Chapter 7. Ralrain, One Of The Four Vassal States
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El's thoughts churned as he turned to Ran. "So, what do you know about the people in the restaurant? What was their actual crime?"
Ran cast him a sidelong glance, her tone measured. "There are too many versions—whispers in the city, rumors in the underside. I don't know which is true. But one thing is certain: it involves the nobility. There was no trial. No chance to prove innocence."
El exhaled, absorbing her words.
He had only a shallow understanding of the empire's nobility—the strained divide between them and the commoners.
What little he knew came from the books stacked in his room, pages that barely scratched the surface. There was no mention of the underside. No mention of its people. Just fragments, pieces of a narrative that 'the man' had shared with him on that day in the restaurant.
Their footsteps echoed against the empty street as Ran spoke again. "You saw the female staff member, didn't you? The one who brought me and the others to eat?"
El nodded. "Yes, I remember her."
Ran's voice remained steady, but there was something cold, something sharp beneath it. "She's dead."
El froze, the words slicing through him like ice. "What?"
"It was three days ago," Ran continued, unfazed. "The others brought the news. Her body was found hanging in front of the mayor's office."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
El barely breathed. He dared not turn back, yet he could feel it—the storm brewing behind him. The others didn't speak, but their presence was filled with something raw and unforgiving. And Ran—Ran's fury radiated from her like a quiet fire, controlled yet seething beneath the surface.
El struggled for words, his throat tight. "I… I… why?"
Ran gave no answer.
She simply moved forward.
"That woman's name was Rima. Her biological sister is currently living with us on the underside. We don't know who spilled the beans to her about big sis Rima, so we had to tie her up in our base. She's passed out twice already from crying, yet she keeps trying to escape to the city," Ran suddenly started, her voice edged with something unreadable.
El fell silent, his gaze fixed on the ground as he followed Ran's steps.
"You must be wondering why I'm telling you this, right?" Ran asked, turning her head just enough to catch his gaze.
El hesitated before nodding. "… Yes."
Gray eyes met emerald. She studied him—long enough that he could feel it, the quiet calculation behind her stare.
"I wanted to see if what you said earlier was true," she finally admitted. "Now, I'm about sixty percent sure you're not from here."
"… Based on what?"
"Your eyes."
"My eyes?" His confusion was plain.
"Yes," Ran replied, her tone still matter-of-fact. "Though it's just a guess. But well, if you showed me signs that you were from the upper side… hmm."
Slowly, she lifted her left hand—the one hidden beneath the oversized sleeves of her faded gray-blue sweater. In her grasp sat a pocketknife, its sharpened edge catching the dim alley light.
"Nore's plan wasn't bad either way," she continued, her gaze unwavering.
El didn't react. He wasn't invested in that plan—had never truly considered it. The truth was, for the past few days, every time he thought back on his own actions, he stood like a statue, staring at the barbed wire fences separating the city from the underside—he felt it.
That urge.
That overwhelming pull to actually cross it.
Besides, Nore's plan and his so-called "underling" needed him to actually have parents. How could he possibly have gotten one?
And the silver Riel given to him by the man—it sat safely in a hidden compartment. When he wandered outside, he typically carried around two coins at most.
So basically, their plan was a bust from the start, no matter how El viewed it.
"Uh-huh…" El muttered absently, his gaze distant as he walked alongside Ran.
Then, out of nowhere—out of sync with the somber weight of their conversation—he murmured just loud enough for her to hear, "You're really pretty, though…"
Ran faltered mid-step. "Huh…?" The word barely escaped her lips.
"I mean it," El continued, his voice clearer now, more deliberate. "You're really pretty. Honestly, you look like an angel."
The sincerity in his tone caught the others off guard. A ripple of silence spread behind them as his words hung in the air. Then—
"???"
"!!??"
"… ??? … !!! ???"
"What the hell?!" Sill and Nore blurted out at the same time, their voices filled with disbelief. The others, besides the two, froze, exchanging wide-eyed glances. One of them even smacked his own ear, as if testing whether he was trapped in some bizarre dream.
Had he really just heard that?
Ran, meanwhile, was frozen. "Wha—why you… Why?" she stammered, her voice uneven as a flush of red crept up her cheeks.
El had seen it before—most people from the underside had pale, almost sickly skin. But Ran… Ran was different. Her complexion was naturally fair, and now, with her face burning from the unexpected compliment, the blush stood out even more.
It was unmistakable.
And strangely enough—it was beautiful.
"Why? Of course, it's because you are pretty! What else?"
El replied guilelessly, with no shame on his face, blissfully unaware of the tension in the air. He sensed a mix of happiness and confusion radiating from Ran, though the undercurrent of anger was unmistakably more palpable.
To El, this seemed like a positive goodies-shoes sign. Anger minus happiness equals joy, right? That sounded logical enough.
His attempt to comfort her about the restaurant predicament, in his mind, was a brilliant move. He felt triumphant. If given the chance, he'd do the same with the others.
El proudly praised himself.
The thought tugged at a fond memory—his late aunt, the way her weary face had lit up at his compliments. It all started when she told him once, long ago, that all women appreciated being praised—beautiful, pretty, gorgeous, cute… every word was a gift.
El had never forgotten them.
Those words were special. Etched into the deepest part of his mind, they had been his secret weapon—capable of bringing light to his aunt's eyes, even when hunger gnawed at them, even when thirst dried their lips, even when corpses lined the streets.
'So surely… it will work on other women, too, right?'
El's logic felt solid.
After all, he had truly believed his aunt was beautiful despite her wrinkles. And so it was with Ran. She was different, but the instinct to praise was the same.
His aunt had been the one closest to El, so his inborn impulse, ready to sing a choir of praises for women, gradually stirred awake from their deep slumber, like an impulse long buried beneath years of survival.
Ran, however, was unraveling.
"Y-y-y-you… you…" Her voice broke, stuttering as her previous composure shattered in real time.
El blinked, puzzled. "You-you? What you?" He tilted his head slightly, brows furrowing.
The genuine perplexity didn't slow him down.
Seizing the moment, he pressed on. The old saying came to his mind—'Strike while the iron is hot to bring the best out of it.' And so he did.
"Umm, anyway—it's your eyes, especially. They're really pretty. Like… like the stormy sea I once saw in a picture back in my village. Deep. Mysterious."
His voice softened, almost reverent. "And… anyway, in short, you are really pretty, Ran. Beautiful. Or… if you don't like that—gorgeous instead."
He smiled, the praise rolling off his tongue effortlessly, as natural as breathing, while seriously pondering which one of those praises would resonate best.
And as he spoke—he saw it.
Ran's emotions shifted.
Exhilaration flickered there, hesitant yet undeniable.
It filled him with glee.
He didn't know what Ran thought about him at that moment, but for no apparent reason, El truly wanted her to become his friend. He would do his best to make her like him.
He had only one friend before, who had passed away from thirst, and now he was greedy for more of that thing called—friends. His late aunt had also advised him to befriend people his age in case he ever survived by any chance, and Ran seemed to fit the bill perfectly.
Her age must have been the same or around his, right?
After delivering all of those heartfelt compliments to the best of his current ability, El waited for Ran's reaction―eager, expectant.
He imagined that she would smile back at him and then say that she liked him, thanking El for comforting her when she was sad. After that, they would shake hands to seal the deal of their newfound friendship. Or a hug, perhaps. Or maybe a kiss on the cheek.
Then, they would become friends forever, living happily ever after together—just like what his last friend had said about having a girl around his age as a friend.
Even if one of them were to die first, at least El would have another friend to count on his fingers. Someone to write about in his notes later that evening.
'Two friends starting today.'
Yes, that sounded perfect.
And all that was pretty much the summary of what was going on inside El's head.
But the reality that soon dawned upon the poor, naïve, innocent El was far from his daydreams. Not a handshake, unfortunately. Not a hug, either.
Nor a kiss on the cheek.
Not even a smile or holding hands, with a quiet promise to grow closer.
Instead, he was met with something altogether different. A swift, outstretched palm, fingers conjoined, flew toward El's cheek.
Uh yep. It was pretty much a slap at that point…
"You... pervert!!?" Ran erupted.
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The slap flew toward El's cheek, but he instinctively dodged.
"You—pervert!" Ran snapped, eyes blazing with irritation. Her fingers tightened around the pocket knife in her grasp, her heartbeat pounding—partly from embarrassment… and something else.
Happiness?
She crushed the thought before it could fully form. 'What the heck? No way.' The idea that she had almost been swayed by such a shameless flirt made her cringe inside.
El blinked. "Wha—what? Why are you angry?" He tilted his head, utterly baffled. Another mystery gnawed at him—what was a pervert? Some odd, hillilbilly slang for being mad at someone?
A burst of laughter cut through the tension.
"I like this kid already," Sill said, striding toward them with an amused grin. He threw an arm around El's shoulder, shaking his head. "You know, I've never seen Ran this flustered before. Nice job, little guy!" He gave El an exaggerated thumbs-up.
Ran rolled her eyes and turned to resume her walk.
El was still trying to understand. "Wha–what did I do wrong?"
Sill paused, studying him. "...Wait. You really don't know?"
"Know what?"
Sill pulled his arm back, suddenly more intrigued. "You're really not from Mirthwater, huh? Ralrain's culture is different from the other three states. It's strict—men can't just compliment women out of nowhere, or they'll be accused of being a pervert or worse, a lecher."
El frowned. "Excuse me, but what are 'pervert' and 'lecher'?"
Silence. A heavy pause settled over the group.
"You seriously don't know?" Sill asked again, incredulous.
El shook his head, his eyes gleaming with pure innocence. "I don't."
Nore scoffed. "What, have you never gone to school?"
"I've heard of school," El admitted thoughtfully. "It's a place where people study, right? Then no, I've never been."
Silence stretched again.
"What?!" Sill blurted. "How have you lived this long? No way. You speak normally, you know about Mirthwater and Ralrain—"
"Of course I do," El said, unfazed. "I read about them in books. Mirthwater is one of Ralrain's cities, and Ralrain is one of the four Vassal States of the Eschaton Empire, also called The Empire's Shield."
He spoke fluently. Intelligence gleamed in his words, backed by the countless books in his room.
Nore immediately pointed his finger accusingly. "See? He's lying! He says he never went to school, but he knows things only found in high school textbooks. That makes zero sense—where does he even get expensive books like that?"
Ran sighed, already ahead of them. "You all coming or not? Stop wasting time! What if we're late? The others are probably waiting."
She turned back to find the group still bickering. Huffing, she shouted louder—her voice bouncing off the stone walls. The rest exchanged glances, then hurried after her, the argument left unfinished.
* * *
Ran and the others stopped in front of an abandoned building full of debris and random spray paint, creating abstract graffiti. Sill grasped the back of El's jacket, stopping him from going any further down the path.
"We already arrived, little bro. Where do you even want to go?" Sill said amiably.
El chuckled sheepishly. "Oh… alright. Hehehe."
"Hey, you—come here," Ran called abruptly, her tone carrying an unmistakable edge.
El didn't hesitate, closing the distance between them. "Yeah? What's up?"
Ran fixed him with a sharp stare. "Since you clearly don't understand the rules of the underside—not surprising, considering your complete lack of propriety—I'll spell them out for you. Listen carefully, because I'll only say this once."
She let the weight of her words settle before continuing, her voice colder now.
"Do not touch anything. Do not move anything. Not the chairs, not the tables—hell, not even the curtains. Whatever you see, leave it as it is."
Her voice dropped slightly, the warning growing more severe. "And above all, remember these three rules. They're the only thing keeping you alive in this place. First—never, under any circumstances, look into a mirror if you stumble across one. Second—ignore every urge, every spike of curiosity, to lift any article of clothing draped over an object. And lastly—if a doll or a small statue appears before you, seemingly out of nowhere, do not hesitate. Run. Get outside immediately—and yell. Loudly. Alert the others."
Ran's gaze bore into him, waiting. The others kept the odd silence.
El swallowed, masking the unease blooming in his chest. "Got it."
Yet beneath his steady tone, something gnawed at him—a restless curiosity tugging at the edges of his thoughts. He wanted to ask questions. He wanted to understand.
But he knew some warnings weren't meant to be questioned.
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