It's Not My Story—It's My Friend's

I was thrown by Ester's strange behavior, but I pressed ahead with the words I'd prepared.

"I intend to support your school life as much as I can. Is there anything troubling you?"

"Something troubling… there is one thing. But I suppose there's nothing to be done about it. It's a matter of the heart…."

A matter of the heart?

Did she mean she wasn't getting along with the other students?

Given her looks, she must be drawing plenty of jealousy. Was she being ostracized?

"What kind of problem, exactly?"

"No, it's… it's fine…."

She lowered her voice, her eyes sliding sidelong toward a box set neatly beside the sofa.

It didn't look deliberate—more like an unconscious glance. The sort of thing you might do with a lunch box. It was a cloth-wrapped container, carefully packed.

"What's that?"

"…Deprivation."

What in the world. What was inside that thing?

"That is… it's not my story. It's my friend's story."

When I simply kept looking at her, she carefully began to speak.

"Th-that friend of mine has s-someone she likes…."

Ester's face flooded with shyness.

Yeah….

Anyone could see that was her own story….

There was no reason for her to blush over a friend's love life. This was one hundred percent about her. It was the same as saying, Please listen carefully, because this is about me.

The boy she liked.

No need to guess—it had to be Laward. Ester was a character who never showed interest in any man but him. She acted as if she had no selfish desires, yet in truth her heart shattered and revived with every single one of Laward's actions.

"No matter what she tries, he only seems to dislike her…. So this time she made a lunch box with her own hands, hoping to turn his heart around…. But even that seems to have failed…. It's been weighing on her. S-since my friend is hurting, I guess I feel hurt too…."

Translating Ester-speak into plain language:

Laward disliked Ester.

That was the interpretation. I wanted to leap up and cheer at the news, but I forced my expression to stay blank.

Now I understood why she'd been acting so strange. The romance was already over. She'd lost cleanly to the devout believer Laward had become. She was probably at the stage where even a scrap of hope was gone. That was why she'd been radiating the air of a defeated soldier.

I felt sorry for Ester, but this was the only path that led to the future. To stop the end of the world, it couldn't be helped. The two of you must not end up together.

As the one who had orchestrated all of this from behind the scenes, how was I supposed to react to her now?

"I don't know your friend."

Best to play completely ignorant and just offer the right sort of sympathy.

"A lunch box takes more work than people think. On top of that you have to anticipate the other person's reaction, so the stress must have been considerable. She would have started preparing before dawn. That man missed out on a good connection."

When I finished speaking, I saw that Ester had ducked her flushed face low.

"No one has ever said that to me… before."

"Hm?"

"About… my friend's lunch box."

So she was sticking with the "friend" pretense? More importantly, the moment she said "before," the third-person act had already collapsed, hadn't it?

"It's never happened before… but lately all she's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠received is pain. She must have gotten weaker without realizing it."

Ester's eyes wavered. She tensed her throat, locking it tight so no moisture would slip into her voice; the effort was obvious.

"There's a tree that doesn't fall even after ten strikes… I've learned that."

Well….

People aren't trees….

"No one offered her comfort. The number of people who just watched her get rejected only grew. From what I overheard… they even started a betting pool on whether she'd succeed or not…."

They went that far? She really was being bullied, wasn't she…?

"Thank you, Sponsor. I'll be sure to pass it on to my friend. She'll… probably be happy."

Ester lifted her head and offered a small, bright smile.

"…Right."

I nearly fell into that smile. That radiant face almost made me forget the other questions I still needed to ask her.

I had to stay sharp.

Her relationship with Laward mattered, but there was something else I needed to settle. Ester's ability.

The hidden ending was a conclusion you couldn't reach with the protagonist alone. Back when I was the player, I had definitely strengthened both the protagonist and the heroines. Ester's power needed strengthening too. Or rather, in her case, was it more of a transformation?

"Ester."

I opened her school records as I spoke, focusing on the "specialties and aptitudes" section.

"How is your mana control?"

The moment I brought up the mana control noted in her file, her expression froze solid.

"It's… going well."

That was not the face of someone for whom it was going well.

"You can be honest. I have no intention of withdrawing my sponsorship just because you don't have results yet."

"There's no progress yet…! But if it's me… I can do it!"

Ester admitted it readily. The way she spoke with such confidence—for a moment, a glimpse of the Ester I knew shone through.

Right now the heroines' grades were at rock bottom, but every one of them possessed talent equal to the protagonist's. They all held the potential to stop the apocalypse. Awakening one or two of them wouldn't be enough, though. The conditions for the hidden ending required that the protagonist and all five heroines grow to the highest level—and that every heroine's affection for Laward drop to the absolute minimum. Both conditions had to be met.

Ester's trait was mana itself. Peerlessly vast mana. Broad and deep as a sea that no vessel could contain. The game had hammered home that she was the greatest in the world in that regard. But she overflowed with so much mana that she couldn't control it. Any magic she used was either far too small or far too large. There was no middle ground.

"If you'd given everything at the entrance exam, you might have taken first place. But you were afraid of hurting the people around you, so you didn't. You chose last place over the risk of injuring someone with a failed control."

In the combat-power entrance exam, Ester had chosen "too small." Whether her maximum output would have scored higher or lower than Laward's, I couldn't say. But Laward, who had claimed the top rank, had been more than enough to catch her interest. She had wanted to know what kind of training had made him first. She had wanted to understand him. Only after that did she notice how earnest he was for his age, how large his hands were, how broad his back. And before she knew it, she had fallen for him.

"Before I become a second-year… I'll definitely succeed…."

Ester spoke in an even smaller voice.

It was true: if she mastered mana control she would be a genius; if she failed she would be a disaster. A disaster of flood and fire. If she ran wild she would bring a catastrophe that combined the two. A sea of flames. But that was only if she used magic of the "destruction" attribute. What if, instead, she used magic of a beneficial attribute?

"You don't need to control it."

"Pardon?"

"By my standards, you're already perfect."

A person's value changes with their environment.

"Mana control is essential. All I do is put the people around me in danger. Even a spell that makes a tiny flame turns into a massive fire when I cast it. Because of me before…."

I knew how to fix Ester's weakness. Partly because I had been a player—but more than that, because I had been the commander of the Holy Knights.

"Recovery magic."

I had the answer.

"Recovery magic has no side effects even if your mana overflows."

"…Recovery magic?"

"In fact, the bigger and more abundant it is, the better. You've never considered holy-attribute magic. As a mage, you believed that to make a name for yourself you either had to become a powerful weapon or create some innovation."

"…Yes."

"More precious than power or knowledge is life."

I remembered the previous commander who had died right in front of me for lack of recovery magic—the man who had dumped the Holy Knights on me and left. I remembered my brothers, measuring the end of their lives by the blood pouring out of them, screaming in terrible pain. If Ester had known recovery magic. If someone like her had been at our side. It would have been different.

"The effect of recovery magic is decided by the caster's mana. You could save someone whose limbs had been torn off."

For an instant Ester's eyes went wide.

"No need to control it…."

She falteringly repeated my words after me.

"You said a tiny flame becomes a massive fire."

"Ah, yes."

"Then a single F-Rank recovery spell could save countless lives. Even magic that only regenerates a small scratch could make you a savior."

In the hidden ending, Ester had given up on mana control. Instead she had barely managed to learn recovery magic and had played her part. Only at the very last moment had she found the clothes that fit. From now on I intended to guide her toward learning recovery magic. Rather than spending time training mana control, I would turn her into a recovery specialist right away. If I advanced the timeline, Ester could become stronger than she ever was in the hidden ending.

And.

"This is just a side note, but."

There was one more reason it had to be recovery magic.

"When used on the undead, recovery magic converts into offensive magic."

Game lore said that holy-attribute recovery magic damaged the undead, but I didn't even need to go that far. I had confirmed it myself in my previous life. With Ester's enormous mana reserves, the ceiling would only climb higher.

"Recovery magic has the property of regenerating living things and destroying the undead."

And if that recovery magic were an area skill? It could unleash firepower more overwhelming than most attack magic.

"The undead? There's nothing like that anymore."

Well, that was the natural reaction for now. For now, it couldn't be helped.

I had said everything I needed to say. Time to go meet the next heroine.

"Well then. Until next time."

"Ah, yes! Thank you so much for selecting me as a scholarship student. And thank you for the kind words as well!"

Perhaps uneasy that the conversation had run long, Ester rose quickly. She bowed at the waist in farewell and hurried toward the back door.

"Ester."

"Yes?"

"You left this."

I pointed at the lunch box sitting alone on the sofa.

"Your deprivation."

"Ah, ah…! So I did!"

Startled, Ester came back and gathered the lunch box into her arms.

"I understand it has a lot of history, but if you're going to throw it away anyway, may I eat it? I'm hungry as it happens."

"Pardon? It's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my friend's, so I'd need to ask permission…."

"May I eat it?"

"I-it must all be cold by now! And you must normally eat only expensive, fine food at home, while what I made…."

"I don't mind."

"Ah… all right…."

Ester set the lunch box on the table and sat on the sofa again.

Click.

I slowly opened it. For all that it was a familiar lunch box, everything inside was Western-style, which took a little of the charm out of it—but it was still a carefully healthy spread. Eggplant grilled just right in olive oil, a salad dressed with tomato, chicken breast shredded along the grain for easy eating, sautéed spinach, and a salmon steak cooked to perfection. A proper five-dish meal, in other words.

Hearing "five dishes" somehow made me think of the harem route….

More important was the fact that I was eating food that originally would have gone to that insufferable protagonist. It had cooled a little, but that didn't matter.

Ahh.

The victor's feast.

I started with the protein. When I bit into the salmon steak, the flesh crumbled pleasantly and moist juices welled up.

"How… does it taste?"

Ester asked—even though, according to the premise, her friend had made it, so she had no real reason to be curious.

"Hm? It's good. Hard to believe a student made it."

"I'm so glad…!"

Ester's expression loosened into a pure, sunny smile.

Glad…?

It wasn't as if Laward had said it was good. I had simply stolen and eaten what belonged to the protagonist.

"Please try the other things too."

"I was going to, but… how long do you plan on watching me?"

"Pardon? Ah… r-right. Excuse me."

"Go on out. I'll return the empty container next time."

Ester paused at those words, then rose with a smile tucked into the corners of her mouth.

"Yes. See you again next time."

I continued meeting the heroines one after another.

First had been Ester of the first-year Magic Department.

Next.

"I'm Rebecca—!"

The moment Rebecca flung the door open with a clatter, she made a V-sign with both hands. The pose set her neatly cut blonde bob swinging as if to show itself off.

Gorgeous.

That was the first word that came to mind the instant I saw her. Necklaces, earrings, all sorts of accessories adorned her further. Every time she moved, it felt as if a little sparkle sound effect should play. Yet none of it felt excessive—because her face shone brighter than the jewelry. The official setting said her hairstyle changed every day, and it was obvious she paid attention to her appearance. Her mysterious green eyes and knife-straight bob. Her eyes, a mix of cat and fox, gave a cold impression, but her lively, warm way of speaking punched straight through that cool shell. The two hairpins stuck into her bangs probably played a decisive role as well.

"Second-year Magic Department, Rebecca—! I'm walking the path of the sword with the premise of becoming a Swordmaster!"

…That one-line self-introduction was a mass of contradictions. How did "Magic Department" and "Swordmaster" fit into the same sentence? It wasn't only the mismatch between her cold looks and sunny attitude that felt off.

Come to think of it, there was one part of herself Rebecca never decorated.

Her hands.

No rings, no nail ornaments.

Walking the path of the sword with the premise of becoming a Swordmaster, huh. She said it the way someone might say they were dating with the premise of marriage. And the real problem was that she herself had no idea what was wrong with that.

The conversation I had with her flew by in a whirl of noise.

And next.

"…I'm Lucia."

When Lucia dipped her head slightly as she spoke, her black hair swayed. Dark circles hung heavy beneath her sky-blue eyes. Her complexion looked so exhausted that a light push might have toppled her. Her frame was small, yet her figure stole the eye. An unreal silhouette. If a goddess truly existed, she must have shaped Lucia while thinking, A little shameless, maybe, but the world can have one body like this, right?

"Lucia is a third-year in the Sword Department."

What kind of speech pattern was that?

Ah.

At some point Lucia had closed her eyes. She had been dozing from the moment the conversation started.

"Sorry. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I work nights, so I'm sleepy during the day."

…What?

Lucia glanced at my reaction, then wore a sly little smile. The "night work" she mentioned meant her job with a certain guild's assassination unit. I knew her background from playing the game, but if I hadn't, I would have shown a genuinely shocked face. Even so, I hadn't completely hidden my reaction, and Lucia watched me as if she found it entertaining. Third-years really were different, was that it? Beneath the stiff manner of speaking, a mischievous streak showed through.

"Lucia, I want you to focus on your studies. That's why I'm giving you the scholarship."

"I'm truly grateful for the scholarship."

Lucia bowed her head deeply once more.

"But Lucia has no intention of quitting her job."

"Not that you can't quit, but that you won't?"

"That's right."

Lucia drew a clear line. Well, I could let that pass for now. Right now I needed to focus on Ester, and there was no need to rush.

"I'll have to deal with them one by one anyway."

"…Deal with?"

"Just talking to myself."

And so I met three heroines in a row. Amelia, who didn't even have a free moment to show her face, and Veronica, who had received a heavy one-year suspension, I put off for another opportunity.

Five heroines.

As if by some miracle, every one of them would come to love the same man.

After classes.

The moment Ester returned to the dorm, she face-planted onto her bed. She rolled left, rolled right. She tossed and turned, replaying the day.

Lately she had done nothing but cry every day. She had repeated to herself the image of herself always striving to win his heart and of Laward always responding with coldness, lamenting the distance between their hearts that never shrank. The more carefully she stacked up her one-sided feelings for Laward, the wider that gap grew. A scale that tipped only one way. The balance was wrong.

But today a different face circled through her mind.

Daywin Hasgard.

The sponsor from a prestigious count's house. An unusual man. His easygoing words and manner didn't seem like those of a noble heir. The way he casually accepted a lunch box cooked by an amateur—and a cold one at that. And then.

She would have started preparing before dawn. That man missed out on a good connection.

You don't need to control it. You're already perfect.

May I eat it?

The words that had surged in like a wave, swept through her heart, and passed on came back to her. They were things she had never heard before. Feeling comforted and reassured by someone she had just met was laughable and pathetic, but she couldn't deny that his words had felt warm.

I'll return the empty container next time.

More than any of the others, that meaningless little sentence circled her mind the most.

So there would be a next time.

When she rolled over, the familiar dormitory door came into view. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The cosmetics on her roommate's desk sat in their usual place as well. An ordinary day. She didn't know why, but even though today was the day her carefully prepared lunch box had been rejected by Laward—

"Strange."

Somehow, today, the tears wouldn't come.

"Huh…?"

I was drying off after a bath when, out of nowhere, a message appeared saying an ending had been locked. No warning at all—just thunk.

Ending number one.

One of Ester's five endings.

Locked.

"What…?"

I didn't do anything…?