Her Story (2)
I introduced him to a restaurant I used to frequent back when every coin had to be pinched and stretched.
The more I shared of what I knew, the closer I felt we became.
He took in everything I taught him without a flicker of resistance. Even the parts that must have sat awkwardly with him, he accepted with a serious face and a simple nod, and I found myself feeling grateful for it.
People say that admitting what you don't know is no easy thing.
"Who do you think you are, teaching me?"
"A receptionist, and you think you know something? Don't get ahead of yourself."
"Just because you've got a pretty face, you think you're something special?"
How many times had I been looked down on with words like those?
Of course, it was precisely because he hadn't doubted me that he'd ended up in that kind of danger to begin with...
Which was exactly why I was staying at his side, teaching him carefully, one thing at a time.
"Here. Say ah?"
Even cutting the meat and holding it out to him like this was all part of that careful teaching.
"...I can cut the meat myself—"
"This cut can turn out tough or tender depending on the direction you slice it. If you know how to eat it, it's an incredibly good value. If you don't, you'd be better off chewing on minotaur hide."
And that was the honest truth about this meat. Was it truly that difficult? Not really. But the flustered look on his face was something that made me smile — the kind of reaction that finally let me understand the expression my father used to wear when he taught me.
"Ugh..."
"Hurry up. Good meat's going cold."
He bit down on the piece dangling from the fork I held out, then quickly pulled it free and started chewing.
"Mm... mm!"
The more he chewed, the more color bloomed across his face, and a smile rose to my own without my meaning it. This was probably the same smile my mother used to wear as she set the table and watched her family eat with such relish.
"It's delicious!"
"Have some more. Here."
Clink, clink. I put a little pressure on the knife, drew it through the meat with a soft slide, and another piece vanished into his mouth.
"S-so, by the way?"
He chewed, swallowed, then wiped his mouth with a napkin before speaking.
"I thought you were just the inn's receptionist, Ely, but watching you inside the dungeon, you seemed so much stronger than that. Did you work as a dungeon explorer before you took the receptionist job?"
"Ah, yes. When I was little, I used to explore dungeons with my father all the time. We'd draw maps of the dungeon and sell them, or trade the spoils we found to people who needed them in exchange for food and supplies."
That was all a long time ago now.
"After my father got hurt, it became hard to keep doing that kind of work. Once he was injured in the dungeon, if I got hurt too, there'd be no one left to support the family. So I started working at the inn. I... it feels awkward saying this myself, but they gave me the receptionist job because of my looks and my meticulous nature."
I slipped another piece of meat into his mouth. By now, the moment I lifted the fork, he opened up on his own, like a baby bird waiting to be fed...
"Hap."
He chewed the meat slowly, savoring the texture.
"Gulp. Heeh — so it makes sense that you know so much about dungeons, then."
"That's right. At least to a certain depth, I explored with my father when I was young. Of course... my skills have faded since then, so I don't think I could go that far anymore."
"Eh, I don't have any intention of going that deep anyway."
Clink, clink. He scooped a spoonful of the fried rice in front of him, let his eyes fall half-shut to savor the taste, then went on.
"I'm only doing this kind of work to make a living, after all."
"You didn't have any other particular goal?"
"No. Well... I read in a book that if you reach the deepest part of the dungeon and come out victorious, something will grant you a wish?"
"That's right. Every hero's tale and legend in this world begins with a dungeon conqueror."
Scenes from the stories my father used to tell me flickered through my mind — the Beastkin King, the Iron Lord, the Absolute Domain of the Elves...
"But, well... I don't have that kind of grand power, and there's nothing particularly urgent I need. I'd be satisfied just being able to live comfortably enough."
He took another spoonful and brought it to his mouth.
"Is that so."
I halved the last chunk of meat and set it on his plate.
"I... well, this is an old story, but — I had a reason."
"What kind of reason?"
Should I tell him this? The thought crossed my mind. He might actually listen... maybe it would be all right to say it. But wouldn't that be too shameless?
I was his slave. Yes, he showed me more kindness and goodwill than he needed to... but there was a limit to how much I could lean on that kindness. Asking for more than this wouldn't end well.
"Tell me. I want to hear what that reason was. Is it... something that's causing you trouble?"
He gently set down his fork and knife, rested his hands on the table, and leaned forward, looking straight into my eyes.
Looking into that warm gaze, I felt my heart grow soft all on its own. Something overflowed inside me, like easing my body slowly into a hot bath. That feeling loosened the expression on my face, and I gently laid my hand over the one he had extended.
"...Ah?"
Our hands had barely touched, and already his face had gone scarlet. I savored the look on him — flinching, unable to tear his eyes from where our hands met — and casually propped my chin on my other hand.
He glanced at me, then back at our joined hands, and then — suddenly — yanked his hand away and dropped it under the table.
"Ah."
A sigh slipped out before I could stop it. And I meant it — in that instant the air around us turned cold, and I gave a little shiver. My ears flicked upright with a soft tap, then drooped and folded again.
In the awkward silence that followed, he suddenly spoke.
"Th-there's something I've been curious about."
"Yes, anything."
He cleared his throat, then pointed a finger at the top of my head.
"Your ears keep twitching a lot. Can you... control the movement yourself, or is it... emotions? Something that lets people read how you're feeling?"
"...To think you'd take such an interest in my ears. Hehe."
His face flushed again, and my heart gave a little flutter. I took a moment to steady my breathing, then explained it to him simply.
"I can control the movement to some extent. If my emotions came through my ears in a professional setting, it wouldn't look very professional. So in those situations I always tense them and try to keep them standing straight. But... yes. My ears do show my feelings. A dramatic shift in emotion makes them stand all the way up. When I'm in a bad mood or feeling down... they droop like this. And when I'm flustered, they flutter."
I fluttered them for him, showing the various shapes they could take. I stretched them fully, folded them halfway, flicked them... He couldn't take his eyes off them. Then he lowered his gaze slightly to meet mine and went on.
"...Is it really all right to tell me all of that?"
"You asked, and answering is my duty, you know?"
"You don't have to answer everything just because I asked. Think of yourself as less of a slave and more... well, I trust you know what I mean."
"Yes, I know."
His kindness, his intentions. I had understood both of them for a long time now.
He had answered all of my questions so honestly, and yet he was telling me I didn't have to do the same. There should be a limit to kindness, and a limit to naivety too. Treating someone like me — someone who had wronged him, even if not on purpose — this generously was far too alien. Especially so. Among all the countless people I had known, he might have been the most so.
His mouth twitched for a moment, and then he hung his head.
So easily embarrassed, and somehow a little incomplete. He would push his convictions with certainty and give his kindness without holding back — but the moment you accepted that kindness freely, with gratitude, he grew even more embarrassed...
How in the world could I be this lucky?
It was enough to make me wonder if I had ever truly been in despair — that as the slave of someone who should have been just one more face in a crowd of passing strangers, I was living a better life than before. And not just better... I could live like this, happily, feeling this warm heat. Not worrying about the future alone and lonely, but meeting someone who worried about me — by chance — and talking about the future together.
Our relationship fit together too well to call it chance, and had begun as too much of a cursed fate to call it destiny. Surely, if only to turn that around, I would... for him...
Hehe. It would be nice if that were possible, but it was probably just a useless fantasy. But looking at his reactions, maybe it wasn't so impossible. Maybe I wasn't the only one drawing a future with a pounding heart.
I glanced sideways again and offered a faint smile to the man fidgeting his fingers under the table. Unlike all the clinging, sticky gazes I had known, this — this helpless hanging of his head, not knowing what to do with himself — was so refreshingly new.
Maybe I should hold on just a little longer.
"Would it be all right if we went somewhere else?"