The Good-Natured Lie
Rustle.
Then the shadows shifted, and Sylvia felt someone sit down beside her. She only frowned, thinking, Honestly, who’s meddling so shamelessly now? but she didn’t bother to sit up.
She knew who it was from his presence alone. More than that, a few days ago he had even said, with an oddly offhand air, “You’re rather unpleasant, aren’t you?”
He hadn’t sounded mocking. He had looked down at her with complete composure, as though he had only just realized it.
What had she said then? Something like, “Mind your own business, you idiot,” and he had, with his usual shamelessness, replied, “Me? People say I’m kind. That was you, with your own mouth,” while handing her a glass that flashed with liquor.
“Here.”
Just as before, he offered her a cool drink.
He’d said he didn’t want to disappoint her, and after she’d called him kind once, he was really doing his damnedest to live up to it.
But the kinder Owen was, the more awkward Sylvia found him.
Was it because she had learned, belatedly, that Owen truly was a good person in a way that didn’t suit him at all? Or because she had only now started to feel uneasy about that night, about how she had used him as much as she liked and then left him there?
Every time you see Heston, I feel awful. I nearly threw up then.
That was what Owen had said the first day she had gone to him because of their mana sharing.
His face had been sick with it.
Back then she had been so furious at the threat that she’d muttered, What, are you insane? Honestly, everyone feels that kind of thing. If you’re so aggrieved, then cry about it too and go like whoever you like. Is it my fault you’re the only one who’s emotionless like a doll? But now that she thought about it, emotions were probably like the body: if someone else could manipulate them against your will, it wouldn’t feel pleasant at all.
And Owen really hadn’t carried out the threat.
Not only that, he had even swallowed a handful of the strong painkiller Paractin so that she wouldn’t hurt because of it—when she’d pressed him hard about it, he’d shown her his fist and asked, “This much?” like a fool, and Sylvia had nearly fainted on the spot. So now, too, she didn’t like the thought of her own queasiness over Heston being passed on to him. Not because she was embarrassed, but because Owen might genuinely suffer for it.
So Sylvia took the glass from Owen without so much as brushing his fingers, then deliberately scooted her hips away from him until the distance between them was obvious. Owen only glanced at her once and said nothing.
Which only made Sylvia blurt out an excuse.
“I mean… if the sharing gets any worse, that wouldn’t be good.”
Owen gave a short laugh. While Sylvia tried to fill the silence by gulping down the liquor, the banquet hall and the first-floor terrace thrummed with music and people dancing.
“If you’re going to brood like that, wouldn’t it be better to just go upstairs and see for yourself what’s going on?”
“Gah. Why is this so strong?”
Sylvia coughed and nearly set the glass down with a clatter. Her face was already flushing hot. Owen looked at her with wide, innocent eyes, as though he hadn’t expected that reaction at all.
“You seemed to drink whatever I gave you.”
“……”
“I thought you could handle it.”
“I can. Just not this strong.”
“I see.”
With all the swagger of a man who wasn’t really swaggering at all, Owen turned away and took a sip of his own drink. Sylvia watched the loose fall of his long hair catch the light, and before she knew it she was thinking that she wanted to touch it a little. Startled, she jerked her head away.
No, really, I can’t do this to a good kid.
All of this was Owen’s fault anyway—he’d complain out loud, but in the end he always gave in to Sylvia’s wishes.
He had insisted he wouldn’t treat the wound, and before long his hand had been wrapped in bandages and thick ointment smeared over his face. Since Owen’s injuries were visible only to Sylvia, to everyone else it looked as though he’d simply slathered salve over a perfectly ordinary face and body. She had actually heard more than once that he must be insane. And even while people treated him like that, he still did what Sylvia wanted.
Sylvia pressed a hand to her throbbing head and winced.
“I’m not like this for no reason. I already saw something.”
Only after she answered Owen’s belated suggestion that she go see for herself did he ask, lightly, “What?”
“Her hair… fixing his hair.”
Sylvia’s expression was glum. Just thinking of it made her stomach turn.
Before they entered the dining room, the Empress Princess Catherine had tugged on Heston’s arm and crooked a finger at him, telling him to lower his head for a moment. Heston, like a loyal dog, had dutifully bowed before her, and then the princess’s graceful hand had softly combed through his hair.
She had only seen Heston from behind, but the princess had been different. That tender look in her eyes, the warm bloom of happiness on her face.
“What is there to fix? His hair isn’t even that long.”
“Exactly. Heston’s hair’s all silky just from running a hand through it.”
“Silky? Then mine is…”
“Yours is a little… tousled.”
As if to prove it, she shook her own head and then, while leaning down and offering it up to him, found herself absentmindedly touching her hair. Only then did Sylvia recoil, flustered, and pull her hand away.
“Is it?”
Of course, Owen had only been tugging at the ends of his hair, checking whether it was smooth enough to satisfy his own taste.
“But you, too…”
Owen shifted his gaze from his hair to Sylvia’s pink head, which had already started drooping pitifully.
“You’re really making a fuss over that. It’s nothing.”
“That’s just what unrequited love is like.”
“What a miserable fate.”
“I’ll get over it. I will.”
“Sure you will.”
“How long could I possibly keep liking him? Now that he belongs to another woman. If I get hurt enough, I’ll forget.”
“Wonder if it’ll take twenty years this time.”
“Hey!”
Sylvia lifted her hand as if to swing a fist at him. But before long the arm dropped limply back down, and she buried her face in her thigh again.
“My stomach’s churning.”
“I’m fine.”
“So what am I supposed to do about it? You drink well.”
“It’s not that. Did the sharing stop? I’m not really getting much through. So sex really is the surefire fix?”
“Ah, maybe. Is the medicine working?”
Sylvia missed the tail end of his muttered remark and agreed with him in all innocence.
Her speech was already stretching out. Communication still worked, more or less, but she was definitely plastered. Owen lifted the pink-haired head that had sagged onto the table and even brushed back the hair that had fallen over her face, checking her condition.
“Do you take medicine too?”
“Medicine?”
She repeated the word after every syllable, which was drunkenness plain and simple.
“Yeah, medicine. The stuff that lowers your heart rate, loosens your body, keeps your emotions under control, and whatever else.”
He went on and on, even about the things she hadn’t asked, which was also drunkenness.
“You’re quite the pill-popper. Does it make things less hard if you take that much?”
“No. I’m taking it because of you. You said you get queasy when you see Heston. If I were you and got flustered seeing Michelle, I’d probably feel weird too…”
“Because of me?”
“Yeah.”
“Then give it to me.”
At that, without resisting even once, he rummaged through his pockets and handed over the medicine. Owen took it, tore open the packet, and emptied the contents into his palm all at once, mixing them together.
Sylvia, flustered, reached out to snatch it back a beat too late, but it did no good.
“Uh… you’re not supposed to take that much. Uh… huh?”
But the pill-popper who had swallowed a fistful of Paractin didn’t pour the gathered medicine into his mouth. He threw it into the fire instead. Sylvia stared blankly as all the pills vanished into the blaze.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t take it. I’ll pray piously day and night and even stop this thing from standing up in the morning if I have to, so don’t take stuff like that.”
“You…”
It was ridiculous for him to say that to her when he’d taken something even stronger than all that Paractin. Really, it wasn’t funny—she knew he was worried, but still.
Meanwhile, after confirming that the packet and everything in it had burned to ash, Owen simply stood and went inside. No goodnight, no “You’re drunk, go in quickly.”
“What a strange man.”
She pouted, and then suddenly her arm was lifted and her body hauled upright.
“Ow!”
When she complained that it felt like her arm was about to come out of its socket, Owen exhaled sharply and tossed her over his shoulder.
His hard shoulder pressed into her stomach, and her head flipped upside down, slamming hard against his back.
“Are you crazy?”
“How do you sneak your way in here and end up in a place like this?”
Owen kicked sand over the fire Sylvia had made, stamping it out, then locked her thigh in place with his arm.
“There were four couples practically making out around here.”
“Y-you’re making that up.”
Every time Owen moved, her face got shoved into his back and her stomach ached.
Whether she liked it or not, Owen carried her along without ceremony, as if she were a bundle of luggage, and marched on. As they climbed the stairs, Sylvia threatened, “I’ll puke, right here. I’ll puke on you, right here,” but Owen immediately retaliated with, “Stop breathing weird crap onto my back. I’m getting hard,” and that shut her up at once.
He carried her all the way to her room on the east side of the third floor and set her down there without missing a step.
“Go in.”
He roughly swept back her tangled hair and tipped his chin toward the door.
Sylvia glared at him with narrowed eyes, feeling as if she’d been caught carousing and dragged home in disgrace, then slammed the door shut with a bang. Owen wondered if, kind as he might be, he really needed to clean up after such an obnoxious person in Heston’s place.
With his arms folded, he leaned against the wall beside the door for a moment, rolling his eyes, then let out a short sigh and went back to his own room.
“……”
Meanwhile, the one watching them from behind the corner slowly lowered the packet of medicine in his hand. Half-hidden by the dark shadow, it was, naturally, Heston.
He had come with medicine for Sylvia because she’d said she’d been feeling ill for days, and he had seen Owen bringing her back. The moment he saw it, a short sound of surprise was swallowed back into his throat.
Without his realizing it, Owen and Sylvia seemed to have grown quite close.
Heston even drew on mana for a moment to conceal his presence, then, wondering if there was any need for that at all, loosened the tension in his body.
After all, Owen had only been taking care of Sylvia in his stead.
In my stead?
For an instant, a filthy feeling slammed into the back of Heston’s head. But Heston was the sort of man with a stubborn conscience, and he couldn’t bear the fact that he had harbored such a bad thought, even for a moment, toward a friend who had only shown him goodwill. He frowned, turned away, and left.
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