Polaris (2)
Stares.
A year ago, during the massacre I had unintentionally unleashed while clashing with the Association—days when holding hundreds of hostages and fighting battles far outnumbered the days I didn't—the lifeless eyes of everyone who faced me said everything that needed saying.
For someone who had sunk herself into an empty underworld and whose only company was a handful of noisy conversations a day with a spirit, stillness and quiet had been everything. They had been life itself.
Until four weeks ago, that was how it had been.
Which was why the looks being thrown at me now—hat pulled low, collar drawn tight—were so unbearably unpleasant. Unpleasant enough that I wanted to kill them for it.
Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened.
"I assisted with the first aid as well."
Whether she had sensed my discomfort or simply didn't want the chaos that would erupt if the medics got a clear look at me, Erika's excuse—sprinkled with a touch of falsehood—managed to smooth the whole thing over.
I, for my part, just stayed quiet.
Maybe it was because she was a known Association ranker, but after a few non-explanations that barely counted as explanations, the medics seemed more or less convinced.
I watched Erika move into the treatment phase, then settled into a chair in the corner for a coffee and a rest. One of them still wasn't satisfied, though, and kept talking to the end.
"Wow, still—that's incredible. Really. Even with a ranker's help, mimicking a healer's direct-line technique is…"
"It's nothing."
Two words, tossed out without a thought. And yet those pupils only dilated further—hard to understand, even for a fellow human. Not that I was one.
"You're not a civilian, are you?! Have you been in this field a long time…? Or are you attached to a frontline gate medical unit…?"
"…"
If I had to talk to anyone, I would have preferred Erika. Instead, some medic I had zero interest in had latched on, and the pressure crushing down on me made me pull my hat even lower.
My breath came short and hard. My hair felt like a mess.
Come to think of it, back home I had even taken a moment to admire my transformed girl-self, smoothing my hair, studying that pale complexion and soft skin—clean and pure, the whole of it. I had done that.
Having to hide it all like this left me stifled and irritable. Why was I even doing this?
The medic watched me drink silently from my paper cup and, thrashing for even a scrap more information, slowly opened her mouth again.
"Ah—or maybe you're affiliated with a ranker? Saturated stats, or something…?!"
"Be quiet."
I swung my arm and drove a knife into her abdomen. Resistance, then the blade sliding home, and a choked, gurgling moan.
"When you talk to someone, you're supposed to pay attention to their reactions."
Not just shove yourself at them one-sidedly like that.
"Understood?"
"Urgh—hhk—mmph."
The medic clutched her stomach and sank weakly to the floor. Overheated moans and ragged breathing spilled from her mouth, hunting for clean air. The reddening fabric and the scream came free of charge.
Without so much as a flinch, I finished the paper cup and leaned back against the wall. Stillness had been gone a long time. If anything, it felt louder now.
"I feel sick."
"That's what happens when thou goest around stabbing people like that!"
"Can you even call something like that a person?"
I prodded the medic with my foot. A terror-stricken face looked back up at me.
"Ugh…"
"See? You agree—"
"That is not why! 'Tis thy recklessness that makes my flesh crawl!"
Such a fuss.
The air stirred as the tiresome little spirit darted back and forth.
"Call a medic at once! The place is crawling with them, is it not?!"
"If I call one, it'll only get noisier."
Bloody blinked.
"And my irritation will climb even higher. Irritation turns into rage, rage turns on the people who come running, and then I'll kill even more of them."
"Gyaaaaah…!"
"Can't be helped."
It was simple logic.
I hated irritation. I hated rage. I hated the interest of the medic crumpled on the floor. I hated people's eyes on me.
I hated fervor and enthusiasm. I hated clamor and upheaval.
But blood was good. The emotions that set the body burning, and the calm that followed—those were good. Knives were good, mana was good, killing was good.
A static state where everything went quiet and nothing changed was more than thrilling. It was rapturous.
But I was not that.
A twisted core and rotten roots thrashing inside a girl's shell. An unstable, noisy, disordered interior where boiling pride and filthy, ugly blood churned.
Longing for stillness?
Nothing more than a contradiction. Something that only dreamed of illusions.
And so—
"Everyone, please remain calm."
—I tried to define that something. That self.
"Please evacuate carefully."
Swift, efficient progress. Before my brow could even furrow, quiet returned.
"B-but Ms. Erika still has wounds…"
"I'm fine."
Because of you.
"There's nothing wrong with me."
So I'm counting on it.
"So please go. Quickly."
That you'll come find me.
"Wow. It got quiet."
"…"
I grabbed the half-collapsed medic by the scruff and dragged her, slowly, out into the broad plaza-like space, then tossed her aside with a dull thud.
"She kept talking to me, so I accidentally swung a knife. Oops!"
"…Step back. Slowly."
A greatsword leveled at me.
"What's wrong? Do I look like someone who'd kill people for no reason?"
"Isn't that obvious?"
"That's so unfair. I've saved you three times already."
Almost killed her, though.
"…Don't move. Before I cut you down."
"Fine. I'll stay put. Listening to you is kind of my thing."
Thinking about it carefully, I had never actually been good at listening.
I backed away slowly while Erika, coughing, propped up the medic she'd been holding and got her onto a bed to check her condition.
The way she paid me no attention at all was somehow irritating.
I went and sat on the neighboring bed, glancing at Erika while I drank my coffee—and then, coming down the stairs right in front of me, I saw a woman in uniform. Black bob swaying, red eyes gleaming.
"Wow! It's the Director! Hello."
"…Orly."
I glanced up at the ceiling. CCTV cameras clung to every corner like ears.
"You can stare all you want—I didn't do anything. The empty room isn't my fault either. Erika evacuated everyone herself."
The Director looked at me, then flicked a glance at Erika treating someone behind her.
"Don't worry about me. Do something about that medic. I'll just sit here quietly and drink my coffee."
Of course, years of experience had taught even the Director that when I said something like that, I meant it.
She kept one eye on me as she approached the medic.
"Can you manage?"
"Yes. It isn't a severe injury."
I closed my eyes for a moment and steadied my breathing. I took off my hat and exhaled. My eye color and skin tone had returned to normal some time ago.
"Didst thou cut her deep?"
"Not really. Dunno. She won't die."
Life is precious, after all. Mm-hmm.
I finished the paper cup and stood. I wandered the wide interior until I reached a long desk against one wall and picked up a medical chart.
Room numbers, and names written beside them.
"Well, let me know when you're done. I'll be waiting in the hospital room."
"…Which room?"
"Hm?"
I tilted my head.
"Erika's room, obviously!"
She was a patient too. And I was the one who had to treat her.
It would be a lie to say I didn't have unsavory tastes. Even with a woman's body, the instinct that wanted women was rock-solid.
I opened the clean door and stepped into the room. Various supplies, a bed—and a faint fresh scent that teased my nose.
I drew a deep breath of it and let it out again.
Technically, this was my second visit.
I pulled a couple of folding chairs over beside the bed and sat. The door opened and two people came in.
I swung my feet up and down with shameless ease, humming under my breath.
Their eyes found me.
"…What business do you have?"
"Hm? Why so formal all of a sudden. We've still got unfinished business. The criminal organization investigation."
Erika's mouth shut.
"Well, that too—but I was going to briefly explain the severance suture technique."
"Did you really do it?"
"Of course. Who else would dare perform a suture technique on Ms. Erika, a ranker of our Association?"
The Director eyed me with open suspicion. Erika perched on a chair, her expression hardening.
"Things were a bit critical at the time, so I put the formula together quickly. Going into full detail would take forever, so the short version: you'll need a few more inscription sessions going forward."
Erika stroked her arm. It looked unconscious.
"We're past the initial stage. About three inscription sessions left—call it roughly three days until it's done."
"So in the meantime, you intend to keep treating her?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The Director started to say more, then bit her lip.
I smiled and flicked my hand.
A curve of mana drifted through the air and sank into the magic circle at the suture on Erika's arm.
"I have my reasons."
Erika flinched and trembled.
"It's a secret I can't tell."
Our eyes met. She was glaring.
That look was cute too.
Cute enough that I wanted to torment her.