Stop Coming to See Me

Night in the makeshift cell—a converted underground warehouse—was bitterly cold and damp. Dew seeped through a corner of the ceiling and dripped onto the straw mats below, breathing mold into the dark, while beyond the rusted bars the periodic grind of guards' metal armor broke the silence from somewhere far down the corridor.

So this is the treatment I get from a great ducal house? Nowhere near a five-star hotel—this wouldn't pass for a roadside inn.

I curled up on the pile of straw, hugging my right arm to my chest. The mana-suppression restraint exuded a chill that sank into the marrow, and even the smallest flex of muscle brought that unpleasant feel of metal biting into flesh.

They did say an extra's life was dirt cheap... seems the room and board come at exactly that price, too.

That was when I heard it—beyond the unoiled iron door, the faintest, most cautious sound of footsteps.

Short strides, and an uneven rhythm. The breathing's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠far too delicate for a knight.

I leaned my head against the wall and shut my eyes. A moment later, with a long creak, the door eased open the barest sliver, and faint lamplight seeped through the gap to cut a pale line across the dark room.

The lamp was carried by a maid well along in years, and from behind her a slender figure slipped silently into view.

Roselyne Leonhardt.

Gone was the lavish dress she'd worn in the daytime; now she wore only a thin silk gown with a single thick coat over it. Shoulders hunched in a way unbefitting the daughter of a great ducal house, she stopped before the bars wearing the expression of something about to shatter.

"...Sir Aiden?"

Her small, thin voice stirred the humid air of the warehouse.

Instead of answering, I cracked my eyes open and cocked my head at an insolent angle.

"What do you want."

Roselyne flinched and stepped back a pace. But then, as though it were a mercy just to confirm my voice, she clutched a hand to her chest and let out a breath of relief.

"I got all the thanks I needed during the day. A duke's daughter calling on a prisoner at night is beyond my common sense. Is that in the kingdom's noble handbook too? Or can't you sleep, so you came to gawk at the barbarian?"

"Th-that's not it..."

"Then what is it? You dragged your maid all the way into this cramped, stinking warehouse, so there has to be a reason."

Paying no mind to my brusque tone, Roselyne drew close to the bars again. Her gaze traveled over the chains locked around my wrists, over my forearms where the wounds I'd taken that day still sat untreated.

"...You're still here."

"And go where? You think this restraint is just for show? Even at my size, the kingdom's metal-smelting craft is far, far too superb for me to snap these chains and stroll out."

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

"Why is this damn thing so sturdy!!!!!"

In the end, all I had to show for it was a ring of scars around my wrists.

Her voice wavered, ever so slightly.

"I thought you were gone. Father put off your execution, but the Knight Commander might send people to do who knows what to you... I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking you might have gone back into that cold forest—or into some deeper darkness still."

She had come to confirm that I was still bound in this physical space. The sight of her—terrified that if I vanished, her salvation would evaporate along with me—was, unmistakably, that of a child fretting over being abandoned.

...Cute, though.

Somehow, it was one of those scenes that brought the faces of my past-life homeroom kids floating up out of memory.

With hands that shook visibly, Roselyne took the basket from the maid and pushed it through the gap between the bars.

Inside were neatly wrapped bandages and little bottles of medicine, a bowl of soup still steaming, a leather flask of warm water—and even a thick blanket that looked downright plush.

"Why give me this? Before I'm your benefactor, I'm a prisoner your family hauled in. If you get caught fussing over me, what happens to your dignity as the Duke's daughter?"

"You're hurt. Because of me—because you were protecting me... and no one here looks after you. At the very least, put medicine on it. And the nights are cold."

Roselyne sank to her knees on the floor and looked at me through the bars.

Caring.

Until now, things had run one way—I saved her, and that was that. But in this moment alone, Roselyne had begun, however slightly, to look after me. It was only a few bandages and a mouthful of warm water, yet the gesture itself struck me as quietly welcome.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

You've grown so much in so little time... your teacher is proud of you. — so spoke the Barbarian Great Warrior.

But that was that, and this was this.

Please, I'm begging you, don't get tangled up with me.

Taking the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠waterskin she offered, I deliberately drew the line even sharper.

"Don't expect handing me things to move me into staying here. I'm not your knight, and I'm not your people."

Roselyne's hand stopped for an instant.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I'll watch my chance, and the moment a gap opens I'm over this squalid wall and gone. I'm going to live a life that has nothing to do with you."

She lifted her head and looked at me. Her eyes, catching the lamplight, wavered in a way that didn't sit right.

"...Have you never imagined a case where you become my person?"

"What?"

"When you saved me, you didn't look at me as the Duke's daughter. You didn't look at me as merchandise, either. You just... looked at me like something that needed correcting."

"So should I look at you as an animal, then?"

"That gaze felt more like salvation to me than any tender comfort ever has. Because while everyone else saw the Duchess of Leonhardt, you alone saw a person."

How does a teacher's gaze come out of that... I was just staring because you looked pathetic. How does she parse it like that?

Scowling hard, I took a long pull of water. The warmth sliding down my throat prickled in a way I couldn't name.

"Why did you save me, Sir Knight? That night, you could simply have left me behind and fled. With skill like yours, you could easily have shaken the pursuit party on your own and slipped out of the forest at your leisure."

She was asking. Why I had saved her that day.

I dropped the waterskin on the floor with a thud and answered dryly.

"It was a mistake. I picked you up the way a man picks up trash someone dumped by the roadside. Not because you're pretty, and not because you're a duke's daughter."

The color drained from Roselyne's face in an instant.

"You just happened to be lying there in front of me instead of the trash, and I cleared you away because you didn't suit my temperament. There's no special sense of duty in it, no affection—look as hard as you like and you won't find any. So don't misunderstand."

"..."

She was plainly wounded by that answer. Her slender fingers seized the hem of her gown and quivered.

But she didn't cry. If anything, she seemed more preoccupied with how coldly I'd answered.

Delusion has its limits. I was just trying to keep my meal ticket alive, and the situation got tangled.

I studied Roselyne's condition carefully. She still looked mentally unsteady.

Sighing, I let another careless lecture slip out of my mouth.

"What you should be doing right now isn't coming here to choke up your thanks at me. It's learning how to survive. The Duke's people look at you and see a duke's daughter. The men who tried to hurt you looked at you and saw nothing but a slab of meat."

"..."

"If you can't grasp that difference, you'll spend your whole life being led around by someone's hand and thrown away. Before you ever lean on the kingdom's law books, build the logic that lets you protect yourself."

"...Are you teaching me?"

"Next time, put your head to work first so you fall apart a little less on your own. Spend the time you'd waste crying mapping out the terrain and learning people's weak points. And don't go believing I'll be at your side swinging a sword for you forever. I'm not your people. The subject of your life's sentence ought to be you—if it's me, that's a problem."

Even faced with my merciless lecture, Roselyne gave no answer.

She simply watched me take the blanket into my hands, and smiled—faintly, but with a resolve chilling enough to raise the hair on my neck.

"No one has ever..."

"No one what?"

"No one... has ever said anything like that to me before..."

Then it came.

From the corridor outside the warehouse echoed the dull thud of military boots. Knights, making their rounds somewhere in the distance.

"My lady, you must go now! If anyone sees you, there'll be hell to pay!"

The maid who'd been keeping watch outside the door thrust her head in, pale as death.

Roselyne looked back at me one more time, as if reluctant to leave. In her eyes burned a heat far deeper than before.

"I'll come again tomorrow. Sir Knight."

"Don't. Tomorrow I might not be here."

To that, she gave no reply—only a short nod—then hurried away into the darkness. The door closed, and silence settled back over the cell.

I touched the blanket she'd left behind. Soft. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Warm.

And yet that warmth was not the comfortable kind.

Why does she keep coming back?

For a simple thank-you visit, her eyes had been far too hot. This was past the level of repaying a debt.

Something was wrong. Wrong in a deep, structural way.

I need to draw that line harder, and fast. If I keep getting tangled up in this, the original story's butterfly effect is going to suffocate me first.

And yet, in one corner of my heart, a strange conviction had taken root: that tomorrow night, too, those slender footsteps would break the silence of this damp warehouse.

In the darkness, I rattled my chains and laughed, bitter to the last drop.

Inside the cold cell.

"...A week... it's been a week..."

For fuck's sake... would someone kindly let me out...