Distrust and Hatred (Part 2)
A sudden wave of anxiety washed over me the moment Erika appeared.
Though she had walked in alongside Michel, the way she cut in made it obvious Michel hadn't told her anything.
If I said I wasn't nervous at all, it would be a lie, but she shouldn't have any certainty either.
Stay calm. There's no way Erika at this point in time recognizes me.
Maybe she had just caught wind of some nasty rumor from another noble out of the blue. At the very least, I didn't think she would barge in like this just because I caused some trouble she could pin on me.
Right. There was no reason for her to walk all the way here just to interrogate me over something she already knew.
"What's the meaning of barging in and talking to a stranger like this? Or have we met somewhere before?"
When I took in everyone's reactions back at the plaza, I was clearly the only one who felt anything amiss. I had believed no one would ever have an answer to that question—until about ten seconds ago.
"Shameless, aren't you? A whole party fell apart and countless people died because of you, and you're going to play dumb and pretend you forgot?"
Erika's resolute words made my heart feel as though it had completely stopped.
Furthermore, the glare she shot at me with crossed arms was dripping with sheer contempt, as if looking at someone who deserved nothing less than death.
I couldn't bring myself to answer.
With a frozen expression, all I could do was swallow dryly against a parched throat.
When I didn't open my mouth for a long time, Erika leveled a chilling warning.
"I won't mince words. Don't even think about joining Tembris again. If you pull that this time too... I won't let it slide."
Consider this generous consideration for a former comrade.
Adding that, Erika rose from her seat. As if her words still weren't enough, her icy tone continued.
"Junon. No matter what end you met, Goden and Michel should never have to sacrifice themselves for the likes of you."
It was an unmistakable declaration of intent.
With those final words, Erika's silhouette vanished from view.
It was a cold-blooded tone so uncharacteristic of her, less like firm resolve and more like an outright lash. I knew her personality well enough to know she wasn't someone who would say things like this to a stranger.
Then what was the answer?
You... know too, don't you?
It meant Erika, just like me, possessed fragments of memories from before the regression.
"Ha."
A hollow laugh slipped out involuntarily.
What kind of bastard was I? What on earth had I been hoping for just moments ago?
That because the future changed, the other members' views of me might change, just like Charlotte's? That keeping this much distance would be fine?
"As if that'd ever happen, you stupid idiot."
What a pipe dream that was.
As if to drive that agonizing truth home, Erika had come right to my face with a warning.
"I was definitely being naive. I'm in no position to think about crap like that."
If I wasn't careful, I could have fallen into those petty emotions again, joined the party, and hopped right on the express train to the afterlife. Still, thanks to Erika, I'd snapped wide awake, so that was a relief.
And once I came to my senses, only then did I hear the murmuring outside.
"────. ──?"
"──!"
The murmuring grew closer, and soon someone walked in. Another familiar face appeared.
Behind Michel's face, Erika was glaring daggers right at me.
A moment later, Erika mouthed a clear signal: Push her away yourself.
The only one who knows what happened before the regression... is Erika.
If Michel had known, there was no way she would be asking me to join the party like this. Fine. I'll step aside just like you want.
"How did it go...? Did you and Erika have a good talk?"
Did it go well? Yeah. Just great.
"I'm not interested in any of that, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't seek me out anymore."
"Uh... what?"
"I've got nothing more to say, so I'm leaving."
Leaving the bewildered Michel behind, I walked past. Immediately, my eyes met Erika's as she stood leaning against the doorway, watching.
It was a situation where laughing was the last thing I should do, yet the corners of my lips tugged upward, letting out a dry scoff. Wiping away every trace of that hollow grin, I stepped up to Erika, who stood leaning against the door frame with crossed arms, and whispered softly.
"Satisfied now?"
"At least you know your place. Good. I'll explain the rest to Michel."
Know my place. Right. There was no way she'd view a dead weight like me favorably.
Erika. I don't know how you got those memories back, but I have no intention of joining Tembris either.
Actually, this is for the best.
Whether Erika explained things well to Michel or not, nobody followed me as I walked down the hallway.
Last night, Erika hadn't been able to sleep at all.
What kept her tossing and turning were strange memories, fragmented and flickering like cut film, ever since the moment they rushed into her mind. And just as she had guessed, at the center of those memories was none other than Junon, who had just put on quite a performance in front of Michel.
"Satisfied now?"
Junon had approached and spoken in a tone inaudible to Michel. Though his voice was low, the blunt edge carried within it reached Erika loud and clear.
"At least you know your place. Good. I'll explain the rest to Michel."
She had wondered, but Junon vanished down the corridor in an instant, showing not a shred of lingering regret.
The clearest thing in Erika's memories was Michel's death. And at the center of that tragedy was Junon. If it had been mere speculation, she wouldn't have reacted like this.
'Don't drink it!!'
'What are you talking about?! You said she's dehydrated!! We have to give her whatever water we can!!'
'I'll... I'll bring back something that can quench Michel's thirst. Just wait until then!'
Junon had shouted those words and dashed outside, but by the time he returned clutching various fruits to his chest, Michel's eyes had already been closed for far too long. She remembered him belatedly squeezing the fruit juice and forcing it between Michel's lips, but she couldn't remember anything after that.
"Erika, what on earth did you say to make Junon so fierce?"
In the physical training room Junon had left behind, a stunned Michel asked Erika. Her demeanor had an edge to it, unusual for her.
Junon had looked perfectly fine right until speaking with Erika, so surely their conversation had influenced his sudden shift. Convinced of that, Michel demanded an explanation.
"I'll be blunt with you too. I don't think inviting Junon to the party is right—for Tembris's sake."
"What...? Why?"
"Because I know his past. A past where he was nothing but dead weight in a team full of rising prospects."
"Dead weight...? Junon?"
"In the end, that team fell apart, and every single member died. Except for him."
Michel couldn't help but find that baffling.
Wasn't Junon the one who had defeated Sylvia single-handedly—a student at the top of Class C whom even Class B students consistently lost to in sparring? Even if one chalked that up to simple luck, could all the other incidents be written off as luck too?
He had scattered Mistellis powder to prevent an incident before it could even begin. And as if proving once more that it was no stroke of fortune, hadn't he successfully stopped Charlotte's rampage?
I've sparred with Charlotte myself... but she forced me to go all out right from the start...
When Charlotte rampaged, even Michel, who served as the primary firepower of Tembris, couldn't guarantee victory. And Junon was the one who subdued that very Charlotte alone. Hearing that such a person had been nothing more than a hindrance to his team made no sense at all to Michel.
"It might be hard to believe, but it's the truth, Michel. I saw it with my own eyes right by his side."
"That can't..."
For a long time, Michel stood there with a stunned face, unable to accept it—confused even more by the fact that Erika had no reason to lie.
Watching Michel, Erika quietly recalled Junon in her memories and repeated to herself:
Junon. As long as you aren't in this party, none of that will ever happen.
Trudging out of the corridor with heavy steps, I sprawled out flat on my back in the shade of a secluded lawn where people rarely passed, letting the thoughts wash over me again.
"Figures..."
For a brief moment, I had felt a flicker of relief, wondering if maybe we could just remain comrades and friends. But I had to push that thought away entirely. Harboring such hopes was an indulgence far beyond someone like me.
Right. I was a bastard who barely had the leeway to keep himself alive; casually brushing paths with them like this was no different from slicing away at my own lifespan.
Complacent bastard. Without even realizing his own life was slipping away, he almost repeated the same mistake, drunk on a momentary sweetness right before his eyes.
Stupid bastard. After suffering like that, to entertain even for a second the thought of getting close to them again? Was I that eager to die?
I must have forgotten in the blink of an eye that getting involved with them was an act of wrapping my own hands around my throat.
"Right. My goal is to survive, not to build friendships with them."
We were once friends, but I had to put distance between us. We were once comrades, but with someone remembering that past, the arrows of malice would inevitably point at me.
The only person I could trust was myself, and I had to uncover and stop every incident brewing in the Principality with my own two hands.
Everything had returned to square one.
"The weather's disgustingly nice."
Unlike my rotten mood.
The chilly air had faded, replaced by a cool breeze brushing against my cheek in the spring warmth. Quite some time had passed, yet it felt like nothing about me had truly changed. Sure, my body had put on some muscle, but the tasks ahead of me were utterly absurd.
"If I could at least use magic properly, it'd be another story."
Spilling such complaints to myself, I let out a heavy sigh.
One minute, two minutes, three minutes.
Without knowing how much time was ticking by, I spat curses, wanting nothing more than to turn my back on reality.
"Damn this world..."
And then.
"You haven't even lived half your life, and you're already blaming the whole world?"
"Who... Whoa, whoa, whoa?!"
"Lying around on the lawn like that won't do. Up you get, quickly."
Blades of grass could never lift a person on their own. And yet... I was floating in the air. Grass grew thick beneath me, curling around my body and forcing me upright.
Standing before me was a woman I had never seen before.
A professor...?
The woman, who looked like a professor, muttered to herself, "Just as I heard, pitch-black hair and obsidian eyes."
"I flipped through the student registry, and there seemed to be only one kid with hair and eyes that exact color. Your name is Junon, right?"
My name? What good was that right now? That wasn't what mattered to me.
How did she do that in an instant?
Support mages commonly used spells that restricted movement or bound a target, but the conditions for those spells were notoriously finicky.
Suppose you were using a rope to stop a person from moving. How would you tie them down properly? First, wrap the rope around their body, then pull it taut so they can't slip free. Only when it was tied firmly did it meet the definition of 'binding.'
Crowd-control magic operated on the same principle as restraining someone with a rope. A single brief bind or restraint yielded little effect. The core was that it required sufficient time to take hold, not an instantaneous snap.
Therefore, casting took plenty of time, and maintaining it required meticulous control. Because that was so difficult, everyone carried staves, wands, rods—staff-type artifacts that offered the greatest assistance in regulating magic. Even to cut down that time, using a magic circle was the most efficient method.
Yet this female professor held nothing in her hands.
On top of that, the spell had been cast before any magic circle was even visible. And she stood there nonchalantly, relaxed as could be. I could immediately tell she was no ordinary person.
"Muttering to yourself earlier was bad enough, but looking like you've lived an entire lifetime when the ink on your diploma isn't even dry—what's with that face?"
The female professor with soft green hair seemed to be scolding me, as if all the world's problems were my own fault. That rubbed me the wrong way.
"What business is it of yours?! Just go on your way!"
"Oh? Look at this one."
Held in that state, she refused to let me go for quite some time—not until we finished talking.
Unless held back, academy students generally reached adulthood upon entering their third year.
Nineteen years old. A time when youth shed the shell of childhood and developed the abilities needed to step out into society. However, while they might be adults by age alone, their inner selves were rarely that mature. Having only just crossed the threshold into adulthood, they were still closer to children.
And yet this kid looks like he's already lived through an entire lifetime.
Seeing that strangely sharp, defensive face, one would think the whole world was out to get him. Musing to herself, Denis gazed down at the prematurely aged boy, Junon.
"A bit different from what I heard. I was told you were good at keeping your temper in check."
"Whether I lose my temper or not, what's it to you?"
Well, it mattered plenty. Denis had come here specifically to teach Junon after hearing he was Muniherr's student. Still, before explaining that, she needed to tame that temper of his if they were to have any real conversation.
"Urgh, something like this...! I can just break it...!"
Given how hard he had trained his physical strength, it was a feasible thought. But that only worked when your opponent was someone ordinary.
"No use. What good would a binding spell be if you could snap it with pure brawn? You'll need to use at least a bit of magic to slip free."
Now then, let's see what you've got, Denis hinted casually.
The moment Junon heard those words, he froze mid-struggle, veins bulging across his arms and legs. As if he fully understood what she meant, the muscles that had tensed up went slack in an instant.
What? Did he just completely give up?
If anything, he had deflated far too much.
Junon dropped his head, letting all the strength drain from his frame. If she had to make a comparison, he looked like dried fish hanging limply from a laundry line.
"I can't... use that kind of thing..."
"Hmm? Ah, my apologies. I'm getting up there in years, so my ears aren't what they used to be. Care to say that again?"
"I said I'm an idiot who can't even properly use the magic I have! Happy now?!"
Junon's voice, brimming with pent-up frustration, echoed loudly through the open space between them.
If she had acted like her usual self, Denis would have snapped at him for being noisy, but she couldn't bring herself to do so.
It seems Muniherr was right. He really is different.
She had wondered why he wore a face that looked like he'd lived a full lifetime, but clearly Junon carried a deep past of his own. A desperate, anguished cry like that wasn't something an ordinary student could muster.
She had seen students who strutted around with cocky arrogance. Those who approached with hidden motives. Those who challenged others without knowing their own limits. Most of them quickly quieted down once she put on a display of real power.
But someone with deep emotional wounds was another matter entirely.
On the surface, the boy said he couldn't use magic, but that wasn't the real issue. Anyone could see it at a glance. With all the strength drained from his body, hanging limp, the shadows beneath his eyes ran deeper than an abyss. It wasn't the kind of look that belonged on a third-year student who had barely crossed the threshold of adulthood.
His emotional scars are far deeper than I thought.
In her younger days, there were those who discriminated against others and tormented her only friend. Her childhood friend, battered by the world's persecution, once wore that exact expression.
Yes. That exact face.
A face that wished the world would just burn to ashes.
A face where resignation pooled, blending the wish that the world would be flipped on its head with the desperate plea that someone, anyone, would please save them.
That familiar desperation prompted Denis to speak first.
"So the thing that made you like this... was magic."
He didn't answer. Yet that silence was as definitive as the solution to a magic formula, no matter how many times she worked it out.
Magic was the source of the boy's agony. That was why he claimed he couldn't use it, and why he had poured out that furious, agonized cry. For now, she needed to clear away those negative feelings.
"There is no human who truly cannot use magic. You'd get the same answer no matter where you searched across the entire Kempf-Litton Continent."
"Then why is it commoners can't use magic properly? Why do people give up and switch to specialized trades instead?"
That was what he believed. That was what he had been taught his whole life. But that didn't mean it was the truth.
"You're wrong. That might apply to basic elemental magic, but anyone can sprout their own unique magic. Those people simply gave up on theirs."
"What kind of nonsense is..."
Junon clicked his tongue in a deflated voice. Watching him, Denis suddenly let out a faint chuckle and extended a proposal.
"Then how about giving it a shot, even if you think you're being fooled?"
It was time to get down to business.
"I promise you, I'll make sure your unique magic blooms. On the name of Denis Flovel Beryl, Imperial Chief Doctor of Mana Origin Science."
"...!"