Chapter 16: They fear not even the execution of gods, but the sounding of horns. Even gods are so delicate…
In his panic, Reinhardt felt a sudden tightening of his arm, and then he fell into a firm, warm, and elastic place.
The familiar scent enveloped him instantly, but Reinhardt couldn't spare a thought for anything else.
Having lost his sight, Reinhardt's other senses became more sensitive than normal. What would be merely a noisy ship horn to an ordinary person was like a deafening sonic boom exploding right next to his ear.
Reinhardt felt his eardrums and heart tremble with the sound waves, the pain excruciating. In a panic, he raised his hands to cover his ears. But their position was on a high floor, in an open area, allowing them to receive the maximum signal of the sound waves. The force was so strong that his hands were useless. Just as Reinhardt gritted his teeth, preparing to tough it out, his body tensed as he was completely enveloped by a broad chest.
A pair of hands, much larger than his own, covered his ears, like an extra layer of defense. Together with the strong arms, they shielded Reinhardt from the sonic boom, easing his trembling and fear.
It's a bit hot and a bit crowded.
Buster's expression was a little strange.
He'd had his share of physical contact—lifting, hugging, pulling—but this real, tangible hug felt like a first for him.
The warmth and softness of another person's body emanated through the fabric. Unaffected by the horn's sound, Buster lowered his eyes, his gaze naturally falling on the Son of God. The gentle glow of the setting sun cascaded over Reinhardt's soft golden hair, the shimmering light flowing through his strands like molten gold, coating each hair with a warm sheen.
Buster unconsciously held his breath, watching the tiny golden rays dance in Reinhardt's hair, swaying gently as if alive with his trembling.
He still carried a faint fragrance, which, mixed with the gentle sea breeze, stirred the dormant strings of Buster's heart.
The Storm Leader actually recognized the scent; Madonna or some other lady on the ship seemed to use the same perfume or fragrance. Yet, it also seemed distinctly different, possessing an indescribable tranquility and gentleness that lingered around the Storm Leader, drawing his attention entirely to Reinhardt.
Suddenly, the little turtle that was nestled quietly in my arms stirred, trying to break free of its confinement.
Buster then realized that the horn had stopped sometime earlier.
He paused for a moment, then released his grip. He meant well, but somehow his mouth just couldn't resist saying something sarcastic.
"They're not afraid of beheading, but they're afraid of the siren. Are all gods this delicate?"
The mild-mannered Reinhardt was not angry, and thanked him calmly.
"Thank you," he said. "Then please let me go."
This reaction, as still as a stagnant pool, instantly stirred Buster's rebellious spirit.
He snorted coldly, and the hand that he had intended to let go returned to Reinhardt's waist. Reinhardt tried to get up from his embrace, but the broad palm of his hand exerted a little force on his back, and he fell back down.
The brightly colored fishtail skirt billowed at the feet of the Son of God, whose hair was disheveled. At this moment, the Son of God looked like a wife snatched back by the leader of a band of bandits, firmly imprisoned in the arms of the Storm Leader. Buster's rough fingers inadvertently brushed against the curve of Reinhardt's waist, and through the thin, shimmering brocade fabric, he could clearly feel the slender and supple waist.
As they moved, a few strands of hair playfully clung to the Storm Leader's gleaming golden buttons, seemingly reluctant to part.
One was a completely clueless guy, utterly oblivious to the suggestive nature of the position, only enjoying the thrill of teasing and playing pranks on the "son of the gods." The other was naive and clueless, with no concept of the matter whatsoever, only the annoyance of being teased and a touch of confusion.
This Storm Leader... seems to need some kind of mental treatment more than he does.
Unaware that his score in the heart of some god's son had already dropped to the lowest point, the chieftain continued, raising the silk scarf in his hand and waving it in front of Reinhardt's eyes, then remembering that he couldn't see it.
"You don't want your ribbon anymore?"
Kind-hearted Buster probably slid the ribbon across Reinhardt's face.
The smooth satin brushed just over those lips, whose complexion had finally returned to a rosy hue.
Feeling a slight itch, Reinhardt shrank his neck, and the ribbon slid slowly across his neck and cheek as he turned his head. His blond hair fluttered, and from Buster's angle, Reinhardt's well-defined collarbone and subtly revealed, rounded earlobes were clearly visible.
It's round, and actually kind of cute.
The ribbon fluttered between the two in the sea breeze, then suddenly touched Buster's lips, carrying a hint of Reinhardt's lingering scent.
Reinhardt, who had turned his head back, kept his eyes closed. He remained silent and reached out to grab the ribbon, but instead of the ribbon, he touched the Storm Leader himself.
The moment his fingertips touched her lips, the latter was momentarily stunned when Reinhardt's well-defined fingers pressed against her cheek.
Realizing something was wrong, his fingers curled slightly, then he frantically touched the tip of his nose.
Oh no, Reinhardt felt he had been extremely rude and quickly withdrew his hand.
During the retreat, Reinhard accidentally touched the ribbon with his wrist. In a flash of inspiration, Reinhard grabbed the end of the ribbon and pulled it out of Buster's hand with almost no effort.
Buster snapped out of his reverie and stopped worrying about where the ribbon had gone from his hand. Instead, he frowned and pinched Reinhardt's waist.
While the Son of God was silently pondering how to get rid of him, the Storm Leader actually stood up while holding him.
"Let's go." He got up from the chair and placed Reinhardt steadily on the ground, stretching towards the sea where the sun had already set. "It's time for dinner."
...
His thoughts and actions jumped around a bit too fast, and I couldn't keep up with this god's train of thought, so I had to focus on the present and honestly refuse his invitation.
"I'm already full."
Just now, he ate half a cake, three cookies, and a cup of black tea.
The Storm Leader's brow furrowed with confusion: "Did you eat air until you were full?"
What's the difference between that little bit of stuff and air? It's barely enough to fill a tooth gap at best.
Son of God: "..."
Still in a good mood, he shook his head and replied earnestly, "Thank you for your kindness, but I'm really full."
Buster chuckled.
Do you know your own weight? You can float in the wind on a pole!
It's no exaggeration to say that Buster didn't even feel someone sitting on his arms when he was carrying him.
There's no meat on its buttocks, so the feel is terrible.
Immediately afterwards, Buster crossed his arms, bent down, and approached Reinhardt.
"Walk over there or I'll carry it." He grinned, revealing an arrogant and domineering smile. "You choose."
A note from the author:
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Early Storm Boss: (Feeding you) (Feeding you) You're so weak! Do you expect me to carry you around all day?!
Later Storm Leader: (Feeding) (Feeding) Eat more, it feels good to hold you like this!
Reinhardt (struggling to resist): I really... can't eat anymore.
Madonna: When will I be able to master this kind of iron face skill... to slap myself eight hundred times without feeling any pain?
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[Please!] I forgot to set the timer again, sob sob.
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