Berries of Life
Inside the quiet bedroom of the villa.
"Haa... haa..."
Only the sound of labored breathing echoed faintly through the room. Logan gently wiped Anya's pale forehead with a wet towel.
Just moments ago, the shock of coughing up blood had drained her strength entirely, leaving her bedridden. Her ghostly white face and faintly trembling eyelashes laid bare just how precarious her condition was.
"...I'm sorry, Logan. Because of me... I might infect you somehow, so please, you have to stay away from me..."
Anya whispered, forcing her eyes open. Her voice cracked, and her gaze was shadowed with apology—and resignation.
"I can't do that."
Logan answered firmly, laying a freshly wrung-out cloth across her forehead.
"I'm fine, so please don't worry about me. Just focus on resting, Anya."
"...Logan..."
No matter how many times Anya insisted he was fine, no matter how many times she told him to stay away, Logan silently stayed by her side, caring for her.
He changed the towel, brought her water, tucked in her rumpled blanket. His hands were clumsy at it, but the sincerity behind them—his genuine worry—stirred something quiet and deep in Anya's heart.
How long had it been since she'd felt another person's warmth? Aside from her loyal guard knight Renate, no one had tended to her with such devotion.
Ever since she'd fallen to this nameless illness, the world had turned its back on her. Everyone grew distant, whispered behind their hands, avoided her.
Even her father, who held the greatest power in the Empire, had feared the unknown disease and turned away from her—effectively exiling her to this remote place.
Wasting away in despair, day after agonizing day, she had come to understand instinctively that her life was nearly over.
So she had asked Renate. She wanted to spend her final moments somewhere quiet, where no one knew her, and pass on peacefully.
It was a request almost impossible to believe from a thirteen-year-old girl's lips, but Renate had swallowed her tears and promised to grant her liege's last wish.
At the same time, she'd carried a sliver of hope—thin as a spider's silk—when she came to this frontier village. She pinned her faith on the legendary medicinal herb said to grow here, and on the presence of her old friend Fiona, whom she had known for many years.
But Anya herself had all but given up on being cured. She only wished her final road would be a little less lonely.
And then, against all expectation, she had met a boy her own age here. Logan.
A boy who, like her, carried the weight of a hard life on young shoulders. When she heard his circumstances, she felt a kinship with him, and sorrow for him. And she'd been terrified that he might somehow catch her terrible disease.
And yet Logan... even after witnessing her vomit blood, he showed not the slightest trace of fear or revulsion. Instead, he worried over her all the more and stayed at her side.
His calm, heartfelt manner made a frozen corner of Anya's heart feel as though it were melting, warm and soft.
But that warmth lasted only a moment. She faced the bitter reality.
...This is only because of the commission, isn't it. Not for my sake.
He was so devoted, surely, because of the job with its handsome pay. And through his stories, she had learned all too well that his childhood sweetheart Irene already held a deep place in his heart.
...How pathetic of me. Getting jealous in a situation like this...
Anya gave a self-deprecating smile at her own pettiness. And yet, even so, in this moment, Logan's tenderness and warmth felt achingly precious, desperately dear.
She knew it was selfish. Even so, she decided to allow herself to keep receiving his kindness a little longer.
After all, the time she had left was running short.
Late that night.
At the villa's front entrance, Logan reported to Renate on Anya's condition from earlier in the day.
Listening to his account, Renate couldn't hide her conflicted expression.
"...Right. Thank you for your hard work today, as well. And truly, thank you. You're free to head home now. Or... if this makes you reluctant to continue the commission—reluctant to keep working here at all—then you may quit whenever you wish. There will be no breach penalty."
Renate meant every word. She had entrusted Logan with this commission without ever properly telling him what illness Anya suffered from. She could have excused herself, claiming she'd have told him if she'd known what the disease was—but she didn't.
After all...
She had taken on his service believing that her own body, after years of guarding Anya at close quarters, showed no ill effects, so nothing contagious could be at work. But she had told him nothing of any of it.
It wouldn't have been strange at all if he announced he was quitting that very moment.
Yet contrary to Renate's expectations, Logan answered without a moment's hesitation.
"No. I'll continue."
"I cannot leave Lady Anya alone like this... no—I can't leave Anya alone."
"...I see. Truly... thank you. I'm sorry to ask this, but stay with us a little longer."
Renate bowed her head deeply to Logan in gratitude, her voice trembling slightly.
"Yes. I'll come again tomorrow morning."
As Logan bowed and withdrew, Fiona approached Renate, who was watching his retreating figure with complicated eyes. She, too, was just returning from searching the forest, same as Renate.
"What did I tell you? That boy's trustworthy."
Fiona said with a grin.
"...Yes, you were right, Fiona. I admit it. But... Her Highness's condition keeps getting worse. I don't think she has much time left. From tomorrow on, I'll have to widen the search area even further."
Anxiety clouded Renate's face. Fiona nodded silently, but her own heart was no less heavy.
...It's going to be difficult, I'm afraid. That herb is practically a legend.
The illness Anya suffered from. Even the Empire's finest physicians had been unable to identify its cause or find any cure—an utterly unknown affliction.
Red and purple blotches appearing beneath the skin, bleeding gums, crushing fatigue, and in the end, coughing up blood and internal hemorrhaging leading to death. A horrific, incurable disease.
People called it by many different names—the Blood Curse, the Wasting Rot—and feared it.
Fiona grieved for her old friend Renate, who had come to her after so long, and for the young liege Renate served. But honestly, she held out almost no hope.
All she could do was give everything she had, right up until the very end.
Please... let Her Highness suffer even a little less... and let her face her final moments in some small measure of peace, thanks to a good friend like Logan.
Fiona looked up at the night sky and prayed quietly.
The dark road home.
Logan's mind was consumed entirely by thoughts of Anya's symptoms.
Suddenly coughing up blood... her complexion was terrible, too. And the corners of her mouth looked... some strange color. She's always seemed so listless... what was that again... I know I've heard of this...
He raked through the faint fragments of memory until his head ached.
He'd been an ordinary young man on Earth in his past life, hardly rich in medical knowledge, but he struggled desperately to find a clue somewhere in the sea of information he'd once come across.
There had to be something—a way to save Anya, something that could ease her pain.
After walking a long while, lost in deep thought, Logan suddenly stopped and smacked his fist into his palm, as if he'd finally remembered something.
Ah! That's it! The disease caused by vitamin deficiency...!
Scurvy. According to the knowledge he carried from his past life, it was the illness that plagued sailors on long voyages, starved of fresh food.
The symptoms that appeared when a lack of fresh fruit and vegetables led to vitamin C deficiency were startlingly similar to the suffering Anya endured.
Of course, this was a fantasy world, and there was no guarantee Anya's illness really was scurvy. Even a moment's thought made it clear how absurd it was for a noble lady like Anya to have such a disease in the first place.
But still...
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. It's worth a try!
So thinking, Logan arrived home.
When he opened the front door, despite the late hour, Irene was waiting for him with a worried face.
"Logan! You're just now getting home?"
"Irene... I told you not to wait up for me."
Logan spoke with feeling, guilt and gratitude tangled together.
"But... if I don't see you for even a moment like this, I go the whole day without seeing your face."
Irene said, pouting her lips. At the simple honesty of it, Logan felt the fatigue of the day melt away like snow.
"...Irene..."
But at the same time, the image of Anya suffering rose in his mind—a girl the same age as Irene—and his heart grew heavy.
A girl born into privilege, yet tormented by disease, waiting for death all alone.
Sorrow washed over him at the thought that she might never even get the chance to spread her talents freely the way Irene did, bright and healthy.
Still, it's too early to give up. If I'm right about what I've found... there might still be time to save her, if I hurry.
While Logan was lost in that thought, Irene called out to him with a discontented expression.
"Logan..."
"Hm? What is it, Irene?"
"...How long do you have to keep doing that commission?"
There was no hiding the displeasure in Irene's voice.
"You're earning way more money than before now, aren't you? So why are you pushing yourself so hard? Leaving early every morning and coming back late at night... Can't you just... quit?"
Part of it was guilt over watching Logan suffer for her sake every day—but honestly, there was another reason too.
Of all things, the commission was guarding a noble lady. And he had to stay by her side all day, no less. Somehow, it left her feeling uneasy and unsettled.
"I can't quit, Irene."
At Logan's firm answer, Irene's face stiffened.
"Logan...! Don't tell me... has that noble girl said something to you...?"
A sudden fear seized her—what if Logan had lost his heart to that girl, Anya? Irene found herself about to press him in a sharp, cutting voice.
But Logan cut her off and explained calmly.
"Irene, you're not someone who should let your talent rot in a backwater village like this."
"Wh... what?"
Caught completely off guard, Irene could only stare at him, dumbfounded.
"Your talent for magic is truly extraordinary. If you study and train properly, you could become a great mage whose name goes down in history. And for that, you need to attend the Empire's Magic Tower Academy. But for that, we don't have nearly enough money yet. This commission pays extremely well. If I see it through to the end... I can lay the groundwork to make your dream come true."
"The Magic Tower... Academy...?"
Irene's eyes went round at this news she'd never heard before.
"Yeah. I may not know much about magic, but this much I know for certain. Irene, you are truly special."
At Logan's sincere eyes and praise, Irene felt the unpleasantness and anxiety she'd been harboring moments before melt away like snow.
She still couldn't be sure she really possessed that much talent. But she could know, with certainty, just how much Logan cherished and cared for her.
And so she decided not to dig in her heels any further.
"O... okay... I understand, Logan..."
After all, Irene firmly believed there was no way Logan could hold anyone else—especially any other woman—more dear than her.
The next day, Logan left the house far earlier than usual, before dawn. His destination was not the villa where Anya stayed, but the forest on the village's outskirts.
In the darkness, he busily searched for something, and by the time the sun rose, he had filled a small basket to the brim.
"Mmm... this should be enough."
The basket was packed with freshly picked wild berries and small, nameless tart fruits of every kind.
He was relying on the hazy memories of his past life, so he couldn't be certain any of it would truly help Anya's illness. For all he knew, her disease wasn't scurvy at all.
But... if I don't try, nothing will change.
Basket in hand, Logan hurried toward the villa. When he arrived, Anya was already awake, sitting propped up against the headboard of her bed, her face pale.
Renate was nowhere to be seen. Presumably she had set out for the forest even earlier, in search of that medicinal herb.
"Ah, Logan... you've come even earlier today."
Anya greeted him in a feeble voice.
"Good morning, Anya. How are you feeling?"
"Oh... don't worry about me... thanks to your care, Logan, I feel much better..."
So saying, Anya tried to summon a faint smile, but there wasn't a trace of color in her lips. Logan wasted no more time and held out the basket he'd brought before her.
"Wh-what is this, Logan?"
Anya asked, puzzled, looking at the small red fruits inside the basket.
"I picked them in the forest. Would you like to try some? I'm sure they'll be good for you."
Logan said, as naturally as he could manage.
"B-but... Renate told me not to eat anything without permission..."
Anya hesitated. In her gravely weakened state, eating unverified food could be dangerous.
But... it was plain to see that Logan had wandered the forest since before dawn and picked these himself, just for her.
She could feel his thoughtful, warm sincerity. She didn't want to refuse such devotion and care.
And so Anya made up her mind.
"...All right. I'll try one."
With trembling fingers, she picked the single ripest wild raspberry from the basket and carefully placed it in her mouth.
In that instant—
"Ah...!"
Sweet-tart flavor flooded her mouth along with a fresh, fragrant aroma, sharply awakening a palate that had known nothing but bland porridge for so long.
And somehow, faint though it was, she even felt a flicker of life returning to her body.
"Logan... what is this...?"
Anya stared at him in astonishment. Seeing her reaction, Logan exhaled a quiet sigh of relief inside and spoke with conviction.
"Anya. Trust me, and eat a little more. Your body will get stronger—I promise."
"...Yes. All right, Logan."
Anya hesitated no longer. Like a child, she picked the fruits from the basket one by one and brought them to her mouth.
She winced now and then at their tartness, but her expression looked far brighter than before.
For a girl who'd been forced to eat nothing but porridge day after day, this fresh, vivid taste was itself a wellspring of vitality.
Watching the basket empty so quickly, Logan smiled quietly to himself.
It really was the right call, then... thank goodness...
In Anya, he saw hope—hope that he could save her.
Because with every fruit she ate, a faint flush of color seemed to return, ever so slightly, to her pallid cheeks.
