How Clumsy. Are You a Baby?
“Waaah….”
A soft gasp slipped past Elara’s lips.
The wind rolling over the hill was crisp and clean, and across the wide-open fields wildflowers of no particular name bloomed in lavish abundance. The sticky, languid heat of the carriage was cooling at last, and a flush of life seemed to return to her once-pale cheeks.
“Teacher… this place is truly peaceful. And so beautiful.”
She lifted the stifling veil from her face and turned a radiant smile toward the dazzling sunlight.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes. Truly. I never imagined a place like this could exist….”
It was the moment Elara, voice bright with excitement, turned her head toward the crest of the hill.
“…Huh?”
Her smile began to freeze, as if a hairline crack were spreading through glass.
Creeeak—
The grotesque scream of ancient timber twisting under strain. At the summit of the hill, three enormous windmills stood in grim, desolate silence. Their blades, long neglected, were peeling and rotting. Yet the merciless wind kept those colossal monstrosities turning without rest.
— Whooosh, slash!
— Whooosh, slash!
The sound of the blades ripping through the air was sharp enough to raise the hair on one’s neck. It was like the crack of a whip—an arrogant someone lashing down upon people forced to their knees.
“Ah….”
Elara’s pupils trembled as violently as if an earthquake had struck inside them.
— Zzt. Zzzzzzt.
An unpleasant static began to crackle in my ears. It was the sound of her psychological barriers collapsing in a landslide.
“Elara?”
The instant I tried to call her name—
“Hey! Hand it over already! The Hero asked for it!”
“N-no… this is the money for Mom’s medicine….”
…What? From beneath the windmills, the voices of young children drifted up like auditory hallucinations. I carefully fixed my gaze on the scene.
Three or four village kids. This was no ordinary game. They were playing Hero’s Party.
The biggest child had a crude star pinned to his chest and was strutting around as the Hero, while a scrawny one crawled on the ground in the role of a villager.
“Shut up! A villain talks too much! In the name of justice—confiscated!”
— Thwack!
The big kid brought a stick down across the fallen child’s back.
— Whooosh, slash!
At the same moment, a windmill blade carved through empty air. The instant the impact and the windmill’s cry overlapped, Elara’s world flipped into ash-gray in a single breath.
“Ugh… uwaaah….”
“Elara…?”
— Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!!
Ugh…!
A far louder ringing exploded inside my ears. A rupture of sound beyond anything I could endure. Was it simply because this was a place of trauma? Or if not that… then why?
“E-Elara. For now, shall we head back down?”
“U-uwaaah…!!”
She clamped her hands over her ears and stumbled backward.
“No… it wasn’t me… I….”
Elara’s legs gave out and she sank to the ground. As if hyperventilating, her pale hands clawed roughly at her own chest.
“That thing… isn’t a Hero. That’s… a villain.”
Shing.
Her hand groped across the dirt. A sharp shard of broken stone settled into her white grip. Her unfocused, empty eyes locked onto the child stomping his friend while playing Hero.
“W-wait, Elara!”
“I have to kill it. Fakes like that… I have to pass judgment.”
Elara’s trauma is seizing control of her mind.
WARNING: Elara’s emotions are running wild.
WARNING: Elara’s defense mechanism has been activated.
There it was again—that damned black-and-white logic. The children’s cruel game must have been the spark. The guilt of a bystander had twisted into a hunger for warped judgment and exploded.
“Uh… uh…? Hey, that big sister behind us….”
“Huh?”
“Die. Filthy black.”
Elara raised the stone high overhead.
Damn it!
My body moved before my thoughts could catch up. I kicked off the dirt and threw myself at her.
— Crack!
A dull rupture of sound, and a sharp pain punched straight through my palm.
“Ghh…!”
I caught the stone shard she had been about to drive into the child—bare-handed. The keen edge carved deep through the flesh of my palm and kept going.
Pat-pat.
My crimson blood scattered like flower petals across the white of her dress.
“…Huh?”
“Uwaaaaaah!”
“Th-that crazy woman! Run!!”
“K-kids, wait for me!!”
The children screamed and fled. Elara’s hand froze in midair. Her unfocused eyes slowly followed the red soaking into her clothes.
The stone. The blood. And me—enduring the pain, holding her close.
“…Tea…cher?”
Her lips trembled. In those blue eyes drowned in madness, reason flooded back in an instant—and with it, a crushing terror.
“Ah… aah….”
She dropped the shard as if she had been electrocuted. Looking back and forth between my blood-smeared hand and her own, her face went paper-white.
“Blood… what have I… what did I do… the white… I….”
“Calm down, Elara!”
She tried to scramble backward and flee. I clamped my bleeding hand tighter around her wrist. Warm, sticky blood painted her cold skin—a shackle to keep her from running, and a brand to force her back into reality.
“Let go! Let go! I—I almost… you, who are white…!”
“Elara! Look at my eyes!”
I cupped her cheeks and forced her gaze to meet mine.
“You did nothing!”
“Th-that’s a lie! You’re bleeding! Because I’m a monster—because I’m a Hero candidate of the Hero’s Party! Because I’m filthy black…!”
“No!”
I shouted it with absolute firmness.
“You stopped.”
It was sophistry. If I hadn’t intervened, something terrible would have happened. But what she needed right now was not cold fact—it was a reason to keep her from collapsing completely.
I held my dripping hand up before her eyes.
“Look. If you were a real monster, you would have cut my throat—not my hand. But the moment I stepped in, you stopped.”
I stared deep into her trembling eyes and whispered.
“You did not wield the ‘violence’ you so despise. Your true nature refused it.”
“Ah….”
A thick tear rolled from her eye and fell. Not a tear of guilt—a tear of relief. The desperate liberation of someone who had just been told she was not a monster after all.
“Teacher… Teacher… hhk….”
Elara’s legs gave out and she crumpled against my chest. With my uninjured arm I wrapped her slender back and held her firmly.
— Whooosh, slash.
The windmills still screamed, but in my arms she no longer seemed to hear them. Only the sound of my heartbeat reached her ears.
The target’s trauma is being overwritten with a sense of relief.
Elara places absolute trust in you.
Affection +5 (Current: 80)
Success. One palm offered up, and I had blocked the deepest darkness inside her.
After sobbing against my chest for a long while, Elara lifted her head. Her face was a mess of tears, but her eyes were clearer and deeper than they had been inside the carriage.
“…Your hand.”
She spoke in a trembling voice. From her dress she drew a white lace handkerchief and carefully wrapped it around my bleeding hand. Her touch was as delicate as if she were handling the world’s rarest jewel—or rather, as if she were cradling something fragile as glass.
“…I’m sorry.”
She pressed her lips firmly to the handkerchief she had wound like a bandage, then lifted them again. The warmth of her mouth against the back of my hand burned.
“For hurting you… I’m truly sorry.”
I couldn’t tell whether it was the wound or her hot breath. She looked up at me. In those tear-bright eyes, apology toward me—and an affection she could no longer hide—were thickly layered.
“A wound like this is a badge of honor.”
I forced a casual smile and brushed her disheveled hair back from her face.
“A knight who protects a princess wouldn’t look the part if he didn’t spill a single drop of blood, would he?”
“Pfft… Even now, you’re joking? You… idiot….”
Elara grumbled in a wet voice and gave my chest a weak shove. But the hand gripping my arm still held tight.
“Shall we go? After all that screaming and crying, I’m hungry.”
“…Yes.”
Elara put her veil back on. But not to hide, the way she had before. This time it was to conceal her flushed face—and the heated gaze she kept turning toward me.
We headed back toward the carriage. Behind us the windmills still cried out, but Elara never once looked back. She held my injured hand as if it were something precious, walking pressed close against my side.
We made our way to a restaurant the coachman had scouted in advance—an upscale establishment set a little apart from the bustling main street, in a quieter corner.
“After you.”
I deliberately offered my uninjured left hand as if nothing were wrong. But instead of taking it, Elara stared at my right hand—where blood was already seeping through—with brimming eyes.
“…Teacher.”
“Let’s go inside first. People are watching.”
I urged her in.
“Are you Lord Aris?”
“Yes.”
“This way, please.”
We were shown to a VIP room and took our seats. Spending five hundred PT in advance had been worth it. Elegant tableware soon arrived along with steak and soup, but Elara made no move to pick up her fork. She threw off her veil, dragged her chair right up beside mine, and sat down.
“Your hand… give it here.”
“I’m fine. Let’s eat first—”
“Now.”
Her voice was firm. But the end of it trembled, just slightly. Relenting, I laid my blood-ruined right hand on the table. Elara hurriedly called a staff member and had water, bandages, and disinfectant brought over.
“…This will sting.”
With trembling fingers she began wiping the bloodstains from my palm. Every time the cold wet cloth touched the wound, a raw ache flared—but I clenched my teeth and swallowed every sound.
“Nngh….”
The one who actually moaned was her. She furrowed her brow as if her own flesh had been cut, carefully applying medicine to the torn skin.
“Why… did you do that?”
She asked in a wet voice as she wound the bandage.
“You could have just… spoken to me. You could have dodged.”
“Because it was you.”
“…What?”
I looked down at the crown of her bowed head as she worked and spoke calmly.
“Because you were the one holding the stone. Not anyone else—you, the person I have to protect.”
“….”
“I couldn’t let blood stain your hands. Better it stain mine instead.”
Her hands went still. Her bowed shoulders trembled finely, and then a hot droplet fell onto the back of my hand with a soft pat.
“…Idiot.”
“I’m not an idiot, you know….”
I joked and smiled. Elara gazed at me quietly for a moment, then carefully opened her mouth.
“…I ran away.”
Her eyes wandered through empty air.
“It wasn’t the children. In my eyes… I saw Lillian and the others. I was terrified. I hated the thought of filthy blood splashing… so I ran.”
Elara hung her head low.
“I’m garbage. I don’t even deserve to receive counseling from you….”
“Elara.”
With my bandaged hand I carefully cupped her wet cheek.
“They’re the garbage—not you.”
“B-but….”
“You didn’t run. You endured. Even inside that hell, you held on so you wouldn’t become a monster.”
I spoke with absolute conviction.
“And now I’m here. I will never leave you to face that nightmare alone again. After all—I’m your counseling teacher.”
“…Teacher.”
She pressed her cheek into my palm, sniffling.
Elara feels deep guilt and affection toward you simultaneously.
In her heart, your existence is elevated from savior to precious lover.
This was it. It clearly wasn’t simple fondness. This was something closer to self-reflection—the fear of losing me. The self-rebuke that if she ever killed me, she herself would become black.
Growl.
Right then, a cute little sound from Elara’s stomach shattered the heavy silence.
“…Ah.”
Her face turned red as a perfectly ripe apple in an instant. I pretended not to notice, smiled, and picked up my fork.
“Well then—let’s eat. Everything’s getting cold.”
I reached for the meat, and a throbbing pain lanced through my palm.
“Ugh….”
“…!”
The moment I slightly furrowed my brow, Elara startled and grabbed my hand.
“It hurts, doesn’t it? See? I told you not to push yourself.”
“I can just use my left hand—”
“No. Stay still.”
Elara pulled my plate in front of herself and began carefully cutting the meat into bite-sized pieces. Then she speared a piece and held it out to my lips.
“Here. Say aah.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Hurry up. My arm’s getting tired.”
Her eyes were trying to look stern, but a playful smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“…This is a little embarrassing.”
“What’s a man got to be embarrassed about over something like this? Come on—aah~”
In the end I opened my mouth and accepted the meat she offered.
“Well? Is it good?”
“…Yes. It’s delicious.”
More than the juices flooding my mouth, the bright smile she wore while watching me was sweeter still. She rested her chin on her hand as if she found the sight of me eating adorable, then picked up a napkin and gently dabbed the corner of my mouth.
“How clumsy. Are you a baby?”
“…Lady Elara.”
“Hehe. Just teasing. Eat plenty, Teacher.”
For a little while, trauma and the Hero’s Party were both forgotten—a peaceful stretch of time. As the meal wound down, I glanced at the gallery window.
The trauma coordinates I had noted in the comments: four locations. One of the pins marked on the map was glowing a particularly vivid red.
…So next is there, is it.
If luck was on my side, I might be able to settle things at the next place.
“Lady Elara.”
“Yes?”
“Now that we’ve eaten our fill—shall we move on to the next course?”
At my words, Elara’s eyes went round.
“Where… are we going now?”