Help, I'm in Another World and All the Men Are Are So Dangerous! [BL]
Chapter 52: Family Bonds

Chapter 52: Family Bonds

He had never considered, however, that Rocco’s body itself might be that weapon.

"How unexpected," Sylas muttered, his voice carefully neutral. "To think you’d take a Beastman as a lover."

Rocco blinked up at him, his innocent expression seemingly genuine.

Is even that carefully calculated? Sylas thought bitterly.

The anger simmering within him wasn’t directed at Rocco for using his body this way.

No, it was aimed squarely at the conniving creatures who sought to exploit his weak younger brother.

Whether it was the Beastman who are enticed by Rocco’s charm, or the killer, drawn in by his allure, they were all equally loathsome.

Sylas clenched his fists, suppressing the urge to act on the violent thoughts swirling in his mind.

To lust after such a young, innocent child... Those filthy animals.

He looked down at Rocco, who tilted his head with a faintly confused expression.

Is this naivety real or feigned? Sylas couldn’t decide, but it didn’t matter.

"You don’t look like her," Sylas said abruptly, his voice colder than he intended.

"Her" referred to his stepmother, whose arrogance and pride stood in stark contrast to Rocco’s frailty and softness.

Sylas’s anger swirled, unfocused and consuming.

He couldn’t place its target—was it the attendants who lusted after Rocco’s delicate appearances?

Or was it directed at Rocco himself, who had no choice but to rely on such methods to survive in this ruthless environment?

He looked into Rocco’s eyes and found fear and uncertainty staring back at him.

Of course, Sylas thought, his mood souring further. He must hate me, this cruel and unkind brother of his. Why wouldn’t he?

"...Little brat," Sylas muttered under his breath.

"Wha—!?" Rocco yelped, eyes widening in surprise.

Before Sylas could stop him, Rocco began lightly punching at him with his small fists with a flustered and indignant pout on his face.

The weak blows didn’t hurt in the slightest, but for some inexplicable reason, they made Sylas’s chest tighten.

Rocco’s soft hair was right there, within reach.

Sylas had the sudden urge to ruffle it affectionately, but he stopped himself.

He knew such a gesture wasn’t something he was allowed.

Sylas’s gaze dropped to his clenched fists.

The anger boiling inside him, he realized at last, wasn’t directed at anyone else.

It was aimed entirely at himself.

How had it come to this?

It happened moments after Sylas recognized the true target of his anger.

His stepmother appeared suddenly, spewing insults and speaking of Rocco as if he were nothing more than a tool.

Her venomous words, combined with the weight of Sylas’s own exhaustion, overwhelmed him.

As he staggered and fell, a small, delicate hand suddenly reached out, gripping his arm tightly.

In an instant, their positions reversed.

Sylas barely had time to register what had happened.

Staring down at his younger brother, he whispered in disbelief, "Why? Why would you save me?"

Rocco’s reply was simple and unexpected.

"Because we’re family."

The smile Rocco offered was radiant and utterly devoid of guile.

There was no trace of hidden motives or schemes—just a pure, unshakable belief in that bond.

For no other reason than family, Rocco had reached out to save him.

Sylas froze as Rocco plunged into the lake, the sound of his body hitting the water echoing sharply.

For several heartbeats, he failed to react, staring down at the rippling surface where Rocco had disappeared.

It was the anguished roar of one of Rocco’s Beastman attendants that snapped Sylas out of his daze.

"Young Master!" the Beastman bellowed, a guttural, feral sound that shook the air.

Such a cry was rare, reserved only for moments of extreme emotion.

The raw desperation in it propelled Sylas forward.

Without hesitation, Sylas dove into the lake.

The icy water clung to him, seeping into his clothes and chilling him to the bone.

But none of that mattered.

The only thing consuming his thoughts was the sight of Rocco’s small, limp body sinking deeper into the depths.

Sylas moved frantically, thrashing his arms and legs in a desperate effort to reach him.

He stretched out his hand and finally managed to pull Rocco into his grasp.

Holding his brother close for the first time, Sylas was startled by how fragile he felt.

Rocco’s slender limbs seemed so delicate, as if they might break with the slightest pressure.

His pale, distressed face twisted in pain as he struggled for breath.

Panic surged in Sylas’s chest.

Kicking hard, he pushed them both toward the surface.

When they finally broke through, Sylas hoisted Rocco’s head onto his shoulder and heard a faint, wet cough.

Relief washed over him as he gasped for air.

"Rocco... Rocco..." Sylas murmured softly, calling his brother’s name as he swam toward the shore.

When he finally reached the grassy bank, Sylas gently laid Rocco down on the cool earth.

Rocco’s breathing was shallow and erratic, and he continued to cough weakly.

His eyes remained closed, unresponsive.

Sylas’s mind raced.

I need to warm him up immediately.

Without hesitation, he began removing Rocco’s soaked clothing.

As he reached for his own jacket to cover Rocco, a sudden memory surfaced.

Sylas suddenly remembered that his own clothes were soaked as well.

As he glanced around, wondering what to do, a shadowy arm emerged from his blind spot and lifted Rocco up.

"Master... You can’t just go dying on me when I’m not around," the man said with a sigh.

Instinctively, Sylas pulled a knife from his pocket, ready to defend.

But the man before him showed no trace of fear.

In fact, he seemed entirely oblivious to Sylas’s presence, his dark eyes focused solely on Rocco.

Those lifeless eyes revealed a glimmer of the madness that had earned this man the title of "Georgio the Hyena."

"If you try anything strange with Rocco, I’ll kill you," Sylas muttered, his voice low and threatening.

The man briefly glanced at Sylas but he quickly dismissed him, his gaze returning to Rocco as he cradled him closer to his body.