028#
The cold, snow-dusted floor creaked beneath Andy's footsteps as he explored the brothel's peculiar isolation area. Along the walls, iron sconces held special torches whose flames burned low and steady, untouched by the freezing air, their light flickering weakly but never going out. Surprisingly, the cells were not typical latticed structures; instead, they resembled small concrete huts half-buried in snow, a stark and unsettling contrast to the cells above.
Absorbed in the uniqueness of the weather, Andy heard a voice in the distance.
"You there—wander too long and you'll freeze to death," the voice warned.
Turning to his left, Andy encountered an extremely tall man—taller than him by a good head—who looked surprisingly young, perhaps even younger than Andy despite the mature confidence in his stance. He had long, straight white hair that fell smoothly past his shoulders, framing a strikingly handsome face with sharp features, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the dim, icy light.
"Come here," the man said, voice calm and inviting. "You can stay in my cell to warm up."
Feeling the cold seep into his bones, Andy didn't hesitate to accept the invitation. He approached the tall man standing by a small fire made of wooden branches inside his open cell. As he got closer, he saw the man was strikingly handsome.
"Thank you for the hospitality," Andy said, wrapping himself in the warmth of the flames.
"You're welcome," the man replied with a friendly smile. "What's your name?"
Andy, still wary, answered cautiously. "Andy."
The man's expression flickered—surprise, then a brief blankness—as if the name carried weight he hadn't expected. Andy noticed it immediately. But the man quickly recovered his warm smile.
"Nice to meet you, Andy."
Sensing Andy's suspicion at the momentary shift, the man spoke up casually.
"I was just surprised to hear that name—you're the newcomer everyone's talking about, right? Already at the top of the Popularity Rankings," he said, sounding genuinely impressed.
Despite the man's friendly demeanor, Andy remained guarded. He scanned the cell more closely—it was surprisingly well-equipped, pleasantly warm from the crackling wood fire, and stocked with several boxes of wine bottles tucked in the corner.
When the man noticed Andy's gaze lingering on the bottles, he grinned and offered, "Would you like a drink?"
"No, no thanks," Andy said quickly. "I was just looking around. Besides, I don't really like the wine in this world."
The man chuckled and shook his head. "Come on, men—in this frozen hellhole, alcohol's your best friend. It'll warm you up from the inside. Trust me."
He reached for a bottle of deep red wine, popped the cork with practiced ease, and took a long swig straight from the bottle. Then, with a warm smile, he held it out to Andy. "You're not gonna turn down a drink from the guy who just saved you from freezing, are you?"
Andy hesitated, but the insistent look and the inviting warmth of the fire made refusal feel pointless. "Fine… just one sip," he muttered, taking the bottle.
The first taste hit him like a memory: rich, smooth, with deep notes of dark fruit and spice that reminded him of the best wines from his old world—and somehow even better than anything he'd had here before. One sip became two, then three. Before he realized it, the bottle was empty, and the man had already opened another.
They kept passing bottles back and forth, the alcohol loosening their tongues. Small talk flowed easily—complaints about the cold, jokes about the guards, shared gripes about the brothel's endless routine. The earlier tension melted away like snow in the fire, replaced by a hazy, almost companionable buzz as they drained the last bottle in the box.
The small flames of the bonfire flickered across the tiny cell, casting warm shadows on Andy and the snow-haired man as they lay sprawled on the floor, drunk and laughing over the age-old debate: butts versus breasts.
Andy stared up at the icy ceiling, letting out a loud, contagious laugh. "Back in my old life, I was a hotshot businessman in telecom. I fucked everything that moved—fat, thin, short, tall, ugly, gorgeous, models, porn stars. I've grabbed more asses than a public toilet seat. Then I died, got isekai'd into this world, kidnapped by some thugs, dragged here, and now I'm the number one male whore in the Brothel of Lust. Unbelievable, right?"
The man laughed harder, narrowing his vivid red eyes. "Hahaha, what a pathetic fucking story, friend. I thought my life was wild, but yours? It's unbelievable."
"Unbelievableeeeeeee!" Andy shouted, raising his wine bottle like a drunk.
"Unbelievableeeeeeeeeeeee!" the man echoed, laughing.
Their bottles clinked together as wine sloshed out, and they collapsed back onto the floor.
Still chuckling, Andy passed him the new bottle of wine. "Your turn. What's your story?"
The man took a long swig, then sighed, his handsome face softening with nostalgia and resignation. "I was raised in this brothel," he said quietly. "Raised here from day one. Never saw the outside world. When I hit eighteen, they put me to work. Now I'm twenty-one, still stuck on this frozen ground, sharing drunk stories with a guy like you. Life's a cruel bitch, isn't it?"
Andy blinked, genuinely surprised. "Twenty-one? You look even younger than that. Like you barely aged past eighteen."
The bonfire suddenly sputtered and died, plunging the small cell into near-total darkness. Only faint moonlight filtering through a high crack in the wall remained.
"Well… looks like the party's over," Andy slurred, swaying heavily, too drunk to stand properly. "I'm hot now… and sleepy. Mind if I crash here?"
"Sure," the man replied casually. "There are two sleeping bags. Take one."
Andy managed a sloppy grin. "Thanks… you're alright. I was suspicious of you at first, but… yeah, I like you now." He collapsed onto one of the sleeping bags, eyes fluttering shut, already half-gone.
The man watched him for a moment, then spoke softly. "You know… I like you too. But you don't strike me as the confrontational type. So how the hell did you end up in the isolation zone?"
Andy, eyes still closed, mumbled thickly. "I… came here on purpose."
The man leaned closer. "Oh? Tell me more."
Before Andy could respond, his breathing evened out into drunken snores.
The man rose silently, his friendly demeanor vanishing like smoke. His face turned cold, calculating. He slipped a small, sharp pocket knife from his sleeve and crept toward Andy's sleeping form.
"Mmm…" Andy stirred slightly, not fully asleep. "W-what's your name? Forgot to ask…"
The snow-haired man paused, then smiled thinly. "My name is… hahaha." He tightened his grip on the knife. "My name is Luxter Stones."
Andy, too drunk to register the name or the sudden shift in tone, mumbled something incoherent and drifted deeper into stupor.
Luxter loomed over him, knife glinting faintly in the dim light. This newcomer had stolen the top spot in the popularity rankings—his spot. It would be easy. One quick thrust, and the problem would be gone.
But just as the blade hovered above Andy's throat, Andy muttered in his sleep, words slurring but clear enough: "I'm here… 'cause I planned to escape… dig a tunnel… right here…"
Luxter froze. The knife trembled in his hand.
Escape? A tunnel? From the isolation zone?
The revelation hung in the freezing air. Luxter stared down at the unconscious man, plans shifting in his mind. Instead of striking, he carefully sheathed the knife, knelt, and lifted Andy's limp form with surprising gentleness.
For now, at least, his intentions had changed.