The Conditions of a Hero
When the door opened, the smell of meat filled the house.
"Meat!!!"
The moment he shouted it, Mom turned around and broke into a wide smile.
"Welcome home, dear. You too, son."
"I'm back, love."
"I'm home."
Mom took one look at the two of them, both soaked in sweat, and smiled with quiet relief.
"Dinner still needs a little more time, so both of you go wash up quickly."
Growl.
Dad's stomach and his own rumbled at the exact same moment. They stood there, red-faced, staring only at each other. Mom laughed at the sight of them.
"Go on and wash up already."
"Well then… son."
"Shall we go wash up?"
"Yes!"
Splash.
The moment the hot water poured over his head, his hands began to tremble from gripping a wooden sword all day long. He deliberately showed no pain and simply stood under the stream in silence.
While he showered, he looked at his father's body. It was hard as stone. And across that body remained several large scars.
One of them, in particular, caught his eye—the one on Dad's back. Unlike the others, it was deep, as if layers of claw marks had been carved one over another.
The instant he touched it, Dad's hand stopped for a moment. He looked up. His father's expression was a little strange—somehow different from before. He pulled his hand away without meaning to.
Is this… something I'm allowed to ask about?
The words would not leave his mouth.
Dad composed his face, then smiled.
"Does the scar bother you?"
"Yes, Dad. When did you get this?"
Dad touched the scar on his back. His gaze wavered for a brief second. It was different from a moment ago.
"This…"
"It's a story from before your dad was an adventurer."
"Before you were an adventurer?"
"Yeah."
"The dad of those days… was very different from the one you know now."
For some reason, those words made it even harder to ask anything more. He closed his mouth. Dad said nothing further either. Only the sound of running water quietly filled the small bathroom.
He called out softly.
"Dad…"
"Hmm? What is it, son."
Feeling his father's large hand stroke through his hair, he carefully drew out the question he had kept buried in his chest.
"Dad… while you were an adventurer, did you ever want to run away?"
"Well…"
Dad soon smiled and began gently rinsing the foam from his hair with careful hands.
"Your dad has always had many things he needed to protect."
"In my teens, I had to protect myself."
"In my twenties, I had to protect my mission."
"In my thirties, I had to protect my family."
Warm water streamed down through his hair. Dad's soft voice slipped between the sound of the shower.
"Even living that kind of life,"
"I never once regretted it."
Those words were so warm.
"Dad…"
"What is it?"
"Can I… become like you? Like the heroes in fairy tales?"
Dad fell silent for a moment. He seemed to sense that the question was not a simple one.
"A hero who protects someone, or fights for a mission… that kind of hero."
"But… the heroes in the records don't feel like the ones I imagined."
Dad spoke slowly.
"…Son."
"Yes."
"If something appears in this world that you must protect,"
"from that moment on, fear and hesitation simply fall away."
As he finished washing his son's hair, Dad went on.
"The truth is, 'hero' might not be such a grand name after all."
"Protecting your family. Making the people around you happy…"
"Your dad thinks that counts as being a hero too."
"You're right."
"Thank you, Dad."
"Yeah."
After they finished showering and changed clothes, they opened the bathroom door. The heavy air from moments before had vanished without a trace. In its place, the savory, salty smell of meat filled every corner of the house.
They sat around the table and began their evening meal. Golden-brown grilled meat, fresh vegetables, and soup with thick steam still rising from it covered the table completely.
He swallowed hard and hurried over.
"Wooow."
"Meat!"
Standing before the dishes, his eyes lit up. Mom set a loaf of bread, still hot from the oven, onto the table and smiled brightly.
"Come eat, both of you."
"Yes!"
"Let's eat well."
He picked up his fork and knife, briefly debating where to start, then began with the meat.
"Mom!"
"The meat tastes a hundred times better than usual today!"
Mom watched him with quiet satisfaction and lifted her teacup.
"Seeing my son enjoy it this much makes all the cooking worthwhile."
"Aren't you eating, Mom?"
"I will. Don't worry."
She smiled as she watched him eat. Dad laughed heartily at the sight as well.
"Must be because we burned through so much stamina today."
"He seems to be eating better than usual."
He had already forgotten the conversation from the shower and was focused only on the food in front of him.
"More importantly, son."
"Yes?"
"What kind of training did you do today?"
"Today I did stamina training!"
"Stamina training?"
Mom set down her teacup and looked at Dad.
"Yes!"
"Armel, I didn't even let him touch a sword."
"Don't look at me with those scary eyes."
"When did I ever look at you with scary eyes."
"Our son will get the wrong idea."
He had no room to spare for their exchange. He was too busy eating.
"Fer."
"What exactly did you do today?"
"Today we simply ran the hill about thirty times, back and forth."
"Thirty times?"
"And our son endured it?"
"Because he's our son."
"Of course he did."
"That's impressive."
"Son?"
"Yes?"
His mouth was too full to answer properly.
"Never mind…"
"Eat plenty."
"Our boy…"
"Probably won't starve to death no matter where he ends up."
"Seems that way."
"Fer, you shouldn't overdo it either."
"Overdo what?"
"The training."
"You only just came back not long ago."
"Don't push yourself too hard."
"I know."
"Mom!"
"Hmm?"
"I'm full."
While his parents talked, he had finished every last bit of food on the table.
"Huh?"
"Where did the meat go?"
Dad's fork and knife clattered to the floor. He stared blankly at the empty plate.
"Where would it go."
"It's in our son's stomach."
Mom laughed and sipped her tea.
"Son!"
"Did you really eat all of this?"
"Yes."
He nodded with complete confidence. Dad could only laugh, empty and helpless.
"I… like meat too, you know."
"Dad…"
"I thought it was already gone."
Feeling awkward, he set down his fork and glanced around.
"Then Mom didn't finish everything either?"
"Mom ate earlier, so I'm fine."
"What?"
Dad's eyes went wide.
"Armel, when did you eat?"
"You two were taking so long."
"I went ahead and ate first."
"Then…"
"Only I didn't get any?"
"Dad!"
"Aunt Serina said it's fine not to eat for one day!"
"Thanks a lot…"
After the meal, he fell asleep not long after.
"That boy… he must have really pushed himself today."
Armel quietly set down her tea. Her voice dropped low.
"He acted like he was fine, but he overdid it."
"Already trying to hide it."
"I'm worried."
Fer fed another log into the hearth.
"Well, as a child grows,"
"they tell their parents one or two lies."
"Even so."
"I still want to oppose the swordsmanship training."
The hand that had set down the teacup trembled faintly, as if hesitating.
"He's acting like nothing's wrong."
"Whether it's right to put him through sword training…"
"I still don't know."
Fer said nothing for a while, simply watching the burning wood. Then he walked slowly to the table and sat down.
"It can't be helped…"
"Now that we've opened it, there's no telling what might happen."
"We're simply doing what we can."
Armel's face hardened.
"Fer… you know as well as I do."
"What happened to the people who opened that box."
Her voice began to tremble.
"He's only seven years old."
"Does it make any sense that the record would respond to a seven-year-old child!"
"Yes… I know that well."
"But it also isn't entirely without sense."
"Everyone who read that record…"
"came to admire heroes."
"And in return, they were said to receive trials."
In that moment, wind slipped through a gap in the wall. The swaying light brushed across Armel's face.
In the Armel family, there was someone who had read that record and lived. That someone was Armel herself.
"Fer… teaching a seven-year-old the sword is far too early."
Anger threaded through her voice. She had been holding it down, but the feeling would no longer stay buried.
Fer drew a slow breath, then spoke in a low voice.
"That may be so."
"But Armel… do you know what our son said?"
He began to recount, one piece at a time, the conversation they had shared in the bathroom.
"That child was thinking about what a hero is."
"Not because he believes he is some chosen being…"
"but because he was wrestling with the question of what is worth protecting."
Hearing that, Armel could not speak. The tea began to cool.
At last she carefully opened her mouth.
"What you're saying is…"
"that child… might walk a different path?"
Fer nodded.
"I think that may be possible."
He simply looked down at the cooling tea.
"Hoo…"
"It stayed hidden for so long, then suddenly appeared again."
"Armel."
"Yes?"
"You read that book with our son again as well."
"Didn't you feel something then?"
"Mm… to be honest,"
"the moment I read it, those moments came back to me."
"Which moments?"
"The day you received that scar."
"Of all things, that was the moment that rose up."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm all right."
"But Fer—our son realized the book had disappeared."
"He realized it?"
"I saw him going in,"
"so I left the book on the table."
"Why would you"
"leave it there?"
"No matter where you put it, it disappears anyway."
"But this time it was strange…"
"What was?"
"When I heard a sound from the living room and went out,"
"the book was gone, and our son looked flustered."
"Isn't it just that he was startled while trying to look at it?"
"It didn't feel like that…"
"His gaze wasn't toward me."
"It seemed like he was looking somewhere else."
"After that, I felt a gaze as well."
"Is it all right now?"
"……Yes."
The wind rose and whipped hard. The candle flame began to thrash violently.
"Armel…"
"Perhaps our son felt it too."
"No…"
"He almost certainly felt it."
Armel drank her tea as if nothing were wrong. But her hand trembled, fine and continuous. Fer carefully closed his hand over hers.
"Don't worry."
His voice was soft.
"You read that record with him"
"because you didn't want him to face it alone."
Armel did not let go of his hand. She spoke low.
"Fer… as you know,"
"I sealed the mana inside me."
"I can't use magic the way I once did."
She steadied her breath and continued.
"As long as I don't release that seal,"
"nothing will harm you or our son."
"But…"
"if by any chance such a thing does happen,"
"then… you protect our son."
"Don't say that."
"So that you never have to break your seal,"
"I will protect both you and our son."
Armel rose from her seat and walked slowly toward him.
"Fer."
"……"
He kept his head lowered and said nothing. But he could not hide the tremor in his hands. When no answer came, Armel touched his cheek and lifted his face.
The moment Fer saw her, tears spilled over.
"I understand."
"I will protect our son. Without fail."
"You don't need to worry."
Looking at him, Armel seemed to understand exactly what he carried. Her eyes were sad, yet somewhere in them lived a gentle smile.
She rested a hand on his shoulder and kissed him quietly. Fer stopped breathing for an instant.
"Thank you, Fer…"
"I really did choose well when I chose my husband."
The moment those words reached him, Fer's ears slowly turned red. Whether it was the kiss or her words, even he seemed unsure. He looked away.
Armel did not miss the change. She watched him with playful eyes.
"Oh my. It's been a long time since I've seen you this flustered."
Fer cleared his throat. Still avoiding her gaze, his voice grew small.
"…I'm happy I married you too."
"I'm glad I have our son, and you."
Armel heard him and smiled—quietly, yet more softly than anyone.
"How cute."
She looked at Fer, who still kept his face turned away in embarrassment.
"Thank you for saying that."