"What are you looking for?"
The woodcutter asked instinctively.
"The Black Monster."
The Young Scholar replied without looking up.
The woodcutter...
He wanted to smack himself.
Wasn't this what they had come here for?
And yet,
he had actually forgotten.
The main thing was, he truly didn't think the Young Scholar could find the Black Monster.
No.
He didn't think he could see the Black Monster.
Who could see someone else's fantasies?
The woodcutter followed the Young Scholar around, stopping and starting.
He watched the Young Scholar's expression grow more and more agitated.
He sighed inwardly.
But he didn't say anything.
If the Young Scholar could realize on his own that the Black Monster was just a figment of his imagination...
That would naturally be the best outcome.
"Nothing... It's not here..."
The Young Scholar muttered hurriedly.
"Is it gone?"
Truthfully, he had considered that possibility.
But now that he was actually facing it, he still felt disappointed.
"...Are you there?"
The Young Scholar spoke softly.
"You were just here."
"Come out."
"Come out!"
"You still owe me an explanation."
"You made my life miserable..."
"Bastard!"
The Young Scholar slammed his fist against the edge of the well.
Tsk—
The Young Scholar grimaced.
That hurt.
The Young Scholar rubbed his hand, his face full of reluctance.
The furrow between the woodcutter's brows deepened.
He rarely saw such intense emotions on his younger brother's face.
His brother had always been a quiet, reserved person.
But he wasn't gloomy.
The scholarly air about him gave people a sense of calm and peace.
Sometimes, the woodcutter wondered how a family like theirs had raised such an elegant younger brother.
Then he would think with a sigh: Studying really does pay off.
That refined air of