Fate
"Yeonmin. I understand you stepped in because you pitied humanity's tragedies. But you can't save all of them, can you? The people of this world have destinies of their own."
The meal was over, and so was the fire-watching. After we returned to the interrogation room and traded a few brief questions and answers with Agent Park, Helena said this to me once the two of us were alone.
She'd been quiet the whole way back; apparently she'd been turning it over in her head the entire time. It seemed she was jealous that I'd taken an interest in humans other than herself. How cute.
That said, I had been careless. I'd nearly been found out by Agent Park, hadn't I? Not that I was especially worried about being found out—but telling children that Santa Claus is really just Mom and Dad is a truth you want to put off as long as you can. You wait until they're mature enough to accept it.
In the same way, the humans here needed to accept that I had no intention of harming them. Whether they learned that the restraints meant nothing to me, or that I could grant their wishes whenever I pleased—only then would knowing those things not cause problems.
If they found out now that the restraints were meaningless? Well... a great many tedious things might follow. Exorcists arriving to seal me away, or the Vatican sending someone, or being poured into concrete and dumped in the sea...
At any rate, I had no desire to stir up trouble in the homeland I'd finally returned to, so I was inclined to agree with Helena. In fact, that was already my intention. But if it was for the reason she'd given, I couldn't accept it.
"Helena. Just because we can't save everyone doesn't mean we should leave them to die. If a puppy or a kitten were collapsing on the roadside, would you simply walk past?"
"That's not what I... Do humans look like that to you, Yeonmin?"
"It's just an analogy. If I truly saw them that way, I wouldn't eat meat. And I do, don't I?"
I'd come close to letting her misunderstand, but I fended it off rather neatly. All life may be equal in principle, but that doesn't mean you can actually look at one species the same way you look at another. Dogs are dogs, and cats are cats. That's just how it is.
"And there's no law that says even I can't intervene in fate. The moment anyone interacts with anyone else, they can't help but influence each other's destinies—even if they only brush past one another. I think that's true whether I'm a god or not."
I'd given her a piece of candy; now came a bitter pill to go with it. However much humans called me a god, that didn't mean I was forbidden from involving myself in their lives. The reason I kept my interventions to a minimum was simply that I wanted to watch their stories unfold. If I saved them and then started telling them to do this and not that, that would be a tale of puppets I'd strung up myself—not the brilliant narratives they created on their own.
Was that too self-centered a way of thinking? But if my intervening were truly off-limits... wouldn't someone have come to stop me already?
Helena, however, seemed to be arguing from a rather different direction.
"Yes, I suppose nothing is absolutely forbidden. But Yeonmin—I've never studied theology, yet I know a goddess and her faithful are bound together. Gods live on faith. And in this place, there's only one person who offers you any. If you keep spending your power on people who don't even know you used it... and then you disappear..."
Gods live on faith. That was the first I'd heard of it. And yet, once I listened, it sounded strangely plausible. Over long years of granting human wishes, they had given me a name. They had guessed at my appearance, painted pictures, carved statues. Perhaps that was what had shaped the body I wore now.
A god can only exist if there are believers. And here, never mind worshippers—the only person who even knew I existed was Helena. So if I burned through all the power I'd accumulated in that other world, it would be a disaster. That was what she was worrying about.
Ah. She was worrying about me.
The thought was so dear that a smile rose on its own.
"You're worried about me? How sweet."
"Well, 'worried'... for you it must be like a dog fretting over its owner. But I don't know a soul here, and without you this place would be far too lonely. That's all I'm trying to say."
She'd been so stern when she told me not to go around saving people—and now, at a simple thank-you, Helena's face went red and she squirmed with embarrassment. Watching her, something in my chest ached.
She'd grown up in the most sensitive years of her life seeing nothing but the worst of things. Instead of love and friendship, she'd known revenge and betrayal. Of course kinder feelings would feel foreign to her.
...A sin I would carry forever, I supposed. That Helena had become this way—I had my share in that, after all.
"All right. You don't want me to disappear, is that it? I'll try not to go around changing people's fates, as much as I can."
So if it was Helena asking, I intended to listen, as a rule. If what she said was reasonable, of course I should. And even if it was just a sulk, I ought to indulge her.
Granting other people's wishes wasn't particularly taxing, of course. It was simply bringing their own will into being. Whether it was turning Agent Park into a beautiful girl, or giving that firefighter the power to save others—I had only fulfilled what the two of them already wanted. Even so, Helena had asked me not to. So I would avoid it if I could.
Ah—and "if I could" meant that if circumstances left me no choice, I might well do it anyway. I could hardly stand by and watch someone die right in front of me, could I?
"Good. I'm glad."
And that much of an answer seemed to be enough for Helena. She hadn't really wanted to tack on some absolute rule about never saving anyone, either. The conflict that had briefly threatened to flare up fizzled out as simply as that.
Helena had always resolved her conflicts with a gun, after all. She didn't really know how to settle things with words, so perhaps she was just letting it slide in this vague, unfinished way. Which was fortunate. She hadn't shoved a promise or a contract at me, or made me swear an oath.
With that small, relieved feeling, I half-reclined on the bed, and Helena followed, throwing herself down beside me. Both our legs stuck out over the edge—but if your thighs made it onto the mattress, that counted as lying down, didn't it?
We stared blankly at the ceiling like that, until Helena murmured in a small voice.
"Beds are soft here too. No—the beds in this world might even be softer."
It was a silent interrogation room with no one but the two of us, so there was no chance of missing it. Even if it was meant as a mutter to herself, when she said it right beside me like that, wasn't it for me to hear?
So I answered at once.
"Are they? I never had a body in that other world, so I wouldn't really know."
"Ah... that's right. For you, every sensation here must be new."
"Hehe."
Not entirely new, if I was being honest. I had originally been a person of this world. But in the broader view, the world had changed so much that some of it did feel fresh. And so I found myself looking forward to the life I would share with Helena here. So long as the people of this place didn't decide I was a threat, we could live however we liked, couldn't we?
"Helena. Once we get out of here, what do you want to do? Anything you want to try, anything you want to eat. Somewhere you want to go is fine too."
So I asked her, on an impulse. Staying quietly at home with no worries about food or shelter could be a kind of happiness—but Helena had spent half her life on revenge, and I wanted her to be happy now with a richer range of experiences.
Helena, however, only sighed at my words.
"I don't know. I never thought about anything except killing every last member of that bandit gang. Once that was over, I was going to follow Mom and Dad... Thanks to you, I can't even do that. How underhanded, telling me they'd have wanted me to live."
"Heheh. I'll take that as a thank-you."
"Shameless goddess."
Helena still hadn't fully stepped out of those ten-odd wretched years. But if she could grumble at me and look even a little brighter for it, I was more than willing to be as insufferable as she needed.
Around then, Agent Park returned to our interrogation room.
"I bring good news. Both of you have shown a strong desire to settle in our world, so once you've adapted to the culture here, I see no reason you shouldn't be naturalized. Only, in Yeonmin's case, I'm afraid you'll still need to wear the restraints, troublesome as that may be."
"I understand. But if we're to adapt to the culture—how do you judge that, exactly?"
"The criteria are rather subjective, I'm afraid. From the legal basics—don't kill people, don't take other people's property—all the way to cultural ones, like not climbing onto a bed with your shoes on."
"Ah... I didn't put my feet on the bed, so please let it slide."
"Just this once."
I hadn't wanted to put my shoes on the bed anyway, so it wasn't going to be an issue—but Agent Park seemed to be joking to ease the tension, so I played along. Helena, taking it for a genuine reprimand, flinched and hurriedly pulled her shoes off.
"And to help you with that, a dedicated case officer will be assigned. We'll make sure it's a woman, so neither of you is uncomfortable. If you could wait just a little longer, I'd be grateful."
"But Agent Park, you're a woman, aren't you? Can't you just stay with us? I was only just starting to get used to you."
"Ah, that's not really my field..."
A parting, already on the horizon. No. If the thread broke here, I wouldn't get to hear what conflicts arose between Agent Park and the people around her—her family—or how she was received, or how she adapted. I wouldn't get to hear that story!
And I couldn't exactly stretch out my thought-form every moment to stalk her, either. Even slightly sensitive people could feel the thing completely.
"What a shame. And here I thought we'd gotten rather close, Agent Park."
I must have looked a little downcast at the thought of missing it, because Agent Park smiled gently and soothed me.
"I can always visit often, can't I? Seeing you like this puts my mind somewhat at ease. You show so many human qualities—I can't tell you what a relief that is. At this rate, the day we can take those restraints off doesn't seem far away."
Well, of course. I was human to begin with. And far more at home with modern morals than with the cold-hearted ways of that other world.
Fine, then—if she was going to visit often, that would do. I'd have to ask how she was getting on each time. Watching a story in real time was a pleasure, but hearing the plot afterward and imagining everything that had happened in between was fun too, wasn't it?
I'd be looking forward to seeing what kind of storyteller she was.