Deculein Vanishes
Deculein had vanished.
But he left behind many traces.
A fairy language notebook. Magic theory. Math homework notes. And the memories stored in my head.
It was an unforgettable lesson.
Yet not a single one of his traces remained. Not a hem of clothing, a strand of hair, or even a loose thread—everything had dissipated like it had burned away.
No, if it had burned, at least ashes would remain.
He had melted.
Like paint spilled into the sea.
“……”
Sylvia, left alone, pressed a finger to her lips.
Tap tap—she tested the sensation.
It was vivid, and the scene replayed in her mind.
“……Idiot.”
The courage to seize those lips had been utterly selfish. Closer to raw desire or impulse. And so regret surged within her.
But it was the only trace left behind.
Thinking that at least one remained, it didn't feel so bad.
Tick-tock—tick-tock—
She stared at the ticking clock, then rose to her feet. She approached the window and flung it open.
“Deculein is dead.”
Her words carried to the scarecrow lurking like another straw dummy at the lighthouse base, hidden amid the trees. It glanced up at her, then turned and vanished into the distance.
Sylvia shut the window.
Then she leaned against the wall.
Slide…… Her body slipped downward. Her rear hit the floor. Her legs splayed out carelessly.
Not befitting her dignity.
She repeated it to herself as she tried to stand, but her body had no strength left. Her head spun as if from mana exhaustion. Her temples throbbed. Her eyelids grew heavy.
Sleep crept in slowly.
“……”
Sylvia quietly closed her eyes. In that darkness, Deculein rose before her.
He had accepted the betrayal of the woman he loved most with calm composure. With just a single “it's fine,” he declared he could bear it and refused to flee.
And so he died.
Sylvia touched her lips again. The trace that had seemed eternal had already evaporated, leaving only a faint moisture at the corner of her mouth.
Tears.
A sly child, flowing without its owner's knowledge, wetting her face.
“……Idnik.”
She called out softly to Idnik.
Now I have work to do.
The fake is dead. Time to make another.
……No.
Creak—
Idnik, waiting outside, pushed the door open. She approached with a sullen expression and asked,
“……Kid. Why didn't you tell me?”
“Someone else's wound. You don't eavesdrop arbitrarily.”
“You, who even developed spying magic on Deculein, say that?”
“……I have the right. He killed my mother.”
Sylvia brushed it off and extended her hand to Idnik.
“Give it. The crystal orb.”
“Planning to remake it right away?”
“……No.”
She shook her head.
“I'm going to shatter it.”
Sylvia was lost in thought.
Perhaps Deculein had been right, after all.
The death of a fake was still death. This parting was still a parting.
So……
“You plan to break the contract?”
“……”
Sylvia frowned at Idnik's words. As she handed over the crystal orb, Idnik continued,
“Only that professor can complete the current you.”
“……Only that professor can shatter me, too.”
“What's the difference?”
“……”
Sylvia's face hardened in that instant. Idnik wore a faint smile.
“Sylvia. What you'll complete is the egg that confines you—and what you'll shatter is the egg that confines you. Complete it or break it, you'll end up as yourself either way. The self you choose.”
Become the Sylvia trapped in the flawless tri-color egg, or the Sylvia breaking free of its shell.
The outcome of loss was, in the end, her own choice.
“……Is that so.”
In the Guild Room, Jukaken heard Al Ross's report. He smacked his lips needlessly and nodded.
“The professor's lifespan is about two weeks, right?”
Al Ross fell silent. He sat quietly in his chair, gazing at the items the previous Deculein had left on the desk.
A lump of magic theory notes. The contract for hiring Sylvia's home tutor. A casual life drawing modeled after himself.
“……Ohoho. Why? Feeling a bit lonely?”
Jukaken, watching Al Ross, asked with a mocking sneer. Al Ross didn't spare him a glance.
“Did you finish the work?”
“Dug the mold. The largest circle of that magic circle, yeah. But listen, if Deculein is dead……”
He trailed off meaningfully. Al Ross shot him a sideways glance.
“No Deculein pay today, huh?”
As expected, a guy who only chases coins.
Jukaken shrugged, and Al Ross felt the strength drain from his body.
“Damn you too.”
“Nah~ With that, we could spruce up this Guild Room nice and clean. Wouldn't that benefit the next Deculein? Sure, he'd call a dump beautiful just being with you, but still—better to decorate, right?”
“Don't you know about inflation? Three coins for one plank.”
“So what.”
“……”
Al Ross picked up a coin.
This coin was perfect currency. No one knew its origin. It wasn't from the Voice, nor from Sylvia.
Thus, it wasn't the Voice's money—more precisely, the Voice borrowed this “perfect currency” as its tender.
Therefore, everything bought with these coins was real, and even using them inside the Voice wouldn't erase memories.
“Anyway, we've been left behind.”
Al Ross pocketed the coin.
“What're you saying? The one left behind is you, not us.”
“……”
He turned to Jukaken. The man had bought clean solid wood with five coins.
“Anyone else the professor treated like a person besides you? Sure, you and Gerek mutually ignore each other's humanity, but still.”
Watching him plan to craft a desk from the wood, Al Ross asked,
“……Jukaken, you bastard.”
“Why the cursing, you crazy bitch?”
“Who do you believe?”
“Who?”
“The Altar or the professor.”
Jukaken narrowed his eyes. Then he purchased a full tool kit with coins—a true splurge, burning through hundreds.
Al Ross was appalled.
“You bastard! That's a month's worth of food—”
“I believe in myself.”
“……”
“And who else is there to believe? You judge a madman by his promises? To crooks like us, the Altar and the professor are the same lunatics. Though handsome Deculein edges out a bit.”
Ugh……
Al Ross sighed and sank into his chair.
Suddenly, his eyes caught the life drawing Deculein had left.
“But yeah, the professor's got that addictive quality. Kinda miss him. Never realized back when we clashed in the underworld. He's changed a lot since then? Back then, he was a total asshole.”
Al Ross.
No—Cynthia.
The drawing of himself.
Beneath it, an uncharacteristic painter's signature:
—To Al Ross.
Seek your own faith.
(Sephens 5:15).
“Quoting a gospel verse.
From someone who doesn't even believe in religion.”
“But listen, Jukaken.”
……Yet those words clearly sparked reflection in Al Ross.
If he betrayed Deculein and returned to the Altar with his head.
Or if he followed Deculein's will and built a force to oppose the Altar.
What would the outcome of those choices be?
“What do you plan to do if the Altar's god descends?”
“First, check if the god's real or fake.”
“If real.”
“Make excuses.”
“Like what.”
“Didn't know you were the real god. If I'd known, I'd have believed too. A real god would forgive me gladly. 'Cause he's real.”
“……”
What nonsense.
Al Ross muttered inwardly as he tucked the drawing into his bosom. It was the first portrait he'd ever received; pride wouldn't let him toss it away lightly.
After that, silence fell between them.
……Saw saw. The sound of Jukaken sawing the wood.
……Ssssh. Sand drifting rhythmically from the ceiling.
In the midst of that peaceful quiet, Al Ross simply passed the time.
Nothing more to do here.
His role was to pass the previous Deculein's memories to the next.
Snap—!
Finally, Jukaken finished sawing the wood. Al Ross glanced at him, pondered for about five minutes, then stood.
As she approached briskly, Jukaken asked,
“What now?”
“I'll join you. Kinda bored.”
“……Do whatever.”
Truth be told, it wasn't boredom—it was the lack of tension.
With Deculein around, his praising mouth, his scrutinizing gaze, being dragged along by his every action—it kept the mind endlessly occupied.
Saw saw—saw saw—
Chop chop—chop chop—
Wood slicing and tools clanging filled the Guild Room. Sweat dripping from the two wet the dust on the floor.
……Awaiting someone who would return before long.
Thud thud—! Thud thud—!
The next day, Al Ross—sprawled anyhow—opened his eyes to the pounding echoes. He wiped the drool from his mouth.
—Hey! You lot! It's Deculein!
Idnik's voice. Al Ross startled, quickly donned his mask. He kicked the likewise sprawled Jukaken.
“Ugh! What the hell, bitch!”
“Open the door. Deculein's here.”
“……Already? Fast. Yawwwn~”
Jukaken shuffled over and opened the door.
Creeeak——
The wooden door creaked open slowly.
Al Ross swallowed as he peered beyond.
Through the groaning gap emerged Deculein's face.
No imperfections whatsoever—blue eyes brimming solely with unshakeable confidence in himself. Dignity and refinement that never faltered, not for a moment.
“……”
But this one showed no sign of recognizing Al Ross as himself, and for some reason, it made his lips twitch.
“Deculein. That's Jukaken over there, right?”
“I know.”
He nodded. Jukaken smirked and waved.
“Hi~”
“This is Al Ross.”
Idnik pointed at Al Ross. Deculein's brow furrowed ever so slightly.
“He's masked.”
“Indeed.”
Step. Deculein advanced one pace.
Al Ross handed him the bundle of papers. Hundreds of pages of magic formulas and Sylvia's home tutor contract.
“Here. Things the previous you left behind…… Call 'em keepsakes? Feels too distant for that.”
Deculein took them, pausing in thought for a moment—then twisted his lips in his signature sneer.
“Not keepsakes. The previous me and the current me—we are still one and the same.”
“……Felt different.”
“However.”
Surveying the surroundings, Deculein's expression warped with contempt and disdain.
“To think you lived in such a cesspit. Even the air here feels impure.”
Jukaken grinned. Idnik wore a similarly sly look.
“The previous you got by just fine? Even slept here. Not lying down, mind you.”
“Madness, Jukaken. Are you an imbecile?”
Jukaken chuckled and glanced at Al Ross—gesturing to remove the mask—but Al Ross shook his head.
Idnik spoke up.
“Anyway. Read that magic theory. It's your only hope of escaping this place. Home tutoring starts tomorrow, three o'clock every afternoon—don't forget.”
“……”
Deculein made no reply.
The sixth professor. The sixth Deculein.
His eyes were already glued to the magic theory, devouring the lines, circles, and formulas on the page with intense focus.
“Then I'm off.”
Idnik departed first.
Thud—the door shut, and sand sifted from the ceiling.
And……
Interminable silence.
One minute stretched to ten, ten to an hour, an hour to three.
Grrrrr…… grrrrr……
Jukaken's snoring as he dozed off again.
Amid that monstrous racket, Deculein—still reading the theory—suddenly raised his head. He stared straight at Al Ross.
“……Curious.”
His words needlessly pricked at the heart. Al Ross tilted his head.
“What's curious?”
“In the corner of this theory, it seems the previous me jotted down a sentence.”
“……A sentence?”
“Indeed.”
Doubt laced Deculein's voice—a face questioning his former self.
“‘When inspiration fails to come…… look upon Al Ross's face,’ it says.”
“……What?”
Al Ross was dumbfounded. But before he could speak, Deculein continued.
“It also says to trust you. Written like a dying wish.”
“……”
Al Ross's face stiffened. He ground his teeth for no reason.
Deculein gazed at him intently.
“Whew.”
With a deep sigh, Al Ross removed his mask. Deculein's reaction to the revealed face was succinct.
He simply nodded, as if satisfied.
The very next day.
The sixth Deculein visited Sylvia's home.
Sylvia looked up at him wordlessly. The new Deculein presented the contract.
“Pleased to meet you. I am Deculein, your home tutor.”
The line struck her as oddly amusing.
Deculein's idea of humor?
Hardly.
“Yeah. Come in.”
Sylvia said it, but her throat tightened inexplicably.
“Very well.”
It felt strange.
The fact that she had stolen his lips. That Yuarra had betrayed him. That he truly remembered nothing.
But right now, it didn't matter.
“Have you reviewed diligently in the meantime?”
He spoke exactly like the previous Deculein—like the same man.
Sylvia felt a twinge of confusion.
Were the fifth Deculein and the sixth the same person, or different?
Hard to tell—but truly, right now, it didn't matter.
“Yeah. Reviewed hard. It's only been two days.”
Sylvia replied.
“And you wouldn't know, but if I review hard……”
One step. She hopped forward.
Into Deculein's arms.
She flung her arms wide and hugged him, burying her face in his chest.
“……You promised a hug. As a reward.”
“……”
Deculein said nothing. He simply stood there.
Probably frozen stiff.
Or maybe he took her word as truth.
Either way…… Sylvia murmured,
“Hey—just in case.”
Her voice trembled pathetically, soaked in moisture.
But what could she do?
He wouldn't know even if it was a lie.
These memories would fade soon anyway.
“It's real.”
Repeating it inwardly, Sylvia closed her eyes for a moment in his embrace.