For a moment—
Nothing moved.
No—
That wasn't right.
I didn't move.
The body did.
Water continued to drip from his chin, sliding down along the line of his jaw, falling in quiet, steady drops into the basin below.
But my thoughts—
They stalled.
Locked.
Refusing to move forward.
…This didn't make sense.
I stared.
Closer.
As if narrowing the distance would somehow reveal the flaw in what I was seeing.
The shape of the eyes.
The angle of the brows.
The way the strands of hair fell unevenly along the sides of his face.
Every detail—
Matched.
Not similar.
Not "close enough."
Identical.
…No.
That's impossible.
I tried to recall.
My face.
My real face.
What did it look like?
…
Silence.
A strange, hollow gap lingered where certainty should've been.
I knew it.
I should know it.
And yet—
The clearer I tried to picture it…
The more it blurred.
Like something just out of reach.
Like trying to remember a dream that had already begun to fade.
My gaze hardened slightly.
…Don't jump to conclusions.
There were too many unknowns.
Too many missing pieces.
I had no control over this body.
No understanding of how I got here.
No way to verify anything.
Drawing a conclusion now would be—
Pointless.
A quiet exhale escaped.
Fine.
Then I won't.
For now—
I'll leave it.
But the question still lingered.
Heavy.
Unsettling.
Unanswered.
…Who are you, Viole?
The body moved.
A hand reached for the cloth hanging beside the basin.
He wiped his face slowly, dragging the fabric across damp skin before letting out a low, tired breath.
The tension in his shoulders eased—just slightly.
Then—
He turned away from the mirror.
Just like that.
As if nothing had happened.
…
No.
Not nothing.
But something he chose not to dwell on.
The wooden floor creaked softly underfoot as he stepped out of the bathroom.
Cool air brushed faintly against damp skin.
The space outside was quiet.
Still.
Grounded.
A stark contrast to the suffocating stillness that had filled the room moments ago.
Another breath.
Deeper this time.
His gaze lifted slightly—
Toward the ceiling.
"Party, huh?"
The words slipped out low.
Casual.
But not thoughtless.
There was weight behind them.
Consideration.
Fatigue.
A hint of reluctance.
Silence followed.
Then—
His eyes shifted.
To the side.
And stopped.
At the end of the short hallway—
There it was.
A door.
If it could even be called that.
Plain.
Metal.
Seamlessly embedded into the wall as if it had always been part of the structure itself.
No handle.
No hinges.
No visible lock.
Just a cold, unmoving surface.
Sealed.
…
He didn't react.
Not outwardly.
No curiosity.
No hesitation.
But—
Something changed.
Not in his expression.
In the feeling behind it.
A quiet pause settled in his chest.
And with it—
A memory surfaced.
Not sudden.
Not violent.
Just… familiar.
Like returning to a place you hadn't visited in a long time.
—
The same hallway.
But brighter.
Warmer.
Lived in.
A man stood at the far end, resting a blade over his shoulder.
Tall.
Broad.
Presence heavy without needing to prove it.
"Again."
A calm voice.
Firm.
Unyielding.
A younger Viole stood across from him, wooden sword trembling slightly in his grip.
"…Yes."
The reply came late.
Breath uneven.
The man didn't move immediately.
His eyes—sharp, observant—ran over the boy's stance.
"Too slow."
A step forward.
"Your hesitation comes before your swing."
Then—
A blur.
The wooden blade in the man's hand moved.
A clean strike.
Precise.
Controlled.
The sound of impact echoed.
Viole staggered.
But didn't fall.
"…Again."
No praise.
No anger.
Just expectation.
—
The scene shifted.
Softer this time.
The same house.
Different atmosphere.
The scent of herbs filled the air.
A woman stood by the kitchen, sleeves rolled slightly as she worked with practiced ease.
Gentle.
Composed.
"You're pushing him too hard."
She didn't look up as she spoke.
The man leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.
"He won't survive if I don't."
A quiet pause.
Then—
"He's not you."
That made him stop.
Just for a second.
"…I know."
His voice lowered.
But he didn't take it back.
—
Another shift.
Darker.
The house again.
But quieter.
Too quiet.
"…We'll be back before nightfall."
The man adjusted the strap of his gear.
The woman stood beside him, already prepared.
Viole stood near the doorway.
"…Okay."
The woman stepped forward first.
Placed a hand gently on his head.
"Stay inside."
A small smile.
Soft.
Warm.
The kind that lingered.
"We won't be long."
The door opened.
Closed.
—
…
They didn't come back.
—
Silence returned.
Cold.
Still.
Empty.
—
The present snapped back into place.
The hallway.
The door.
Unchanged.
Viole stood there for a moment longer.
Not staring.
Just… there.
Then—
He looked away.
Like someone who had already accepted what couldn't be changed.
No hesitation.
No visible grief.
Just something quiet.
Buried deep enough to not interfere with movement.
His hand lifted briefly, running through his still-damp hair before dropping back to his side.
"…Food."
The word came out low.
Practical.
Grounding.
He turned and walked past the sealed door without another glance.
The wooden floor creaked softly beneath each step as he entered the kitchen.
A small space.
Simple.
Used often.
He opened a cabinet.
Checked inside.
Flour.
Dried meat.
A few vegetables.
Not much.
His gaze shifted toward the small storage basket by the corner.
Then to the hanging utensils.
He paused.
Thinking.
Not about the past.
Not about the door.
Just—
What to cook.
"…Need to buy a few things."
Decision made.
He moved again.
Already heading toward the next task.
As if that was enough—
To keep everything else where it belonged.
For now.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The air outside was different.
Cooler.
Lighter.
The kind that carried noise.
Voices.
Footsteps.
The distant clatter of wood and metal.
…
The city was awake.
Not in a rush—
But in motion.
Vendors calling out from their stalls.
Fabric shifting in the breeze.
The faint scent of cooked food drifting through the streets.
It was… lively.
Compared to the silence he had just left behind—
It felt like stepping into another world.
…
He moved without hesitation.
The path was familiar.
Not memorized—
But repeated enough times to become instinct.
Market.
Ingredients.
Return.
Simple.
…
People passed by.
Some glanced.
Most didn't.
No one stopped him.
No one called out.
Just another adventurer among many.
…
Then—
A pause.
Not his.
Someone else's.
A presence lingering just at the edge of awareness.
Watching.
Hesitating.
…
I noticed it first.
A small figure.
Standing near one of the stalls.
Not moving.
Not approaching.
Just—
Looking.
At him.
…
Ai.
…
She saw him.
That much was obvious.
But she didn't move.
Not immediately.
Her hands were lightly clasped in front of her, fingers fidgeting slightly.
Indecision.
Conflict.
…
Then—
A small step forward.
Another.
Slow.
Careful.
Like she was testing whether she should even be doing this.
"…Um…"
Her voice barely rose above the noise around them.
He stopped.
Turned.
"…Ai."
A simple acknowledgment.
No surprise.
No confusion.
Just recognition.
That alone seemed to ease something in her shoulders.
"…You're… outside…"
She hesitated.
Eyes briefly lowering before lifting again.
"…Shouldn't you be… resting?"
…
A fair question.
Given the state he was in just hours ago.
"I needed ingredients."
His answer was direct.
As always.
"…If I don't cook, I don't eat."
A pause.
…
Her reaction was immediate.
Subtle—
But clear.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"…You can cook?"
There it was.
Not concern.
Not surprise at his condition.
But that.
…
He blinked once.
"…Yes."
A simple answer.
But it only seemed to deepen her reaction.
"…I—"
She stopped herself.
Voice shrinking slightly.
"…I can too…"
The words came out softer.
Less certain.
Like she wasn't fully confident in claiming it.
…
He looked at her for a moment.
Then—
"…Wanna come with me?"
No hesitation.
No buildup.
Just—
An invitation.
…
She froze.
"…Huh?"
"I'm going to the market."
A brief pause.
"…You are too, right?"
…
She nodded.
Small.
"…Y-Yes…"
"Then it's the same."
…
There was no real argument against that.
…
So she followed.
________________________________________
The market was more crowded deeper in.
Stalls lined both sides of the road.
Vegetables.
Meat.
Grains.
Small trinkets.
Tools.
The variety was… extensive.
…
They walked side by side.
Not close.
Not distant.
Just—
There.
Silence settled between them.
Not uncomfortable.
But not familiar either.
…
Then—
A sound.
Soft.
But unmistakable.
…
Growl.
…
He stopped.
Turned slightly.
She froze.
Her face—
Red.
Instantly.
"…I—"
She looked down, hands tightening slightly.
…
I understood immediately.
She stayed with him earlier.
From the healer's clinic to the guild—
Until he recovered enough to leave.
Time passed.
More than enough.
…
"You missed lunch."
It wasn't a question.
…
She nodded.
Just once.
…
A brief silence.
Then—
"Come."
…
Before she could respond, he had already shifted direction.
Toward a nearby stall.
The smell reached first.
Savory.
Warm.
Grilled.
…
Skewers.
Meat, lightly charred over open flame.
Simple.
But effective.
…
She hesitated.
"…I can't—"
"You can."
His voice was calm.
Firm.
"I'm paying."
"…But you already—"
"That was different."
He didn't even let her finish.
"That was a transaction."
A short pause.
"You used those potions on me."
Not sold.
Not traded.
Used.
…
She went quiet.
…
"This is thanks."
Simple.
Clear.
No room to argue.
…
"…Okay…"
It came out soft.
But she didn't resist anymore.
________________________________________
A few moments later—
They sat near the edge of the stall.
Skewers in hand.
Still warm.
…
She took a small bite.
Careful.
Then—
Another.
Slightly faster.
…
Hunger.
Clear.
Unhidden.
…
He watched briefly.
Then looked away.
Eating in silence.
…
And then—
A thought surfaced.
Practical.
Relevant.
"…Ai."
She looked up slightly.
"…Yes?"
"…You mentioned herbs earlier."
Not a question.
An observation.
"…Medicinal ones."
…
Her posture shifted.
Just slightly.
"…A little…"
She answered
"…I don't."
Blunt.
Honest.
"…I can fight monsters off."
"…But I can't tell which plant is worth taking."
A pause.
"…I've been taking gathering quests."
"For that reason."
…
Silence—
For a second.
Then—
Something changed.
…
Her eyes lit up.
Not metaphorically.
Actually.
A spark.
"…If it's identification, then—"
Her words started faster.
More fluid.
"…Most basic medicinal herbs have leaf vein patterns that are different from common weeds, especially the ones used for recovery potions—like the ones I used earlier, they usually grow in shaded areas, but not completely dark, and the soil moisture matters because if it's too dry then the potency drops, and also—"
…
She didn't stop.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't shrink.
…
"…there are also look-alikes, but the difference is usually in the stem structure or the smell when crushed, and if you're collecting for alchemy use, you have to be careful with how you store them because if they wilt too much then they lose value, and—"
…
I blinked. Technically Viole did.
…
He didn't move.
Didn't interrupt.
Just—
Watched.
…
"…so if you're taking gathering quests, it's better to focus on specific herb types first instead of trying to learn everything at once because it gets confusing, and—"
She stopped.
Abruptly.
…
Silence.
…
Her eyes widened slightly.
Reality catching up.
"…I—"
Her gaze dropped.
"…Sorry…"
Back.
To how she was before.
Quiet.
Small.
…
A pause.
…
Then—
A sound.
Soft.
Unexpected.
…
A chuckle.
…
She looked up.
Slowly.
…
His eyes were closed.
Just slightly.
The tension in his expression gone.
Replaced by something—
Lighter.
"…That helps."
Simple.
Genuine.
…
Her breath caught.
Just a little.
…
I felt it.
Not from her.
From him.
Something subtle.
Unintentional.
…
He didn't realize it.
But that expression—
That moment—
It wasn't the same as before.
Not the detached calm.
Not the neutral stillness.
…
It was—
Soft.
…
And for some reason—
That alone made her go quiet.
Not out of discomfort.
But because—
She didn't know how to respond to it.
…
So she didn't.
…
She lowered her gaze.
"…Sorry…"
Her voice had shrunk again.
Back to how it was before.
…
He shook his head slightly.
"…No."
A pause.
Then—
"…Sorry."
The word came out quieter than usual.
"…I didn't mean to laugh."
…
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"…It's okay…"
But her fingers tightened slightly around the skewer.
Still embarrassed.
Still aware.
…
A small silence settled between them again.
Not heavy.
Just—
Uncertain.
…
Then—
She spoke.
Carefully.
"…Um…"
Her hand lifted slightly, as if unsure whether to gesture or not.
"…The guild… sometimes puts drawings on the commission boards…"
A pause.
"…Of herbs…"
…
He glanced at her.
"…You've seen them?"
…
She shook her head immediately.
"…N-No…"
…
"…They're not reliable."
Flat.
Blunt.
"…Most of them are drawn by the requester."
A short pause.
"…Some look like they were done by children."
…
She went quiet.
That—
Made sense.
…
"…The guild sells a flora index."
He continued.
"…A proper one."
A brief pause.
"…It's expensive."
…
His gaze dropped slightly.
Not in hesitation—
But calculation.
"…I'm saving."
"For an Inventoria tome."
Storage.
Efficiency.
Capacity.
Everything an adventurer needed.
"…Carrying more matters more right now."
…
She nodded slowly.
Understanding.
…
"…Even if I buy the book…"
A slight exhale.
"…Most flowering herbs look the same."
Truth.
Simple.
Unavoidable.
…
Silence followed.
Not empty—
But filled with something unspoken.
A thought forming.
On both sides.
…
He paused.
Just slightly.
As if organizing the idea before speaking.
…
"…I—"
"…I—"
They spoke at the same time.
…
Both stopped.
…
He glanced at her.
"…Go ahead."
…
She froze for half a second.
Then—
"…I can teach you."
The words came out in a rush.
But not forced.
Just—
Faster than her usual pace.
…
A beat.
…
He blinked.
Once.
"…I was going to ask that."
…
Her eyes widened.
Just slightly.
…
Then lowered.
"…Ah…"
…
No awkwardness followed.
No overreaction.
Just—
Understanding.
The same conclusion.
Arrived at separately.
…
"…When?"
…
She thought for a moment.
"…The day after tomorrow…"
"…I'll be gathering near Lunareth Village…"
A small pause.
"…It's about an hour from the city…"
Her fingers tightened slightly again.
"…You don't have to—"
"I'll go."
No hesitation.
…
She looked up.
Surprised.
…
"I'm the one asking."
Simple.
"…And I can help."
A short pause.
"…You're alone when you gather, right?"
…
She nodded.
"…Yes…"
…
"…Then you're limited."
Direct.
Practical.
"…More hands means more collected."
"…More collected means more potions."
"…More potions means more to sell."
…
He stopped there.
…
She didn't respond.
Not immediately.
…
Because there wasn't anything to argue against.
…
"…Okay…"
A small nod followed.
Agreement.
________________________________________
By the time the conversation settled—
The skewers were gone.
Only the faint warmth remained in their hands.
…
He stood first.
"…Let's go."
…
She followed.
________________________________________
The market felt different now.
Less distant.
Less like something to move through—
And more like something to navigate together.
…
They stopped at stalls.
Vegetables first.
Leafy greens.
Root crops.
He selected quickly.
No wasted movement.
…
She watched.
Then—
"…That one's fresher."
A small point.
Barely voiced.
…
He paused.
Looked.
Then switched.
…
"…Thanks."
…
A small nod.
…
Next—
Meat.
Dried cuts.
Some fresh.
He chose based on price.
Efficiency.
…
She hesitated—
Then pointed again.
"…That cut… is softer when boiled…"
…
A pause.
Then—
He changed his selection.
…
"…Got it."
…
No more words were needed.
…
They moved like that for a while.
Short exchanges.
Small adjustments.
Quiet cooperation.
…
Until—
Everything was done.
________________________________________
At the edge of the market—
They stopped.
…
"…This is where I go."
She spoke first this time.
…
He nodded.
"…Alright."
A pause.
…
"…Thank you."
…
She blinked.
"…F-For what?"
…
"…Earlier."
A brief pause.
"…And this."
…
Her lips parted slightly.
Then—
"…You're welcome…"
Soft.
…
Another pause.
Then—
She turned.
Walking away.
Not looking back immediately.
…
He did the same.
________________________________________
The streets had changed.
The light softer.
Shadows longer.
The noise—slightly quieter.
…
Evening approaching.
…
He walked the same path back.
Unchanged.
Unhurried.
…
But something was different.
…
Subtle.
Barely noticeable.
…
He didn't react to it.
Didn't question it.
Didn't even acknowledge it.
…
But I did.
…
The weight from earlier—
Was lighter.
Not gone.
But—
Eased.
…
Not because of rest.
Not because of time.
…
But because of something else.
Something small.
Simple.
…
A conversation.
________________________________________
The door closed behind him.
The house returned to silence.
…
But it didn't feel the same.
Not as heavy.
Not as empty.
…
He moved to the kitchen.
Set the ingredients down.
Sorted them.
Automatically.
…
Water.
Pot.
Fire.
…
The routine began.
…
Vegetables were cut cleanly.
Uniform.
Efficient.
Meat followed.
Portioned without waste.
…
Everything went into the pot.
Simple.
Balanced.
Sufficient.
…
As the water began to simmer—
His thoughts shifted.
Not wandering.
Organizing.
…
Tomorrow.
The unfinished quest.
…
The location was already known.
The herbs—
Identified.
Or at least—
Memorized.
…
It wouldn't take long.
…
A second thought followed.
If he was already going—
Then adding another task made sense.
…
Extermination.
…
Goblins.
Likely.
Low risk.
Manageable.
Efficient use of time.
…
The plan formed quickly.
Clean.
Structured.
…
Then—
Another thought.
Unexpected.
…
If he was taking multiple tasks—
He would be out longer.
…
"…Lunch…"
The word slipped out quietly.
…
A pause.
…
Then—
A shift.
…
Preparation.
…
If he made it in advance—
Time wouldn't be wasted.
Efficiency improved.
…
Logical.
Simple.
…
Then—
Another layer.
…
The day after tomorrow.
Lunareth.
…
He would be there longer.
Not just gathering—
Learning.
…
A brief pause.
…
Then—
The thought connected.
Naturally.
…
If he was preparing food anyway—
Making more wouldn't change much.
…
Two portions.
Instead of one.
…
No extra effort.
Minimal difference.
…
Practical.
…
The decision settled.
Just like that.
…
The soup continued to simmer.
Steam rising steadily.
…
His movements remained the same.
Measured.
Precise.
…
But something beneath that—
Shifted.
…
Faint.
Subtle.
…
I noticed it.
Before he did.
…
The tension in his shoulders—
Looser.
…
His breathing—
Lighter.
…
And then—
His reflection.
Faintly visible on the surface of the simmering broth.
…
The corner of his lips—
Lifted.
Just slightly.
…
Not deliberate.
Not conscious.
…
He didn't notice it.
Didn't question it.
Didn't stop it.
…
But I did.
…
And for some reason—
I didn't look away.