Hateful Savior, Cherished Return
I hate bean sprouts. Mikhail's words drew a hollow laugh from me. "Don't act so superior," he said, but for a possessed soul like me, superiority is like air—telling me not to do it is like telling me not to breathe. Sure, it's obnoxious, but I am superior, after all.
I put on a troubled expression and timidly voiced my opinion to Mikhail. "Sorry. Being superior isn't something I can control. I don't want to act superior, but I'm just too outstanding. Seems unavoidable."
At the same time, I shared a groundbreaking solution with him. "If you really hate it, just become more capable than me. Problem solved—no more of this, and you'd feel great too…."
Mikhail's brow twitched violently. The look he shot me, like I was the most irritating person alive, one eyebrow furrowed, was priceless. I gave him a small smile. "Was that too obnoxious? Sorry. Just think of me as 'that weird guy' and let it slide. You're used to it by now, right?"
Mikhail clenched his fists and glared. "I hate this side of you…. You show up in dangerous moments, act all nonchalant like it's nothing, and it makes me feel like an idiot. That's why I'm pissed."
I reacted to his sharp words without much agitation. I already knew he disliked me. Plus, he'd been mentally and physically drained. He'd let his enemy slip away right in front of him. He'd learned secrets he wished he hadn't. I could somewhat understand his feelings, given what he'd been through.
I slipped my hand into my pocket, nodded at his words, and replied. "So, what do you want me to do?"
"…"
"You hate me like this. You hate me when I help. You just find me obnoxious. So what would make you say it's okay?"
I let out a long sigh, voicing my frustration at Mikhail's vague complaints. "You'll hate me no matter what I do. And I'll feel the same. Isn't it time to admit it?"
I glanced at the heretic corpses strewn about the forest floor. Ten killed by my sword. Eight by Hanna's. Ripples of emotion flickered in Mikhail's eyes as he took in the not-insignificant number of bodies.
"That without me, you couldn't have handled this. Same as before, right?"
Mikhail shook his head fiercely and barked back gruffly. "Even without you, we could've—!"
"You planning to get everyone killed?"
"…What?"
"Yuria, Hanna—all dead here, and then you'd resent everyone for not coming to help?"
At my words, Mikhail's face twisted in complexity as he recalled the past. He ground his teeth, thinking back to that day in the empty slums where no one came, searching for a hero, and growled in a boiling voice. "…Shut up."
I stared at him with a hardened expression. "Regretting what's already happened is pointless."
"…!"
"The past, the present—how long are you going to cling to this hero fantasy? No one's forcing you."
"…"
I glared at Mikhail and slowly laid out the harsh reality. That he could still breathe now. That his hands weren't stained with the blood he hated so much. If you traced it all back, it was his job, but I'd done it instead—and did that mean nothing to him? I pressed him calmly.
I'm not the protagonist. Not some hero handing out free goodwill, nor a priest spreading love. I had no reason to selflessly care for others. Sure, I played the fool for the lady and the side characters, but that was just fulfilling my duty as a possessor. At my core, I'm a selfish coward who only protects those inside my fence…. To put it bluntly, a villain.
Come to think of it, Mikhail wasn't entirely wrong. I let out a deep sigh and said to him, "I don't even expect thanks."
I spoke slowly, steadily voicing what was inside. "I'm not after hero treatment, and I know you won't give it. I only want one thing."
"Don't expect anything. I won't give you shit."
"I'd love that, but you keep forcing my hand, Mikhail."
I shared my true feelings with him. Resentment mixed with complex affection. As a friend who worried for him, I slowly voiced my unreasonable request from the heart. "Don't get hurt. I'm worried."
Mikhail drew a deep breath, clenched his fists, and said coldly, "Who the hell are you to worry about me?"
"A friend."
Without hesitation, he shot back. "Don't lump us together. It's disgusting. Shut up."
His words went too far. I hadn't even cursed. With a bitter heart, I forced a wry smile and brushed off the complicated feelings. "You shut up and get treated, Mikhail."
"…You."
"You're bleeding too much."
Mikhail looked down at himself. The wound from the recent fight was deeper than he'd thought; blood was soaking his clothes. His eyes trembled as he stared at his body, then he quickly turned and started to leave.
I couldn't fathom why he was so flustered, but it seemed the conversation was wrapping up. I waved him off casually and started to depart. "I'm off."
And. 'Thanks for the meal.'
[Q. Mikhail's Guardian]
A certain swordsman meets his sworn enemy.
The swordsman was a man of gentle heart. He hated killing and lived with the hopeful belief that villains could be reformed through ideal emotions.
He imagined the boy who became his light living that way if he were alive, shaped by years of hopeful teachings at the convent.
Suddenly, the swordsman wondered: "What if that man—the enemy who killed the boy—meets him? How would I react?"
Now, much time has passed. Thinking his emotions had faded, the swordsman settled on forgiveness in his heart.
And today, that day arrived.
The swordsman learns just how strong his hatred truly is.
(!) Help Mikhail in danger.
1. Protect Mikhail without killing the Archbishop of Oblivion 'Yung'. (1/1)
Reward: Tirving's hidden ability. 〈???〉
Failure: Mikhail's collapse
* Olivia's room, lazily dozing as always.
Olivia stared blankly at the rainy sky, sniffling.
"Sniff."
On this chilly day with biting cold winds, Olivia was wrapped head to toe in a blanket, gazing out the window. The rain tapered off bit by bit. Clouds blanketed the sky. The gloomy weather dragged her mood down with it.
Bored.
Ricardo was out working, emergency rations were…. No, Gomtangi was huddled in the corner because of the rain, just scarfing food and doing nothing. Bored Olivia yawned to fend off the tedium.
"Sniff…!"
Guarding the house alone was tough. Staring vacantly out the window without anyone to acknowledge her efforts drained her focus. She had to watch for thieves and chase off graffiti vandals on the mansion, so Olivia widened her eyes and concentrated all her nerves.
Proud of her role, Olivia nodded. "Hrmph."
That aside, why wasn't Ricardo back yet? It was about time.
—Lady, I'm off to work.
—Huh? Ricardo, aren't you unemployed?
—Unemployed? I have a proper job as a butler.
Am I unemployed?
—Take pride in your unemployed profession.
—Hiet!
Ricardo, who'd bragged about landing a high-paying gig, had promised to return before sunset. They'd even pinky-swore: two chocolates if he was late. But now the sun had sunk halfway.
Olivia leaned her face against the windowsill, puffing her cheeks in a pout at the darkening sun's gaze. "Pooouuu…. Late."
Her lip-smacking complaints lasted about ten minutes. Then, in the distance, a familiar man approached, arms laden with packages.
"Oh…!"
A red-haired man coming with bundles in hand—Olivia's lips curved into a smile.
It's Ricardo…!
Ricardo strode confidently, spotting Olivia waving vigorously and flashing a bright grin. "Lady!"
He waved energetically. Olivia waved back enthusiastically to greet him, then yelled loudly toward him. "Ricardooo! What's for dinner?!"
Ricardo beamed, holding up his bag. "Bean sprout veggie stir-fry for dinner tonight!"
"…"
Olivia hated Ricardo.
"Get out!"
"Hiet!"
But still.
"I want something else!"
"Just eat what I make!"
"Eeeeeek!"
Olivia liked Ricardo. He felt like a friend. Fun to be with. Her worries melted away. Friendship? Nah, that didn't fit this fluffy feeling. Labeling it "friendship" felt lacking.
She hadn't found the right word yet. But.
Olivia.
"Get out!"
Liked Ricardo.