Chapter 33: The First Letter (33)
Chapter 33: The First Letter (33)
The temple corridors were quiet. The only people bustling about were the priests and the families of the patients. Otherwise, it was just people like me, being discharged.
Either way, there was no reason for it to be noisy. While friends or relatives coming to pick up a discharged patient might cause a bit of a stir, the temple was fundamentally a place where silence was required.
Unless someone was remarkably tactless, they usually saved their reunions for after they had left the temple grounds.
I had finished my discharge formalities, but no one was here to meet me.
It was because Celine had already left.
Compared to my duel with Seria or the demonic beast subjugation, my injuries were on the minor side. I was scheduled to be discharged today, and Celine had come to visit after hearing the news.
But since things ended the way they did, it seemed a cold front would be lingering between us for a while.
Thinking of her made my head hurt again. I scratched my scalp vigorously.
Until the very end, Celine had appealed to me as if she were the victim.
"I just... I just talked a bit of trash behind her back. Everyone does that! I never told anyone to bully her. I just said she was a bit of a bitch!"
"That might have been the trigger..."
"Then how many people do you think would get ostracized at the Academy every single day?"
At the chill in Celine’s voice, I could only smack my lips and look away. Celine was still grinding her teeth, clearly still fuming.
I suppose talking behind someone's back was just a daily occurrence in the world of girls. It was something I couldn't truly understand.
"It’s that girl's fault she’s isolated and has no friends! She’s been like that for ages. Who actually went out of their way to bully her? No matter how you look at it, does it make sense for lower nobles to go poking into the private affairs of the Yurdina family?"
"...Then who?"
"Obviously there’s a high-ranking noble behind it, you idiot!"
Celine was so frustrated that she huffed and stomped her feet. If that was the case, it seemed Celine really wasn't the ringleader.
Even so, I couldn't help but let out a deep sigh. Even if there was a separate mastermind, it didn't justify Celine’s actions.
"...But it’s still true that you helped ruin Seria’s reputation."
At those words, Celine clamped her mouth shut. She turned her head away sharply, as if refusing to answer.
"She’s already a girl who gets a lot of hate because of misunderstandings. Did you really have to add to that?"
Celine snorted. However, seeing her avoid my gaze with her arms crossed, it seemed she was feeling some regret in her own way.
But it wasn't too late yet. She hadn't brought up family matters, nor had she actively participated in the bullying.
She had just talked some trash and tarnished Seria’s image. While that was a significant wrong, it wasn't an unforgivable, monstrous sin.
Considering Seria’s personality—how she actually suffered quite a bit from loneliness—there was a high chance she would accept a sincere apology if Celine opened up to her. Besides, she needed friends her own age too.
Painting such a beautiful future in my mind, I spoke to Celine in a coaxing tone.
"Celine, let’s apologize to Seria."
Celine remained silent. She snapped her head further away.
But I knew. I knew she was wavering. My tone grew even softer, careful not to bruise her pride.
"Seria’s actually a pretty good person once you get to know her. If you take this chance to become friends..."
"...I absolutely, definitely don't want to."
Her voice was firm and cold.
My voice cut off at the unexpected reaction. I stared at her with puzzled eyes, unable to understand why Celine hated Seria so much.
Celine trembled, then suddenly stepped toward me, pointing a finger.
"If it were you, could you be friends with a bitch who fires an arrow at the prey you’ve already marked?!"
"...What?"
"Ugh, seriously!"
When I gave her a blank stare at her sudden metaphor, Celine let out a cry full of irritation.
Was that a Haster family metaphor? Since the Haster family’s roots were that of a famous hunting clan, it was a fairly logical deduction.
Celine looked furious as she turned to leave the hospital room. I tried to call out to stop her.
"Where are you going, Cel—"
"I don't know! Don't follow me!"
The shout came back before I could even finish my sentence, and I promptly shut my mouth.
It seemed Celine was truly angry. In times like this, the best course of action was to stay quiet and wait for her to cool down.
Slam! Celine, who had left the room by throwing the door open violently, for some reason poked her head back in one last time.
She warned me once more.
"I told you not to follow me!"
"...? Yeah, I wasn't planning to."
Since I hadn't even considered it, my response was immediate.
However, at my answer—which sounded like I genuinely didn't understand why she was asking—Celine ended up screaming in even greater fury.
"...Drop dead, you idiot!"
And with that, Celine was gone. I still didn't understand why she was so angry at the end.
I simply recalled what Reto had once said: a woman's heart is like a well, where the objects inside appear refracted.
He told me that while you might be able to roughly guess the landscape within, it is never a true reflection of reality.
In other words, a woman's heart is impossible to understand.
I gave up on trying to decipher Celine’s emotions and finished my lonely discharge process. I felt quite pathetic as I trudged along.
The place where my steps eventually stopped was in front of a certain hospital room.
This was the Concentrated Healing Room. A place for the critically ill; I had been indebted to this place several times myself. Especially recently.
And here, one of my friends was hospitalized.
After a moment of hesitation, I finally hardened my resolve, opened the door, and stepped inside. As I carefully opened the door, I saw a girl with a pale face lying there.
She was a girl with charming, reddish hair. She had skin so fair it was hard to believe she was a commoner, and eyelids that usually formed a gentle curve.
That girl was now nothing more than a corpse that happened to still be breathing.
A middle-aged man, who had been dozing fitfully in a chair that doubled as a bed, snapped his eyes open at the sound of someone entering.
Upon seeing me, he looked startled and immediately tried to stand up and bow to the floor.
"Oh, Young Master..."
"No, no, please don't do that, sir."
It was a treatment I had grown used to. I naturally dissuaded him and looked down at the face of the girl lying in the bed without a word.
The girl sleeping peacefully was Emma.
She was a third-year student in the Alchemy Department, and the scruffy man keeping watch by her side was her father.
It remained a mystery how such a lovely daughter could come from a father who looked like a mountain bandit.
I shared a quiet conversation with Emma's father. We talked about many things.
How kind a student Emma was, how much her friends loved her, and what had been happening at the Academy recently.
With every word, Emma's father had to dab tears from the corners of his eyes. He must have been so proud of his daughter, yet agonized by the fact that she couldn't even regain consciousness.
Carefully, I asked about Emma's condition.
"Um, how has Emma been lately...?"
"They say her life isn't in danger."
It was a relief, but the man's voice was heavy and low.
Hearing that, I could guess the rest immediately. I knew what Emma's state was.
Her life wasn't in danger, but there was no sign of improvement either.
A state where no one knew when she would wake up. It was essentially no different from a death sentence.
No matter how much the Academy took responsibility for accidents occurring during enrollment, they couldn't leave a bed empty for free indefinitely.
In a few years at most, the Academy would request Emma's discharge.
If that happened, Emma would no longer be able to sustain her life. There was no way Emma's father, who was just a herbalist, could afford the treatment costs for someone requiring concentrated care in a temple.
A deferred death—was that all it was? I felt my tongue go dry.
Emma's father wore a hollow smile.
"If only this father had a bit more ability..."
"It’s not your fault, sir."
At the man's voice, which had begun to crack with sobs, I could only offer those cliché words of comfort.
After a few more words were exchanged, Emma's father suddenly bowed to me as if he had just remembered something.
"Come to think of it, I heard. That you, Young Master, took care of the demonic beast that attacked Emma..."
I was startled by his gratitude and quickly waved my hands. Strictly speaking, I was also responsible for the situation where Emma was attacked. It wasn't something I should be thanked for.
At best, it was nothing more than an act of self-consolation. Embarrassed words tumbled from my mouth.
"No, no. It’s just that the bastard..."
Bit into Emma's blood-stained clothes and spat them out.
I was going to say I couldn't stand that, but I bit my tongue.
Friends could talk about such things jokingly. That was the way of those who lived carrying death on their shoulders. I, Reto, and Celine might all face death one day.
That was why we tried to laugh even when talking about tragedies. As if it were no big deal. But that was a courtesy shared only among those prepared for death.
Emma's father was a herbalist. It was impossible to tell him anything that would remind him of the situation when Emma was attacked.
So, I could only leave a brief excuse.
"It attacked me, so I just dealt with it. It just happened that way; I wasn't actively seeking revenge. It’s not something I deserve thanks for."
Emma's father still didn't raise his head. He thanked me several more times and said:
"Still, it’s true that this foolish man has received a great grace. Oh, I should give you something..."
"It’s fine. As I said, it’s really not something to be thanked for."
It took several more minutes of my repeated refusals before Emma's father finally gave in.
He let out a sigh and spoke in a low voice.
"You are truly mature, Young Master."
I wore a bitter smile at those words. Mature? I felt like I was still just a child.
But regardless of my feelings, the country man continued his assessment of me. His voice was thick with a regret that sounded like a lament.
"Emma was like that too. Ever since she was little, if a problem arose, she would try to solve it on her own somehow. And then she would act like it was only natural, seeking no reward."
"...I see."
Come to think of it, the Emma I knew was exactly that kind of person.
Whenever I reached out, she would give me a few words of scolding but would ultimately help me in the end.
In those moments, she looked truly mature. She was different from someone like me, who didn't even know how to properly comfort the father of a friend who might lose his child.
But the man's next words made me flinch.
"Don't live like that, Young Master."
"...Pardon?"
Startled, I shifted my gaze from the floor. There, the country man was looking at me with pleading eyes.
They were eyes filled with sincerity.
"You mustn't live like that. If things are hard, share them. If you have a friend you can trust, tell them your secrets. That way... only that way, if something happens..."
Once again, the man's voice grew wet. His head dropped. Tears began to drip down. It was a silent weeping now.
"Those around you... hic... won't have to be this miserable..."
That advice, though coincidental, hit home given my current situation.
So I couldn't answer carelessly. It would be rude to respond to such sincere advice with empty words.
Instead, I thought about it for a long time. After a long silence, the answer that came from my lips was short and plain.
"...I will take it to heart."
Today, the few sheets of paper tucked into my shirt felt particularly heavy.
It was a love letter from the future. I agonized, biting my lip repeatedly, wondering if that wasn't the greatest worry and dilemma I currently faced.
There was only one problem facing me now: to protect the future written in this letter and prevent any further loss of life.
To do that, I needed at least one ally to share the secret with.
* * *
And the next day, the problems facing me increased by one.
Seria had become a little strange.