A Debt of the Heart
"...So you just came back?"
That was Choi Seungjun for you, but from where I stood, there had been no other choice.
Well, what else was I supposed to do?
Granted, it wouldn't have been difficult to seize the tail of her words and drag things out. Picking a fight wasn't beyond me, either. Tried to leave without so much as a word. Didn't give this side a single heads-up... And yet.
Either way, it would have amounted to nothing more than grasping at straws. Because, true enough—if she'd dropped even the faintest hint beforehand? We might have let it slide, but the Association's people would have had no choice but to sit her down and talk her out of it first. If only to avoid setting off the goddess's temper. It would have been the same even if Tiamat herself didn't see it that way; they could hardly play it cool with a goddess on the verge of walking out. In a word: damned if you do, damned if you don't.
All the more so from the Academy's standpoint. Just as she'd said, if Tiamat's Authority ever fell into their hands, the consequences would be catastrophic. Never mind the avatar itself being captured—even the Authority merely being analyzed would spell disaster. It would mean, in practical terms, that she could never again be sent to a battlefield...
Which is why I couldn't refute Tiamat's retort—what was the point of keeping her around, if she'd only become dead weight?
If I truly wanted to press the matter, I could have invoked moral obligation. Something along the lines of: leaving without a single word was a bit much, wasn't it? Not that either argument would have sounded like anything short of a joke coming from me. Even that much was, in truth, closer to a stretch.
Tiamat had never been a Constellation of this country to begin with. Which is to say, she owed the Republic of Korea no duty, no devotion, no responsibility of any kind. And it was hardly a subject the man who had taken Kim Mincheol's head had any standing to raise.
And so I'd had no choice but to slink out of the Association with my tail between my legs. Ordinarily, I might have drawn my blade then and there—half in earnest about putting her down, since there'd hardly be any problem with that now—but even that was off the table at the moment. The reason being none other than the bunch who'd left me with one favor or another before the meeting.
Well, even if I had, Choi Seungjun would have understood perfectly well. The Association, too. If she'd gone and left for China or Japan, that would have been a genuine problem. Countermeasures would have been called for, one way or another.
But either way—it wasn't my business to hear, nor mine to worry about.
Which is how I came to trudge all the way back to the boarding house.
Before long, the Academy would put out its own statement. Hers had been little more than a student-teacher's post, but the fact remained that Tiamat had worked there. An overseas dispatch, or something of the sort. Choi Seungjun would see to a plausible excuse, I imagined.
In other words, there was precious little for me to do at the moment.
And so. As if it were somebody else's problem, I found myself thinking: So that was what she'd been worrying about.
Tiamat, of course. To think she'd been carrying concerns like that. I didn't like it, but it felt as though a debt had taken root in my heart.
She was a monster. I had no intention of changing how I treated her, nor any plan to, but the situation was awkward in any number of ways—that much was true. Was showing up now nothing but a nuisance?
"What are you thinking about so hard?"
"Hm? Ah—just a little. About what happened today."
"I don't really know what's going on, but take it easy, okay?"
With no knowledge of the details, that was all Hayeon could offer. She was right, in a way—she'd know soon enough. When that time came, how would she react? Would she be flustered? Or would she grieve? She wouldn't be pleased, that much was certain. She and Tiamat had gotten along well enough, after all.
I stole a glance at her face. Pearl-bright eyes, blinking slowly. Looking at that hazy, dream-drunk face, a certain memory surfaced.
Back when I'd first heard what those bastards were after, the one who'd reined me in from sharing everything, no questions asked, had been her. In her words: how was Hayeon supposed to feel, hearing that she might be the very root of the Third Great Cataclysm? She might even try to vanish without a word...
Had she put it in exactly those terms? Something close, anyway. It had certainly been a persuasive argument. In truth, Hayeon had an almost pathological hatred of being a burden to me. Hiding wouldn't put her beyond their sight now, or ending her own life would amount to the same—points like those had been raised, too.
And yet, a future in which she tried to disappear for no reason other than sparing me a burden had loomed so vividly I could almost touch it. So the matters that counted as personal had been settled at the level of an offhand hint, nothing more.
Looking back on it now, maybe that advice had carried a piece of Tiamat's own heart in it.
"Hayeon."
"Yes?"
"What would you do if you heard you were a burden to someone precious to you?"
"You mean... to you, Oppa?"
"Er—anyone. Anyone at all...?"
"Then let me think it over from your perspective, Oppa."
Maybe that was why. I'd gone and voiced a question even I couldn't make sense of.
"I think I'd leave."
"Because you'd be a burden?"
"Yes."
That was Hayeon's answer, after a moment's quiet thought. In a sense, it was exactly what I'd expected. It chilled me a little, all the same.
"Then... what if that person came after you? To stop you?"
"You, Oppa?"
"No, not me. Anyone would do."
"The only person who'd come for me is you, Oppa..."
Was I supposed to call that the inferiority complex that comes with being an orphan, or find some other name for it? Either way, hearing it laid out like that, there was something achingly sad about it.
"Well... I'd think it through from every angle. I can't say for certain without knowing the situation."
"I see."
I'd expected as much, but she still wouldn't lightly promise to turn back. Tiamat's concerns back then, it seemed, had been dead on.
"But..."
"Still. I'd be happy."
Like flowers bursting into full bloom, Hayeon smiled as she said it. A soft, lingering smile. It was only a handful of words, but the sight of her saying them as though genuinely delighted held me spellbound for a moment. Before I knew it, I was dragging a dry hand down my face.
"Is that so."
"Yes."
I see. So she'd be happy, huh. Good grief—what was I even supposed to say to that. I couldn't begin to wrap my head around it, and a feeling of utter helplessness washed over me all the same.
...Well. Nothing for it. I rose from my seat.
"Hayeon."
"Should I head up first?"
"Yeah."
Fortunately, no explanation seemed necessary. The ability I unfolded, slow and deliberate, gradually widened its reach. The sense I usually kept forcibly blindfolded—eyes squeezed shut, gaze wrenched away—stretched past the city and locked onto her presence.
...If I'm being honest, I was just as reluctant now as I'd ever been. No—at the end of the day, she was a monster, that thing. Set against the daily labor of looking monsters in the eye and holding myself back, there was no reason to seize her on her way out, however faintly unpleasant it felt.
And yet. At the same time, I couldn't stop myself from thinking. That was what she'd said. That it was obvious she'd only be a burden to this country from here on out. And that was why she was leaving it. It wasn't wrong. It probably wasn't a lie, either. But it wasn't the whole of her heart, either.
Everything has its causes and its effects. Add two to one and you get three; flowers bloom where water has been spilled. Leaving just because she'd be dead weight? As if.
Fuck's sake—then what about the Mesopotamian bastards? From the moment Tiamat had settled in this country, the monsters of Mesopotamian myth had had no choice but to set their sights on South Korea. So what about those monsters, then? No problem, since the Muslims would slaughter them for us anyway? As if.
In other words, her decision to leave couldn't have hinged solely on the purpose of those bastards she'd only just learned of. It was true that some part of me felt like asking what difference it made; it was equally true that she owed this country no devotion. Hell, I wasn't the type to go around telling anyone to devote themselves to this country in the first place. And yet.
A vague sense of duty. Or a debt of the heart. Something that had no better name had been tickling at my insides for a while now. It wasn't desperate, exactly. If I had to put a shape to it: the feeling of wanting to hold her back, one last time. Honestly, the reality was that even that didn't much appeal to me. Even so. Something about letting it end like this felt grimy, like grease that wouldn't wash off.
And wasn't that only natural? The monsters of Mesopotamian myth were after her head this very moment, same as ever. She'd come to this country knowing full well they would. There must have been some calculation in it, too. The benefit she could bring. The expectation that a country like this one, at its current strength, might actually manage to put those monsters down. Or the gamble of truly entrusting everything to the Islamic holy warriors—whatever the case. With a decent stretch of distance between here and Mesopotamia to begin with, maybe she'd simply figured it was far enough. Either way, she had stayed in this country for years on that reasoning. Right up until Kim Mincheol—born the same year as me—had more or less grown into a man.
If there was a reason for someone like her to change her mind only now... Kim Mincheol's death, then. Who could say. Maybe I was right. Maybe I was dead wrong. But try as I might, I couldn't think of it any other way.
And besides. As the man who had killed a child in front of its mother, it was hard not to feel some prick of conscience over it. Or some manner of obligation.
Pulling my coat from its hook on the wall, I stepped out of the room.