Girl, Become a Star
Girl, become a star.
I recalled an old memory.
Every NPC had a signature weapon that defined them. Some mages wielded peculiar staves tipped with blades; certain alchemists employed invisible threads no eye could follow. And the weapon the Pope used was, of all things, a pen and paper.
True to the moniker he bore—the Thinking Star, the Star of Wisdom—for him the pen truly was mightier than the sword. The absurd power to skip every intermediate step and simply write a miracle into existence carried special weight, for he was only the third star a player could ever meet.
And now that pen and paper had been placed in my hands.
The face still wearing its playful smile, eyes narrowed in a grin as if something endlessly amused him, looked exactly like the shadowy mastermind from a novel. That resemblance alone kept my nerves taut. Yet I knew that in truth he was nothing more than a fanatic for the gods—and when he stood on your side, no ally was more reliable. So I managed to stop at a cold sweat and let the tension go.
As long as I watch out for mental magic, it should be fine.
I looked down at the fountain pen and paper he had handed me. The pen felt faintly heavy, as though carved from marble, pure white with golden stars engraved along its length. The paper was blank, yet I already knew its nature: a convenient sheet whose writing could be erased at the user’s will. Its value was obvious. This had to be the same paper the Saintess once used to converse with the Hero by writing. The guess seemed to fit; once the Pope joined the party, speaking with the Saintess became automatically more difficult.
Wait—who does the Hero of this world even choose as companions?
The thought struck me that, unlike the game, the Hero might not choose me at all. The Saintess had been a mandatory story character, but now that this was reality the Hero could pick another path. He had been a foolishly kind village youth who wanted to save everyone standing right in front of him. That very nature made him harder to predict.
No. Pointless worry for now.
First solve the situation in front of me.
Sedes still seemed to be waiting. Perhaps boredom had set in; a flowerpot appeared from nowhere, floating in midair while he idly toyed with its leaves. The moment he noticed my gaze he brightened and spoke.
“Oh! Finally ready to talk?”
I took the fountain pen, dipped it, and set the tip to the paper. Please let Hangul work here too. Being unable even to communicate would be far too cruel.
—Yes.—
“Then first question: who are you?”
My body gave a tiny flinch, but I steadied myself at once.
Don’t panic.
The fact that he’s asking means he isn’t certain.
A character impulsive enough to decide the Holy Kingdom’s major affairs on a whim wouldn’t be holding hard evidence.
Without showing alarm I wrote my answer.
—I don’t really understand what you mean.—
“Tsk.”
A short click of the tongue. Something displeased him? I was certain my lie had not been exposed. He had even reassured me there was no proof. I simply stared back at him blankly.
He spoke again, the perpetual playful smile wiped clean from his face.
“Where did you sell off the holes in your eyes?”
Holes? What was he talking about?
When someone speaks of something you do not know, the best response is silence. I stopped the pen and kept watching him. Please let this be enough to pass.
“Your eyes, I mean.”
“You were born with holy power far too great for your body. If you don’t vent the excess, you’ll die.”
“Probably go pop and burst, don’t you think?”
The teasing lilt returned as he smirked at me; I nearly scowled without meaning to.
“That’s why we brand a cross into the eyes so the power can escape.”
“For some reason I can’t find a single trace of it on yours.”
“Sorry for the misunderstanding, by the way.”
His easy apology brought a flicker of relief. It was still too soon to relax. From his words I could easily guess: the Saintess had already died once, and the branded holes had vanished with that death. Which meant they would have to be carved again?
Tak—
A snap of fingers against empty air, and a metal rod sprang into existence. It gleamed yellow like brass; at its tip sat a cross-shaped piece of metal that looked uncomfortably like a branding iron.
Wait. Branding iron?
An ominous image rose, and I began to edge backward.
Thud— thud—
For every step I took away, he took one closer.
Please don’t come.
Please.
“This will sting a little.”
“I’m actually quite the talker, you know.”
“Sitting higher than everyone else makes it hard to chat casually with people.”
That face still grinning as if something delighted him somehow looked lonely as he approached.
“This is for your own good.”
The claim that the Pope was meeting me for the first time had been a lie. Even a moment’s thought should have told me; how had I missed it? The one who had branded the cross into the Saintess’s eyes was the Pope himself.
Puella, esto stella.
Girl, become a star.
With Sedes’s murmur the tip of the brass rod began to glow red-hot.
I have to run.
Those five words alone circled inside my skull. I spun and tried to move my feet. More precisely, I tried to make them move.
My body refused.
Ah, aah, aaaah—please don’t come any closer.
I felt my flesh tremble as if it remembered terror. The glowing brass rod drifted slowly toward my eyes. All I could do was shake, squeeze out tears, drool from a slack mouth, and soak my clothes.
“Ah, auh, eh—”
Sounds that never became words shattered and scattered into the air.
The red-hot metal touched my eye.
As if fixed in place, my body—no longer feeling like mine—would not budge no matter how I thrashed. The sight was so absurd I almost laughed, and the sadness of that almost-laugh was unbearable. Ahaha—
Why? Why do I have to go through this?
Sizzle—
The sound of meat cooking. The smell of burning. The sensation of an eyeball being pressed. Everything went dark.
Even when I opened my mouth no scream came. Even when I opened my eyes I saw nothing. Even when I strained my ears no sound reached me. Even when I flared my nostrils no air entered.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
Only one sense expanded, clawing through my brain. Whatever poured down my face—blood or tears or spit or snot—left me, ran over my body, and returned to me again.
When a human endures pain beyond their limit, it becomes strangely like listening to the most static classical music.
Creak— creak—
Crack— crack—
A duet of teeth and bone.
“Hmm-hmm~”
The single sound that reached my ears, cheerful, was someone’s humming.
The single sound that reached my ears, horrific, was someone’s humming.
Saliva streamed endlessly from a mouth that would not close—perhaps to keep me from biting my tongue—sliding smoothly down the line of my throat and soaking my clothes.
Grind. Crunch. Crack. Snap.
Something is boring its way in.
Into the vessel of a soul that already sways on the brink of overflowing, two tiny holes—pop—
Ahaha.
I laughed inside myself.
All of it is meaningless. It would be so much easier simply to give up. Even if I stay calm and efficient and seize every goal I set, what waits for me is a future of growing old alone in a half-basement room and dying there. Is returning to the original world truly a happy ending for me?
A short, intense life. Wherever I go, I want to be of use to someone.
Thinking that, I smile.
“I may have overdone it a little.”
My smiling face is reflected, half-transparent, in the glass mirrors scattered throughout the Central Church. What a thick-skinned grin.
Ahaha. Ahaha.
Clap— clap—
Somewhere a mocking laugh and applause mingle with my screams and laughter and the grinding, creaking of joints. Like a performance, it is beautiful.
That is how it feels.
“Kehek, keheuk.”
Blood spills from mouth and eyes. People usually call red tears “tears of blood,” yet this seems to be pure blood alone.
Starlight pours from my body. The holy power, the starlight that once filled my soul to bursting and gave a sense of fullness, now leaves only emptiness.
Then blackout.
A sharp snap, as if a line has been cut, and the sensation of the dividing black line being erased. Everything blurs into rapture.
And what I see is starlight.
Puella, esto stella.
Girl, become a star.
With that murmured sound, I awoke.