Conversation I
An awkward atmosphere hung between them. Though only the two of them existed in that space, the thought that someone might be watching from somewhere kept circling through his mind.
After all, wasn't this a shameful thing?
An honorable Holy Knight who had served at the very heart of the Holy Kingdom—its core—sharing a bed with one of the enemy's executives! And not just any executive, but a succubus rumored to sexually seduce her foes.
If anyone overheard such a thing, they would immediately bellow for his execution—he could already picture it, and the thought made Jerome's vision swim.
Perhaps he would not die three months from now when his lifespan ran out, but instead be executed as a suspected traitor atop the guillotine, Jerome thought.
He shook his head vigorously from side to side, reassuring himself that no such fate could befall him, then fixed his gaze on Spring before his eyes.
His role was surveillance. He needed only to carry out the orders he had been given, faithfully and without deviation.
From childhood he had never been any good at using his head, so he had chosen the path of a Holy Knight for the simple reason that it was work that only required physical hardship—and because it was cool.
Now the party's leaders, the Hero and the Saintess, were doing the thinking in his place. All he had to do was follow his master's commands.
The road ahead of him would be nothing but thorns, and he was a blind man walking it; he needed someone to lead him.
If he had come to this place ignoring his little sister's opposition, then at the very least he ought to achieve deeds great enough to speak of proudly to his family without shame.
Thinking so, he kept glaring at Spring with eyes wide open.
Having used the Scales to set foot in the realm of Superhumans, he had been expelled from that realm once the transaction ended.
Yet he still remembered the sensation, and the fact that even a wretched self like his could shine for someone else laid a heavy responsibility upon his shoulders.
Shouldering that weight, he devoted himself to his duty, never taking his eyes off her for even a moment. Spring, watching the Holy Knight stare at her so piercingly, suppressed the urge to sneer with superhuman patience.
With one arm severed, and whatever she had done leaving her power continuously draining away, even a few strong-willed soldiers would have a hard time of it against her in this state.
Even if she told him there was no need to watch her so diligently, she realized that gaze fixed upon her would never flee elsewhere, and so Spring resigned herself.
Jerome suddenly wanted to throw a question at Spring.
That question held neither curiosity nor simple wonder—it was laden with hatred.
"How many have you killed so far?"
To a Holy Knight who had resolved to protect people, that question was of the utmost importance.
Spring answered honestly.
"I don't know."
Yes. Of course.
In the life she had lived so far, she had learned war before she learned to breathe, and killed enemies before she could even take her first steps.
They were the basic things one had to do to survive in the mud.
What was common sense in their world was something incomprehensible to humans who lived out their days in a well-made little palace built for a fetus, their everyday lives propped up by the sacrifices of others.
But for Spring, it was simply everyday life.
Jerome looked at her—at the way she crushed his question by saying she did not know, as if stating the obvious—and felt a sense of emptiness.
Not an emotion. A feeling.
Those he had so desperately wanted to protect had lost their lives to the one standing before his eyes, and he possessed neither the right to avenge them nor the power to guard them.
A knight without qualification or strength was a human more prone to self-loathing than anything else—yet he did not hate himself.
It was enough if, from now on, he became someone who was not like that.
It was self-satisfaction.
But it was also a resolution.
From now on, he would become someone who was not like that.
Like two sides of a coin, they flung different words at each other and then severed communication.
That cross-section was so sharp that there seemed no room left to continue, and so silence fell.
Having heard the Hero's declaration that he could abandon no one and would save everyone, the Saintess was dazed.
Was it because that declaration lacked any realism? Or because it meant he intended to embrace even the Saintess from the previous cycle who still existed inside her?
Or if neither of those, was it because he wanted to hold flowers in both hands? Such baseless thoughts whirled through her mind.
Even though she knew better than anyone that such a thing was impossible by common sense, the inability to shake off the "what if" was also human psychology.
While the Saintess stared blankly at the Hero, the Hero succeeded in organizing the entire situation.
He did not know why the Saintess was so visibly flustered.
After all, until just a moment ago, hadn't she calmly given him an affirmative answer?
That bright smile as if it could melt winter, the composed expression, and the voice that struck directly into the brain had been quite the stimulus for the Hero.
Having finished speaking, the Hero waited for the Saintess's reply to continue.
The Saintess maintained silence for a moment before answering.
Thank you.
Yes. It was acting.
There was nothing particularly to be grateful for, nor had she been moved.
But a man who did not fall for a single tear from a woman, her smile, and her voice did not exist in this world.
If I have seized the high ground, thoroughly defending that high ground is the law of war and the rule of victory.
In this current conversation, I am in an advantageous position.
Outwardly it might look as though conversation flowers had bloomed and one could watch with satisfaction—but the name of that flower was rose, its petals were blades, and its stem was a thicket of thorns.
So I will use the Hero.
I will protect him so that he does not die, and at the final moment I hope he will watch my return by my side.
For that is my method of returning.
If the Hero dies in this world, there is no hope.
It is similar to entering a mystery novel only to find oneself locked alone in a locked room without a detective.
The Hero must absolutely be kept alive.
So what I show is a false expression; what comes from my mouth is false words; what I act is disguised goodwill.
And a single tear dropped toward the floor with a soft plop.
The Hero asked with a surprised expression.
"Are you all right?"
Yes, I'm fine.
The Hero looked at me with eyes full of various emotions without a word, then averted his gaze from mine.
I simply looked closely at his face, then, embarrassed at having shown tears, climbed onto the bed.
And unfortunately, this place had only one bed.
The Hero acted naturally.
"I will sleep on the floor."
It was an awkward action to the point that one would never guess they had been having an important conversation until just now.
And I similarly asked him awkwardly.
With a girl's shyness.
Would you like to sleep together?
Ah.
I didn't mean anything else; I just asked because it seemed pitiful for him to sleep on the cold floor.
It's cohabitation—of a slightly different sort.
Previously the Hero had slept on the floor, so even sharing a room it could not truly be called cohabitation.
But this time it is real cohabitation.
Of course, it really, really did not mean that.
No—why am I so flustered?
I check my physical condition.
It's meaningless, isn't it?
I brainwash myself.
My face slightly reddens; body temperature rises.
Objectively speaking, this is arrhythmia.
The sound of my heartbeat is so loud it seems audible right beside my ears.
This is also a symptom of arrhythmia.
Whatever the Hero is thinking, his body stiffens a little and his movements become unnatural.
...As expected, he thought of it that way, didn't he!
Isn't there a holy spell that restores calmness...?
It would have been better if I had possessed a mage companion instead...
Ha. Thinking this now is meaningless.
A man does not change his words.
How did it come to this?
Really, how...
Even if I regret the words I just uttered, it is too late.
I turned off the light and lay my body down on the bed.
Come what may.
A real man faces the crisis that comes to him head-on.
I who know no retreat! Cool.
The Hero was a good person and an ideal human, and I closed my eyes with the belief that he would be the same even in the second cycle.
I can trust him, right? Hmm. I don't know.
Before coming to this world, my tastes were unique, so reading and experiencing various media was a mistake, I think.
Lewd thoughts crawl up sneakily.
Let's get a grip.
Since when I sleep I am a sensitive person who wakes easily, it will be fine.