industry!
"Akiya." Randou curled up happily in his arms, his body fitting snugly against him. His fingertips toyed with the buttons of the man's suit jacket, and before long, one button came undone. Beneath the shirt was the ivory-toned skin typical of Asians, finer and smoother than that of most Europeans. When Randou poked at it, the well-trained muscles responded with a faint elasticity. "Akiya can just lie back and relax—let me do it."
Asou Akiya understood perfectly what he meant. This was not about switching roles or counterattacking; it was about him becoming a willing tool, nothing more.
Randou did not care in the slightest about who was on top or bottom. As long as it felt good, that was all that mattered.
"I brought you a gift," Asou Akiya said, instinctively diverting Randou's attention.
"A gift?" Randou replied languidly, his voice soft and boneless. "Akiya himself is my gift. I don't want anything else."
Asou Akiya pinched his nose lightly. "Something to keep you warm."
That sparked a flicker of interest in Randou's eyes.
When the packaging was opened, a pair of long johns—this year's top-selling autumn pants from Huaguo—was revealed. They were the kind of garment that could assault the aesthetic sensibilities of people from fashion-forward countries: plain in color, utterly unpretentious in appearance, but boasting outstanding insulation and warmth.
Randou's smile… faded.
"Ugly."
"But they're warm, Randou. Try them on?" Asou Akiya coaxed.
"No, I refuse!" Randou protested instantly. "Akiya, don't take off my pants, I was wrong! I'm not doing it today, I'm not cold at all, really—sob—! I don't want to wear such ugly pants!"
"Come on, Randou~."
For once, Asou Akiya fully indulged his steel-straight-man instincts. He desperately wanted to see his beloved dressed warmly, no matter how unfashionable it might be.
Randou did not manage to make a clean escape in time. His legs were caught, firmly seized, and he could only stare at the autumn pants in near despair, as though gazing upon an unavoidable fate.
Too ugly, too ugly, too ugly—far too ugly—someone save me!
Half an hour later.
After actually trying on the autumn pants, Randou was forced to admit, against his will and with great reluctance, that they were indeed remarkably warm. Unfortunately, after reaching this conclusion, he chose complete emotional shutdown.
Compared to warmth, he discovered that he loved his pride and his sense of beauty far more.
Asou Akiya sat nearby, one leg crossed over the other, tapping his foot lightly as he delivered the blunt truth without mercy. "See? When you choose clothes, you're looking for fashion, for flair, for bearing. Whether they're warm or not is a completely separate issue. You French people…" He clicked his tongue twice, meaningfully.
Randou felt deeply wronged.
Seeing that he had bullied his lover enough for the moment, Asou Akiya stopped teasing him further. Instead, he walked back to the entryway and returned carrying yet another delivery box.
For reasons he could not quite articulate, Randou felt a fresh wave of dread rise in his chest.
What now? What on earth is this? Things from Huaguo have absolutely no aesthetic appeal at all!
Asou Akiya opened the box, smiling brightly, his tone filled with unmistakable delight. "Look! I bought you an entire box of heat patches! You peel them open and stick them inside your coat, and they can keep you warm for several hours!"
Randou leaned over to peer inside the box. "Do they actually work?"
Asou Akiya gave him a gentle, reassuring smile. "You stick them on the inside. No one else will be able to see them."
In truth, the autumn pants were worn on the inside as well, hidden from all outside eyes, yet Randou's ruthlessly exacting sense of aesthetics simply could not tolerate the idea of his long, slender, perfectly straight legs being wrapped in something that would make them look even slightly bloated or inelegant.
In the end, Randou accepted the gift with lingering suspicion, his trust wavering between doubt and reluctant gratitude.
Watching Akiya—who so clearly hoped he would go outside, hoped he would stop evading the cold—Randou hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice softer than usual as he made an invitation.
"Akiya… let's have hot pot at home."
"It's snowing outside," Akiya replied calmly.
"..."
"I want to hold your hand, Randou, and take a walk in the snow together," Akiya continued, his tone gentle but unwavering. "Then we'll go eat hot pot in Yokohama Chinatown."
"...All right."
Randou surrendered to the man who loved him so thoroughly, so earnestly, that resistance felt unnecessary.
Snow.
So cold it stung the skin—yet before that chill could ever sink into the heart, it was quietly melted away by love.