It Won't Hold a Grudge
These days, our guild's chat monitoring is quite the spectacle.
Monitoring, they call it…? It feels more like going on a blind date with earphones in.
Of course, for the first few days both of them glared at the screen with fire in their eyes. Whenever the guy typed even a single line, they'd mutter things like "What does that mean?" or "Look at that tone—suspicious."
Jihyun even went so far as to analyze the person's speech patterns.
…Not very Hunter Gallery-like, that speech.
One time the guy sent 『Did you see how pretty the sky was today?』 and the entire office flipped upside down.
But people are fickle creatures.
After about a week, monitoring turned into advice-giving, advice-giving turned into spectating, and spectating turned into yawning.
Now they're even calling him "Mr. SweetTour" with a touch of fondness in the address.
If you're going to monitor, at least do it properly…
"Hmm."
Well, it's good for me. The looser the censorship, the easier the chatting.
And that night, a proper hole was poked through the loosened surveillance net.
Eleven at night.
Nayeon was snoring away in the inner room. Jihyun had fallen asleep face-down on the desk while clutching overdue documents.
Only I was wide awake. Thanks to napping all day, my eyes were sparkling now that night had come.
…What to do.
Rolling around on the sofa. Counting ceiling patterns. Gave up at thirty-two.
"…Maybe play on the computer."
Surveillance conditions? Only when the two of them are around?
…If you're annoyed, stay awake then!
Stepping on the footstool, stacking cushions, plopping my butt down!
The Hunter Gallery was noisy even at night, and a familiar light glowed in the chat window.
Oh, what's the occasion. Usually goes to bed early, this person!
…She didn't say that knowing I'm a kid, right?
Up to here, same as usual.
But from then on, something was off.
『SweetTourConcert is typing…』
…It turned on. Then off. On again. Off.
What? Is this person hesitating? The one who usually pours out three lines at a time?
After a long while, finally one line came.
What could it be. Feeling sentimental because it's dawn?
『Typing…』
Off. On. …Off again.
Hey, do you want to watch someone die of curiosity?
And finally, the message that came up.
"……"
Gave it a name.
"What the…"
Common story. Hunters naming their beloved swords is the norm in this field.
…The person who gave me a name did that too.
…Didn't seem to fit my hand.
I've heard those words too. Inside the sword god. Not once, but multiple times, from multiple hands. Because the words said when passing on a sword are all the same. So this is just a common repertoire. Very… common.
But why? Suddenly, the day I first heard those words came to mind. My first hand. She, who was a rookie. Someone who was still awkward at holding a sword, fixing her grip on the hilt twice every time. On the day she gave me a name, she was smiling alone, wondering what was so good. That person too, on the day she passed me on, recited exactly that repertoire. That it didn't seem to fit her hand. That it was going to a good person.
"……"
Why am I thinking of that now, of all times. It has nothing to do with this person. How many rookie hunters are there in the world, how many passed-on swords.
"……"
My hands stopped over the keyboard. A sword that broke last year. Went from hand to hand. The one I gave a name to…
"...No."
No. Calm down. How many swords broke last year in the world? How many gates are there. How many swords. And how many hunters name their swords? It's a coincidence that it matches. Think about the probability to begin with. What's the chance that this person I'm chatting with is her?
But to dismiss it as coincidence…
"Urgh…"
No, the important thing right now is that person. After weeks of hesitation, she finally started to open up. I can't break the flow because of some weird delusion. It worked out well. This is a topic I'm the world's best expert on. The heart of a discarded sword. That's really my specialty.
What should I type? A clichéd comfort template? Cheer up? It's not your fault? No. She's probably heard that a hundred times already. I just typed what I knew.
『Typing…』 turned on, then immediately off. After a long while.
How do I know. "Hmm." …Can't say that.
As I typed, I realized. This is half comforting that person. Half just… my true feelings. Without even knowing whose story it is. Speaking on behalf of a sword that might be me, or might not be… "Sniff."
The other side was quiet for a long time. Enough to hear the clock's second hand. …Did I go too far? Did I sound too knowing about swords? Now I'm just staring at the screen for no reason.
"Hey, reply already…!" Don't make people anxious!
Startled.
Whether this person is her or not, I don't know. Yeah. I hope she's thinking that way too. That she hasn't completely forgotten about me.
Silence settled on the chat window as usual. I pondered and pondered, then picked the closest thing that came to mind.
Two exclamation marks. This person doesn't usually use two exclamation marks. That means her mood improved a bit just now, right?
The online light turned off. I sat staring at the now quiet chat window for a long time.
…Strange night.
"Really, yeah. Strange night."
The messages that person left kept catching my eye. Whose hands was she in at the end. Did it hurt. …Of course not, but. If. If this really was my story. The last hand was rough, it hurt when breaking, when discarded it was a bit… No, very lonely. I had a really really hard time. But now. I'm using the best sofa, covering with the softest blanket, napping whenever I want. My new owner is an incredibly good person too. Much weaker and more clumsy than the owners I've met so far, but still, she cherishes me a lot. So. I'm doing well, so don't worry.
I was about to type that, but quietly turned off the computer. Dawn really is mysterious. Makes people sentimental.
Same night. Hunter Association Control Center.
The night shift worker, in the middle of yawning, stopped in front of one monitor.
[Zone A-7 / Closed Management Target]
[Grade: A (Closed last year)]
[Crack Stability: Caution]
Caution. Until last week, it had been "Stable."
The worker scrolled up the observation log. The numbers had been creeping up little by little, but steadily, toward the red side for three consecutive weeks.
"...Damn, why is it like this."
Closed dungeons are originally dead gates. There's no reason for the numbers to move.
"Another bug. I keep telling them to replace the sensors with new ones… Ha."
Following the manual, the worker opened the document form and tapped the keyboard dryly.
『A-7 Closed Dungeon Crack Value Anomaly - Request for Re-investigation』
A single document quietly went up to the approval box in the dawn that no one paid attention to. Nowhere in the document was it written that that dungeon was the place where a famous sword had been split in two a year ago.