Because You Looked So Human Today
Robin's emblem is violet and white. Any Robin, whichever one it may be, is beautiful enough to stand comparison with a fistful of glittering stars. The only difference is the direction in which that light shines.
"Ugh, I really hate this thing."
With a scrunched-up face, she lets the old kitchen knife fly, and it cuts through the air and buries itself in the floor. The expression she wears is less disgust than sorrow, less sorrow than pain, less pain than something wistful.
And beyond the wistfulness, something closer to lingering regret.
"Loosen up a little. It's not like this is the first time you've come in like this."
But the moment she turns her head with a sharp flick, all those feelings become meaningless. What remains on that face now is nothing but delight. She was right—it certainly isn't the first time, but the situation was sudden enough that failing to manage my expression was inevitable. Robin cheerfully began to hum.
"Still, you said something creditable, so I'm in a good mood now. If you said things like that every time, I'd be a very happy woman indeed."
With an expression not sad in the slightest, she wipes at her eyes, hic hic. It only amplifies the strangeness of it all, and even that soon settles. Then, with a long, deep breath—
"Hello, Robin."
I wave my hand once. Only then does Robin beam and wave back in answer. It's brief, but it's a smile with warmth in the eyes that reminds me a little of the woman she was a moment ago.
"Shall we get down to business?"
"Impatient, aren't you? I'll let it slide just this once~"
She sits down in an unusually heightened mood. Same face, same body, and yet the atmosphere she gives off is unmistakably different. Crossing her legs, resting her chin on her hand, leaning in to close the distance with her gaze—
These are things the original Robin would never do.
"I've heard the whole story, and there's a lot of it I like... but first, I'm a little angry with you."
"About what, exactly?"
"I told you clearly, didn't I? Don't do anything until I'm all better."
Her tone is light, but the atmosphere is not. The temperature in the room dropping—probably not my imagination. Nor is it, presumably, the black flooding her visible pupils more thickly than violet.
"...I can't spend my whole life listening to you and you alone."
"There it is. That's the part I like."
Robin claps her hands once, crisp and bright, and the mood shatters and snaps back to normal. I pause at the sudden shift, puzzling over it. Some kind of signal that I'd given the right answer, apparently. A hollow little laugh escapes me.
"You need to wake up to reality a bit more and start moving under your own power. She said it herself, remember? Dependence is a bad thing."
Tap, tap—she taps her own temple with her index finger. A reference to the other Robin. I'd heard it all before, so I didn't bother answering.
"So even though you broke my orders—my requests—it's fine?"
"To be precise, joy and sorrow exist side by side. It's like watching a baby bird leave the nest, I suppose."
My face heats up. I hate saying things like this, but the word pervert practically leapt to mind. It was near-miraculous that I swallowed it back down instead of retching.
No, come to think of it, it doesn't really matter. She can read roughly what's in my heart just from my expression anyway.
"Anyway, moving on. What did you talk about with her?"
"Oh, nothing much. A short self-introduction, and she says she'll help me from now on?"
"...Hmm."
She closes her eyes. A sign that she's thinking. There's no reason to provoke her right now, so I quietly close my eyes too and focus on my own thoughts.
'And it won't be for nothing, either. I will, without fail, collect a price from you.'
A price.
"Okay, done thinking. I've reached my conclusion."
A light thud—her palm strikes the table, and I return to reality. That triumphant smile of hers is her hallmark whenever she's thought of something good, and it does inspire some small measure of trust.
"Let's use her."
"...Use her?"
I'm a little flustered, but Robin seems to have anticipated even that, and her lips move once more.
"It's a matter of phrasing—don't worry. That woman's sharp; sooner or later she'll surely claw it all back. Think of it as a trade."
"No, Lize's the one who demanded payment for helping me in the first place."
"She's been observing you for a long time now. There's no way she doesn't know your personality. Would someone who's maneuvered that far really demand a price you could refuse?"
"......."
Put that way, my thinking did shift again. Lize is meticulous and cunning, after all.
Which is exactly what makes her frightening. A meticulous, cunning person would never do something that costs her.
"Think of a frog in boiling water. At first the temperature's low, so it relaxes—and it never realizes it's being slowly cooked alive."
"...A frog?"
"And if you flip that around, it means that at the beginning, it's manageable. All you have to do is leap out before the water gets hot."
Next, a light poke—her fingertip jabs into my chest.
"And that part rests entirely on your ability."
"...Easy for you to say."
"That's why I'm saying it easily. If I explained every little thing, I'd get impatient."
"Before all that—she's been watching me for ages, you said. Would someone like that really just let me go?"
"That's the crux of it. Because she's watched you for so long, she won't resort to anything extreme."
'Worst case, she'd just recruit you into her organization instead, wouldn't she?' The words that trailed after that one rubbed me the wrong way, a little.
"And more importantly—right now, apart from her, we have no one to lean on. No one who isn't affiliated with Shatrira and willing to invest so much on our behalf."
"...I suppose that's true."
Hearing it laid out so practically, it finally landed. Only two people are around to carry out the flimsy blueprint I've drawn up. The presence of someone capable is desperately needed. And Lize seems clever besides—she might even shore up the blueprint further.
For a moment, I closed my eyes. The Underground City is filthy. It is vast, but no light reaches anywhere within it. Because this place is a sewer. No one here bats an eye at using and consuming other people.
"...That woman used my goodwill and my soft nature too, didn't she."
Yes. In that case, I would as well.
"You've made up your mind—how manly. I might just fall for you."
Robin folds her hands primly and lays them against her own cheek. If she'd only managed that dignified smile, she'd have been the picture of a perfect lady.
"If you'd said something idiotic here too, like 'using a woman is a violation of decency'—well, at that point I really was going to chop off your arms and legs and lock you away somewhere."
I correct myself: the words that came out of her mouth were not a lady's.
"You're joking, right?"
But by now I've adapted too. I laugh lightly and wave a hand in dismissal.
"...No?"
"...?"
A flat, dry voice.
A little chill ran down my spine.
"So—you can do it, then?"
It's a question asked to hear the answer again, yet it comes out strangely soft. Soft enough to conjure the other Robin; there is worry threaded through her words now. Concern dressed up as confirmation—that's about as much as it could be summarized as.
"If you agonize over it and it truly gets to be too much... then just... try telling yourself it can't be helped."
And because I don't manage an answer in time, Robin's words continue. The low voice doesn't sound like her at all.
Like watching an entirely different person—that depressingly melancholy side of her was one I'd never seen before.
"There are people who despise hearing this, and I don't much care for it either. But what can you do? It really, truly can't be helped sometimes."
Especially the bitter, wretched look in her eyes as she gazed at the knife buried in the floor.
"If you're so rigid that you can't accept even that much, well—I'd have nothing more to say. But—"
"No. I understand."
I clench my fists and steel myself. The moment things have come this far, I already understand that bloodshed can't be avoided. Everyone's life has one stretch, sooner or later, where there is no choice.
"Besides, this is a world inside a game anyway."
Accompanied by a small dose of self-hypnosis.
"...What did you say?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
Shaking my head hard, I try to change my own perception. This is a world inside a game. Not reality—anything is possible here. After all, once I go back to reality, I'll never see these faces again.
And if I do go back, then she—
Perhaps my resolve showed on my face. The Robin facing me wore an expression brimming over with satisfaction and interest.
"...Then I'll get to it. We'll talk properly once my body's healed."
"Ah—before you go, put that thing somewhere out of sight for me."
Following her voice, I turn my gaze. There it is: the old kitchen knife, driven straight into the floor in plain sight.
No—even "old" may be an insufficient word. That knife had long since forgotten the essence of a blade, so heavily laden with rust that it breathed out the weight of years.
For me, the question followed inevitably.
It hadn't been long ago at all that the other Robin had gazed at that knife while explaining the imperfection of human beings. No—she had shown me the act of swapping personalities with the knife's grip as the trigger.
And even the Robin who emerged afterward had looked upon the thing with unmistakable gravity. Its true nature could hardly be anything but suspect.
"It's a favor. Please."
"......."
But even that suspicion is gently eroded by a single small wave.
How long had it been since I'd last seen eyes so steeped in sorrow? For an instant it conjured the other Robin—no. That was simply the gaze of a sad person. It wasn't a question of different or same.
"Can't you just throw it away?"
In an instant, Robin exhales a deep breath. Her eyes stay locked on the knife; her hands tremble violently. It deviates completely from the image of her I know.
"I have to keep facing it. Because it's my karma."
And what rings out is a voice that wavers and yet holds firm—contradictory. By that point, my body was already moving.
As asked, I stow it away somewhere reasonably out of sight. Her faintly trembling breathing steadies, and Robin regains her calm. What reaches me next is a simple "Thank you." A short word of gratitude.
The weak side of a woman who had always shown me nothing but slyness and composure. The side of her that, in her own way, had been straining to spare me.
Having seen so entirely different a Robin, I understand now—that woman who won my vigilance over with behavior no human should have been capable of.
'Because people are imperfect, they are all the more human for it.'
Today, she just looked so—human.