The Hero's First Cigarette
Even for a proper adult, there are certain behaviors one must absolutely refrain from in front of minors. For a married couple, it would be a domestic spat. For a teacher, excessive corporal punishment. For a college student, heavy drinking. But if someone asked me what the most fundamental taboo of all was, I would answer without a moment’s hesitation: smoking.
“Just one cigarette… please…”
“Yes!”
The Hero stared at me with sparkling eyes as I fumbled awkwardly with the rolling papers, my heart heavy with reluctance. There was no doubt about it—those innocent pupils were brimming with a fierce, almost predatory anticipation.
By the standards of this world, she might be considered a full-fledged adult. But by my own values, still rooted in the common sense of my previous life, she was little more than a girl. And here I was, rolling a cigarette I could barely remember the last time I’d smoked, right in front of her.
“Hero. It’s not too late. Couldn’t we change it to something else…?”
“Wh-what?! You promised!”
“No, I mean… why is watching me smoke such a big deal? Think about it carefully. You’re not getting anything out of this. That’s right! How about we all go see a play together at the theater near here tonight?”
“How could you even suggest that?! That’s completely unfair! Totally unjust! What I want to see isn’t some play—it’s the sight of Father putting a cigarette between his lips! And not just the two of us, but everyone together?! There’s nothing to even discuss!”
Her plaintive, heartbroken voice kept stabbing at my conscience. I knew full well how cruel it was to offer something only to snatch it away. But I had a line I simply could not cross. I couldn’t give up on trying to talk her out of it.
In exchange for granting me freedom of movement, the Hero had demanded that I show her what I looked like while smoking. To be honest, this wasn’t the first time she’d made such a request. Ever since the day I confessed that I used to be a heavy smoker in my youth, she had clung to me like a leech. She asked if I had any photos from back then, what brands I used to smoke, bombarding me with endless questions. Before long, she had progressed to begging me to actually smoke in front of her.
I had once boasted that no one in this monastery had ever seen me with a cigarette in my mouth. It seemed that very claim had ignited her curiosity. I, who had never imagined things would come to this, could only clutch my aching head.
“You’ve set my heart on fire like this and now you refuse to take responsibility?! You’re too cruel! Were you just toying with me?! Father! Is this what they call… being played?!”
“I surrender. I’ll do it, so please, just lower your voice.”
Though there was no malice behind it, the Hero’s thunderous threats—precisely because they were so innocent—were twice as vicious. They were more than enough to shatter my firm resolve. Having so neatly surrendered to that overwhelming pressure, the only choice left to me now was to quietly pick up the cigarette kit in front of me.
Ah, that musty yet somehow light sensation. Just how many years had it been?
“Where on earth did you manage to get a custom rolling kit from the brand I used to smoke…? This thing was discontinued ages ago. It should be nearly impossible to find now…”
“I earnestly begged the people who take care of my daily needs! They procured it in just one day!”
“Ah…”
I offered a moment of silent tribute to the poor attendants who, unable to refuse a cheerful request from the strongest being in the entire capital, had been forced to become impromptu Stefan Zweig-level errand runners.
“Good grief…”
“Ooh! So that’s how it’s made!”
Rolling a cigarette in priestly robes in front of a minor was bad enough. The hangover already pounding in my skull made my head throb even worse. Click. I placed the filter and tobacco leaf onto the roller, slid the paper underneath, and began rolling it into a neat cylinder.
It had been years since I’d even smelled cigarette smoke, let alone held one in my mouth. Yet my fingers moved with practiced ease, completing the cigarette without needing much concentration. It seemed my body still remembered those days perfectly.
“You must never, ever start smoking after this. Understood?”
“Please don’t worry! My only interest lies in watching Father smoke! The cigarette itself means nothing to me! In fact, I’m more curious why so many people seem desperate to put such a horribly stinking thing in their mouths!”
“You don’t need to think that deeply about it. I’ve always believed cigarettes are what people with nothing else to boast about puff away at just to show off how big their sighs can be.”
“Hmm? Is it similar to how, on a cold day, one unconsciously wants to blow out a breath?”
“Haha, exactly right.”
“Ooh! I see! By the way, Father! Is it true that even the Saint has never seen you smoke?! Is that really the case?!”
“Yes… I suppose so…? After all, ever since the day I first put on these priestly robes, I haven’t touched a cigarette once.”
“I see! So this is a first! For me! I’m going to be Father’s first! Hehe… hehehe…”
I had no idea what was so entertaining about watching a middle-aged man in clerical clothes roll a cigarette, but the Hero was clearly beside herself with excitement. She kept bouncing her upper body up and down, unable to contain her glee.
Lick.
The moment I sealed the neatly rolled paper with a swipe of my tongue—
Creak.
A familiar, pitiful groan that old beds make when too much weight is placed on them brushed past my ears. Then came a gulp. Right after that, in the room where only the sound of folding paper had echoed, a sudden, suspicious swallowing noise added an impurity to my otherwise calm consciousness.
“Hero?”
My gaze instinctively followed the source of the sound and landed on the Hero’s face, which had turned as red as ripened maple leaves.
“Ah, uhh…”
Her sapphire eyes, trembling like restless waves, were locked firmly on the cigarette I had just sealed with saliva.
“Ah, sorry about that, Hero. It was a bit dirty, wasn’t it? It’s just a habit. I did it without thinking.”
There was nothing better than saliva for sealing a hand-rolled cigarette. Most people used a light adhesive like water-based glue, but that could leave an unpleasant smell and was rather troublesome. So whenever I rolled my own, I always finished it with a lick.
I had fully expected that the sight of me running my tongue along the paper would look quite unsightly to others. But because it had been so long since I last rolled one, I had momentarily forgotten that the Hero was right there with me.
“F-Father…”
“Yes?”
“If… if it’s not too rude, could I… just once… put that cigarette in my mouth?”
“Excuse me?”
That bold suggestion, light as a butterfly’s wings, swelled instantly into a massive storm inside my mind.
“No way! Absolutely not! I only agreed to show you what smoking looks like because you said you’d just watch! I already made a huge concession!”
“C-can’t you just…! J-just once! Even just once is fine! I’ll only bite down on it very gently!”
“No! This is one thing I absolutely cannot yield on! I will not allow you to put a cigarette in your mouth even if dirt gets in my eyes!”
“Then at least…! J-just the tip! Couldn’t I at least lick the tip a little?!”
“Hero!!!”
Her desperation reminded me of a man lost in the desert who had finally found an oasis.
“How much?! How much do I have to give you?! Fine! I won’t ask to bite it or lick it! If you’ll just let me smell the surface once! Then I will donate my entire fortune—which I had planned to give back to society—every last coin! To you, Father!”
“H-Hero, calm down!”
“If that’s not enough, I’ll throw in Victim’s fortune too!”
“!?”
Thud!
At that exact moment, a loud noise came from outside the door, as if something massive had collapsed onto the floor. But I had no mental energy left to pay attention to such trivial matters.
The Hero, who had claimed she would be satisfied just watching me smoke, had suddenly developed an intense interest in the cigarette itself for reasons I couldn’t fathom. At this moment, the only thing in my head was a solemn sense of duty to keep that cigarette away from her. Nothing else could stir even the slightest emotion in me.
My opponent was the Hero. There was no way I could win in a contest of strength. The only reason this standoff was even possible was because she was hesitating to snatch the cigarette from me by force. But I had no idea how long that hesitation would last. I needed to make a decision immediately.
Fine. If it’s come to this!
Scratch. Scratch.
“Ah, aah!!”
I quickly struck a match, lit it, and hurriedly brought the flame to the tip of the cigarette between my lips. It was nothing more than lighting a cigarette. Yet the sense of accomplishment surging through me rivaled what Prometheus must have felt when he stole fire from the gods.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!”
“Hup!”
The smoke I drew deep into my lungs after such a long time—and with such urgency—was incredibly harsh. It felt like my throat was burning and my lungs were being scorched.
“Cough! Cough!”
Because of that, the me who was busy coughing pathetically at the time had no idea.
I never realized that someone had been eavesdropping on the conversation between me and the Hero.