Help, I'm in Another World and All the Men Are Are So Dangerous! [BL]-Chapter 327: The Fear of Letting Go

Upon hearing Laxus’s words, Sylas gave a look of frustration.

"...What did you say? You’re the one who led Rocco astray. Rocco is just a child. He doesn’t understand love or marriage yet. You’ve made him believe in some illusion."

"Hah. Are you still saying that? Rocco’s not a child anymore. Sure, he’s a cute and childish, but he’s a grown-up now."

Rocco almost wanted to comment that calling him "childish" or "cute" was unnecessary, but he had to hold back.

He restrained the urge to speak up and quietly watching the situation unfold around him.

Why were the adults staying silent while Laxus and Sylas were so tense?

Looking around anxiously, he noticed that everyone seemed to be waiting for the outcome of their argument.

Well, Rocco thought, it made sense.

No one else would be able to make Sylas listen at this point.

The only person who might be able to talk sense into him was Laxus, who was handling things right now.

"An adult? A Rocco who can’t even kill a single insect is an adult? Ridiculous. Rocco’s a child. He’s an innocent child who faints at the sight of blood."

Rocco thought to himself, Normally, even adults don’t kill people... Sylas seemed to have become so immersed in the mafia world that he’d forgotten some of the basic norms of common sense.

"Think about it. When we were the same age as Rocco now, what were we doing? You were finishing your mafia heir training at that time. Rocco’s age is exactly the age when you were out there, killing people, and ’becoming an adult.’"

Wow, Laxus was being unusually logical here.

Not that Rocco agreed with the content...

It seemed like Sylas was hit with a painful truth, as he fell silent, furrowing his brows.

Muttering under his breath, Sylas said, "But Rocco is different from us..." Laxus then delivered the final blow.

"If you say Rocco’s different from us, then you shouldn’t be deciding when Rocco becomes an ’adult.’ Because he’s different from us, and he must have different standards than you."

Sylas clenched his fists tightly.

His expression became complicated, and for a brief moment, Rocco caught a glimpse of sadness in his eyes.

The moment Rocco noticed, a surge of emotions hit him all at once.

He suddenly understood Sylas’s feelings far more than he expected.

The pain Sylas felt in desperately trying to keep Rocco as a "child," refusing to accept the truth, was something Rocco could feel deep in his heart.

...

Sylas had always seen Rocco as his beloved little brother—forever innocent, forever unchanging in the best way possible.

From childhood, Rocco had remained pure, untouched by the stains of the world.

And Sylas believed it would always be that way.

That Rocco’s heart would remain untainted, forever white.

That belief hadn’t changed, not even now.

But perhaps, precisely because he believed that, Sylas had been under a dangerous illusion.

Just because Rocco’s heart remained pure didn’t mean he wouldn’t grow.

Growth couldn’t be stopped.

Time moved forward, and with it, so would Rocco.

Even if his heart stayed innocent, even if his frame remained small—he would still grow.

He would still, with his gentle sincerity, make Sylas flower crowns, get lost chasing butterflies, and treasure his stuffed animals.

And still, none of that would stop the march of time.

The moment Sylas realized that—the exact moment he truly realized it—was always the most painful.

What kind of brother couldn’t be happy for his sibling’s growth?

A hopeless one.

But growth also meant something else.

It meant separation.

Adulthood brought distance. It taught people how to be alone. And Rocco, too, would eventually learn that.

When that day came—when Rocco became an adult, wore that maturity like armor, and finally stepped away from Sylas—the thought alone filled him with slicing anxiety and fear.

"You’re afraid that you’ll be alone again. That’s why you can’t truly celebrate Rocco’s growth."

A calm and analytical voice echoed in the corner of his mind.

Sylas shut his ears to it.

He’d known that truth for a long time.

Of course he had.

He was alone.

And Rocco was all he had.

That was why he couldn’t rejoice in Rocco’s independence.

That was why this toxic self-loathing gnawed at him so deeply.

"If you keep clinging to him like this, are you going to rob Rocco of his happiness?"

Happiness.

Sylas had no way of finding happiness except through his connection to Rocco.

But Rocco—Rocco could find happiness without Sylas.

There were people, possibilities—he had a whole world waiting for him.

Only Sylas... only he was the one desperately clinging to Rocco.

Loving him so one-sidedly.

What a pathetic truth that was.

"Even if you weren’t around, Rocco would still find his happiness."

Would he? Would Rocco truly be happy without him? Could he stand watching him smile without him in the picture?

It wasn’t that Sylas wanted to be happy.

He didn’t care for other forms of joy. He just wanted Rocco by his side. Always.

Engagements, marriage—those were just the things that would take Rocco away from him.

He could never accept them.

But if he refused to accept them, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself either.

He saw Rocco’s soft expression, his eyebrows drooping in quiet sorrow.

That downcast, lonely look stirred a wave of guilt within Sylas.

He wanted to give in—to say, anything you want, anything at all, I’ll give it to you.

But he clenched that urge tightly in his chest.

Even though, in reality, there was no reason to resist.

Even though indulging him would only lead to Rocco’s joy.

And yet—

"...No," Sylas whispered.

Rocco would never grow up.

He would remain a child forever—forever Sylas’s beloved little brother.

It had to be that way.

Because if it wasn’t—if Rocco truly grew up and moved on—how was he supposed to keep living?

Rocco had so many sources of happiness waiting for him, but for him, there was only Rocco.