The Face on the Wanted Poster

I’d heard the term “wanted poster” somewhere before. Like riding a train and glancing back at the tracks—however much they twist and wind, you only ever think of the journey as a straight line while you’re on it. I’d believed I had lived an upright life, yet when I looked back it was nothing but bends and curves. That, they say, is what life is. The memory came to me only faintly, its outlines so blurred that it must have been something I picked up in my previous life. There were no trains in this world, after all.

Yes, at this point I have no choice but to admit it cleanly. The life I had convinced myself was a flat plain had in truth been a bottomless cliff, its depths impossible to see.

Where exactly had I taken the wrong turn? Why hadn’t the me of that time noticed the warning signs of that misalignment sooner?

Useless regrets I would rather have kept buried stubbornly dredged up a single shard of memory from the depths of my thoughts. That day the sky had been cloudless and bright. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Quite unlike the heavy, brooding storm clouds that had filled my heart.

There was a party I had briefly been part of. No—let me correct that. A party I had merely dipped a toe into; one where I had, for all intents and purposes, simply lent my name to the roster.

Had their talents truly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shone, their brilliance would have rivaled the sun itself. The reputation I had enjoyed as something of a promising youth back in my hometown felt, in their presence, like a pathetic one-watt flashlight bought from a corner store.

“Our child has talent, he just doesn’t apply himself.” No, Mom. I have no talent and I don’t apply myself.

Yet their gifts had not been in full bloom from the beginning. Even a butterfly must spend time curled inside its chrysalis; when I first met them, their abilities were merely equal to or slightly above my own—at least enough that I could still measure the scale of their talent.

But the more adventures we shared, the more hardships and trials we overcame together, the wider the gap between us grew, until the difference in power became so vast that perspective itself seemed to vanish.

Metamorphosis. Flowering. Leap. Soaring. Their growth was so explosive that no single adjective could contain it; their trajectory left all others in the dust.

Everyone except me. I simply stood there like a mascot whose reason for existence was unclear, the superfluous character on a baseball team that no one asked for.

While every other party member ascended to the supreme realm in their respective fields, I alone achieved nothing of worth, repeating the same pathetic marking of time.

Never had I felt such kinship with the long-nosed sniper from that pirate manga I used to watch in my previous life—the one who could never keep up with his comrades’ monstrous growth.

Aaah, Captain Usopp. Just what kind of battles have you been fighting all this time?

Yet what made my floundering sense of inferiority even more miserable was the fact that not one of them ever tried to cast me aside, despite my being nothing more than dead weight. It wasn’t born of shabby pity or sympathy. It came from the solid trust forged through countless life-and-death struggles, from the firm bond of comradeship.

They seemed utterly convinced that, before long, I too would stand on the same heights as them. Truly a groundless, hopeless faith.

So I decided to betray that trust before it was too late. The back of one who leaves while clearly knowing the right moment is said to be beautiful. And isn’t there a saying that it’s better to get hit sooner rather than later?

For the party to climb to even greater realms, I was a sprout that needed to be pulled. A burden that needed to be set down. Rust that needed to be scraped away.

To awaken them to that uncomfortable truth they kept trying to deny, I ultimately left only a single letter declaring my intent to withdraw and departed their side.

It would be a lie to say I felt not even a shred of reluctance. The turbulent journey I had shared with them—laughing and crying together—had been genuinely enjoyable and had given my life a bountiful harvest of meaningful lessons.

But the dignity to overcome adversity and turn it into one’s own nourishment is a privilege granted only to the strong. I had simply been receiving the leftover scraps thanks to my natural good fortune with people. As far as I knew, the end for those who greedily reached for more than they deserved was never pleasant.

In short, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠did not have the qualifications to stand beside them. With my own strength, I was simply not enough.

It was such a pathetic truth that I would rather not have voiced it if possible—the raw, unfiltered honesty I had tried my best to keep hidden.

A wave of loss swept across my thoughts, yet along with it came a strange sense of liberation from an unknown source.

I see. So this is the end.

No longer would I be left behind in the middle of a monster-infested dungeon because I couldn’t keep up with the party’s relentless advance. No longer would I be forced to watch crystal-clear 1080p flashbacks of my life every time I got dragged into the physical torture they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠called “training.” No longer would I have to endure every single move being watched with hawk-like attention under the pretext that the team’s healer must be protected at all costs—even outside the dungeon.

Huh? Isn’t this actually the best?

By the time such thoughts had flickered across my frontal lobe, my body had already long since crossed the border. It was the first time I realized just how nimbly and swiftly my pathetic pair of legs could move.

Just as a pitiful mortal battered by the storms of reality seeks refuge in a temple to wash away the accumulated grime of the secular world, I returned to my hometown after a long absence, intending to slowly peel away, layer by layer, the memories of turmoil engraved throughout my body.

Yes. That had been the plan.

If only I hadn’t caught wind of the shocking news that had somehow drifted all the way to my hometown—which, while not exactly a rural backwater, still had far too few people to be called a proper city.

A wanted poster the size of a gate, plastered squarely in the middle of the village square. The all-too-familiar, shabby composite sketch I saw every morning while washing my face instantly froze my thoughts cold.

I gave up trying to count how many eyes suddenly locked onto me. Anyone who has seen the final scene of John Wick 2 could probably picture it easily.

I had expected they would question my sudden disappearance, but I never dreamed their response would be this immediate. The party had been running perfectly well without me, after all. Honestly, I had figured it would take them at least a week just to notice I was gone.

Should I be moved? Or not?

If only they hadn’t scribbled those groundless rumors in the distinguishing features section, I might have actually felt a little touched.

“When exactly did I ever seduce innocent young women… Hero…”

I murmured a futile appeal toward the person who had been the party’s leader and the one who had dragged me into that gathering of superhumans.

Now that I thought about it, after becoming entangled with her, there had never been a single time my life had flowed in the direction I intended. It felt like being stuffed in the trunk of a car driven by a reckless driver, forcibly taken along on a rampage whose destination wasn’t even clear. Moreover, the driver herself seemed completely unaware that she was driving recklessly.

Good grief.

“This wanted poster! It’s stamped with the royal crest! It looks like the real thing!”

“One hundred million gil!? That’s enough money to live comfortably for ten whole years without working!”

“Hey, look over there! That guy! His face is identical to the sketch!”

The louder the surroundings grew, the more my heart sank into turmoil.

It seemed the journey I had taken so far had not been entirely in vain. Even as my thoughts churned chaotically, my body had already finished preparing to bolt from the area.

Compared to the days I had spent desperately waiting for the scouting party members to return from monster dens where anything could leap out at any moment, this level of crisis was nothing at all.

There was only one thing that could truly be called a concern for me now.

What exactly was I going to do for a living from here on?

I had left all my money behind except for the absolute minimum travel funds.

Now that remaining in my hometown was impossible, it was obvious that my means of sustaining myself had become uncertain.

There was no helping it. In that case, I had no choice but to stop by the Pope’s Office after so long and look for work.

I wasn’t particularly eager, but among people who regarded those capable of wielding divine power as beings chosen by God and treated them with special favor, even a half-baked cleric like me should be able to secure enough immediate funds to live on for the time being.

It had been with that lighthearted thought that I carelessly set foot inside the Pope’s Office—a place I had not visited even once since being promoted to full priest.

It may be pointless to say so now, but to soothe my restless heart I will add one line of regret anyway.

I really shouldn’t have done that.