STABLE BOY ; Trash of the Count's Family

26. INKED BONDS

Of all the tattoos South has, he has a few horses.

There's one leaping stallion at his lower back around the spine, right where he was almost guaranteed to be paralyzed if he even tried getting hurt there. There's the crest of a horse's profile around his shoulder blades, and he couldn't guess who these two belonged to if he tried.

Oh, but there was this weird array of kitchen tools somewhere around the important arteries of his thighs, going around like some kind of garter. He decided not to think about them.

He knew the compass around his neck belonged to Coachman Leon, but over the past days there was a sword speared through the center of the compass, replacing one of the cardinal points with its blade pointed southward.

South frowned into the mirror, trying to get a closer look. The sword looked familiar, for some reason, from the jagged edge to the worn-out grip, but he couldn't recall for sure.

Wait.

"When the hell— that's Choi Han-ssi's sword!"

Dammit. They usually only form when South wants them to, so he was being extra careful about the main character. Is it situated right over the carotid artery? Ah yes, I get to subdue Choi Han-nim exactly once in my life, if I feel like dying right afterwards.

This is why he didn't want to get involved with whatever the Young Master was doing... ahhh, he was always so busy that he forgot why he wanted to live quietly in a corner somewhere already. Why always me?

"Nooo, I don't want thisssss," he wailed into his hands.

Now if anyone finds out about his powers, he's guaranteed to be kidnapped for this one second of stopping Choi Han's movements so enemies can kill the strong OP guy. He's had enough of the whole 'being used against your comrades' thing already!

He looked at his wrist again, where Hans-Hyung's corgi was still smiling up at him.

"...Were those pawprints always there?"

Of course, the corgi tattoo did not answer him. It just sat comfortably between the red and silver pawprints on either side of it, innocent and adorable and having done nothing wrong ever.

At least there wasn't any signs of the dragon yet. He did not want to deal with the implications of any of that.

South didn't like it.

He didn't like getting comfortable where he was.

His power was most useful against the people that trusted him. These tattoos were all bonds that he took the time to gather and open up to, and these tattoos have always been used to subdue and stab people behind their backs.

No matter how much he let these people into his weak spots, these tattoos were a reminder of how he's lived his entire life betraying them and being betrayed.

He never wanted to be in a situation like that again, but this power followed him from one universe to the next, and it was such a curse.

With a sigh, South looked into the mirror one last time, and lifted his shirt.

The spot over his chest, over his heart, had a large tattoo over it. Two koi fish, circling over each other in a ying-yang formation, the gap between them right where his heart was.

"It's still here..."

One day, will this one be replaced, too? He wondered how he would feel when it happened. Would it feel like a piece of his own heart were gouged out? He didn't know.

He was a little afraid.

Everything he had would one day disappear. He always knew that. One day, all these connections he built would be utilised for his survival. This was all just insurance, defensive measures for him.

("They're bonds. They're signs that you've grown to love things— love people," someone once told him. "Don't hate them. I think they're beautiful.")

(But that person was wrong. Because these were not love to South, these were weapons. These were chains that bound him. They were chains that trapped him and he used them in turn to trap them right back, they were cages.)

("Your tattoos tell a story," that person always said. "You don't know how to express your affection, but those tattoos tell people just how much you're willing to give.")

I would give my life for you, that was what this power meant.

South did not accept it.

He hated being exposed and weak. As if he'll see these tattoos as a representation of him allowing them right toward his many, many weak spots.

"Agh, so annoying," he threw his shirt back on and left the washroom, irritated. He decided not to think about it too deeply.

One day, they will all disappear, anyway.