Chapter 2.2

The petty harassment grew worse by the day. Over the past ten days Dan had received more calls from the man than a full year’s worth of calls from the company that had fired him.

In the middle of cleaning, in the middle of cooking, in the middle of undressing to wash, in the middle of sleeping, he was summoned by Chris Paul’s calls. [Read on RanaTranslations🌸] In contrast to the urgency of the summons, what the employer wanted from the employee was extremely trivials, so trivial it bordered on petty.

“I mean.”

Dan talked to himself occasionally but wasn’t a chatterer.

“Honestly.”

Dan knew his rate of talking to himself had reached a dangerous level but couldn’t stop. He wanted to vent about the damned strange employer Paul but had nowhere to do it.

Since none of the people who came to the mansion regularly were people he had personal conversations with, Dan had no choice but to grumble to a roasted sweet potato.

“At this rate I’ll be speaking in tongues soon.”

He was laughing at himself when:

“Ahem.”

A low rough clearing of the throat came from the dining room.

“Oh, Shane?”

Shane, who normally went straight to the garage upon arrival and stayed there until the end of the day, was standing awkwardly at the far end of the dining room. [Read on RanaTranslations🌸] Dan set down the sweet potato he had been moving onto a plate and was about to go over and welcome Shane and ask what was up. But the moment he turned around holding the tongs:

“Mum!”

Shane folded his large body violently and screamed. Endearingly, his sizeable hands were clamped firmly over both ears.

Dan muttered this while holding a silver Tiffany sweet potato tong. Shane, with both hands cupping his ears and sitting in a half-crouched position, simply looked up at Dan.

Shane, with skin considerably darker than Chris’s, a head taller than Chris, and a build about three times Chris’s size, was Chris Paul’s bodyguard, driver, and newspaper deliveryman.

“Shane?”

Dan tried to make his voice as kind and gentle as possible.

“I’m, I’m sorry!”

Shane, who was about three and a half times Dan’s build, three heads larger, and built differently from the shoulders up, curled his body in and cried out again. He was behaving as if Dan were an armed robber.

Dan recalled that his first impression had not been particularly good.

“What are you sorry for?”

He crouched down beside Shane and asked.

“For everything… I actually can’t fight. I can’t shoot a gun either! I’m sorry!”

Shane fumbled through his words. He was rambling ; the main content was that even though he was Chris’s bodyguard he couldn’t fight at all. The next most important content was that he had heard from Chris since last week that Dan had been asking about him, but had been too scared to come.

Shane’s muscle-looking bulk was entirely weight put on from eating, and he had been selected as a bodyguard because his impressive appearance made for an excellent display effect. The person who had hand-picked him, he said, was Chris Paul.

After a few exchanges Dan came to understand that Shane was easily startled, terrified of winged insects and birds, and an enormous chatterbox.

Over a single glass of water Shane talked non-stop about having been big since childhood, about being picked by Chris Paul for his impressive appearance, and about the impression Dan had made standing there with the toy gun.

Dan was deeply moved by the generosity of someone who talked this much over a single glass of water.

“Shane, do you want a roasted sweet potato?”

Shane, who had flinched at Dan’s address, nodded at the word sweet potato. Chris Paul’s snack was one roasted sweet potato or a cup of slightly warmed low-fat milk, but no such restrictions applied to Shane.

Dan generously put out a plate of roasted sweet potato with slightly warmed low-fat milk. [Read on RanaTranslations🌸] Shane tasted the warmed low-fat milk and his face went surprised.

“Dan.”

“Yes.”

A face that looked about to cry spoke in an aggrieved voice.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Dan was not a chatterer, but for the first time in days he was having an enjoyable time trading responses, taking sides, and replying to words that came continuously instead of just talking to himself. It felt like the most fulfilling time he had had since starting work at Chris Paul’s mansion.

Dan replied with a surprised expression.

“No.”

Wavering eyes looked at Dan. Shane glanced at Dan once and then at the warmed low-fat milk once. He looked like he wanted to say something but was too scared to say it.

“Does the milk taste strange?”

“Yes…”

Shane gave a small nod.

“It’s because it’s low-fat milk.”

Dan said as if it were nothing. Shane still looked at the bad-tasting milk with wavering eyes. His face looked as though he was saying this was the first time in his life he had tasted milk like this, and it was pitiful.

“Tastes like ten drops of milk in water, right?”

Shane nodded vigorously.

“I’d give you some sugar if there were any but this house has no sugar or salt.”

Even as he said it Dan nearly let out a hollow laugh at what an absurd state of affairs it was.

“Then what does Dan eat to survive?”

The face that seemed to be confronting despair said gloomily.

“Shane.”

Dan felt something was off. At the serious address Shane’s shoulders jumped and he apologised.

“Sorry, you don’t have to say if you don’t want to. I didn’t ask because I absolutely had to know.”

Dan shook his head at the hurried words.

“Shane, what did you have for breakfast this morning?”

The gloomy cautious face lit up in an instant.

“Breakfast? Today I had three strips of grilled bacon, two slices of toast with strawberry jam, half a grilled tomato, a fried egg, and pancakes with plenty of syrup. The pancakes were a bit overcooked so they weren’t quite right, but the syrup I tried was good so they were worth eating.”

Looking at Shane’s happy face, Dan was about to say he could easily put away about ten pancakes even if they were half undercooked. He went back to confirming something before getting to his grievances.

“And lunch?”

“Oh, I had something I bought on the way to work. Simple for a change; a hamburger, chips, a sandwich, cola. I thought about getting pizza too but it’s not great when it’s cold, is it?”

Dan couldn’t smile back at Shane’s face, which said today had been an unusually light meal for him. How is that simple?

He only thought: cold pizza is enormously good, you don’t know what you’re talking about. And he thought about whether to snatch the sweet potato Dan had set out for Shane’s portion and eat it himself.

The deliberating face quickly sank into gloom.

“Shane, are you allowed to drink?”

“I drive so I don’t drink that much.”

Shane waved his hand and said confidently. But that lasted only a moment.

“I’m planning on ribs and a beer this evening.”

The beaming face was perfectly bright and cheerful.

“I want beer too.”

Dan murmured gloomily.

“Soju, tequila, sake, champagne, brandy, stout.”

The deflated voice went on to list drinks one after another. At Dan’s blank mumbling Shane smacked his lips.

Shane said he had never had the chance to try tequila, Dan said he wasn’t that much of a drinker himself. But recently he had wanted to knock back a shot of tequila, wanted to pop open a cold bottle of champagne, and when rain fell outside had wanted to drink warm sake. He missed soju too, which he hadn’t had in quite a while, wanted to down a glass of brandy, and desperately craved the stout with its white foam that they said you absolutely had to have when you came to Ireland.

Shane, who was a chatterbox and seemed to have a bit of a poor sense of timing, said cheerfully:

“Ireland means Guinness.”

“That’s right.”

Dan agreed darkly. Ireland was the land of Guinness. To the point where if you asked a traveller to name just one reason for going to Dublin, everyone would say to visit the Guinness Storehouse. In Ireland, Guinness held an enormous significance.

Kim Dan was in Dublin, and the Guinness Storehouse was there.

That white, soft foam like fresh cream on black beer; the nuttiness that spread softly after the first bitter taste. The essence of stout that you could drink again and again without tiring of it was under the same sky.

“You come to Ireland and it should be Guinness, but he tells me no alcohol.”

Dan talked on in a daze.

“Chris…?”

Shane asked with a face like he had run into hell.

“Who else would it be?”

“Oh, Dan. That’s too. Uh. Hmm. Well.”

“He told me no smoking too.”

“When you smoke in the car Chris smiles and says, lungs rotting.”

Shane said with a face that said he understood.

“Better the lungs rotting than the brain rotting from stress.”

Shane actively agreed with Dan’s words.

“Even if you smoke and gargle and meet him an hour later he can tell you smoked.”

Shane spoke in a tone that said ‘that guy’s a bit strange.’ Chris Paul’s behaviour was beastly and apparently his sense of smell was at that level too. Shane chimed in with a reading-the-room expression.

“He can tell immediately if there’s even the slightest thing off with the food.”

“There are times I want to throw a load of salt into his coffee or tea.”

Dan whispered the outrageous thought.

“He’d catch it right away and tell you to taste it first.”

Shane said flatly that he wasn’t someone you could pull that on.

“It’s not like I’m a poison taster either. Though there’s no seasoning to play tricks with anyway. You’d need something to start with.”

Shane patted Dan’s shoulder at the listless grumbling.

“I’m starving to death.”

Dan said gloomily.

“If he wants to manage his diet he should do it himself, why do I have to starve too?”

Shane, who had been nodding along in sympathy at the aggrieved words, let his mouth hang open.

“You’re actually eating according to the meal plan? Nothing but greens?”

“Exactly.”

“Chris’s actual meal plan?”

“That’s the one.”

“Chris’s meal plan has no seasoning!”

Shane opened his already large eyes even wider and showed a thoroughly human reaction. Having a comrade who sympathised with something that should not be allowed was moving. He patted the dejected Dan’s shoulder earnestly.

He had learned later that it was a toy, but when Dan had been standing there with a cold expression holding something that looked like a real gun, Shane’s first impression of Dan had been something like the deputy boss of an East Asian gang. But even he, faced with Chris, was nothing more than a hungry little lamb.

“Cheer up.”

Shane said to the gloomy face.

“If you eat seasoned food Chris will catch it right away, but I’ll tell Mul and have him bring something. It’s time for Chris to see the physiotherapist now, shall I call Mul and ask him to bring something to eat if he has anything?”

A light flashed in Dan’s eyes for a moment.

“Does Mul have food?”

Shane made a face that said don’t even get him started.

“Mul is an actual beast.”

“A beast?”

“Chris manages his diet and builds lean muscle, but Mul eats 20,000 calories and builds this terrifying muscle mass by burning through those calories. Mul is eating something every time you see him. He seems to casually put away a whole pizza every single meal.”

Shane shook his head and brought the phone to his face.

“Mul.”

Dan looked at Shane with desperate eyes. Please let there be something to eat. Shane told through the phone to bring whatever food was left over to the main house without Chris knowing.

“He’s coming.”

Shane said with a big smile.

“Does he have food?”

“It’s past mealtime so it’s only chocolate, grain sticks, and vitamin drinks, but he’s bringing them.”

Dan’s mouth fell open at Shane’s words. Shane warned him that since Chris had a sense of smell beyond human, he would need to brush his teeth after eating and possibly even shower.

Soon the sound of the front door opening came and Mul walked into the dining room.

“Dan was here too.”

Mul said, flushing pink in the cheeks.

“Mul!”

Dan greeted Mul, who apparently consumed 20,000 calories a day and was enviable for it, as warmly as meeting a family member he hadn’t seen in a long time. His eyes were fixed on the shopping bag Mul had brought.

Shane took the food from Mul’s hands and passed it to Dan. Shane opened a bottle of vitamin drink that spread a fresh scent and handed it to Dan, who was eating the sugar-coated grain sticks.

It felt like sweetness being sprinkled over a bleak reality.

“Shane?”

Mul, who had just arrived and didn’t know what was going on, just blinked.

“You won’t believe it, Chris told Dan no smoking, no drinking, diet control.”

Mul, who had been blushing from shyness, scrunched his face.

“Chris doesn’t like alcohol.”

“Cigarettes either.”

Shane added to Mul’s words.

“He doesn’t like sugar either. Mul, do you want a roasted sweet potato?”

Dan said at the end, still eating the sugar-coated grain sticks.

“Yes, thank you.”

Mul, who had been commenting on Chris with an indifferent expression, quickly flushed pink and nodded. Shane poked Mul in the side and busily chattered away that the kid goes this red when talking to someone he’s not close to.

Dan gave Mul a roasted sweet potato and finished the rest of his grain sticks.

The suddenly formed Chris Paul gossip session was mainly about consoling Dan, who had his drinking, smoking, and diet controlled.

Shane, who had been selected by Chris Paul for his impressive appearance, said regretfully:

“Chris… isn’t a bad person.”

There was plenty Dan wanted to challenge, but he just laughed it off.

Shane and Chris Paul’s relationship went back quite a while, he said. He had come to know Chris Paul through a friend of a friend before Chris even became an F1 test driver, had his impressive appearance recognised, and been selected as a bodyguard. And he had been by Chris Paul’s side ever since.

“Chris isn’t bad, you say. He has you cleaning the entire three-storey garage.”

Mul said in an even tone.

“That’s…”

Shane’s shoulders jumped.

“For me it’s the underground swimming pool, first floor basketball court, second floor training room, and the third floor gymnasium with the track.”

“…”

Only then did Dan find out what the two of them did outside of their working hours. Mul looked at Dan with a considerably calmer face.

“For Dan it’s cleaning the mansion.”

Mul said, flexing his muscled arm.

“This is unfair labour.”

Dan nodded. He was absolutely right.

“How big is this mansion and there are only three of us cleaning it.”

At Mul’s words Dan tried to estimate the size of the mansion in his head. Chris Paul’s mansion looked comparatively modest set against the grand imposing gate, but in terms of scale it was by no means small.

On the first floor there was a large hall. Without dividing it into separate zones, on one side of the hall was a living room that also served as a reception room, at the back was the dining room, and on the opposite side were a powder room, a bedroom whose purpose wasn’t quite clear, and a guest room with an attached bathroom.

At the end of the hall was the staircase leading to the second floor, and going up the stairs brought you to Chris’s living quarters: his rooms 1, 2, and 3, and a bathroom.

Following the corridors that extended in all directions brought you to the guest room area where Dan was staying, and going further inside was a corridor leading to the building housing the study Dan was barred from entering. Turning alongside it was the largest room, converted for the purpose of watching films.

To the left of the mansion’s main building was an annex housing the restricted-access study, and in front of the annex a long sideways-facing garage. At an angle from the garage sat the gymnasium. Going around behind the gymnasium was a shortcut to the stable manager’s house.

Since the entire estate was connected radially, Chris Paul, who had no restricted zones, could move to anywhere within the estate without going through the entrance, and could reach wherever he wanted in the shortest possible time, apparently.

Dan thought it was impressive how well Chris got around the maze-like winding house, and then thought about the fact that the man’s profession was F1 driver and decided it probably wasn’t that impressive after all.