Who Am I? (7)
Time flows on.
On rainy days, Najin went to the tavern and played alongside Violet. On days without rain, he sought out other musicians and watched them perform with his own eyes.
And then he stole their music. In this case, Najin had no intention of calling it “learning.” As far as he was concerned, the act was closer to theft.
It’s different from learning swordsmanship.
When he copied another’s sword, Najin would grasp the philosophy and life contained within it, then reinterpret those things through his own blade. That, he could call learning. Music was not the same.
He never understood the philosophy the performers poured into their playing. He merely stole the outer form, nothing more.
Even so, simply mimicking that form made Najin’s skill grow by the day. He never quite reached the realm of a master, but he came close enough to stand just beneath it.
“That talent of yours… I figured you’d be good at anything that involved moving your body, but…”
Merlin watched him with an expression of pure disbelief.
“Seeing it in person is something else. Does this even make sense?”
“I’ve been thinking much the same thing.”
If he had to offer an excuse, the imitation was only possible because of a body polished to its absolute limit. Unlike the musicians’, the physical ability Najin had forged through relentless training allowed him to control force down to the finest degree.
Whatever the reason, Najin kept taking steps forward.
In this dream where everything had stagnated and the same time simply repeated itself, only Najin advanced steadily.
“Ah…”
And then—
“Honestly, you…”
The steps Najin took left footprints. Someone followed behind him, staring at those marks.
“How did you do that? My god, is this even possible? A week! In just one week you’ve improved this much…”
“I’ve always been a bit talented.”
“‘Talented’ doesn’t even begin to cover it! The other musicians should have seen this! Oh, could you try this piece too? I’ve been wanting to play it!”
“I don’t mind, but… Merlin?”
“W-wait a second. I’m still reading the score.”
Violet rode the current Najin created. After an unimaginably long time spent alone pounding the piano keys in this tavern, she genuinely welcomed the guest who came looking for her twice a week.
“Good to see you, Najin!”
She no longer called him “the unfamiliar guest.” She no longer sat at the piano waiting. Instead she placed a chair outside the tavern and waited; when Najin arrived they went inside together.
“How about this one today?”
Every time she brought a new piece.
“Ah, really…”
She smiled brightly as she struck the keys. It was not a forced smile. She laughed as though she simply could not hold the joy in.
“You know, I love playing the piano so much. When I perform, my heart feels at ease. No matter what happened yesterday or what I have to face tomorrow, while I’m playing I can forget all of it.”
She stroked the keys.
Her pale fingers tapped them lightly—tuk.
“As long as I’m sitting here, I can be a performer. The thing I always wanted so badly…”
While the music continued she never hid her feelings. She smiled, furrowed her brows when she missed a beat, and let out a long, refreshing breath when the piece ended. In this place, at least, she could be Violet.
A shabby tavern.
A place filled with dust-covered instruments.
Far too humble and unremarkable for a Transcendent to claim as a sanctuary. Yet for the human named Violet, a space of this size was more than enough. She needed no splendid instruments, no glittering orchestra, no throng of listeners hanging on every note.
Old instruments, an old tavern, and one listener.
Those were all the elements the human Violet required in order to live. But Najin had no intention of letting her merely “live.”
So he added weight.
He did everything he could to tip the scales—so long tilted toward Viola Oldina—toward the side where Violet sat, so that for this moment at least she could feel joy.
“Najin.”
And Violet smiled.
“Thank you.”
Time flows. Slowly, but surely.
Time flowed, and the performance continued.
And the performance drew toward its end.
Toward the end of the score. Yet what waited at the end of the score was not an ending, but a repetition. There was no true end to the dream Viola Oldina had created.
Da capo.
Return to the beginning and play again.
Najin advanced toward the place where the repeat sign had been stamped—the mark that had forced this performance to loop hundreds of times. When he glanced back, Violet was following him.
She was walking in the footprints he had left.
Into her daily life, unchanged for centuries, Najin had introduced change. Drawn by that change, Violet was no longer simply repeating; she was moving forward with a clear direction.
Here.
Najin stopped for a moment.
One step short of the fall of the kingdom of Kassel. Looking ahead, he saw the repeat sign. Before that mark he halted his steps.
Because the choice was no longer his to make.
Shhhhhhhhhh…
Rain poured down. Perhaps this was the last rain. The moment it stopped and the next morning dawned, Violet would lose herself.
Tuk, tuduk, tudududuk…
Raindrops pattered from the corner of the building. Violet sat on the chair outside the tavern. She was wearing gloves. The same woman who had once said she hated gloves because they kept her from feeling the keys was wearing them today.
She held both hands cupped gently atop her thighs, as though she did not want anyone to see her fingers. Even after covering them once with gloves, she curled them further and hid them completely.
Tuk.
Najin stopped in front of her.
Ordinarily Violet would have risen at this point and guided him inside. Today she did not. Instead she lifted her head and looked up at him.
“….”
She chewed her lip as if she had no idea how or where to begin.
Najin glanced aside and met Merlin’s eyes. No conversation was needed. A single look and a single nod were enough. Merlin shrugged, as if to say she understood what he intended.
Do whatever you want.
That was the meaning. Najin gave a short laugh and returned his gaze to Violet.
“Violet. Do you like the rain, by any chance?”
“…Pardon?”
A rather abrupt question.
While Violet blinked, Najin held out his hand.
“Shall we walk for a bit? If you don’t mind getting wet.”
“…Ah.”
Recognizing his consideration, a faint smile touched Violet’s lips. She nodded slowly and took the hand he offered.
“Shall we? I actually like walking in the rain.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. In the old days I used to stand in the street all day when it rained, just staring blankly. I loved the sound of it. What about you, Najin?”
“Well. I don’t dislike it.”
The downpour intensified.
Hair soaked, clothes soaked, the two of them walked the streets without caring.
“It’s a real shame.”
The gloves, soaked through so thoroughly that the skin showed beneath, had lost their purpose of hiding her hands. Violet peeled them off. What emerged were fingers blackened and rotting.
“I wanted to keep playing.”
“….”
“With hands like these I won’t be able to touch the keys. What a pity. Still, thanks to you I’ve played to my heart’s content this past month. All the pieces I always wanted to try… I got to play them all.”
She took a light step forward. Standing one pace ahead of Najin, she looked back.
“You knew, didn’t you? Who I really am.”
Najin nodded.
“And the reason you never brought it up or asked was because you were being considerate of me, right?”
At that question Najin tilted his head.
“Considerate? You’re Violet, aren’t you?”
“…Aha.”
Just how far…
Violet murmured. Cutting through the murmur, Najin spoke.
“So.”
He looked straight at her.
“Whatever you say from this point on, I’ll take it as the words of the Violet standing in front of me. Not the gloomy person wearing a face like she’s about to die.”
“Did I look that gloomy?”
“Yes. Enough to suck the life out of anyone looking at you.”
Violet laughed softly, a series of little chuckles.
“All right then. Will you listen to my story? I just want to grumble a little.”
“Let’s do that. We have plenty of time.”
Violet walked through the falling rain. She took the lead; Najin followed behind.
“I hate the sword.”
She began as if talking to herself.
“My father and mother were stabbed to death right in front of me. Isn’t it natural to hate it? But what I hated even more was that I had talent with the blade.”
She spoke freely of a past she had never told anyone.
“When I grip a sword I’m terrified. My body moves on its own. Completely on its own—truly, without any input from me. Where to cut, how to carve someone open… those things just surface naturally. And then my body reflexively moves toward the optimal angle. As if it isn’t even mine.”
A talent anyone else would have killed for.
“When the head of House Oldina saw that, he adopted me. Said I had talent. Talent enough to become a Sword Master. He forced a sword into my hand and put me on the front lines. Kill the enemies invading this country. Your talent must be used for the nation.”
But—
“If I don’t do it, they said this country will fall. That it’ll be conquered. So I have to do it, they said.”
A talent Violet had never wanted in the slightest.
“So I killed them. Blood spatters, screams ring out. Blood streaks across my face, corpses roll at my feet, and I just watch it all with a blank expression. I was the one who killed them, right? So why… why doesn’t it feel like I did it? My body is moving by itself—why does that count as me? Why do they say I did it?”
The pouring rain beat against Violet’s body.
“I kept killing and killing until they told me I’d become a Sword Seeker. After a long while of the same thing they said I’d become a Sword Master. A Transcendent, apparently. The guardian of this nation, a guardian deity, a hero—that’s what they called me.”
She let out a hollow laugh.
“And then Ladon appeared. Truly… just meeting its eyes was enough to freeze me with fear. A dragon so terrifying I couldn’t even sense how to cut it… and once again they said I had to step up. I didn’t want to, but if I didn’t, the country would fall again. Again, and again!”
She shouted. The street was empty. Only the sound of rain quietly buried her voice.
“I fight every single day.”
She raked her fingers through her hair.
“There’s no end in sight. After every battle my body is a wreck. Even walking is hard. I don’t know how long this is supposed to go on, and damn it all…”
A grinding sound of teeth. Her pure white hair had already turned black. Viola Oldina raked her nails down her own forearm.
“I’m not a hero. I’m just scared.”
Her arms dropped limp.
“If I don’t do it, if I don’t move, nearly a million people die… and I can’t even free myself from that responsibility. Why? Because people think I’m a hero. Why? Because I’m the guardian.”
Because for them it was only natural that she should do it.
Because to them it was a right.
“I never had the courage to scream back, ‘Why is this my responsibility?’ or the courage to run. I just lived like this, driven by fear. How can I be a hero when none of it comes from my own will?”
She looked back at Najin.
“I can’t become a hero. I’m just a neurotic wreck tormented by compulsion. A wreck without even the courage to take responsibility…”
Her lips trembled.
“This is my true face. Isn’t it ridiculous?”
He had heard those words once before.
But this time they were different. Najin felt the scales tipping toward Violet. The effort of the past month had not been wasted after all.
The human before him, Violet, was wrestling with herself.
Originally the existence called “Viola Oldina” had been completely detached from Violet, yet now the boundary had blurred. Najin did not miss that fact.
“Why would that be ridiculous?”
“…What?”
Najin answered a question with a question.
“Did you want to become a hero?”
“…No. Not at all.”
“Then that means you spent sixty-seven years doing something you never wanted to become and never wanted to do, doesn’t it?”
“….”
“Whether it was fear or compulsion, you protected this country for a full sixty-seven years. Long enough that they came to think of it as ordinary. I honestly can’t understand why that would be ridiculous.”
Najin spoke flatly.
“Isn’t that enough? Sixty-seven years should be plenty. Wanting anything more is the strange part.”
“But if I don’t do it…”
“They’ll die. So you have to?”
“There’s no one else…”
At Violet’s answer Najin smiled.
“Do you know what the world calls someone who performs good even when they have no duty, no reason they must?”
“….”
“A hero. And a knight as well.”
The words he had wanted to say to Violet that day, before the world looped once more, Najin finally delivered now.
“You’re already a hero. Even if you deny it, that fact doesn’t change.”
“Me… a hero?”
“Yes. You.”
Violet opened and closed her mouth several times. She gave a disbelieving little laugh.
“Earlier you said I was Violet.”
“Yes. You are Violet.”
“Isn’t the hero Viola Oldina?”
“Isn’t that still you in the end? If Viola Oldina were a complete stranger to you, you wouldn’t need to agonize like this.”
“That’s sophistry. This isn’t such a simple story—”
“It’s also sound reasoning. The two have always been only a sheet of paper apart. It depends on how you choose to take it. And if you’re going to take it one way or the other, why not take it the better way?”
As if finding her own long fretting absurd, Violet laughed. She brushed her hair back.
“If you brush off something someone else has agonized over for nearly a hundred years that easily, it makes me look foolish.”
“What’s foolish about it? I know someone who’s been agonizing and regretting for a thousand years. A hundred years is nothing.”
So—Najin looked at Violet.
“What does the hero who protected this country for so long want to become? At the very last moment, I mean.”
“…If what you say is true, then I’ve lived more than a hundred years as a hero.”
“That would be the case.”
“I’m sick of it. I want to retire.”
“And then?”
“For the end, at least, I want to remain a performer. Is that pathetic? Enduring all this time only to run away at the last moment.”
“Not at all.”
Najin shook his head.
Then he spoke.
“When a hero retires, someone has to take their place. Unfortunately, though, it doesn’t look like this country has anyone who can…”
“….”
“Fortunately, there’s one right here.”
Najin crooked his mouth into a grin.
Then he pointed a finger at himself.
“An idiot who wants to become a hero.”
“Are you serious? That isn’t something you should say so lightly.”
“Saying things is always easy. The real question is whether you can prove it… but in this case it shouldn’t be much of a problem.”
Najin pointed a finger at the sky.
“I’m pretty good at killing dragons.”
The Star of Dragonslaying.
Najin’s second star glittered.