My Protagonist (3)

Rania's hypothesis had been correct.

Something had taken him over.

Haviel Ramis. Ten years ago, when Vulkan vanished from the world, the cultists captured him and subjected him to a Baptism.

The Baptism of the Evil God. A forced ritual that flooded the victim with divine power granted by the Goddess of the End, forging them into her thrall.

In a way, it was only to be expected. Though his bloodline belonged to House Ramis, he was already a knight of considerable standing in House Vulcanus. For a man who commanded trust from those above him and respect from those below to be corrupted in a single stroke—

"You must have received a mid-grade Baptism or higher."

"...That's correct."

"I never intended to blame you for it. In a way, you're a victim too."

"What do you mean by that?"

Eugene didn't answer. He simply gathered Rania into his arms.

"Eu...gene......?"

Her face was twisted in pain. That was simply how potions worked. They mended torn flesh at a startling pace, but the agony that followed scaled with the speed of the healing. Not even a high-grade potion could snuff that pain out completely.

"Aaagh......"

Just like now.

"It's okay. It's okay, Rania."

Eugene brushed her sweat-soaked bangs aside.

"Can you stay by yourself for a bit?"

"......"

Rania nodded.

She was barely holding on.

Her half-lidded eyes and unfocused pupils said everything about her condition.

"Sorry I'm late."

As if Haviel did not even exist, Eugene laid her down on the bed without so much as a glance in his direction.

"Get some rest."

He stroked Rania's hair with careful fingers, then turned around with a face gone blank.

The next instant—

"...!!"

Haviel lunged for the sword he had dropped without even realizing it. Pure instinct.

If I don't get that sword back—

He would die. That much was certain.

He crashed to the floor in an undignified heap, and only by rolling across it in a clattering scramble did he manage to reclaim his blade.

Rania, laid out on the bed. Eugene, standing guard over her. Haviel, sword in hand. The three of them faced off.

Eugene spoke first.

"Sorry, Haviel. I don't know your story. All I know is that the cultists used you."

Haviel swallowed.

To be honest, until now he had been crushed by the weight of the name 2nd Apostle. To the cultists, the Six Apostles were beings they dared not even approach. He had been more oppressed by that title than by the aura Eugene the man actually possessed.

But now—

"Even so. This went too far."

He was being crushed by the presence Eugene himself was radiating.

While Haviel was pinned beneath that overwhelming pressure, Eugene quietly considered the question.

Can I kill him?

Looking back, mine had been a wretched life.

Around the time I started middle school and they fitted me for a uniform that hung off my shoulders like a sack—

"Didn't you buy that uniform a size too big?"

"This way ■■ can wear it all the way through graduation."

"■■'s brother did the same thing, didn't he?"

—a traffic accident took my family from me.

"Come along with Grandma."

My grandmother pulled me out of that misery, for a time. We lived together until just before I graduated high school.

But even she—

"My poor baby. What am I going to do with you..."

"...Grandma?"

"It's alright. It's okay, ■■."

—passed away on the very date I had first lost my family.

"Everyone else... everyone else gets to be happy. Why... why the fuck is it only me?"

The thought came unbidden.

So the world has a fixed amount of happiness.

For someone to be happy, someone else has to suffer. That's just how the structure works.

Which means I...

I must be the one assigned to be unhappy.

That day, I gave up on everything.

I burst out of the empty house and locked myself in a cheap goshiwon nearby — one of those coffin-sized boarding rooms. Dying still frightened me, though. So when the hunger crossed over into actual pain, I ate something. The rest of the time, I slept.

When sleep wouldn't come, I showered. After cleaning up, I stocked the room with convenience food. And after that, I cried. Until my head hung heavy as a soaked rag. Until there were no tears left, and no sobs either.

Repeat. And repeat again.

The only person who seemed worried was the goshiwon landlord, anxious he might not see his rent. Unfortunately, the money was more than enough.

How long had I been holed up like that?

Bzzzzt. The phone I'd left to gather dust began to buzz. A notification from some web novel app I'd installed back when I still lived with Grandma.

It had risen to the very top of a heap of alerts — a newly promoted original, pushed there by a marketing-consent clause I'd agreed to at some point without even noticing.

If this had been a movie or a comic, I would have tapped it as if possessed.

"...It's noisy."

But reality was not a movie. I shut the phone off at once. And I forgot about it completely.

"...Why did you all leave me behind."

Not until the anniversary of my family's deaths came around again — not until I found Rania Vulcanus speaking words so close to my own.

I was spellbound. Truly, completely spellbound. Because right after I muttered those words to myself, the phone screen lit up as if in answer.

......

I had no choice but to tap it.

And the Rania I met there—

"Come now. On your feet."

—became my protagonist in a single heartbeat.

Rania never stayed down. She never surrendered to the misfortunes that hounded her, and she never made peace with them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠either.

Of course, she was human too.

"...This is hard."

She stumbled. She faltered. But—

"...Even so, I have to keep going. I have to get up."

Rania always stood back up.

Watching her, I stood up too. And I was able to take happiness in my hands once more.

So I, too—

I can do this.

I quietly took hold of the sword.

Once you've received the Baptism, there is no putting Haviel back the way he was.

The moment I let him live, the cult would find some way to make contact. And if, by some chance, they uncovered my identity through him—

Everyone connected to me would be in danger.

So there was no other way.

"I have to kill him."

I started toward Haviel.

"W-why are you doing this?!"

"There's no other choice."

Haviel shouted, white with terror, but it no longer mattered. There was nothing else to be done.

"I'm sorry, Haviel."

I raised the output of Overpowering.

Raising the output meant the area around Haviel would be affected too, but that didn't matter.

No one else is coming anyway.

In this space, there was only Haviel and me, and Haviel's life hung on my will alone.

Kill him.

I had to.

The blade whispered from its sheath. The weight of the sword, its length, its hardness and its edge — all of it registered with a clarity I had never felt before.

Haviel can't move anyway.

That was the kind of skill Vivian's was. If I swung now and drove the point through a vital spot, his life would go out before long.

What if the bone stops the blade? Will I be able to forget the way it feels? What if the blood spatters? What if he keeps looking at me even after he's dead? Where do I even stab? Cut the throat. Pierce the heart.

I had accepted that I'd been transmigrated. I had accepted that this place was my reality now. And that was precisely why the question cut deeper.

...Can I actually do this?

The hesitation hit. A twenty-five-year-old ordinary young man with Korean citizenship and a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠completed military service record — that was who I originally was. Regression, possession, and reincarnation might have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been all the rage, and unstoppable protagonists might have been in fashion, but—

I'm a human being.

It was a natural thing to wrestle with.

I set the edge against Haviel's throat. A yielding, fleshy give, and through the tip of the blade I could feel ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the pulse beating in his neck.

A person, killing a person.

Anyone who'd lived an ordinary life in Korea would hesitate. Anyone would be afraid. And yet. And yet—

Killing a person frightened me. Having the power to do it frightened me too. But—

What if, because I hesitated now, I lose the people I love later?

That was the most terrifying thing of all.

So I can do this.

I wrapped both hands around the hilt.

"Any last words?"

"...Rest in peace."

Now. Right now. If I swung this blade, if I took this man's head and ended his life—

I can save Rania.

So cut.

The black sword cut the air, neither light nor heavy, a sharp dark line flying for Haviel's throat.

The next instant—

"Eugene!!"

Steel screamed against steel. Someone had stopped the blade.

There was nothing to think about.

"...Rania?"

Rania, her wounds only barely beginning to close, had caught my sword on her own. And she was standing inside the range of Vivian's skill — in a space where even Haviel, whose rank exceeded her own, could do little more than remain on his feet.

"Nngh......!!"

Barely scraping up what aura she had left, enduring even the violent pain of the potion—

"Don...n't......!!"

She was worrying about me.