Neriel Marit (2): A Name Worth Remembering
Aren's discharge procedures had become routine by now. It wasn't some grand ordeal, but remembering how he'd fumbled through them at first brought a mix of pride and self-deprecation surging up.
The first time, he hadn't even known a guardian had to come pick up the patient, so he'd scrambled to contact the young miss at the crack of dawn. The second time, Professor Azela had kindly shown up first thing, smoothing things over. And today, the third time, he'd arranged for a guardian well in advance. Proof of his growth, plain and simple.
"Still got a ways to go?"
Lilac-purple hair shook fiercely, matching eyes glaring daggers at him. He shouldered his bag and flashed a grin at her pout.
"All packed. Let's go."
"Tch."
That's right. The guardian he'd called today was none other than the narcissistic purple-head who'd become his slave for the semester.
She clicked her tongue and strode ahead, her steps radiating complaints.
"Hey, can't you use magic to carry my stuff or something?"
"What a pain."
But when else would he get to boss her around like this? Testing the waters with a mildly annoying request, she grumbled but took his bag anyway, floating it into the air with mana just as asked.
"You're surprisingly compliant."
"What about it?"
"I mean, I called you a slave and all, but I didn't think you'd actually obey so readily. Didn't expect you'd really show up at the hospital today, either."
Surprised by her actions, he commented, and she scowled like he was spouting nonsense.
"You think I'm like you apes? Once I say something, I stick to it. I bet you and lost. End of story."
"Oh ho."
He'd figured someone with sky-high pride—practically deluded into thinking she was the center of the universe—wouldn't honor the bet. But it was the opposite. Her pride meant she couldn't take back her words without looking like a fool.
His favorability toward this narcissistic purple-head ticked up for the second time. The first was when she'd helped him rescue the young miss.
"You look surprisingly fine, though. Weren't you shredded to rags back then?"
"My body's tough—that's one thing I can brag about."
"Makes sense. They say the dumber the head, the sturdier the body."
She fired back at his boast with venom, but it didn't faze her much, so he just followed silently.
"So, what should I call you? Can't keep going 'hey, slave.' Neriel? Marit?"
Realizing they needed to sort out names, he broached the topic casually. Sure, he could stick to 'slave' to piss her off, but not in public.
"...Fine. Use my name."
"Name?"
He'd thought she'd at least allow her family name, but she surprised him. Hard to believe from someone they were practically enemies with. He bent down to peer at her face closely.
"What's up? Don't shove that ugly mug in my face."
"Nah, just checking if you're the real deal. Did you polymorph someone else here or what?"
"I just hate being called by my family name. Quit yapping and use my given name."
Ah, got it. If that was the reason, no helping it. They weren't friends, but no need to pick fights. Plus, family names felt a bit distant to him too—too formal. That's why he called classmates by their given names. The nobles had been weirded out at first but got used to it, even asking him to do the same now. Sign of getting close.
"Alright. Looking forward to working with you, Neriel."
"Hmph, consider it an honor. Not many get to use my name."
"Oh wow, I'm so lucky."
"Hmph."
Did she actually take it seriously? She puffed up her chest as he bowed exaggeratedly.
"Hey, ape."
"Yeah?"
"Why don't you care if I call you whatever? I'm your slave for now—shouldn't you make me use your name?"
What a random thing to wonder about. Honestly, it grated a bit, but if he had to pick one reason not to force it...
"You said it yourself when we met. You don't use names for people you don't respect."
"Yeah, but..."
"What's the point if it's forced from someone like that?"
"You talk a good game for a guy making me carry your bag."
Busted. Busted.
"Whatever, call me when you feel like it. You probably forgot my name anyway."
She'd said herself she didn't remember names of worthless people. Probably gone from her mind already. That's partly why he hadn't ordered her.
Embarrassing to awkwardly reintroduce himself now.
"...I remember."
"Huh?"
As he turned to walk, Neriel stopped dead and mumbled something barely audible. He turned back, and she shot him her usual glare full of complaints.
"I remember. Aren, right? Your name. I'm not some ape-brained idiot like you."
She snorted and brushed past coldly. Glancing down, he noticed her name tag—always pinned on—was missing.
Ah. So she really did remember.
For some reason, that satisfied him enough to draw a smile.
Neriel had rarely bothered remembering others' names before. To her, it wasn't a habit at all.
In her life so far, memorizing names was pointless—a needless hassle. She never asked for them, never used them, and no one cared if she did.
The first to break that mold was her master, Amelia. But even then, as her teacher, Amelia rarely used her given name.
So back in the Magic Tower, she started forgetting how to use names again.
'Yeah, no need to bother.'
That became a complex, nagging at her, until a clever solution popped up: just don't try from the start.
Most around her were inferior anyway—implicit underlings she dismissed early. Why waste time learning or using their names?
That eased her mind. Her complex turned into a tool boosting her superiority.
From then on, she stopped trying altogether. When someone introduced themselves, it went in one ear and out the other.
Aren
But for the first time in ages—maybe since Amelia—a name had lodged firmly in her mind.
It started at the library. Their worst possible first meeting, even charitably.
Until then, she saw no value in remembering some ape's name.
—Me? Lose? Me, I...!
But her first defeat to a peer burned into body and soul, etching his name alongside it.
That was it, though. Remembering didn't mean she'd use it.
—Whatever, call me when you feel like it. You probably forgot my name anyway.
Then one guy's words struck a nerve, bursting some inner dam.
His name stuck because it pissed her off that it wouldn't fade—yet he acted like she'd ditched it long ago.
—...I remember.
—Huh?
—I remember. Aren, right? Your name. I'm not some ape-brained idiot like you.
That was all. After her master, she'd never seen the need to remember or say anyone else's name. The first time she did? Pure spite toward this uncouth ape of a man.
And today was the first and last. A small payback for her first loss—and a jab at his taunt.
No way she'd let that guy's name cross her noble lips again.
—You said it yourself when we met. You don't use names for people you don't respect.
—What's the point if it's forced from someone like that?
"...Hm."
As she steeled herself, his casual words lingered oddly.
Most who noticed her habit spat curses or scorn—high-handed, arrogant, childish—without guessing why.
Amelia understood first. He was second.
"...First guy to say it like that."
Second person overall, but first man. She didn't know why that distinction popped up.
Just felt... not bad.
"Aren, huh... Not a bad name for an ape. Fine to use it, I guess."
Rationalizing it away, Neriel rolled the two syllables on her tongue.