The Abandoned Puppy
This is a story from my childhood. During summer vacation, I visited my maternal grandmother’s house with my parents. There was a dog at Grandmother’s. Copper-colored fur, guileless eyes, and a small frame. It was an adorable dog. I loved it dearly. After all, there wasn’t much for a child to enjoy at Grandmother’s house besides watching television. To a girl who was terribly bored, that small, cute dog became a precious friend. So I spent a great deal of time with it.
Then one day, my eldest maternal uncle brought home a pure-white puppy. It was as white and pretty as the stuffed dogs sold in shops. The appearance of this new puppy made my heart flutter. It was cuter and prettier than the one I had been with until then.
I should not have done it, but I became completely enchanted by the dog my uncle had brought and neglected the one that had been there first. Because it was prettier. Because it was cuter. Because it was more affectionate.
When I visited Grandmother’s house again, the dog with the lovely yellow fur was nowhere to be found. When I asked her about it, she told me it had run away the day after I returned home. Had it decided that once the affection and attention directed at it had been severed, this was no longer a place it belonged?
At Grandmother’s words, I felt a hypocritical pang in my chest. If only I had looked after it even a little. If only I had spared it even a scrap of affection. That dog would not have left.
What must it have felt like? The affection that had always been aimed at it suddenly turning ice-cold, being neglected and eventually ignored. It must have been an unbearably raw and miserable wound.
This may sound very strange, but looking at Azazel reminded me of that dog. She wore exactly that kind of wretched expression.
Leaving her like this would clearly be wrong. That was why I had advised her to be honest with her feelings. Even though it was presumptuous of me.
Speaking those words had not felt good. It couldn’t have. From living with Ain, I had come to realize just how possessive I truly was. Telling someone I liked—someone I loved—to confess their feelings to another person was painful. The thought of his attention turning toward another woman hurt. I wanted him to look only at me. I wanted him to love only me. It was a selfish, arrogant wish.
But was that truly the right thing? If I wanted to stand proudly by Ain’s side, I had to change. I had to strive to become a fair and benevolent saintess. I could not simply ignore someone who was suffering. I had to offer her a way forward. That was why I had urged Azazel to be honest with her heart.
Fortunately, it seemed she had taken it positively. That did not mean I was without anxiety. What if, by some one-in-a-thousand or one-in-ten-thousand chance, Ain accepted her confession? What if he grew tired of someone as filthy as me, turned away, and came to love Azazel more? Would I not end up like the dog I had neglected?
Just thinking about it sent a chill through me; goosebumps rose along my spine. My heart tightened. My chest felt heavy. It was unbearably painful. But I was not the only one who felt this way. Azazel must have felt the same. She had known Ain far longer than I had. I could not simply pretend to ignore her pure and sincere love. You could call it a sense of kinship. To convey nothing at all and erase one’s feelings is simply too sad.
“That’s enough. Let go.”
Azazel pulled away from my chest. Her face was as red as her hair and irises.
“Your face is a mess.”
Sniffling and rubbing her swollen eyes, she looked less like a witch and more like an ordinary girl. I wiped her face with a damp towel. She did not reject my touch.
“Have you calmed down?”
“Yeah.”
She turned her head away as if embarrassed. Who could look at such a cute sight and not find it lovable? I doubt anyone could. A gentle smile rose to my lips without my permission.
“I’m glad.”
“S-so… what’s your name?”
Azazel asked for my name. Come to think of it, we had never even properly introduced ourselves. This could be seen as a green light for our relationship.
“I am Aria Lameld.”
“Azazel Anaide.”
Her answer was curt, as if she were trying to hide her embarrassment. Still, I was happy. I extended my right hand to Azazel Anaide. She stared at it blankly.
“What’s this?”
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Azazel Anaide.”
“…You’re making this awkward on purpose.”
“Were we ever not awkward with each other?”
She thought for a moment, then nodded.
“That’s true.”
Her small, slender hand gripped mine firmly. With a confident expression, Azazel declared, “I’m going to confess.”
“I see.”
“It’s not because of you. I was going to do it anyway.”
Of course. Even if I encouraged her, the one who would choose was Azazel herself. Just by looking at that fierce expression, I could tell it was a decision she had considered and judged for herself. I offered a faint smile and spoke softly.
What am I interrogating her for?
Apparently finding me sly, Azazel’s red eyes filled with bewilderment. Even when flustered, a beautiful person remains beautiful.
“…You’re awful. Don’t cry later when Ashtain gets taken from you.”
“I don’t want that. If I lose Ain, I will cry.”
“Don’t you have any pride?”
“Does pride feed love?”
“…No, it doesn’t.”
“Right?”
When I laughed, she reluctantly smiled as well. The atmosphere had grown warm.
“It must be strange for me to cheer for your love, Azazel.”
Caught off guard, Azazel made a bizarre face.
“W-what? You’re okay with Ashtain being taken?”
“It’s not that. I simply… want to support you.”
“You’re too nice, you idiot.”
Azazel pouted and lowered her head. If it were Ain, what would he do in this situation? He would surely… Without thinking, I stroked her hair.
“What are you doing?”
Did she find it rude that I had touched her head without permission? Her voice was rather sharp.
“If you dislike it, I’ll stop.”
“………No. I don’t dislike it.”
I was relieved. I continued stroking her hair until Azazel told me to stop.
“Hey, Aria.”
“Yes, Azazel?”
“I’m sorry. For speaking so harshly to you.”
It was a shy apology. So she wasn’t a bad person at heart. The thought made my chest feel ticklish. So I asked mischievously, “What exactly are you sorry for?”
“For… talking badly about you.”
“Could you tell me the specific words you used?”
“………I-I’m sorry. No, I apologize.”
It was a very polite apology. I answered politely as well.
“It’s all right.”
“…Really?”
I kept a calm expression. “Yes, really. How could anyone be rational all the time?”
Did my words sound sarcastic? Azazel hung her head like a wilted stalk of rice.
“………I’m sorry.”
She apologized for a long time. Even though it was truly fine. At this point it was getting awkward. I wished she would realize that excessive apologies become a burden.
“Please stop mentioning it now.”
“B-but.”
“That’s enough. The topic is closed.”
At my firm tone, Azazel fidgeted. Had my earlier acceptance not been enough for her? Not long after, her gaze drifted to my chest. My bosom was damp from her tears and runny nose.
“I’m… sorry about that too.”
As expected, another apology. Instead, I straightened my posture. Since I had been able to comfort a girl, it felt like a badge of honor.
“It feels like a medal. I like it.”
“A medal?”
“A medal for having been able to comfort you.”
“………What is that supposed to mean?”
“Does it sound strange?”
“It’s incredibly cringey. And it looks terrible. Your clothes are wet and clinging to your breasts.”
“B-breasts…”
Her blunt words made my face flush. Azazel really had no filter. She snapped her fingers indifferently. The damp fabric dried instantly.
“Whoa, what was that?”
“I dried it with magic. It’s my fault, after all.”
It seemed to be a spell that functioned like a hair dryer. I could not help but marvel at it. Most magic I knew focused on “destruction”—smashing buildings, causing explosions, collapsing terrain—so useful everyday magic like this was unexpected.
“It’s fascinating and convenient. Is it difficult?”
“What’s difficult about it? I may not look it, but I’m a genius mag—”
Azazel stopped mid-sentence. Wondering why, I looked at her.
“Azazel?”
“…Never mind. I don’t want to brag in front of you.”
For a brief moment she looked down, her expression bittersweet. I quietly took her hand. Azazel flinched, then clasped mine in return.
“I’m scared of that Ashtain guy coming.”
Anything is most frightening right before you face it. Knowing this well, I patted her back.
“Feel free to be as scared as you like.”
“……Don’t people usually say ‘calm down’ in this situation?”
“Even if I told you not to be afraid, you still would be, wouldn’t you? In that case, wouldn’t it be better to let yourself be scared right now?”
“I-is that how it works?”
“It’s only my opinion.”
Azazel rested her chin on her hand and pondered. “Hmm… now that you say it, I think you’re right.”
She was surprisingly impressionable. The witch with the charming red hair leaned against me once more.
“Lend me your chest. I’m about to be insanely scared.”
“………I did say that, but you really have no shame, Miss Azazel.”
“I’m terrified. Do you even understand how I feel, knowing I’m about to confess when I’ll obviously get rejected?”
“There’s no guarantee you’ll be rejected, is there?”
“How shameless. After he’s already gone that far with someone as beautiful as you, how could someone like me catch his eye?”
At the compliment, I closed my mouth. Azazel was plenty beautiful herself, but she seemed unaware of it.
We decided to wait until Ain arrived. Yet even as the sun set and night fell, he did not return. As time passed, both Azazel’s and my expressions grew increasingly stiff. He was not the kind of person to be out this late. Something must have gone wrong.
“Miss Azazel.”
“Yes, Aria.”
I spoke in a rigid voice. “I think something has happened to Ain.”
“For once we’re thinking the same thing.”
We gathered our clothes. Our destination was clear: Ascendio Mountain, where he was.