あなたのﾋﾒさま

The crowd at the concert was huge—Reinhard had no trouble staying on his feet, but several girls nearby would have been pushed to the floor and trampled if he hadn't caught them in time. He didn't mind intervening, of course, but every time his heart skipped a beat: what if they recognized him? Yes, he was wearing sunglasses and a mask, but still...

It would’ve been a scandal, no doubt. The press, he had been forced to learn since childhood, would turn on their former favorites in the blink of an eye if the story was juicy enough. It would only take one photo of him in the crowd to appear online, and the snowball would start rolling. Is it true that he has such terrible taste in music? Is he doing this instead of fulfilling his actual duties? Who is paying for this? Is this his way to express support for WitchCultEntertainment after last year's scandal? And what about the fresh rumors?

A stain on the family's reputation. Small, yes, and everyone may forget about it in two weeks, but it is from such things that the full picture is formed, and in the future, from a single glance at this picture, it will become clear to everyone: Reinhard van Astrea is a worthless son.

Yes, his heart skipped a beat.

Regulus walked onto the stage with confident, quick steps. He was dressed, as always, in white, and every little detail of his costume, from the fur on his shoulder to the golden lion patterns on his sleeves, reminded of the fashion of kings; one magazine, Reinhard recalled, called his style "a spit in the face of a grieving nation." His face appeared on all the screens behind him: he was grinning.

A completely inappropriate, childish delight appeared in Reinhard's chest. The people around him screamed—and at first he held back, he really held back, it wasn’t proper for him to behave like that, but in such a situation, one could say, it was necessary to do so—soon an admiring cry escaped from his mouth, joining the hundreds of others.

Here, surrounded by complete strangers who shared his feelings with ease, he felt almost normal.

///

“I repeat once again, I am not going to sign anything for any of you! I don’t know if you noticed or not, but the meet and greet session ended half an hour ago! If you don’t want to buy tickets, then sorry, but that’s not my problem! In your opinion, you can just go up to me anywhere and demand that I give you my personal time on the basis of—what, excuse me? Personally, I don’t have the slightest idea why you decided that you have the right to do this! To approach a person so casually, with such, excuse my bluntness, astonishingly audacious request, I just… Get your dirty hands off me! Are you completely…”

Reinhard stopped. The concert was already over, but he did not call for a taxi home after walking outside, wandering around the concert hall instead—he couldn’t really explain why. It seemed to him that he was completely alone here, and everyone else had already left, but the voice, sounding more and more unmistakably familiar, caught him by surprise.

He quickly, mindlessly walked towards the sound—and froze, as if he had crashed into a wall.

If it were not for the voice, Regulus could’ve escaped his attention: standing with everyone else on the wet asphalt instead of the stage, he turned out to be quite short. He was lost in the crowd; fans surrounded him, all with shining eyes, trying to hand him something, or, on the contrary, tear off a piece of him as a souvenir.

“If you think that you can just get away with this!.. Who do you take me for anyway?! Do you think I am your dear friend or something? Ha! Don't get your hopes up! I have absolutely nothing in common with you, and if you hope that…”

The most reasonable thing would be to turn around and leave, of course. His little foray had been a success—what more could he want?

Reinhard stepped forward.

“Excuse me. Sorry. Could you please?.. I just need to... Excuse me. Thank you.”

With careful but firm movements, he pushed the crowd apart until he reached its epicenter. Regulus, his makeup falling off his face and wrinkles forming all over his suit, looked at him, shuddered, but immediately braced himself.

“And what do you want?! To sign my forehead?!”

“Excuse me,” Reinhard replied.

He grabbed Regulus's hand, gloved in cheap silk. The crowd began to grumble.

“Apologies, everyone.” Reinhard waved at them. “I'm sorry, but it's time for you to go home.”

“Who are you?” someone shouted.

Reinhard realised that the effect would not be as strong because of the mask, but still smiled.

“A bodyguard for an hour.”

Without saying another word, he pulled Regulus along with him. The crowd did not part, on the contrary, they tried to grab him, but he dodged with ease—and as soon as he got out, he started running, squeezing Regulus’s hand tightly.

///

“S-stop..! Who do you think you—stop! Now..!”

Reinhard stopped. They hadn't run that far, not even a minute had passed: the concert hall was still visible from here, and some particularly stubborn fan could very well still be chasing them. But Regulus seemed out of breath: his face was red, his clothes were completely disheveled, and he was breathing deeply, with his whole chest.

"What the hell was that?" he managed to say.

Reinhard shrugged.

"I thought you could use a helping hand."

“Oh, we have a comedian here. I'm sorry, is this a charity event? Or are you counting on something? Yeah, admit it. Playing the hero, eh? A real saviour! Do you want me to kiss your feet? Did I ask you for help? Answer me, did I ask? No, I didn't! So what right do you have to decide for other people whether they need to be helped or not? Do you think they won't figure it out without your invaluable services? What a kind soul you are! You think you're the best, don’t you? Who are you anyway, huh?”

“I thought you needed help.” Reinhard shook his head. He pretended that he hadn't heard the last question. “I don't need anything in return.”

“Huh?” This didn’t seem to reassure Regulus, on the contrary, he looked more enraged. “What's that supposed to mean? Maybe I misheard? No, I heard right, don't even think about using it as an excuse. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Are you bullshitting me? Selflessness is a cheese in the mousetrap for fools, are you taking me for a fool? No one in their right mind would save a star at the peak of their popularity for nothing. Come on, tell me what you need, now!”

“I really don't need anything.”

“Are you trying to mock me, huh?!”

A hand grabbed his collar. Regulus pulled Reinhard towards him; his face was contorted with anger, and he did not look like his stage image at all—here and now, he looked like a completely ordinary person.

“You know what?” he hissed. “Mind you, I don't want to do this at all, because, unlike some people in this industry, I'm actually familiar with the concept of morality, but that doesn’t mean my patience is unlimited, and do you know what I can do to you if you continue this ridiculous clowning?! You know what?! You know what?!”

“What?” Reinhard asked politely.

Something gurgled in Regulus's throat, and for a second, Reinhard thought he was going to try to hit him.

But suddenly, something changed in Regulus' expression. He took a deep breath, smiled wryly—the corners of his lips twitched along with his lower eyelid—and, opening his palm, casually smoothed the folds on Reinhard's t-shirt.

“Some idiot probably filmed this ‘heroic’ performance of yours. It's just unbelievable, really, literally everyone is with a phone in their hands all the time these days. Not my business or anything, but what is it, an addiction? They film it, they’ll post it out of context, get their millions of likes or whatever, and for some reason it is my problem now! Mine! Is this supposed to be fair? Thanks a lot," he said through clenched teeth and poked a finger into Reinhard’s chest. ‘You’ll come to a restaurant with me. I'll even pay for your dessert—don’t even try to claim on the internet later that I am some sort of ungrateful greedy bastard.”

Reinhard's eyes widened.

“That... might be a problem,” he said carefully.

“Eh? Now, what does this ‘problem’ mean, exactly? Is this your way to express gratitude? I'm certainly not surprised, but still, don't you think it's extreme arrogance? In that crowd, anyone would kill to be in your place, and here you are going about your ‘problem’. Aren't you ashamed? You should be. I would be if I were you, although, just so you know, I would not be you at all, because it would never occur to me to behave like that. ‘Problem’!”

Reinhard lifted his sunglasses onto his forehead and slowly pulled the mask off his face.

Regulus looked at him critically.