If He Hadn't Been There... -2-

If he hadn't been there...

Past Hanna stood in the orc habitat at the peak of the Hamel Mountains. Hiding behind a massive tree, her past self clutched the crumpled request paper in her hand. It was a familiar request. The one that had hung on the guild board for six months without takers—unprofitable and notorious among adventurers for its grim reputation. Veteran adventurers even called it "the request no one with a shred of self-preservation would touch."

The client's desperate wish to avenge her mother by tricking someone into calling an 'Elite Orc' just an 'orc.' No self-respecting adventurer would take it without ironclad confidence in their skills. And the pay was insultingly low. Hanna knew the deception. Her past self must have known too. Any novice adventurer would recognize that purple-skinned orcs were elite monsters.

Yet her past self had taken the request anyway, fully aware it was a scam. To console herself. To cloak it in the noble motive of 'good deeds.' To fool herself into believing her courage had purpose—avenging a mother's loss—instead of being pointless bravado.

On that rainy birthday, she'd stared at this very request, agonizing for ages.

Her past self, holding her breath in hiding, spotted a lone orc straggler and whispered softly.

"Found you."

An orc with light purple skin, unlike the common ones. Hanna let out a hollow chuckle.

'Same bastard I caught back then.'

The Elite Orc she'd bagged thanks to Ricardo's map. It matched exactly what her past self was targeting: light purple skin, wielding a club bigger than itself, necklace of wolf fangs dangling.

Gazing at it, Hanna recalled her time with Ricardo. Back then, with him by her side, fear hadn't even crossed her mind. Now, it chilled her. Because she knew her past self's limits.

Hanna muttered.

'Run away.'

She knew this foe was beyond her. Her past self must have too—her hand trembled like an aspen leaf clutching the paper. The scared glances down empty paths drew a dry sigh from Hanna.

She clenched her fist tighter. "Run away, I said."

She'd meant to watch silently, but couldn't stomach seeing herself thrash against the chains of indifference. It was pitiful. Idiotic.

So Hanna spoke again. No one's there for you. Run. She wanted to tell her past self to sheath the sword, retreat to her sanctuary. To dash to the evil woman's house, where a smiling face always welcomed her.

But the girl before her didn't know 'Ricardo'—her refuge. Unfortunate, that.

Her past self drew her sword with resolute eyes and advanced on the orc. She hesitated at the bloodstains on its club, but...

"I have to prove it... that I can do it too."

Driven by the hunger for recognition, her terrified legs urged her forward. Spotting the orc's back, she kicked off and leaped.

"Raaagh!!"

Sword swinging with a kiai toward the orc. Hanna's gut twisted.

'This is where I die.'

Resolute eyes or not, the elite orc's swing—its club larger than her body—was far deadlier than she'd imagined. Unseen speed. The club hurtled toward her airborne form.

Helpless in the air, she took the full hit. A thunderous crash, and she tumbled across the ground.

A grotesque sound, dust clouding around her past self. Agonizing pain as she sprawled. One blow shattered her plans. Panicking, she shook her head, struggling to rise. Legs failed her; she pounded her thigh mercilessly with her fist.

"Hngh... guh... ahhh! Move... move, damn it!"

Thudding footsteps—the orc charging. Her eyes quaked wide.

Hanna crawled, snatching her fallen sword. Staggering up, barely standing. Hanna balled her fists.

'It's okay... I expected this.'

Before Ricardo's map, she knew her limits. She could guess what came next.

'It's fine...'

Because she'd foreseen it...

"Kya啊啊啊啊!! Stop... stop!!"

In this desolate place, consoling herself, Hanna watched the floor stain with spreading blood. Her blood ran cold. Horrific—her body torn by the club. Her slender arms futilely blocking. Despair gripped her.

This is what I amounted to...? Without the butler... I end up like that...?

Seeing and imagining weren't the same. Blood splattering her face. Expression soaked in despair. Hoarsely calling for Dad. Pitiful. Terrifying. No one was coming to save her.

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

Tears welled in Hanna's eyes. Fear—of what she'd endured without him, of her pathetic cries for father.

"D... Dad..."

Hanna lunged toward the orc, desperate to make it stop.

But the blue window forbade it.

Hanna collapsed to the ground. Forced to watch her past self crumble in silence.

Her past self, barely standing sword in hand, stared at the orc. Face a mess. Legs trembling. Eyes drowned in terror, she rasped.

"I need... recognition... I can do it now too..."

With that, the club cleaved the air. Her small, frail body flew skyward.

Her vision flipped with ragged breaths.

"Hah... hah..."

She stood in a dark cave. Heavy-hearted, Hanna scanned around.

Drip.

A damp, dim cave where moisture formed droplets. Moonlight seeped through the pitch ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠black. Hanna knew this spot—the shallow cave where she'd rested during training with Ricardo.

Relief washed over her that it was finally done, but...

"Hah... hah..."

Seeing her battered body, her face twisted in despair. Her past self stared vacantly at the cave mouth, leaning against the wall. Panting. Clutching her sword tight against possible monsters.

Her body was wrecked. Legs grotesquely twisted from the fight, wounds riddling her form. Hanna clenched her fists—relief that her past self lived, but it soured to dread.

The blue window had said death. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Ominous. Silent foreboding gripped her.

Then her past voice echoed in the cave.

"I'm glad..."

In despair, her past self looked at her hands and smiled. Broken legs ignored, a withered grin as she murmured.

"My hands aren't hurt."

Foolish words. Hands full of cuts bathed in moonlight, she hugged them close, gazing outside.

"Just wait now."

Waiting for father in the dark. Even as a discarded child, she firmly believed he'd come.

*Two days passed.*

Drip...

Rain outside the cave. Her past self huddled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠against the chill. Blue lips, pale face—nightmare's end.

Staring blankly at the rainy entrance, she muttered.

"Why isn't he coming...?"

"It's so cold..."

"I need to apologize for running away."

"No way... he's not coming, is he...?"

"Ngh... no, don't think gloomy thoughts. Dad would scold me for crying... No crying."

"He'll come... definitely."

Soaked in cold sweat, fear-filled eyes on the outside. Immobile legs. Sweat pouring like rain. Fever wracking her, delirious groans. Hanna bowed her head at her past self's suffering.

She'd thought death in battle. The least pathetic end she'd imagined.

But two days, no father. Hanna's face paled.

Even a discarded daughter. Runaway or not. Wouldn't he worry? Check the guild, see the request?

'Why... isn't he coming?'

Trembling eyes on her pitiful, collapsed past self. Alone. No one beside her. No comfort. Enduring solitary tragedy.

Foolishly smiling at intact hands. Euphoric that Dad would praise her. To Hanna, it was a horror film.

Then, a week later. Clutching the sword Dad gave her as a child, calling his name till the end, breath fading. Hanna bowed her head.

Despair of abandonment. Terror of death. Silently watching the cave mouth...

What she'd face without Ricardo.

"D... Dad... I miss you."

Voice buried in pouring rain.

"Sorry..."

The ending she hated most came true. Watching breath ebb, Hanna bowed her head.

Three days later. Father cradled her cold body, weeping.

"Hanna..."

"Get up. Dad's here."

"Sparring, anything—you name it."

"Get up..."

With that foolish expression. Hanna couldn't watch. Revulsion.

The blue window's final prank unfolded.

"Can I call you Dad?"

Father smiled warmly at the familiar face. A smile Hanna had never seen, gently stroking the woman's hair.

Pink hair, stunning beauty. Academy's most popular, healing prodigy. Yuria.

Yuria looked up.

"Why are you so nice to me, mister?"

Father smiled wistfully.

"You remind me of my youngest daughter... You keep overlapping with her."

Tears spilled from Hanna's eyes. Even in death... she'd never see him again.

The stifling feeling wouldn't lift. Tears streamed. Trembling breaths from fear and anguish.

Revulsion at father projecting her dead self onto him. Fury at his regret twisting into grief.

What to say. What face to make. Unable to name this suffocation, Hanna wiped her face in despair.

"I... really tried so hard."

Enduring flesh-carving pain, clawing for victory and recognition. Yet ending validated by her death—absurd. Hanna pounded her chest, breathless.

She wanted to quit. Everything.

As she pushed off the bed with despairing eyes to leave—

"Crying?"

Familiar voice.

"Why are you crying...?"

A sullen girl looked down at her. White-haired Olivia, munching chocolate sloppily, hand to forehead.

"No fever."

Olivia frowned worriedly, snapping her chocolate in half. Offered it with trembling hands.

"Want some...?"

Obviously reluctant.

And then.

"Miss, is that stingy half enough?"

"Eek...! It's mine!"

"Consideration. Respect. Chocolate. All bribes for the future."

"B-but..."

Snatching it from Olivia's hand, Ricardo smiled gently.

"Don't cry."

"It makes me sadder watching."

Hanna looked at Ricardo through teary eyes.

And collapsed into his arms, sobbing bitterly.