For a long moment, Hugo stayed silent before meeting Leonardo’s golden eyes again, his gaze clouded with a mix of confusion and complexity.
His mind was mired in chaos, and his heart ached with regret—regret for the man who had waited for him, and regret for the judgments he had made and the actions he had taken toward him as a person.
Until now, Hugo had believed he had seen many of Leonardo’s hidden sides, but hearing his words made him realize that belief had been arrogance. And in that instant, the countless worries this young man must have shouldered alone, the heart that had agonized over his own responsibility, struck him suddenly and heavily.
Leonardo, seeing Hugo lost in thought after hearing him out, lowered his eyes and bowed his head.
Hugo studied him closely. Through the strands of golden hair, he caught sight of lashes lined with fatigue, trembling faintly. As he took in that vulnerability, Leonardo’s words echoed in his mind. He repeated them silently before managing to speak.
“You... waited for me.”
Only then did Leonardo fully realize what he had said in the heat of emotion. A rush of regret swept over him, and he touched his lips. Frowning in the same confusion, he turned his head away.
“No, I mean—”
But he couldn’t finish, and a small sigh escaped him.
Hugo waited for more, and when the silence stretched on, he continued.
“Worrying about my responsibility.”
“...”
“Doubting your own abilities.”
Leonardo rubbed his face as he listened to Hugo list them, frustrated with himself for leaning into emotion and saying things better left unsaid.
How long had they even been together?
If anything, this side of him would seem strange. To Leonardo, Hugo Agrizendro was the only one here who had said he would try to trust him—but objectively, he was a man with many concerns beyond Leonardo Blaine’s existence.
There was no real obligation for him to trust or consider Leonardo’s thoughts. From their respective positions, their priorities and perspectives could never truly align.
Knowing that too well, Leonardo hated himself for still expecting something from this man.
Just because they had spoken as one human to another at night, he’d felt a bond—as if he had glimpsed something pitiful in him—and now that seemed unbearably foolish.
It irritated him that Hugo kept worrying over him and trying to talk, yet at the same time, it was contradictory to feel some vague emotion entirely opposite to that.
Hugo’s eyes sank, filled with pity for the man before him—and with doubt toward himself.
“...I didn’t know you were thinking like that.”
Leonardo couldn’t lift his head under the weight of his thoughts. Surely Hugo was only treating him decently out of basic humanity.
Nothing wore down the other person more than one-sided expectations and trust. He had been moving forward alone, without agreement.
And just as he thought Hugo must find this troublesome—
“I’m sorry.”
Leonardo flinched at the low voice brushing his ears and looked up, wondering if he had heard correctly. Agrizendro’s eyes held a tangle of emotions as complicated as his own.
As Leonardo’s gaze met his, Hugo gently caressed the hand he still held. Leonardo glanced down at the touch, then back up into his eyes.
It felt, somehow, as if Hugo was at a loss.
“I think I... no, I was thinking wrongly.”
Hugo spoke solemnly, holding his gaze.
“I never meant to burden you. Even less did I intend to use my responsibility as a leash to restrict your judgment and actions.”
“...”
“I didn’t know you were thinking so deeply about my words—or about my responsibility.”
He remembered facing Leonardo’s unstable control when a Dermocas had appeared near base camp for the first time, and what he had told him then.
Seeing Leonardo enter the tent with that displeased expression, Hugo had thought his pride had been wounded over the matter, and that he saw it as a flaw he didn’t want to acknowledge. He assumed Leonardo would be angered if he pressed it directly and imposed limits.
Because of that, he had dismissed Leonardo’s words—that he would handle it himself—as bravado. When his control remained unstable, Hugo had decided to test him quietly before a real crisis hit.
But the moment he heard what Leonardo had truly been thinking, he realized—if only I had spoken to him one more time, instead of making assumptions.
“My thinking was short-sighted.”
Even now, he wasn’t certain Leonardo could truly avoid harming others or prevent danger with unstable control. It hadn’t happened, so neither of them could know the answer.
But if he had just spoken to him again, he might never have chosen to test him to find out.
“I’m sorry for testing you.”
Leonardo studied his eyes as Hugo said it, watching the shadowed lids lower and lift again until that clear blue gaze met his.
“You must have felt more anxious and reluctant, doubting your own abilities—and it was an underwater battle. Thank you for thinking of my responsibility and the safety of the members first even in that moment, for jumping in and fighting in my stead. And—”
Hugo clasped Leonardo’s hand with both of his.
“I’m sorry for making you wait, Leonardo. I apologize again.”
At that, Leonardo’s mind went blank.
Had he wanted an apology? No—he hadn’t even considered it.
Hugo was the commander; surely he hadn’t made a wrong decision.
The man before him was a Council officer, but in the Imperial Army Leonardo had served in, it was unthinkable to question or object to a superior’s decision. Coming from that environment, to hear the commander apologize felt almost like hearing something forbidden.
He had felt pathetic «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» and angry at himself for being caught between trust in Hugo and awareness of his responsibility, annoyed by the man’s image of perfect rationality. But now Hugo seemed to be blaming himself, and Leonardo found himself unable to respond.
His thoughts tangled in confusion.
After a long silence, Leonardo tugged lightly to free his hand. This time, Hugo’s loosened grip let it slip away easily. Momentarily wrong-footed by that, Leonardo glanced down at his freed hand, then turned his gaze aside.
“No, no...”
Biting back the words that kept sticking in his throat, he let out an irritable sigh, ran a hand through his hair, and said coldly,
“It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize. I won’t have to wait for you anymore anyway.”
It’s better this way.
He closed his eyes briefly to gather his thoughts, then looked at Hugo directly.
“We’ll part ways when the subjugation’s over, so there’s no need to resolve this. From now on, I don’t want to talk about anything that’s not related to the subjugation. When this job is done, there’ll be no reason for us to meet again.”
His softening had been a quirk of the current situation, but building personal ties here would do him no good. At those words, Hugo’s lips parted slightly, then closed again.
Hugo accepted them without argument.
Leonardo Blaine’s role in the subjugation team was to hunt monsters, not to befriend him or the others.
Protecting the members who went into the water hadn’t been an order, so it wasn’t an obligation. Yet he always did it, as if it were natural—calling it his job.
If Leonardo had been someone who didn’t care about the members’ safety, could Hugo even have considered testing him?
Lowering his gaze to order his thoughts, Hugo soon spoke again.
“You were far more mature than I realized. In the end, I wasn’t.”
Leonardo said nothing.
“Thank you for telling me what you’ve been holding inside. I didn’t say all this to fix things—I just wanted to know your thoughts.”
Hugo’s voice stayed calm.
“As you said, when this is over, you and I may have no reason to meet again. And even now, as commander, I may still not be able to trust you as much as you’d hoped.”
“...”
“But I promise I won’t make assumptions and judgments about you anymore. And just as you took my responsibility seriously, and acted after careful thought, I promise to consider your position again and listen to what you have to say.”
Leonardo blinked, finding it strange—hadn’t he just drawn a line?
Why would a commander care so much about an outsider, someone not even part of the unit, who would soon leave? He could simply ignore it.
Yet Hugo’s words felt sincere enough to stir his curiosity. And Hugo wasn’t one to lie.
Leonardo’s gaze was clouded with tangled thoughts. Hugo spoke again, his tone tinged with bitterness.
“I know well that no matter what I say, your mood won’t improve easily. You don’t have to force it. But you also don’t have to keep it to yourself. If you really don’t want to talk, don’t. But if there’s ever something you want to say—say it to me.”
He paused, then met Leonardo’s eyes squarely.
“This time, I’ll wait for you.”
