Help, I'm in Another World and All the Men Are Are So Dangerous! [BL]-Chapter 137: Rocco’s Fruitless Battle

Is this some strange Beastman way of expressing happiness?

Determined to distract himself from the temptation of fluffy ears, Rocco shifted his gaze around the unfamiliar room.

As he scanned the surroundings, he suddenly noticed an enormous figure looming nearby like a wall.

"Ah! Wh-who’s there?!" Rocco exclaimed, jumping in surprise.

"Hah? Noisy brat, aren’t you? You just awake and already yapping," came a rough, deep voice.

Rocco froze at the familiar tone and slowly tilted his head back to look up—way up.

Standing before him was a ruggedly handsome, wild-looking man with a fierce gaze.

It was Mahmoud.

"Oh, it’s just Mamoth," Rocco muttered, relaxing.

"It’s Mahmoud. Not even close, kid," Mahmoud grumbled, crossing his arms.

"Ohhh, Mahmoud, huh... bit of a mouthful. Kinda tricky to say," Rocco mused aloud. He frowned slightly as he tried to pronounce it again. "Mahmoud... moud... Mamoth... Hmm."

After a moment of contemplation, Rocco brightened and declared, "Alright, then! I’ll just call you Mamoth. Nice and simple!"

"You’re picking names based purely on rhythm, aren’t you? Just call me Mahmoud. Put in some effort," Mahmoud retorted gruffly.

Before Rocco could protest, Mahmoud gave him a quick flick to the forehead with a sharp snap.

"Ow!" Rocco yelped, rubbing the now-red and stinging spot on his forehead.

It seemed Mahmoud thought he’d gone easy, but the flick to the forehead hurt a lot.

Rocco rubbed at the stinging spot with tears brimming in his eyes, his lips forming a pout as he fought back the urge to cry.

Just then, the quiet sound of a door opening broke the silence.

Rocco glanced over to see a man with green hair dressed in a traditional Chinese-style outfit standing in the doorway.

"Oh! You’re awake! Thank goodness!" the man exclaimed cheerfully.

Rocco blinked his eyes, trying to recall the man’s name as he watched him move with a flurry of energy.

The man was carrying a tray laden with a damp towel, a pitcher of water, and some fruit.

It was clear he had been diligently tending to Rocco, and the realization made Rocco’s cheeks flush pink with embarrassment.

It’s just wisdom fever... why are they going to all this trouble?

Guilt tugged at him as he fidgeted nervously.

"I was so worried when I heard you’d collapsed with a fever," the green-haired man continued, his voice full of concern. "I’ve heard tales of the ’Angel of the Di Malvento Family’ being delicate, but I didn’t realize you were this fragile!"

"...Huh? Angel? Fragile?" Rocco muttered, his confusion growing.

Something felt off.

It seemed like his reputation—or at least how others perceived him—had been massively exaggerated.

Unsure of how to respond, Rocco opted for an awkward, polite smile.

The man handed Rocco a pitcher of water, his expression radiating warmth and kindness.

Rocco instinctively reached to take a sip, but before the water even touched his lips, the pitcher was swiftly snatched away.

Startled, Rocco turned toward the culprit: Mahmoud.

The rugged man was holding the pitcher, scrutinizing it intently.

"Apologies for trampling on your goodwill," Mahmoud said gruffly, "but anything that goes into our young master’s mouth need to gets tested first."

Rocco tilted his head slightly, watching Mahmoud with newfound respect.

He had worried that Mahmoud was just a lazy slacker, but it turned out the man could be serious and diligent when it mattered.

The green-haired man, now without his tray, stood silently for a moment.

Rocco had imagined the man would respond cheerfully with something like, "Of course, no problem!" Instead, his actual reply came out in a much calmer tone.

"...Of course. I don’t mind at all."

Those few words, spoken after a brief pause, lingered in Rocco’s thoughts.

There was something about them—something subtle but oddly unsettling.

...

"Waaaahhh! Mamoth, you idiot!"

Ignoring Mahmoud’s sharp retort of "It’s Mahmoud," Rocco let tears flow like a waterfall.

He sobbed dramatically while Ragar who is flustered, wrapped him in a comforting hug, patting his back and murmuring soothing words.

At that moment, Rocco was certain—Ragar was his only ally.

How did things end up like this?

The whole ordeal began when the green-haired man in the Chinese-style outfit called Feilu, brought a tray of fruit.

Among the assortment were Rocco’s beloved melons and tangerines.

However, before Rocco could enjoy them, Mahmoud declared, "I’ll taste it first," and then he ate everything. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

When Rocco saw the plate that has been wiped clean in mere seconds, he couldn’t hold back.

Overcome with grief, he burst into tears.

"Give me back my fruits!" Rocco wailed.

"What’s the big deal? Don’t be such a stingy kid," Mahmoud retorted with a smirk.

Rocco grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him with all his might.

Whoosh!

Mahmoud effortlessly swatted it away, and it landed pitifully on the floor, deflated and defeated.

A couple of feathers even escaped, drifting softly to the ground.

Rocco, clutching a cushion from the bed, sat back down with a sulky huff.

If I ever challenge him to a pillow fight, it’ll be the end of me, he thought grimly, still sniffling.

"Sniff... You didn’t just take a little. You took everything," he mumbled. "Mamoth... Mamoth."

"It’s Mahmoud, and you’re doing that on purpose," Mahmoud shot back, narrowing his eyes.

As a small act of revenge, Rocco decided he’d call him Mamoth for as long as he wanted.

Puffing his cheeks indignantly, Rocco glared at Mahmoud.

In response, Mahmoud reached over and began squishing Rocco’s puffed-up cheeks with his hands.

Rocco grumbled and endured the indignity until, suddenly, Feilu—who had been quietly observing—spoke up.

"Um! If you’d like, I could bring you another fruits?" Feilu offered, raising his hand earnestly.

Rocco’s eyes lit up for a moment, sparkling with hope.

However, just as quickly, he calmed himself, letting reason take over.

He shook his head weakly, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

"No, it’s not right to make selfish requests in someone else’s home," he said with a somber sense of dignity.

"What’s with you? You’re such a hassle," Mahmoud muttered, rolling his eyes.