We kept moving. No sprint now.
Just—
walking. Steady. Forward.
The forest stretched ahead, quieter than before. No immediate danger. No pursuit.
But no one relaxed.
Not fully.
—
Viole's body—
was starting to give.
I felt it clearly now.
Not during the fight.
Not during the escape.
But here.
After.
When everything slowed down.
His vision—
was fading.
Not completely.
But the edges were going first.
Darkening. Blurring.
Like the world couldn't quite stay in focus anymore.
His steps weren't as precise.
Still controlled.
But heavier.
Less certain.
His muscles ached.
Not sharp pain.
Deep.
Settled.
Like everything had been pushed past its limit—and only now realized it.
His breathing—
easier than before.
But still strained.
Each inhale dragged just a little too long.
Each exhale carried weight.
Like his body was trying to stabilize—
and failing to fully catch up.
Flash Step.
Again and again.
That kind of movement—
it wasn't free.
It took something.
And he used it too much.
Too fast. Too often.
I could feel the backlash spreading.
Through his legs.
His arms.
Even his core.
Everything was tight.
Overworked.
And yet—
he kept walking.
No complaint.
No acknowledgment.
Just—
forward.
…
Honestly—
it made sense.
He wasn't just fighting.
He was holding back.
Adjusting.
Controlling the pace.
Making sure they—
those kids—
could keep up.
Could learn.
Could survive without being overwhelmed.
He took the front.
Took the pressure.
So they didn't have to.
Mentoring.
Even if he never said it out loud.
Even if he didn't see it that way.
…
Yeah.
No wonder his body was like this.
—
A shift beside us.
Luna. She moved closer.
Then—
she reached out.
Supported him.
Subtle.
But firm.
Viole's body dipped slightly before stabilizing.
Then—
he snapped back.
Not fully.
But enough.
His vision cleared just a bit.
Focus returning.
Not perfect.
But usable.
Luna didn't let go immediately.
"…Thank you."
Her voice was soft.
But clear.
Sincere.
"You didn't have to."
A small pause.
"…But you still did."
Viole said nothing.
Kiran, a few steps ahead, adjusted the girl on his back.
He heard it.
"…Yeah."
A short breath.
"Thanks."
Awkward.
But real.
Rath glanced back.
Didn't stop moving.
"…You saved them."
Simple. Direct.
Eira followed.
"…All of them."
No exaggeration.
Just fact.
Even the girls—
the ones being carried—
tried to speak.
Weak. Strained.
"…Th… thank…"
Barely audible.
But there.
All of it.
Directed at him.
—
Viole heard.
Of course he did.
But he didn't respond.
Didn't nod.
Didn't acknowledge it.
Just—
kept walking.
And then—
a thought.
Not spoken.
Not deliberate.
Just—
there.
Why did I even do it?
It wasn't doubt.
Not regret.
Just—
genuine question.
Because it didn't line up.
Not with how he saw himself.
Not with how he operated.
And honestly—
I didn't have a clear answer either.
I mean—
yeah.
He remembered.
Ai.
Yesterday.
That moment.
That kindness.
But one act—
that's not enough.
Not to undo years of habit.
Not to change someone completely.
That kind of shift—
doesn't happen overnight.
So then—
why?
…
I looked closer.
At him.
At what I could feel.
At what I could see.
And then—
it clicked.
Not fully.
But enough.
He wasn't different.
Not really.
He just—
never showed it.
Didn't express it.
Didn't act on it—
unless something pushed him.
Behind all that distance.
All that control.
All that detachment—
there was something else.
Quiet. Buried.
But there.
Kindness.
Just—
unpracticed. Unfamiliar.
Like a part of him he didn't know how to use.
Or maybe—
didn't think he was allowed to.
…
And as that thought settled—
I noticed something else.
His arms.
Scratches.
Not deep.
But there.
Fresh.
His legs—
same.
Claw marks.
Minor burns.
Patches of skin slightly darkened.
Heat damage.
From the fire.
From the fight.
He hadn't reacted to any of it.
Didn't even acknowledge it.
During the fight—
there was no room for pain.
Everything moved too fast.
Too focused.
Too precise.
But now—
it showed.
Clear as day.
And still—
he kept walking.
Like it didn't matter.
Like none of it did.
…
Yeah.
This guy—
really doesn't make things easy for himself.
We kept walking.
Step by step.
No shortcuts now.
No bursts of speed.
Just endurance.
—
The soreness settled deeper.
I could feel it spreading through him.
Not sharp.
Not immediate.
But heavy.
Persistent.
Like every muscle had been wrung out and left to dry.
His legs dragged slightly more with each step.
Not enough for others to notice—
but I did.
Each lift.
Each step forward.
Took more than it should.
His arms felt worse.
Tight. Stiff.
The kind of ache that builds after overuse.
After pushing past what the body should allow.
And his breathing—
still not right.
Better than before.
But not recovered.
Every inhale had resistance.
Every exhale carried fatigue.
And yet—
he didn't stop.
Didn't slow.
Just—
kept going.
—
Minutes passed.
Then—
the trees began to thin.
Light opened up.
And ahead—
walls.
Stone.
Familiar.
The city.
The gate came into view shortly after.
Guards stationed.
Alert.
Watching.
—
They saw us.
No hesitation.
They ran toward us immediately.
Something about the sight—
a battered group.
Injured.
Carrying survivors—
was enough.
—
But Viole—
was done.
I felt it before it happened.
That final drop.
The last thread holding him together—
snapped.
His vision dimmed. Faster this time.
Not just the edges.
The center.
Fading.
His balance shifted.
Steps faltered.
And just before everything went dark—
voices.
Shouting.
Distant.
"…over here!"
"Get them—!"
Then—
closer.
Clearer.
"—it's this guy again."
—
Darkness.
—
I should've gone with him.
That's how it works.
When he sleeps—
I sleep.
When he loses consciousness—
so do I.
That's the rule.
But—
this time—
something broke.
Or slipped.
Or—
changed.
—
Light.
Soft.
Different.
Not the cave.
Not the forest.
Not the city.
—
I was… somewhere else.
—
A room.
Bright.
Clean.
Unfamiliar—
and yet—
not.
There were voices.
Warm.
Close.
I turned—
or at least, it felt like I did.
—
A man.
Tall.
European features.
Sharp, but gentle.
And beside him—
a woman.
Japanese.
Soft expression.
Calm.
Both looking at—
me.
—
No.
Not me.
—
A smaller version.
Standing between them.
Holding something.
A certificate.
Clothes—
formal.
—
Elementary graduation.
—
…Oh.
—
A feeling surfaced.
Not confusion.
Not fear.
Just—
recognition.
—
I smiled.
Or—
he did.
But I felt it.
Like watching something I had forgotten—
and suddenly remembering.
—
The scene shifted.
No transition.
No warning.
Just—
different.
—
A mirror.
Bathroom.
Middle school uniform.
Slightly too big.
Still adjusting.
I stood there—
staring.
Hand on the collar.
Fixing it.
Checking.
First day.
—
Another shift.
—
A hallway.
After school.
Quiet.
And in front of me—
a girl.
Nervous.
Fidgeting.
Looking down.
Then up.
Determined.
—
"I—"
Her voice trembled.
"…I like you."
—
Ah.
That.
—
I remember this.
I think I do.
—
I opened my mouth.
About to answer.
But—
—
Pulled.
—
Hard.
Sudden.
Like being dragged backward.
Out of it.
Away from it.
The memory—
shattered.
—
Light snapped back.
—
Pain followed.
Immediate.
Sharp.
Everywhere.
—
Viole woke up.
And I came with him.
—
The ceiling.
Familiar.
Plain.
Wooden beams.
White cloth.
—
Clinic.
—
His body reacted immediately.
Pain surged through his muscles as he tried to sit up.
His arms trembled slightly from the effort.
His core tightened—
too tight.
Everything protested.
Loudly.
That soreness from before—
now amplified.
Every movement dragged against it.
—
He pushed through anyway.
Of course he did.
—
"…How long?"
His voice was rough.
Dry.
"Where are they?"
—
A figure moved beside the bed.
Mira.
—
She grinned. Wide. Too wide.
"Oh? Look at you—" she started, clearly amused. "Didn't think you had it in you to—"
"It's not what you think."
Flat. Immediate.
Cut off before she could even finish.
—
Her grin didn't disappear.
If anything—
it sharpened.
"Mmhm. Sure."
She waved it off lightly.
"They're outside. Waiting."
Simple.
Answer given.
—
Viole exhaled.
Slow.
Then—
his gaze shifted.
Around the room.
Beds. Occupied.
Every single one.
People resting.
Bandaged.
Recovering.
—
"…Why is it full?"
—
Mira's expression changed.
Not serious.
Not really.
But—
lighter.
In a different way.
Almost—
pleased.
"You really don't pay attention, do you?"
A small laugh escaped her.
Then—
"The girls you brought in."
A beat.
"All of them are here."
—
Ah.
—
That explains it.
—
Viole didn't respond immediately.
But I felt it. That subtle shift.
That quiet acknowledgment.
—
Yeah.
They made it. All of them.
The room settled into quiet again.
Not silence.
Just—
breathing.
Soft movement.
Cloth shifting.
—
Viole's gaze moved across the beds.
One by one.
Some of the girls were awake.
Weak.
But conscious.
Eyes open.
Watching.
Others—
still asleep.
Bandaged.
Breathing shallow, but steady.
Alive.
All of them.
—
He turned.
"Mira."
A beat.
"How much?"
Direct.
As always.
"For this."
Then, after a slight pause—
"…And something for muscle pain."
His shoulders shifted slightly as he spoke.
Subtle. But I felt it.
Yeah.
"Too shitty to ignore," he added flatly.
—
Outside—
movement.
Voices.
Familiar.
Luna stepped closer to the doorway and peeked in.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"He's awake."
The others followed immediately.
—
Mira noticed.
Of course she did.
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice.
"They've been waiting," she whispered, glancing toward the door. "Wanted to thank you properly."
—
Viole didn't respond.
Didn't look at her.
Just—
waited.
—
The four stepped in. One by one.
Then lined up.
Awkward. But sincere.
Kiran scratched the back of his head again.
"…Thanks."
Simple.
Eira followed.
"For guiding us."
Luna lowered her gaze slightly.
"…And for helping us save them."
Rath—
just nodded once.
"…We learned a lot."
—
Viole gave a small nod.
That was it.
No speech.
No acknowledgment beyond that.
—
Then—
They spoke again.
A bit more firmly this time.
"…We're looking forward to next time."
—
…Wait.
—
The words took a second to land.
Not just for me.
For him too.
I felt it.
That slight delay.
That moment of—
processing.
—
Next time?
—
Before he could respond—
they were already moving.
Turning. Smiling.
Light. Relieved.
And just like that—
they left.
—
Viole stayed where he was.
Still.
Then—
he leaned back slightly.
A long breath escaped him.
Deep. Heavy. Resigned.
—
…Yeah.
That sounds about right.
—
Mira didn't hold back this time.
She laughed. Soft.
But clearly amused.
Then she moved to the side, grabbing something.
A small vial.
Dried herbs inside.
She handed it to him.
"For the pain."
Then—
a cup.
Steam rising faintly from the surface.
"I already brewed it."
—
Viole took both.
Steam curled faintly from the surface.
He didn't hesitate this time.
Just—
a small tilt.
A sip.
—
"Bleh—"
It slipped out immediately. Unfiltered.
He pulled the cup back slightly, face tightening for just a second before he stuck his tongue out—brief, instinctive.
"…Bitter."
Flat.
But that tiny reaction—
yeah.
That was new.
—
—
…
—
I felt that. Yeah.
No argument there.
That was bad.
Not just bitter—
the kind that sticks.
Clings to your tongue.
Refuses to leave.
—
For a second—
there was the faintest shift in his expression.
Subtle.
But there.
Like a kid who just realized he made a mistake.
—
I almost laughed.
—
He exhaled quietly.
Then—
took another sip.
Slower this time.
Endured it.
Then another.
Each one—
a little easier.
Not because it got better.
Just—
because he adjusted.
Until eventually—
it didn't matter anymore.
—
Cup lowered.
Done.
—
"How much?"
Again.
Same tone. Same question.
—
Mira tapped her chin lightly.
Thinking.
Or pretending to.
Then—
"Fifty copper."
She nodded toward the vial.
"For that."
—
Viole didn't question it.
Just accepted it.
Then—
"The rest?"
A slight pause.
"The treatment."
—
Mira shook her head.
"On the house."
Simple.
Then her gaze shifted—
toward the beds.
Toward the girls.
—
A small smile formed.
Different from before.
Softer.
—
"Liora came by earlier to check on you."
She glanced back at him.
"Told me how you ended up with that group."
—
Viole didn't react. But he listened.
—
Mira continued.
"You joining them—even just for today—"
A small pause.
"Didn't just keep those four alive."
Her eyes moved again. Across the room.
"To them too."
The girls.
Resting.
Breathing.
Alive.
—
"Most of them were reported missing," she added quietly. "Some probably taken on the road. Travelers."
A beat.
Then she looked back at him.
Really looked.
And smiled.
Soft.
Warm.
—
"That one decision you made…"
A small pause.
"…saved lives."
—
Viole didn't answer. Didn't nod. Didn't deny it.
—
He just sat there. Quiet.
—
And I felt it again.
That same thing as before.
Subtle.
Buried.
But there.
—
Yeah.
He's definitely not as cold as he thinks he is.
The herbs took effect gradually.
Not immediate.
Not dramatic.
Just—
a slow easing.
The tightness in his muscles loosened first.
Then the deeper ache dulled.
Still there.
But no longer overwhelming.
—
Viole sat up.
Carefully. Testing.
His body responded.
Stiff. Sore.
But functional.
—
He stood.
A slight hitch in his movement.
A faint limp.
But nothing that would stop him.
Not anymore.
—
His hand moved to his pouch.
Coins. Measured. Counted.
—
Mira was already at the counter when he stepped out.
Leaning back slightly.
Relaxed. Watching him.
—
He didn't say anything.
Just placed the coins down.
Fifty.
Then—
another ten.
—
Mira glanced at them.
Then at him.
A small pause.
But she didn't push it back.
Didn't argue.
Just let out a quiet breath as she took them.
"…This guy."
Soft. Under her breath.
—
Viole had already turned.
—
Outside—
the air felt different.
Clearer. Cooler.
His breathing—
better now.
Not perfect. But steady. Manageable.
His limbs still carried the soreness.
Each step reminded him of it.
But the edge was gone.
Blunted. Contained.
—
He walked.
Direction set.
—
The Adventurer's Guild.
—
Right.
The parchment.
They couldn't submit it without him.
And—
he wasn't cooking tonight.
Not like this.
So—
food.
Simple. Efficient.
—
The walk wasn't long.
But it felt longer than usual.
Not because of distance.
Because of his body.
Each step measured.
Controlled.
—
Then—
the Guild came into view.
Familiar. Unchanged.
—
Inside—
noise.
Movement.
Voices overlapping.
The usual.
—
He stepped in.
And spotted her immediately.
Liora.
Still at the counter. Still working.
—
He approached.
Placed the parchment down.
No preamble.
—
She looked up.
Recognition came instantly.
Then—
a shift.
But before she could speak—
before she could even process—
—
"I'll take the points."
Flat. Simple.
"Give them the money."
—
And then—
he turned.
Already walking away.
—
Liora blinked.
Just once.
Caught off guard.
That was fast.
Too fast.
But she didn't stop him.
Didn't call out.
—
From where I stood—
I could tell.
She understood.
Of course she did.
She's been here since the beginning.
Since Viole first stepped into this place.
She's seen it all.
His habits. His patterns.
His—
awkward way of handling things.
—
Yeah.
She knows him.
Better than most.
—
Outside again.
—
Across the street—
the restaurant.
—
He stepped in.
—
Noise. Loud.
Busy. Alive.
Adventurers filling the space.
Talking. Laughing. Drinking.
Then—
he moved.
Straight to the counter.
"Stir-fry. To go."
A pause.
"And ale."
—
The owner nodded immediately.
Already moving.
—
—
The ale came first.
Set down in front of him.
Cold.
Condensation forming along the mug.
—
The owner leaned slightly.
"Word got around," he said. "About what you and your party did."
A small pause.
"I don't know who those girls are."
Another.
"But someone out there—"
He shrugged lightly.
"Parents. Lovers."
A faint smile.
"They'll be glad they're alive."
—
Viole didn't respond. Didn't nod. Didn't react.
—
He just picked up the mug.
And drank.
—
The liquid hit immediately.
Cool. Sharp.
Then—
smooth.
Sliding down his throat.
Washing away the dryness.
The strain.
—
Then warmth.
Spreading. Slow.
Settling in his chest.
His stomach.
Easing something deeper.
—
I felt it too.
—
…Yeah.
That—
actually helped.
—
He lowered the mug.
Quiet.
Still.
—
And said nothing.
Viole continued drinking.
Slow.
Measured.
The ale was doing its job.
Loosening the tightness.
Dulling the edges.
—
Before he could finish—
the food arrived.
—
A wooden cylinder.
Longer than a mug.
Hollowed.
Steam rising from within.
The scent hit immediately.
Savory. Warm. Fresh.
—
Viole didn't pause.
He tilted the mug—
and chugged the rest.
Cold turned to warmth as it went down.
Clean. Simple.
Done.
—
Coins followed.
He placed them on the counter.
The owner counted.
"Twenty-five."
A nod.
Confirmed.
—
Viole picked up the stir-fry.
Turned.
And left.
—
Outside—
night had settled in.
Not fully deep.
But enough.
Somewhere between six—
maybe seven.
Hard to tell exactly.
Time felt… loose.
—
The streets were calmer.
Less movement.
Dimmer light.
—
Viole walked.
Slower than usual.
His pace still off.
That slight limp hadn't gone away.
Every step reminded him—
you pushed too far.
—
But he didn't stop.
—
Home came into view. Familiar. Quiet.
—
He stepped inside.
Closed the door behind him.
A soft click.
—
Routine followed.
—
The katana came off first.
Placed on the rack behind the door.
Within reach.
Always.
—
Then the armor.
Light today.
Arm guards.
Shoulder guard.
Straps loosened.
Removed.
Hung carefully on the stand.
A wooden armor rack—
simple.
Functional.
Like everything else here.
—
No delay.
Straight to the kitchen.
—
He checked the pot.
Lifted the lid.
Leaned slightly.
A sniff.
—
Still good.
—
Mana flowed.
Subtle.
Directed.
The stove responded immediately.
A faint hum.
Then heat. Controlled. Consistent.
—
Right.
Mana.
—
It really is everywhere here.
Everyone has it.
Not equal.
Not even close.
But enough.
A baseline.
Something you can use—
if you know how.
—
Simple applications like this?
Common.
Stoves.
Heaters.
Lighting.
All powered by it.
—
More complex things—
that's different.
Spells.
You either learn them properly—
schools.
Teachers.
Or—
you buy them.
Tomes.
—
Like Inventoria.
—
The one Viole wanted.
A storage spell.
Creates space.
Not physical.
Not visible.
Just—
there.
The size depends on your mana.
Your capacity.
Your control.
Your soul.
—
Convenient. But expensive.
Ridiculously so.
—
Honestly?
Yeah.
Having mana—
that's a cheat.
—
The soup heated.
Steam rising steadily now.
—
Viole sat down.
Unpacked the stir-fry.
Plates set.
Simple.
Efficient.
—
Then—
he ate.
—
No rush.
No pause.
Just steady.
Consistent.
Each bite measured.
Fuel.
Recovery.
—
The warmth helped.
The food settled heavy—but good.
Something his body actually needed.
—
When he finished—
he didn't linger.
—
Bath.
—
He moved there next.
Steps slower now.
But purposeful.
—
Water.
Tub.
Empty.
—
Mana again.
Directed.
Focused.
—
The heater responded.
A low hum.
Then warmth spread through the system.
Water began to fill.
Steam rising slowly.
—
Right.
This too.
—
Everything here—
wasn't cheap.
Even if it didn't look like it at first glance.
—
From the outside—
it's just a small house.
Nothing special.
—
But inside—
these things?
Magic stove.
Bath heater.
—
That's not something a struggling adventurer usually has.
—
His parents.
—
Everything here—
was theirs.
Left behind.
Maintained.
Used.
—
Yeah.
At a glance—
he looks like he's barely getting by.
—
But this?
This is comfort.
Just—
quietly hidden.
—
The tub filled.
Steam thickened.
—
He undressed.
Stepped in.
—
And sank.
—
The heat wrapped around him immediately.
Deep. Soothing.
Not sharp. Not overwhelming.
Just—
right.
—
I felt it too.
—
…Yeah.
That's good.
—
The tension eased.
Muscles loosened.
Gradually.
The fatigue—
washed over.
Not gone.
But softened.
Like something heavy finally set down.
—
His breathing slowed.
Evened out.
The strain from earlier—
fading.
—
But the pain?
Still there.
Underneath.
Muted.
Not gone.
—
The kind that lingers.
Reminds you what you did.
—
He leaned back slightly.
Let the heat settle deeper.
—
And for the first time since the fight—
his body stopped resisting.
Just—
rested.
The bath ended quietly.
Water stilled.
Steam thinning.
—
Viole stepped out.
Dried himself.
Slow.
Methodical.
—
Then—
the mirror.
—
There it was again.
That face.
Sharp.
Clean.
Too composed for how he actually felt.
—
I stared.
Still not used to it.
"…I mean, it's my face."
A pause.
"…but this setup is still weird."
Same features.
Same structure.
But—
not mine.
Not really.
—
He didn't linger.
Dried his hair.
Changed clothes.
Simple.
Loose.
Comfortable.
—
Then—
bed.
—
He slid under the sheets.
Exhaled once.
Body sinking into the mattress.
—
It was early.
Too early for sleep, normally.
But today—
wasn't normal.
—
For a moment—
everything stilled.
—
Then—
it came back.
—
The pain.
—
The dull ache from earlier—
returned.
Slow.
Spreading.
The relief from the herbs—
fading.
—
His muscles tightened again.
That deep soreness creeping back in.
Persistent.
Unpleasant.
—
…Yeah.
Not letting that sit.
—
He moved.
Got up again.
Quietly.
—
Back to the kitchen.
—
Water.
Heated quickly.
Mana flowing.
Controlled.
Efficient.
—
The cup was already prepared.
Dried herbs inside.
—
He poured.
Steam rose.
The scent followed.
—
And he paused.
—
Right.
This again.
—
I could already remember it.
That bitterness.
That lingering, stubborn—
—
…Yeah.
No.
—
He didn't drink immediately.
Just stood there.
Letting it cool slightly.
Pacing himself.
—
Then—
a thought surfaced.
Tomorrow.
—
Lunareth Village.
—
He'd be out the whole day.
Which meant—
early morning.
Preparation.
Food.
—
A shift.
Subtle.
But there.
—
Something in him—
lifted.
Just a little.
—
I felt it.
And didn't quite get it.
—
Was it the break?
A change of pace?
The chance to move outside the usual routine?
Or—
something else?
—
I couldn't tell.
—
But it was there.
Just for a moment.
—
Then—
he picked up the cup.
Resolved.
—
A sip.
—
He didn't react this time.
Not outwardly.
But I felt it.
—
Still bad.
Still very bad.
—
That bitterness spread instantly.
Coating everything.
Refusing to leave.
—
…Yeah.
No way anyone gets used to this.
—
He kept going.
Steady.
One sip after another.
Until the cup emptied.
—
Done.
—
He sat down for a moment.
Let it settle.
—
Then—
the effect came.
Gradual.
Familiar.
The tension easing again.
Pain dulling.
Muscles loosening.
—
That was enough.
—
He stood.
Returned to the room.
—
Bed again.
—
This time—
he didn't get back up.
—
Sheets pulled.
Body settling.
Breathing slowing.
—
And as everything quieted—
I remembered.
—
That moment.
Earlier.
When he passed out.
—
That… dream.
—
Except—
it didn't feel like one.
—
It was too clear.
Too real.
Too specific.
—
My memories.
From before.
—
And that didn't make sense.
—
I shouldn't be able to dream.
Not like that.
Not independently.
—
When he sleeps—
I sleep.
That's how it works.
—
So what was that?
—
A glitch?
A condition?
Something else entirely?
—
Too many unknowns.
—
…Yeah.
Not solving that tonight.
—
It's only the second day.
—
I let the thought go.
For now.
—
But one thing lingered.
—
If it happened once—
will it happen again?
—
…
—
His breathing slowed further.
Even.
Steady.
—
Sleep took him.
—
And just like that—
I went with him.
—
Darkness followed.