Chapter 152 IF: Some Encounters in the Cell (Unlockable at 80% Subscription): What I Wanted (Thanks to Deepwater, a fan of the beautiful, strong, and tragic cat)
"—Would you like to know anything else?"
After inquiring about Sigma, Fyodor smiled and asked Yeikh in a slow, deliberate, and meaningful tone.
"No, no need."
At that moment, Ye Yihe's thoughts were instantly thrown into disarray, so much so that it wasn't until long after leaving that cell that he realized he couldn't just leave like that.
Fyodor was so candid and explained Sigma to him in such detail; he should definitely receive a reward.
Counting everyone in the small building, Ivan was probably the one who had the longest contact with Fyodor.
"What does he usually like?" Ye Yihe asked Ivan. "I want to give him a gift."
Ivan smiled, his signature smile curving upwards, and without hesitation uttered a single word: "You."
Ye Yihe was taken aback by this straightforward answer.
Ye Yihe began to cough tactically.
"...cough...cough cough, it's not that I wouldn't be happy to hear this answer,"
His eyes were darting around a bit, but his expression was visibly pleased.
"However, I'm referring to something else, like that 'Linton steak' that Pushkin craved every day..."
However, Fyodor had almost no preferences when it came to food. He would eat whatever was given to him and would only comment very occasionally that something was "too salty," "too spicy," or "don't have raw eggs."
That makes sense. If he had a good appetite, there's no way he could have made himself look anemic and thin.
But apart from that, he doesn't pursue luxury or trendy fashion in his clothes; his living quarters are not decorated, and he's reluctant to even turn on a couple more lights; he basically travels by smuggling himself in, and it wasn't until he got his passport from President Fukuzawa that he started to travel legally...
If it weren't for that grand ideal, Ye Yihe would have thought that Fyodor lived a life without desires!
How can I give him a reward that would make him happy...?
Ye Yihe was a little worried.
Seeing Ye Yihe's particularly troubled expression, Ivan pondered for a moment.
“Classical music,” he began.
"You could try bringing some classical music with you."
…………
Is that why you didn't play the cello today?
Fyodor sat in a chair covered with thick cushions and smiled as he asked Ye Yihe, who was busy at work.
The cells for superhumans don't provide chairs or warm, comfortable cushions; these were all brought in by Ye Yihe for Fyodor.
He insisted on keeping the person locked up here, but he didn't say he wanted to leave the person cold.
No one knew better than Ye Yihe how weak Fyodor's body was. In this confined underground environment, Fyodor could easily catch a cold and then develop a fever.
As the autumn temperature dropped, Ye Yihe even carried a cotton quilt past the dumbfounded prison guards and equally dumbfounded prisoners as if nothing had happened, spread it out, and carefully laid it on Fyodor's bed.
The blankets provided in the cell were so thin; they really had no idea how poor Fyodor's health was.
Turning my head, I saw Fyodor standing innocently to my side, his shoulders, clad only in prison clothes, were thin and slightly hunched inwards, with a heavy, specially made collar pressing down on his neck. I felt cold just looking at him.
Ye Yihe also draped the blanket over him.
You must not catch a cold.
—Just like now, Ye Yihe had just pointed to the blanket draped over the back of the chair, and Fyodor immediately understood, obediently picking up the blanket and tucking it over his shoulder.
Ye Yihe was satisfied and turned back to tinker with the old phonograph.
I've never used this thing before, but Ivan says that only vinyl records can reproduce sound quality to the greatest extent and truly present the charm of the music itself.
Ye Yihe admits he knows absolutely nothing about music.
But Ivan knew these things very well, and Yeikh humbly sought his advice, strictly following his instructions at every step.
"Hmm, here it is, then this side down, and then like this..."
Fyodor sat with his hands on his lap, his posture obedient and elegant, waiting for Ye Yihe to play the "little gift" he had brought him.
Those deep purple eyes that were looking at Ye Yihe had already narrowed slightly, curving into an extremely pleasant arc.
Even though he was skilled at using a phonograph and could easily identify whether a vinyl record was an original first print (master tape), he still did nothing.
He neither intervened nor gave any verbal instructions, but simply sat in his seat, smiling as he watched Ye Yihe busy himself for a long time, learning how to use the phonograph.
Finally, a pleasant and melodious tune began to play.
It was classical music that he liked.
"This is really..."
Fyodor's smile deepened, and he raised his hand, his fingertips lightly pressing against his chest.
Even his upper body leaned slightly forward towards Ye Yihe.
"Is this a gift you prepared for me? Is it Christmas?"
The more obvious Fyodor's smile, the more it exuded a captivating charm, causing Ye Yihe's heart to beat faster involuntarily.
"Hmm... I can't always let you listen to me play the cello."
He sat down on another chair, a little embarrassed, without explaining that it was a reward or anything like that, but instead described it as a whim of his own.
"I see."
Fyodor smiled and did not expose his messianic rhetoric.
The 12-inch vinyl record spun smoothly, and the originally cold and lifeless space seemed to become warm, as if you were in an elegant concert hall.
They were all classical music that he liked to listen to.
His messiah couldn't accurately distinguish classical music by its melodies, let alone precisely select the pieces he liked.
Furthermore, the playback medium was not chosen from radios or CDs, but rather the most authentic record...
Fyodor didn't move, but slowly ran the pad of his thumb along the edge of his nail.
Round and smooth, without any signs of nibbling—simply because his messiah always cared for him so much.
He gladly basked in the Messiah's gaze and all of the other's attention.
Just like the classical music that played only for him.
…………
The record continued to spin slowly, and Ye Yihe kept dozing off.
There wasn't a single human voice throughout the entire thing. Whether it sounded good or not was secondary; all he felt right now was sleepiness...
"Excuse me for asking, but what is the date today?"
Fyodor suddenly spoke, startling Ye Yihe, who had almost fallen asleep, awake.
"Ah... November 11th."
Ye Yihe recalled for a moment and told him.
Fyodor tilted his head slightly, a perfectly timed smile appearing on his face.
"What a coincidence, today is my birthday."
He suddenly brought up this information that had never been mentioned before, so much so that Ye Yihe was stunned for a moment before he reacted.
Why didn't you say so sooner...!
Birthday cake, candles, gifts, a lavish dinner... he was completely unprepared!
"It's alright, I haven't celebrated my birthday in a long time."
Fyodor's expression remained unchanged, but it made Ye Yihe's heart tighten as he recalled his past.
He doesn't want to celebrate his birthday because no one will celebrate it for him, and he even tries to cover it up as if it were nothing.
"I... I still have to celebrate your birthday."
As Ye Yihe spoke, he got up to leave.
Fyodor was faster, reaching out and grabbing Yeikh's wrist.
"Or, you can just send me one gift."
Fyodor smiled, his words spoken softly and slowly, yet with an irresistible allure, more captivating than even the most masterful classical music.
What do you want?
Ye Yihe stopped unconsciously.
Those deep purple eyes deepened, like hissing snakes, coiling and coiling around the prey they had set their sights on, the one only they could possess.
"Let me think—"
Fyodor spoke slowly, but did not let go of Ye Yihe's five fingers.
Not only did he not let go, but his fingertips were always icy cold, so cold that Ye Yihe often had to stuff a hot water bottle into his arms or simply touch them with his own hands.
At this moment, however, it began to get hot.
Ye Yihe remained standing still, his heart gradually rising with the other person's words, even carrying a kind of tension—or perhaps anticipation—that he couldn't quite explain.
Until their breaths mingled, only a long shadow cast by the light remained on the wall.
Soft, jet-black hair spread out on the bed, and a low, soft laugh rang out, like gushing mead, falling without any hindrance into the depths of those eyes, which met in a deep gaze, one above the other, the other in crimson and purple.
"The answer is your heartbeat."
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Originally, I said I'd try driving (wiping sweat), but it's pretty obvious, isn't it...?
These things didn't happen in the main text (at least not in the second half).
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