A Guide to Raising Snake Spirits - Chapter 21

Faced with such a sweet surge of Guide pheromones, Shiraishi Haru instinctively held his breath, his brow furrowing. It wasn’t that it smelled bad, it smelled too good, the kind of scent that made him want to claim this Guide as his own immediately. He wanted to bite into the back of that neck and swallow him whole, bone and all. His Adam’s apple bobbed uncontrollably.

The grey-haired Sentinel’s expression darkened. The more he thought, the more somber he became.

After these past few days of rest, the deep dark circles under his eyes and his sharp, aggressive edge had faded significantly, but right now, that ferocity was back.

His studies at the Tower had provided him with a lot of common knowledge. For instance, he now knew that the suppressant Mizuki Nozomi had given him when they first met was standard equipment for special types of people.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled out a syringe and injected himself.

This was also standard-issue medication, but it was designed specifically for Sentinels to use in moments like this, when they found it difficult to control themselves.

The medicine felt like a bucket of cold water being dumped over him. His boiling blood slowly cooled. He would not allow himself to do anything that might harm his Guide.

Only after he was fully prepared did Shiraishi Haru step into the room.

The lights didn’t turn on automatically, a setting chosen by the homeowner. It didn’t affect the Sentinel, however. His green eyes glowed with a faint luminescence in the dark, and to him, the interior was as bright as day.

The smart butler’s greeting wasn’t particularly loud, but it could still be heard in the bedroom. Yet, even after the time Shiraishi had spent injecting himself, the house remained silent.

A snake lay limp on the living room floor, motionless.

The Anaconda paced restlessly within the mental realm, its massive body crushing fallen leaves. Shiraishi blocked his spirit animal’s attempt to manifest.

The Sentinel stepped forward quickly, carefully picking up the Black Mamba with both hands.

Its eyes looked as though they were covered by a white veil. The normally pitch-black, translucent pupils had turned a cloudy, bluish-white, and its once-shining scales were now dull and grey.

The Black Mamba hung there weakly. Its reactions were sluggish even when it sensed the Sentinel’s touch. After a moment, it slowly wrapped the tip of its tail around the Sentinel’s arm, offering a silent bit of comfort.

Confirming it was fine and likely just in the pre-molting stage, Shiraishi placed the snake onto its favorite large wooden rack and continued toward the master bedroom to find its owner.

The scent of lemon was even more concentrated in the master bedroom. Even with the medication, the longing in Shiraishi’s heart was difficult to suppress.

A bundle of blankets was piled on the bed, and the Guide himself was fast asleep inside.

Shiraishi stepped around the other quilts, rugs, and blankets scattered on the floor. “…Teacher Mizuki.”

His only response was the Guide’s steady breathing.

Silently, Shiraishi peeled back a corner of the blanket, revealing the Guide’s face, deep in sleep. Warm breath escaped from soft lips, and further down was the neck, exposed since the Guide had removed his neckband to sleep.

In his hazy state, Mizuki Nozomi felt someone fumbling with him. At first, he frowned in his sleep, annoyed, but instinct told him this person felt “comfortable.”

The Guide reached out with his eyes closed, grabbing the Sentinel who was disturbing his dreams and pulling him into his “nest.”

In reality, how could a Guide in their susceptible period have the strength to pull a Sentinel? Shiraishi simply allowed himself to be pulled into the Guide’s embrace and into the bedding.

Shiraishi propped his hand on the bed for a moment, thoughtfully adjusting his posture so he wouldn’t crush his Guide.

He was held against the Guide’s chest, his every breath filled with the scent of lemon and the Guide’s own essence. Under the covers, he could see the Guide’s jawline and the messy front of his pajamas.

His instincts were still acting up, but the Sentinel simply closed his eyes. The restlessness and impulses were like waves surging beneath a frozen lake, and he used the Guide’s scent to keep them at bay.

The Guide opened his eyes groggily. This had been a very deep sleep, unlike the usual lethargy and restlessness he experienced during his susceptible periods. Moreover, the bed was warm and cozy, his hands and feet weren’t cold at all.

He tried to raise a hand to cover a yawn, but he couldn’t lift it.

Mizuki Nozomi: “…”

Belatedly, he fell into a stunned silence as he faced the grey-haired Sentinel in his arms.

Nozomi knew his susceptible period symptoms involved being incredibly sleepy, to the point of losing track of time and person, and he usually had a terrible case of “waking up on the wrong side of the bed” if disturbed.

But he hadn’t expected that while he was sleeping, an extra person would somehow end up in his arms.

Shiraishi Haru’s hand was still clutching a corner of his pajamas. Messy grey hair covered the side of the Sentinel’s face, and he was sleeping peacefully, lips pressed thin.

Nozomi’s groggy mind whirred. Before he could figure out what was going on, a tingling, numbing sensation shot from his left fingertips all the way to his shoulder.

“Holy crap…”

Nozomi winced silently. Ignoring whether he’d wake Shiraishi, he pushed the Sentinel with one hand and yanked his left arm out from under Shiraishi’s body. The sheets rustled loudly with the movement.

The Guide clutched his left hand, not daring to move, his face contorted in a silent grimace of pain.

Then, he watched as a cold, ruthless hand reached out, grabbed his wrist, and began to apply pressure to his poor arm.

“It’s numb, it’s numb! Don’t press, don’t press…”

Nozomi let out a cry of pain, but he couldn’t reclaim his arm. He sprawled awkwardly on the bed, letting the Sentinel do as he pleased.

Shiraishi’s expression remained calm, as if he weren’t doing anything at all. He held the Guide’s hand and massaged from the upper arm down to the fingertips, explaining, “Rubbing it will make it better faster.”

“…”

Nozomi gnashed his teeth. Did he not know that? He just didn’t want to feel it.

The Guide didn’t have the energy to scold the Sentinel. All his focus was on trying not to scream in an unseemly manner. He knelt halfway on the bed, his face a mess of pain, slumped over in a “failed athlete” pose.

Shiraishi sat up as well, ruthlessly continuing to stimulate the blood flow in that same position.

The Guide’s pajamas had ridden up during the scuffle, revealing a patch of fair skin. However, on his lower back, which should have been flawless, there was a narrow scar. Shiraishi glanced at it, then averted his eyes, focusing back on the task at hand.

Nozomi gritted his teeth and endured the first two minutes. Feeling returned to his arm, and he finally realized the reality of the situation.

He was sitting on his bed, and Shiraishi Haru was also sitting on his bed, wearing a standard Sentinel uniform.

“Why are you here?” Nozomi asked, taking the initiative.

Shiraishi avoided the question, asking instead, “Are you feeling better?”

“Tell me why you’re here first.” Nozomi smoothed down the rolled-up sleeve of his pajamas.

“Teacher Akisui is subbing for you, I asked her.”

The Guide was wearing a button-down top, but the owner was too lazy to button it properly, the top two buttons were undone for easy removal over his head.

Since Nozomi was a restless sleeper, the crooked collar exposed a patch of skin on his chest.

The Sentinel kept his eyes strictly focused forward.

“Right…” Nozomi glanced at the date on his terminal. “My susceptible period started yesterday, so I asked her for leave.”

Shiraishi: “Is your body feeling better?”

Although the arm-numbing incident had woken Nozomi up a bit, his thoughts were still burdened by the susceptible period. He said slowly, “I’m alright. I just need to sleep more during these times, it’s no big deal.”

With that, the Guide pushed aside the cumbersome blankets, got up, and rummaged through the kitchen for two bags of nutrient solution. He opened one for himself and tossed the other to Shiraishi.

The Sentinel followed him, but didn’t open the solution, instead placing it on the living room table.

“You took time off?” Nozomi asked, the nutrient bag hanging from his mouth.

He didn’t remember when Shiraishi had arrived, but based on the time, Shiraishi should have been in class at the Tower.

“Yeah, Teacher Akisui granted me leave.”

Nozomi’s rusty brain turned, finally sensing a hint of resentment from the Sentinel.

“You’re not happy about having a day off?”

In some ways, a Guide in their susceptible period was no different from a Sentinel, equally dull and possessing a strange train of thought.

There was some gloom in Shiraishi’s heart. He had found out about his Guide’s susceptible period from someone else.

Mizuki Nozomi hadn’t told him.

Even though he knew Nozomi only told Akisui because of the leave-request process.

But he had just come out of the Guide’s warm bed and seen Nozomi’s dazed, sleepy appearance. Any resentment he had vanished.

Shiraishi: “No, it’s not that. Next time you’re in your susceptible period, can you tell me?”

Nozomi scratched his hair and tossed the empty bag away. “If you want to know, I’ll tell you next time.”

The Sentinel’s minor bad mood was easily smoothed over.

As Nozomi moved slowly back toward the bedroom, the Sentinel asked behind him, “Mizuki Nozomi, can I stay?”

“If you want to stay, sleep in the guest room,” Nozomi tossed back without turning around, falling back onto his large bed.

Well… it was actually quite nice if the Sentinel didn’t leave.

His brain, clouded by the pheromones of a compatible Sentinel, thought as he pulled up the covers and hugged his pillow. He didn’t usually like coffee, but right now, the smell of coffee was quite pleasant.

After nearly a month, Yanakura finally replied to Shiraishi Haru’s message.

[Yanakura]: Bro, what’s your deal? There’s almost no trace of you on the whole network.

[Yanakura]: But thanks to my superior skills, I found a little something. Take a look.

[Yanakura]: bsq.zip

[Yanakura]: Is this you?

Shiraishi Haru, who had officially taken over the Guide’s guest room, opened the compressed file. There wasn’t much, just one photo.

A young, black-haired version of himself appeared on the screen. He looked to be eleven or twelve, wearing ordinary clothes that gave no hint of his background, standing expressionless and looking into the camera against a plain white wall.

If Yanakura hadn’t sent this to him, he wouldn’t have recognized himself.

Shiraishi looked down at his own drooping grey hair and zoomed in on the face in the photo. The features were eighty percent similar to his current self.

He felt a faint sense of familiarity with the photo, but his memory hadn’t recovered that part yet.

[Shiraishi Haru]: How did you find this?

[Yanakura]: That’s a long story. I’d actually go to jail if this got out.

[Yanakura]: But I can give you a little hint.

Yanakura had a bit of a cocky personality. While he said he couldn’t tell, he actually blathered on quite a bit, from technical details to principles, from web crawlers to network security.

However, Shiraishi was able to pick out the key point from the mountain of nonsense: Yanakura had dug this photo out of the records of a certain research institute.

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