One Month

Like air or atmosphere, there are times when a person can clearly sense a change in something invisible to the eye.

Just like right now.

So this is what they mean when they say the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠air is heavy.

With every step I took, the pressure crushing down on my body doubled. It was nothing like simply having heavy shoulders. Literally, my entire frame felt as if it were being ground beneath a massive millstone. My chest, my lungs, every organ inside me was compressed until even drawing a breath became a struggle.

I didn't need to ask the woman seated on the sofa with the sunlight at her back what she thought of me.

"May I sit, hah…"

Just one word. I had to wring every last scrap of air from my lungs simply to force that single syllable out.

"May I sit down?"

"……."

The woman did not answer. She merely watched me with those lifeless, dead-black eyes.

"They say silence is… just another form of… consent."

And so I let my whole body collapse onto the sofa opposite the mistress of this place—the woman who clearly found my presence thoroughly unwelcome.

"Hah."

Once my legs no longer had to hold me up, breathing became fractionally easier.

"First of all…"

After steadying my breath, I lifted my head and took in the woman across from me.

Dark blue-black hair, the tips bleached pure white and so dry they looked ready to crumble at a touch. But what drew the eye more than anything was her gaze—utterly devoid of life, dead black in a way that felt nothing like the doll-girl who had come looking for me before.

A human eye is made of white, then brown or blue depending on race, and finally black. The woman before me, however, was composed of white and black alone.

Beyond that, the only other notable features were the large and small scars scattered across the skin exposed by clothing far too revealing for the season.

"I am well aware that you find this… hah. Yes. Quite unpleasant."

She was a being who could choke the life from someone merely by looking at them. If she so much as wished it, she could snuff out an ordinary nobody like me without ever lifting a finger.

And that was precisely why I liked her.

This crushing pressure, these instinctive warnings—all of it proved that my decision to plant myself in the slums had not been a mistake.

"Since you clearly have no intention of conversation at the moment."

They say humans are creatures of adaptation. After only a short exposure to this immense pressure, I was already growing a little more skilled at breathing under it.

"I would ask that you at least read this."

I drew out the contract I had drafted on my first night in Sector 12.

"Once you've read it, if you still have no desire to talk, you may do with me as you please."

I unfolded the neatly creased contract, rolled it back into a tube, and sent it rolling across the table toward the woman seated opposite me.

"……."

She glanced once at me, then shifted those black eyes to the contract that had come to rest on the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠table. With the top of her foot she flicked it upward. The contract rose in a gentle arc and landed neatly in her left hand.

Those were the terms written on the contract she was reading now.

The reason she never left this Western Slum was so that she could drown out the phantom pain mentioned in the contract with drugs. Naturally, not being the one who suffered it, I had no idea how agonizing that phantom pain truly was, nor how much the drugs dulled it.

But from the moment I first laid eyes on her, I had been certain of one thing: the drugs were not easing her pain nearly as much as I had initially assumed.

"You."

Her mouth, silent until now, finally opened. The voice that slipped through that small gap was strikingly androgynous.

"Interesting."

In that instant something tugged at my breast pocket, and the fountain pen I had clipped there flew of its own accord through the air into the woman's grasp.

Scratch, scratch.

She smoothed out the curled edge of the contract, scrawled something brief across it with the pen, then rolled the pen back up inside the paper and sent it tumbling toward me.

I unrolled the returned contract.

"One month."

Her voice came again before I could even pick up the pen. I raised my head.

"You weren't actually expecting more, were you?"

"Of course not."

What that one month meant was something both she and I already understood. There was no need to spell it out further.

"You priests. Past or present, you're all equally disgusting."

"I thought I'd washed rather thoroughly, but if I smell, I do apologize."

Every hair on my skin stood on end.

I signed my name above the name Raven.

Both Party A and Party B had signed. The contract burned away into nothing.

I slid the fountain pen back into its place and lifted my head.

"Priest."

I never thought the day would come when someone would make me feel a chill run down my spine.

"Yes."

Watching me with those dead-black eyes, she crooked one corner of her mouth into a smirk and rested her chin on the knees she had drawn up against her chest.

"Just remember—I've beaten more than a dozen of your kind to death."

Her declaration that she would kill me too if I failed to produce results within a month. I nodded and drew a glass vial of Nectar from my coat.

"I'm well aware that not every priest enjoys a god's favor."

Her gaze on the vial of Nectar, glowing with its clear, luminous color, was dry ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and flat.

"This is merely a medicinal treatment to restore the balance of your ruined body before the real healing begins, Miss Raven."

"The real…"

Only then did a faint spark of interest rekindle in those dead-black eyes.

"If possible, I would prefer to observe your reactions from close by."

"Do as you like."

"Ah—that said, I have no intention of staying here."

Just as she had taken the fountain pen, she drew the Nectar into her hand with some invisible force.

"Unless you prove everything you wrote on that contract, I have no plans to leave this place."

"That's a shame. But since I'm the one who finds it a shame, I'll make a point of visiting regularly, even if it's a bit of a hassle."

As I rose from the sofa, the smile of the woman resting her chin on her knees deepened a fraction.

"You I'll flay specially."

"I might consider it in summer, but I'll pass in winter."

I was reaching the limit of what I could endure. With a slight bow as my final courtesy, I left the room at speed.

"Hah."

The moment I stepped outside the annex, the crushing pressure vanished, and my legs nearly buckled beneath me.

I should take another shower the second I get back.

The insides of my coat and shirt were already soaked through with cold sweat—thoroughly unpleasant. At least the air was clean and the sunlight warm; the breeze here was milder than in Sector 12, so the cold wasn't too bad.

"Did the conversation go well?"

As I climbed into the car, the man in the passenger seat looked back at me through the rearview mirror.

"We've agreed to meet periodically for one month."

"…I see."

His expression didn't change, but his reply came a clear beat late.

"Please convey that to your superiors."

"Haha, of course. If you let me know the times, I could even come pick you up."

"Ah, no need. I haven't set any fixed schedule."

"……."

The awkward smile faded from his face.

"That concludes today's business. Shall we go?"

"…Yes."

The car that had been sitting idle began to move again, and with that, my first visit to the Western Slum came to an end.

Thud.

When I stepped out in front of my building, the Mad Dog members posted to guard the construction materials bowed toward me as they always did. I gave a light nod and headed up to the second floor.

"Lonely, I suppose you'd call it."

We had only lived together for a little over a month, and yet Jamie's absence hit harder than I expected. It was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thoroughly unfamiliar feeling—I'd never experienced anything like it before.

I hung a single coat on the rack that usually held two, then walked into the bedroom. I stripped, stepped into the shower, and warmed my sweat-chilled body under hot water before coming back out.

"Did I send Jamie off too early?"

Then I remembered that leaving the district required Benjamin's permission. The thought lasted only a moment. If I needed a contact, I could simply use the organization members downstairs.

Hummm!!

I had just finished changing and was about to head out when the rosary around my neck began to glow. It was the first time this had happened, but I wasn't so dense as to miss what it meant.

"Have you been watching this whole time?"

When I addressed the rosary, the faint pink light deepened for a moment—like the haze that had filled Verdia's bedchamber—before settling back to its soft pink glow. Almost as if it were nodding.

"So I should bring Miss Vita?"

Hum.

The rosary blinked once more.

"Then would you send a carriage to the entrance?"

Hummm-hummm-hum.

The light flickered rapidly, then settled back into a single slow pulse—exactly as if someone had burst out laughing and then composed herself.