Chapter 3.8

“Hey.”

“Quickly.”

Dan frowned watching the man push paper and pen at him. This wasn’t something to write an undertaking about just because he was told to.

“What kind of undertaking am I writing?”

“Write that you won’t refuse to have sex with me.”

It made no sense that he had to write an undertaking about something like that. It was absurd. If he were being honest he wanted to tear up the first undertaking he had written too.

“Why should I?”

“Because I don’t want to go back and forth every time with yes, no, I can’t, I don’t want to. It’s clean for both of us. I can do it and you’re right there in front of me, am I supposed to just look? It was you who showed me this kind of relationship is possible with you.”

“Hey.”

“If you don’t want an undertaking then date me.”

“Why would I date you? Do you like me?”

“Seems like I do, I said.”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

The exchange they had already had repeated itself.

“I’ve said it multiple times. Shall we date? Let’s date. It’s a situation that would be resolved by that.”

Nothing would be resolved.

“Do you date someone to make them your partner?”

“What’s wrong with dating someone to have sex with them? We did it all night without dating either. Wanting to date you because I want to do it means I only want to do it with you.”

It was a confession without a speck of sweetness.

“I’m going to lose my mind, really.”

Dan let out a dumbfounded laugh watching the face boldly saying he was confessing because he wanted to have sex, and not a scrap of awkwardness showed on the man’s face.

“Is what I’m saying hard to understand?”

This was probably everyday life for Chris Paul.

“I have conditions too.”

“Say them.”

“Don’t push yourself on me during work hours.”

“Who was it that pushed themselves on you during work hours?”

The green that shimmered distinctively in the light looked steadily at Dan.

“That won’t happen again.”

A voice as though biting down hard rang out.

“Fine, write it.”

“There’s more.”

“Say it.”

“After…… doing that. Um, salt, sugar. Let me off the diet meal plan.”

“Who’s on a diet meal plan?”

Chris picked a fight at an odd point.

“Either way.”

Dan snatched the pen from the large hand and said with a face demanding an answer.

“Fine.”

Dan, having heard Chris’s answer, wrote out the undertaking.

“Why are you writing it like that instead of just writing sex?”

Chris picked a fight with Dan’s undertaking.

“Shut up.”

“You should write sex as sex,”

“Shut it.”

“Are you telling me to…”

Dan pushed the paper and pen into the bewildered Chris’s arms and growled.

“You write an undertaking too.”

The two of them put the paper on the headboard and lay face down side by side naked writing their undertakings. Every time Chris said something about the simple undertaking a condition was added. Dan likewise kept pointing out things about Chris’s sparse undertaking without stopping.

Letter of Undertaking.

I, Kim Dan, promise not to refuse when employer Christopher Paul requests special physical activity outside of work hours until the contract ends.

Letter of Undertaking.

I, Chris Paul, promise to give Kim Dan freedom regarding some of the restrictions on his diet in the event he fulfills the special physical activity (why does it have to be written like this?) as promised. Confidentiality regarding this is the same as in the previously written undertaking. This undertaking is valid until the contract between Chris Paul and Kim Dan ends.

The two exchanged undertakings. Below the undertakings were fingerprints stamped in red antiseptic and signatures. The two examined the short undertakings with little content over and over repeatedly.

“By the way, do you know my name?”

Chris said with a serious face as he was putting the undertaking away. Dan wanted to say how would he have written the undertaking if he didn’t know.

“I do.”

“What is it?”

Dan frowned at Chris’s earnest reaction. He felt slightly like he was being taken for an idiot.

“Christopher Paul. Shortened to Chris Paul. Shortened further to CP.”

Chris nodded at Dan’s answer, not with a particularly pleased face. Dan started to want to argue about who he was taking for an idiot but let it go, and feeling grateful for having gotten one question for free, quietly drew in the number.

“Number 1 written, number 2.”

“How tall am I?”

“How would I know that?”

“If you don’t know you get it wrong.”

“Around 6 feet something.”

Chris Paul’s estimated height was around 186 centimetres, and Dan knew that too, but his official height was smaller than that. [Read on RanaTranslations🌸] Some places said 6 feet 1 inch, some said 6 feet 1.5 inches, some said it would be at least 6 feet 2 inches.

“Guess.”

Chris said indifferently.

“Do you know your own height exactly and you’re still giving this as a question?”

“I know it.”

“6 feet. …1 inch?”

Dan said it as if asking and watched Chris’s expression.

“Guess.”

“1.5?”

The face full of regret tried to find the answer in the face in front of it.

“It’s 6 feet 2 inches.”

“I said guess.”

Chris answered shamelessly, like when he gave a sincerely apologetic interview after pushing a competitor off the track.

Dan decided this wouldn’t do and guessed 6 feet 1.5 inches, and erased and rewrote and erased the 0.5 from the 1.5 inches repeatedly. Watching Dan agonise, Chris only smiled ambiguously.

Dan, having written 6 feet 2 inches as his answer, asked as if it had just occurred to him:

“If I get 1 question right I get 1 chocolate?”

“Yeah.”

“Did I get it right?”

In front of chocolate Dan is an endlessly weak, pitiful, wretched man.

“Number 3.”

Chris holding the chocolate is the most powerful person in the world.

“Did I get it wrong? Hey, stand up.”

Dan couldn’t let go of his attachment to the previous answer even while writing the next number.

“If you stand up can you get it right?”

“I got it wrong…”

Dan despaired as if facing the most painful ordeal of his life. Chris didn’t answer, and instead turned his head to the side and laughed without sound.

A few laughs leaked out but Dan couldn’t protest that. Just as he was debating whether to change his answer wondering if he had indeed gotten it wrong, Chris said with an emotionless face:

“Weight.”

“Why does an employee need to know the employer’s weight? It’s not like I’m going to eat him.”

“If you don’t know, guess.”

Chris said indifferently.

“If I write three, do I get three chocolates?”

Dan asked outright with an expectant expression.

“Three?”

“If I write three I’ll get three.”

“Do you actually know anything?”

The pen moved on the paper with overflowing confidence. [Read on RanaTranslations🌸] Chris narrowed his eyebrows watching the tip of Dan’s pen.

Dan wrote down separately Chris Paul’s weight before waking up and training in the morning, his weight after finishing training, and his weight after finishing dinner. Chris murmured with a face full of dissatisfaction.

“Something fishy is going on.”

“Mul mentioned it before; it’s completely accurate. Three chocolates.”

“Do you know all my family members’ names?”

Chris said something out of left field at Dan’s self-praise.

“Why does an employee need to know the employer’s family situation?”

“If you don’t know, move on.”

At Chris’s consistently indifferent attitude Dan quickly changed tack.

“One question per person.”

Murmuring internally strange employer Paul’s father, strange employer Paul’s mother, strange employer Paul’s older brother, Dan wrote out numbers 4 and 5 and 6. His attitude was extremely serious.

“You’ll know how to write triple champion.”

Now he was being outright taken for an idiot. Dan didn’t mind at all.

“Should I write that?”

“Do you know how many competitions I’ve won?”

At Chris’s question the face holding the pen went expressionless. He roughly knew the names of champions produced by Scuderia Ferrari (Scuderia Ferrari, the official name of the Ferrari team, after which the team name has the sponsor’s name attached), the number of constructor wins, the total number of times Ferrari had won at Grands Prix, but he didn’t know the total number of wins of Chris Paul, who had debuted three years ago.

He might be able to figure it out if he racked his memory right now, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to forget the record of Chris Paul who had crushed Ferrari and occupied the top right of the lap chart.

“…”

Chris Paul’s first championship win had been a close thing. His second championship win was confirmed before summer had even arrived. His third championship win had been touch and go, but he had thought he would probably win.

Dan had believed he knew comparatively a lot about Chris. He knew a great deal more than someone with no interest in F1, but he didn’t know every single detail.

When Chris called him ‘Tifosi’ he had said he wasn’t that much of a fan, but he couldn’t help understanding a little why the man called him ‘Tifosi.’

“Tifosi.”

Chris called to Dan as if teasing him.

“I’ll guess.”

Dan calculated roughly the number of wins needed from the total number of Grands Prix in a season. Let’s see, how many races were there last year in total? Chris watched with a peculiar smile the face going through the taxing calculation.

“About 19 wins?”

Dan murmured indifferently, throwing a glance at Chris.

“18?”

Dan asked with a smile at the man’s expression stiffening.

“More than 15 is certain.”

At Dan’s probing, Chris corrected his expression.