Because Humans Are Imperfect, They Are All the More Human
Humans are imperfect — and that is precisely what makes them human.
This room was crammed with documents and books, and a woman with crimson eyes sat alone within it, reading.
In the corner of the cover, small letters spelled out Rize Valles. It looked like someone's name — and indeed, it was.
Writing her name on everything she judged to be hers was the small habit of Rize Valles, Vice Leader of Tocalos.
One needed only glance around to see it: there was not a single spot in this space that bore no trace of her name.
Some called it a bothersome habit, but Rize held firmly to the principle that anything belonging to her must carry her name. It would likely never change, not even in death.
"......Whew."
A light breath. Having finished her reading, Rize gazed into the empty air. Her eyes glowed with a fervent, burning intensity — then blinked.
The corners of her mouth tilted upward, slanting. Something was clearly amusing her.
Nothing else could explain a smile that deep, that lingering.
A black mass, on the verge of a short, audible laugh — when the sound of footsteps reached her ears.
She exhaled again, steadying her emotions. Closing her eyes quietly, she readied herself to receive her guest.
"Come in."
The door creaked open, and with it came a low voice — one that, if forced to assign it a color, would be closest to black.
The voice belonged to a long-haired woman, a presence wrapped, by default, in an air of listless detachment.
Once again, the sense that something was missing. Somewhere inside her, surely, there was an emptiness.
"What brings you here?"
"The Guild Master has instructed me to remain at your side for a while, so I have come."
"......Suddenly?"
"Yes. He said he would like you to learn more about how to converse with people."
"Hmm...... I think I can guess his intent. Fine, understood."
With that, Rize draped over herself a robe of some subtly alien quality. It was from that moment that the presence which had filled the room began to fade.
"By the way, I won't be needing your protection today."
"It is the Guild Master's order."
"Don't worry. It seems a wonderful prince will be protecting me again today."
"......I see."
Her face said she did not understand, though she did not lower her head. One could infer that she ranked far above the man Robin had killed before.
And so Rize moved. The woman called her bodyguard — the one with a sword at her hip — said nothing and did nothing as Rize vanished through the door.
"Ah — I have a feeling something may soon require you to step forward yourself."
"What kind of mission?"
But then Rize stopped abruptly, and the woman moved once more.
Without some external stimulus, she did nothing on her own initiative — she was, in a word, like a doll.
Perhaps it would be no bad thing to borrow the word puppet instead. Not a flicker of expression crossed her face, after all.
"No, not a mission. Just something outside the organization."
Rize remembered. Remembered why she had smiled a moment ago — the existence of that man, struggling alone to keep his light alive in this garbage heap.
What kind of face would he make, she wondered. Expectation and excitement churned together within her, and she wore an expression into the empty air that would have made anyone else recoil in horror.
"Is it calculated? Or merely a feeling of yours, Vice Leader?"
One question — from the sword-bearing woman. Rize answered with the same expression still on her face.
"Who knows. I couldn't tell you the exact ratio myself."
I looked around. Plants of every kind grew thick and lush.
The sight of verdant foliage dressing itself in crimson was beautiful enough to draw a laugh out of anyone.
It was a scene money could never have bought in my old world, and being stunned by it for a moment was inevitable.
"How much would it cost to see something like this in reality, I wonder......"
It was a fact I sometimes forgot, but this was a world inside a game. Consciously realizing it again after so long, a wry laugh escaped me.
After all, I hadn't enjoyed a single one of the game's features. Honestly, you could call it nothing more than being transmigrated into another world.
Aside from the fact that my starting point had been a little less than ideal, that is.
It's okay. Zeo, you don't need to blame yourself. There's no problem anymore. I told you, didn't I?
But there was no problem anymore. A better plan would emerge through Robin regardless — all I had to do was follow along.
My mind was fine, too. In any case, that was that.
Murmuring to myself, I set off. Yesterday I'd been off indulging in detours with Robin and hadn't shown my face properly, so today I planned to knock out at least one short mission.
Something simple — something I could finish before three in the afternoon, that kind of......
"Ah, there you are. Finally."
An unfamiliar voice, one I rarely heard, pierced through me. I whipped my head around.
An unfamiliar face — Syda, someone I knew only in passing. To put it more bluntly: not a friend.
Few people approached me, and I had no desire to approach anyone, after all. This man was hardly a good person, either.
"A rare visitor comes, and you show up late. What am I to do with you?"
"? What are you talking about?"
I tried to casually put distance between us, but he wouldn't let me go. Beaming, as if he had some delightful news to share.
"In a place where you only ever see the same faces, who else would a 'rare visitor' be?"
He added a short laugh, and my expression froze. Not because fear or anything like it had taken hold of me.
It was because I had finally understood what he meant. Without hesitation, I quickened my pace. No way — could it really be, at a moment like this?
I ran, questioning my own mind. Please, let it not be a lie. Let me truly meet her.
Really, truly, please, without fail.
Before I knew it, expectation had become a plea, and I prayed with everything in me. Even a moment would do — let me see her face.
Had heaven taken pity on me? Or had that desperate wish reached the sky?
"......Ah, Zeo."
"......."
When I came face to face with her — the person whose presence gladdened me most — she greeted me with a soft smile.
"It's been a while. Have you been well?"
She was radiant and beautiful, and I felt the calmest, gentlest warmth rise in my chest.
"......Yeah. It has been a while."
I could greet her back.
A single candle found in the darkest of places — greeting her, I let my feelings flow out without reserve. How long had it been since I last smiled this naturally?
"Two weeks, would you say?"
"Probably. About that."
Was she as glad to see me as I was to see her? Her silver smile still shone even in the darkness.
The time we had gone without meeting was barely two weeks, yet to me it had felt far longer.
She was my only place of rest — an oasis in the desert.
The one person in this parched place, where even humanity itself had dried up, who carried within her the only thing that still shone bright. That was who she was.
"I'd love to sit down and while away the hours in pleasant conversation...... but it seems our time together won't be very long."
A slightly awkward look crossed her face, and when I lowered my gaze to her hand, I saw a small slip of paper clutched in her fingers.
It was probably a mission. She was a capable asset, after all. The organization had no reason to grant her a moment's rest.
"......Then I'll just come along. I only stopped by to show my face anyway."
"I'd love the company...... but let's head out first. That way we'll have that much more time to talk."
With a faintly hesitant tone, she left the building. Officially, I had stepped out to accompany her on her mission — the pretext was sound enough.
But in truth, it was closer to a small scheme to stretch, even a little, the time I had left with her before she went.
Because once a mission began, we would not be able to meet again.
"You look worried about something."
"......Is it that obvious?"
"Yes. Immensely."
I'd always been told I couldn't manage my expressions — but if even considerate Robin could point it out, just how bad was it?
All I could manage was to laugh it off.
"You seem to have been struggling a lot lately. Especially when it comes to compromise."
"......."
Her pale, slender hand came to rest on my chest. Warm. Steadying.
It was nothing more than a hand placed against my chest, yet that alone was enough to put me at ease.
I nodded quietly in answer. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk with her — I simply hadn't been in the mood to put it into words.
"......What do you think about violence?"
So I threw out a different question instead. Before I fell into this game, it had been a source of anguish with an unchanging answer — but lately, it was a subject that wavered.
Because the environment had seeped into me, too.
"The less of it, the straighter and truer a life one can live."
But the answer she gave back was perfectly identical to the creed I had always held. Simply knowing that she understood it was, in itself, a small comfort.
"Right. I knew you'd say......"
"But — and hear me out."
Snip — my words were cut off, and she looked at me with steady eyes. Her unwavering irises were violet, glowing transparently.
They were nothing like Robin's. Where Robin's gaze clung and coiled, hers was clear and gentle. There was no weight to being seen by her.
"Sometimes, living in this world, situations arise where there's simply no escape except through means beyond violence."
Then she laid a hand against her own chest. I didn't need to hear what came next to know it.
"I'm the same."
A bitter look in her eyes. I could roughly guess there was a deep story behind it, but I didn't press.
Poking at painful memories was never a hobby of mine. I decided the best course was to close my eyes and share in her sorrow silently — and so I did.
"......So what's the conclusion?"
"It's simple. It means you shouldn't hurt yourself over it too much."
At some point, we had both stopped walking and stood facing only each other. She slipped one hand onto the railing.
My gaze followed hers, and what I saw was a landscape of fading light — the paradox of brightness existing even in this dark space.
That light soon tilted, falling across part of her. But she was the kind of person who could shine on her own, with or without it.
I loved that about her.
"Because humans are imperfect — that is what makes them all the more human."
And with those words, spoken in a voice gentler than anyone else's in this world, she reached out. Her hand touched mine and lightly took hold of its edge.
Such a small gesture — yet the warmth it carried was softer than anything else in this world.
I turned my face back to her, and we faced each other once more. She was smiling — mild as sunlight, and welcoming me with it.
"Thank you, Robin."
Carefully, I placed her name upon my lips.