The Lunch Box
The last War Shadow staggered. I drove the knife straight into its chest, aiming for where the magic stone should be.
Impact. Resistance. Then—crack.
The stone shattered inside it. The War Shadow froze for half a heartbeat, body losing cohesion, edges fraying like torn cloth. Then it collapsed inward and turned to ash.
At the same time, Bell finished the last Frog Shooter.
One clean sweep. No hesitation. No wasted motion.
The blade cut through its neck and the massive body hit the floor with a wet thud before dissolving into mist.
Silence followed. Not the tense kind. The empty kind.
We stood there, chests heaving, surrounded by fading ash and scattered stones. Scratches marked our arms. Shallow cuts burned where claws had found skin. Painful, but nothing serious.
Alive.
Bell reached into his pouch and pulled out the last potion. He held it out to me.
"Here."
I stared at it. I pushed it back into his hand.
"This is… you need it more than me."
He stared at it. Then at me. Then back at it.
"W-wait—why?" His voice cracked just a little. "Please. Take it."
I looked him straight in the eye. "You're too good for your own—" The word stuck. I exhaled. "—good."
Then I took the bottle, drank half, and handed it back.
"Fair?"
Bell hesitated. Then smiled. "…Mmhm."
We stood there a moment longer. Not talking. Just breathing.
The cuts closed. Warmth spread through muscle.
Then, somewhere deeper, stone cracked. We both tensed—looked at each other—laughed.
But the laugh felt hollow.
He didn't know if stepping in would save me. He stepped in anyway.
I wouldn't have.
An unease crept through me. This isn't right. What Hermes did…
"You got that coming." The words slipped out.
Bell looked at me. "What?"
"Nothing."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked confused.
I shook my head.
Bell adjusted his pack. I wiped ash off my blade.
Then—
Growlllllllllll.
My stomach. Loud. Violent. Unforgivable.
Bell's eyes shifted to me. My face heated.
"I'm not a beggar." The words came out automatically.
Recognition hit his face. My chest tightened. Bell's lips twitched. He tried to hold it. Then he laughed. Hard.
Great. Goddess Hestia must've told him the story.
"I brought food. Let's eat it together." He said, his smile was genuine. Not mockery.
So, I didn't say no. Not to the food that protagonist offers.
"Let's go to the upper floors. Safer spot."
I nodded.
We climbed back two floors. The corridor opened into a small alcove—stone walls on three sides, clear view ahead. Defensible. Quiet.
Bell sat down and shrugged his pack off. Then he took out a lunch box.
I stared.
…Ah. Great. Syr's food. Plot armor.
No heart-shaped wrapping. No ribbons. No ridiculous presentation. Just a plain container, wrapped in cloth.
But the smell—
He opened it fully. Still warm. Somehow. Real. Illegal.
I leaned back against the wall. Jealous. Slightly.
Love shown through the smell alone.
And he's rubbing it in my face with that protagonist energy. Still clueless to all.
He slid it toward me. "Here."
We ate it together.
When I saw his happy face while eating, the thought came to mind.
Luck is on your side—with costs attached.
And somehow, knowing how this plays out, made looking away feel worse.