Chapter 18: The Sentinel’s Cunning Stratagems

A German man arrived in an unfamiliar country seeking his guide. Due to the guide’s incompetence, he developed separation anxiety and had to take medication himself. Now, with the medication out of control, he was confined here, forced to endure alone...

Thinking back to when Caesar first met you and even gave you a translation earpiece—you weren’t someone overflowing with sympathy or especially patient, but the more you thought about it, the more you felt he was indeed somewhat pitiable.

Seeing Caesar in this pitiable state, tormented by separation anxiety to the point of self-harm, you instinctively replayed the events in your mind, your sympathy and guilt swelling.

You had completely forgotten the instructions Huixin had given you.

Handing Caesar a dry towel to wipe himself off, you carefully cleaned the wounds on his hands, applying band-aids and wrapping the gauze.

“All done. Change out of those wet clothes, or you’ll catch a cold.”

You also took out fresh clothes, preparing to go to the bathroom to help him change the damp clothes you’d gotten on him while supporting him. But Caesar grabbed your hand.

“Where are you going?”

“...To the bathroom to change.”

“Don’t leave my sight.”

Caesar’s tone was still weak, but his words carried a commanding edge.

Your blood pressure rose slightly at that moment. You forced yourself to calm down, reminding yourself he was a patient. “One minute, okay?”

“This room is locked. I can’t run away.”

He didn’t reply—perhaps realizing that pushing further would irritate you—slowly loosening his grip on your wrist, consenting to your request.

You changed out of the wet clothes in a flash, afraid that the next second he’d burst into the bathroom and turn the attempt to ease his separation anxiety into a security incident.

When you came out, Caesar was already dressed, sitting on the floor. He leaned against the wall, head down, his expression obscured. His beautifully gradient hair was still damp; the dry towel hung around his neck, unused.

Usually, he appeared as a somewhat dangerous young man, but at this moment, he looked quiet and fragile.

“Are you very tired? Do you want to sleep on the bed?”

You crouched down, asking with genuine concern, unaware that your words sounded a bit odd.

“............”

Caesar didn’t answer. You leaned closer and noticed his eyes were closed, his breathing steady.

...Asleep?

You fell silent, then resignedly began drying his hair. The soft towel brushed against his strands; you moved gently, trying not to wake him. After drying it halfway, you stopped—his hair wasn’t very long and could air-dry naturally.

Then you gathered the clothes, putting both your wet garments and his into the laundry basket. You huffed and puffed carrying it to the room’s entrance, then contacted staff to come pick it up for cleaning.

The distance in this luxury suite was no joke—you were already feeling arm soreness from the trip.

You shook your arms, sighed.

...It felt like you were here to be Caesar’s nanny. But that was fine—he was asleep now, so awkwardness could be avoided later.

---

You decided to keep the lavish big bed to yourself that night and first played with your phone to reply to messages—that was your due reward for looking after him. As for Caesar... if he wanted to sleep sitting up, so be it. Sleeping so soundly shouldn’t be a problem.

Your attitude gradually became indifferent. Passing through the living room on your way to the bedroom, suddenly a hand grabbed your calf.

“Ah!”

You were so startled your heart skipped a beat, immediately trying to pull your leg away.

But his grip was stronger. Caesar roughly dragged you backward, and before you lost balance, he wrapped an arm around your waist.

He pulled you tightly into his embrace; his chest cushioned you.

“Where did you just go?”

You couldn’t see his expression; you only felt his warm breath near your ear. It tickled, and you instinctively shivered, turning your head away.

“...I went to the door to put the clothes down!”

You felt offended and began struggling.

He was clearly asleep, but you’d only left a few minutes before waking him—was he pretending or had his anxiety reached this extent?

You recalled the staff’s reminder: “Try not to leave his sight.”

...So you couldn’t even leave if he was asleep?!

The sentinel was being ridiculous.

Caesar loosened his grip slightly and slowly set you down.

You thought he had accepted your explanation and tried to stand, but his arm circled you again.

Now you were sitting on the floor between his legs, his knees bent, and you were firmly held in his embrace. The sentinel’s body temperature was high, especially where your bodies touched.

“...Caesar.”

You were a bit angry now, your movements restricted.

Trying to soothe him, you forced a coaxing tone.

“I won’t leave. You just rest well. Let me go first.”

Caesar tightened his grip.

“No.”

His voice came muffled from behind you, his head so close to your hair it sounded muffled. His tone was firm and unyielding. The sentinel’s oppressive presence surged, making your heart flutter and leaving you speechless.

A long silence followed as his breathing evened out.

You gently pushed his arm; it didn’t budge.

You pushed harder; he shifted slightly but tightened his hold.

“............”

---

You longed to invade Caesar’s mental landscape and uproot the entire sea of roses, making him howl and loosen his grip, never to do this again. But then you realized you’d forgotten to ask Starlight if this would worsen his separation anxiety. After all, invading one’s mental landscape might prolong the condition...

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your eyes glazed over as you stared at the ceiling.

Caesar, on the other hand, was fine—sleeping soundly against the wall. But you couldn’t sleep at all.

And it was only mid-afternoon...

*

Caesar had a good dream.

He dreamed that he and you had successfully formed a bond, becoming the model couple envied by every sentinel and guide; they even left a vivid mark in the world of football—

Awake.

His consciousness suddenly cleared. Reflexively, he moved his arm.

The bedroom light was dim, making it hard to tell the time.

The girl in his arms seemed to be sleeping deeply, her head leaning against his arm.

He savored this moment alone, feeling as if still dreaming. The pleasurable shivers lingered.

Caesar reluctantly smiled, gently brushing the disheveled hair from your face. Your translation earpiece had fallen to the floor during sleep; he picked it up and put it away, planning to wait for you to wake naturally.

Suddenly, Caesar noticed a phone carelessly placed on the floor.

He reached out and grabbed it; the time showed a little past two in the morning.

In the middle of the night... what a perfect time.

Caesar smirked contemptuously, lifted the phone, and found a good angle—the girl peacefully asleep in his arms, while Caesar looked at the camera, his arm wrapped possessively around her neck.

Click.

He took several shots, carefully selecting them with a malicious yet unaware satisfaction.

This expression is rather sinister, but the effect should be excellent.

The phone’s screen cast a faint glow on Caesar’s face as he browsed social media.

Soon, he found what he was looking for.

The clown coveting his guide—time to let them taste complete defeat.

Saeshi Satoru—click—send picture—