Help, I'm in Another World and All the Men Are Are So Dangerous! [BL]-Chapter 139: Fevered Whispers

Yes... warm.

Warm?

"Ugh... warm. Too warm..."

"Master? Master!"

Suddenly, Rocco realized something. Oh, right. I had a fever.

His entire body felt hot and flushed, and his vision began to blur as exhaustion took hold.

Of course, running around and crying like this while feverish would only make things worse, Rocco thought, lamenting his own foolishness.

As his consciousness faded, he surrendered to the pull of sleep, drifting off into a soothing, dark calm.

...

"You’re so clumsy. You could make things a lot simpler," Feilu’s voice remarked softly.

As Rocco teetered on the edge of sleep, gently rocked by the waves of drowsiness, the voice reached his ears.

His body felt heavy, his eyelids weighed down, and he lacked the strength to rise.

It was comforting to know that Feilu stayed by his side even after he drifted off.

Rocco wanted to thank him for his kindness, but his body refused to cooperate.

The large, rough hand enveloping his own was likely Ragar’s.

The faint sound of Rocco’s soft breathing seemed to guide Ragar’s fingers as they gently stroked the back of his hand.

Suddenly, Rocco’s thoughts drifted back to Feilu’s words.

Who was he talking to?

The question lingered in his mind.

Although his body remained lethargic, curiosity sharpened his senses.

He strained to catch the conversation, his ears tuned to the faint voices around him.

And then, he heard it—a familiar, gruff tone speaking, tinged with its usual nonchalance.

"What’re you talkin’ about? I’m pretty damn handy, or so I’ve been told," Mahmoud replied.

"If not clumsy, what word better describes you?" Feilu countered calmly. "From the very beginning, you never had any intention of letting him eat what we prepared, did you?"

Feilu’s voice followed, calm and measured, "There’s no poison, you know."

What are they talking about?

Rocco wondered groggily.

His sleep-addled mind struggled to grasp the meaning of their conversation.

"...Young Master Feilu. Did you really think the two great families trusted you as mediators purely out of goodwill?" Mahmoud’s gruff tone carried a pointed edge.

There was a sharp intake of breath—likely from Feilu.

Rocco felt the weight of sleep pulling him under again, his thoughts growing hazy.

Just before his consciousness slipped away, he thought he heard Mahmoud’s voice, quieter now but filled with a serious undertone.

"This is a warning. Be careful who you choose to cozy up to. If you’re claiming to be neutral—’self-proclaimed’ or not—you’d better act the part."

"...Mmm... huh?!"

Rocco woke with a start, feeling his body wrapped in something warm and secure.

A gentle vibration beneath him brought him fully to his senses.

He blinked a few times, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

I feel like I had a really vivid dream, he thought, but no matter how hard he tried, the details eluded him.

Oh well, it was just a dream anyway.

With a few wide blinks, he focused on his surroundings and quickly realized the source of the vibration.

"Eek! Big Brother!"

"Hm? Ah, you’re awake," came a calm, familiar voice. "I’m relieved. It seems your fever has gone down."

Looking up, Rocco immediately recognized the one carrying him—his older brother, Sylas.

The gentle swaying sensation was from Sylas walking through the halls, cradling him.

Rocco glanced out a nearby window and saw the sky painted in hues of red and orange.

It’s evening already?!

He realized he’d slept through most of the day.

How could I mess up so badly on the day of such an important meeting?

He groaned inwardly, clutching his head in dismay.

Sylas, noticing this, began to gently pat Rocco’s head, his expression clouded with concern.

"What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Is the fever still affecting you? If you’re not feeling well, keep resting. I’ll wake you once we’re back at the estate."

"No, no! I’m fine!" Rocco quickly protested, waving his hands. "It doesn’t hurt at all!"

Sylas’s kindness made Rocco’s heart flutter.

Big Brother... so kind... swoon.

Recovering from an illness and being treated so kindly—it’s enough to make one’s heart flutter.

That was the silly thought running through Rocco’s mind as his cheeks turned warm.

Sylas noticed this and furrowed his brows, his expression growing even more concerned.

Panicked, Rocco quickly waved his hands near his flushed cheeks, trying to cool them down.

Looking at Sylas now, Rocco couldn’t help but marvel at how much he had changed.

In the original story, he was nothing but someone who merciless killed his villain younger brother.

Nostalgia washed over him as he nodded to himself.

He’d truly worked hard to get to this point.

Judging by the results, his strategy of currying favor with Sylas had been a resounding success.

Feeling cozy and snug in Sylas’s arms, Rocco smiled contentedly.

Suddenly, Sylas came to a halt.

What’s going on?

Curious, Rocco peeked out cautiously.

They had stopped at the grand entrance lobby.

Ah, so we were on our way back, he realized.

In the lobby, his father and the two representatives of the Don Ferocelli family were chatting and laughing.

Rocco blinked his eyes in surprise.

It seemed the meeting had already ended.

Judging by the timing, Sylas must have come to fetch him to head home.

"Father, I’ve retrieved Rocco," Sylas announced flatly.

Rocco’s face twitched. "Retrieved"? What am I, a corpse? He gave an awkward smile as their father, noticing them, quickly walked over.

"Rocco, has your fever gone down? Are you sure you’re well enough to be out of bed?"

"Totally fine—" Rocco began, puffing out his chest to show he was full of energy.

"The fever has lessened considerably," Sylas interjected, cutting him off with his usual calm yet exaggerated tone. "However, he still has lingering headaches."

"Hmm, is that so..." their father murmured, his brows furrowed. "Strasbourg, return to the estate immediately and summon the doctor."

"As you command," Strasbourg responded briskly.

Rocco’s protest had been completely dismissed.

He opened his mouth to speak but found himself silenced by the heavy air between Sylas and their father as they stared down at him with grave concern.