A Red Star in a Glass
A Red Star in a Glass
They had come to Fran for sightseeing. They hadn't set a date to return — they'd simply come because a suitable opportunity had arisen. So the proposal to spend the New Year here as well was accepted without issue.
Rosaria had nothing much to do anyway, and Isabella was with Rosaria and the Saintess, so there was no problem. Canaria also needed to rest and recover physically for the time being, and Zeke simply had to do as he was told, so he tagged along on the journey without a word.
The bits of news that trickled in weren't anything special. The Purple Tower Master, having survived and returned, had swallowed up the Magic Kingdom — or the Ottoman Empire had ultimately been subjugated under the Holy Kingdom's banner and become a paradise — or everyone who had led the coalition had been executed. That was about the extent of it.
Other than that, there wasn't even any news — just an unbroken peace, except for the bears of the North raiding villages more often because food was scarce.
For the first time in a long while, everyone played and laughed with no worries at all. This was exactly the dream Isabella had held on that day: traveling through Fran together, seeing Fran, and savoring everything it had to offer.
The happiest person of all was undoubtedly Isabella. In her second homeland, to which she had returned in glory, she roamed freely without a care, revisiting places she'd wanted to see or longed to visit one more time. And the fact that Zeke was at her side through it all — that, too, made her happy.
And so, the last day of the year drew near.
A farewell that only Isabella didn't know about was approaching.
Zeke, who had been reading that letter every single day and tormenting himself over it, was tormented by that truth. Canaria was preoccupied with how to coax Rosaria into wearing a dress, and Rosaria was preoccupied with how to escape Canaria's coercion.
Only Isabella went on laughing happily, without a care.
A strange sense of déjà vu brushed past her, though. It felt as if she had once dreamed of something like this — some wish for a scene exactly like this. Every day, the sensation of two friends' faces she couldn't recall wavered at the edge of her mind. But she couldn't quite remember exactly what they looked like.
Still, the feeling was pleasant, so she kept it tucked away in her heart.
"...Would you perhaps ring in the New Year together with me?"
And so, gathering her courage, she made the request to Zeke. After all, there was a popular superstition in Fran: if you greeted the New Year together, you would be together the following year as well.
Isabella simply wanted to weave some thread of connection — however thin — that might reach Zeke, who would soon return to being the Holy Empire's Emperor and Hero once their travels in Fran ended.
Because there wasn't much time left for them to be together.
"...Very well."
Zeke didn't refuse. A bitter taste only filled his mouth. Because once she saw the sunrise, she would regain her memories. And he knew that once that happened, all the memories they'd shared during this time would become an offense to her, and would come back to wound her.
But refusing her would have been no different. In the end, no matter what choice Zeke made, he would only end up rending Isabella's heart. So he resolved to choose the option that made him suffer just as much.
Just like the Isabella who had written that letter.
He intended to ache at her side.
To feel the same pain, to live unhappily, and by doing so atone to her — that was the thinking behind this wretched imitation of his.
"Thank you, Zeke."
Since the request had been made when they were alone, she called him by a different name. He had come to her room at her summons, after all. At the sight of her smiling so happily, calling him Zeke and thanking him, his emotions churned violently.
And at the same time, beyond the Isabella before his eyes, he seemed to see the Isabella from before she'd lost her memories — the one he'd glimpsed through that letter.
-I curse you for all eternity.
-You coward, you son of a bitch.
-I will resent you, you worthless piece of trash, for the rest of my life.
Beyond her smiling face, he felt as though the original Isabella — broken, resenting everything — was being projected over her.
His chest ached, but he forced himself to ignore it. He focused on the happiness that had so little time left. He concentrated on the sweet happiness of the present, which would give him the strength to endure the pain that lay ahead.
"...There was a ball?"
Rosaria asked in response to Canaria's question. Canaria had come to suggest they attend a New Year's ball together. Attending itself wasn't a problem, of course. If they were concerned about being noticed, they could simply alter their faces with divine power. And even her physical discomfort could be resolved with divine power.
And the matter of gender was also no problem at that point. Canaria had said she would dress in men's clothing and attend the ball together with her. At the same time, Rosaria glanced at the calendar. The day when the year would change was only about two days away. She worried there might not be enough time to practice dancing.
"It doesn't matter. I'll adjust myself to you, Rosaria."
Canaria had a talent for dancing as well. She possessed outstanding talent in many directions, after all. She could have become a painter had she held a brush, a knight had she held a sword, a scribe had she held a pen — so dancing with Rosaria was nothing to her.
And so it was that the two parties' schedules became completely divided. Isabella and Zeke would see the sunrise, and Canaria and Rosaria would attend the ball as the final event to close out the year.
"...It's truly been a long time."
For Rosaria and Canaria, the significance of spending the year's end together was far greater than one might think. They had always been apart when winter came this time of year. And for Canaria, it carried an even heavier weight.
Because the year she had spent alone — after Rosaria's death, after erasing Isabella's memories — was still so recent. So much so that even regarding this as a reward for all those past days she had gritted her teeth and endured for that dream would not have been enough.
Canaria had been unhappy.
But now things were different.
Rosaria was at her side.
Isabella, too, would soon regain her memories,
and in the end, the promise from that day would soon be fulfilled.
"...Yes, truly — it was a long time."
For Canaria, it had felt as long as a lifetime. She'd been submerged in a deep sea of tears born of sorrow, and a lead weight forged from love and friendship had kept dragging her further beneath that sea. The time she had spent neither dying nor truly living had stretched on endlessly.
And that was exactly why she clung to this happiness all the more.
Because now she could protect it. She had so much power that she even wondered if there existed anyone in this world who could tear them apart. Canaria possessed a power that was, frankly, excessive.
Of course, it was eating away at her lifespan, but she didn't care.
There were ways to replenish it, and her tolerance for suffering was so high that she could laugh off this much pain with ease.
And Rosaria, sensing those undercurrents, intended to play along with Canaria's whims. After all, the one who had cast that curse and died was none other than herself. It had been a long time since she'd decided that this second life Canaria had created for her through so many sacrifices would be lived for Canaria's sake.
Rosaria had once again prepared a surprise gift suited to the plan Canaria had been secretly arranging.
Thinking this, she lightly touched the ring on her fourth finger. A holy relic Canaria had crafted for her — something she had gifted her that day, calling it the projection of a heart that would never change.
Regrettably, she didn't remember that day very clearly, but she brushed it off, telling herself she'd been so happy that all the detailed steps had simply slipped her mind.
It was a day when some prepared for farewell, and others prepared for union.
The time that remained felt impossibly long.
And how each of them spent that time was different.
Rosaria, hoping to be of even a little help, moved her ailing body as best she could, practicing her dancing in front of the mirror. The lines of her dance were an utter mess, but she forced herself to ignore it and steadily polished them.
Canaria spent the time continuously checking her own physical condition while healing Rosaria. Time was tight, after all. She was calculating whether it might be better to reveal everything and work on healing that body together with her, if the chance arose.
Isabella passed the time calming her racing heart. The intensity she felt every day was something she still wasn't accustomed to, so she took frequent walks, cooling herself in the winter air, and moved in every direction searching for the perfect spot where just the two of them could watch the sunrise.
And Zeke simply wore a dark expression as he reread Isabella's letter — the one he had read countless times alone. With the pendant heavier than ever somehow still hanging from his neck, he clutched it in one hand, trying to lessen that weight even slightly.
Zeke was more tense than on the day he had raised the holy sword.
And so, each of them spent the time in their own way.
One, to become even slightly better;
One, to live even slightly longer;
One, to become even slightly happier;
One, to become even slightly less unhappy.
Two days passed, each with their own purpose.
Everyone wanted to grasp the flowing time.
They wanted to linger in that time, even just a little longer.
Because they wanted to hold onto, even just a little more, this peace and happiness they were experiencing for the first time, or for the first time in a very long while.
But time was not something that could be grasped — it flowed and flowed like water, and all that happened was that the promised moment drew near.
*
The last sun of December began to rise.
It was as bright as ever,
and it rose from the east as it always did.
And yet people endowed it with a different meaning, and the ideal enshrined in that meaning made even an ordinary sunrise seem a little more special.
And besides, Fran was a city that worshipped such ideals.
A day unlike any other — one befitting a special morning — began.
Music unlike any other day,
and plays unlike any other day,
began to fill the city.
On an ordinary day, it would have been a morning greeted with lively noise and cheer, but today alone, it was met with calm reverence. Songs composed solely for the year that had passed and the day to come filled the streets.
On an ordinary day, it would have been an afternoon of cheerful, frivolous, consumptive theater, but today alone, elegant and radiant plays began.
"This is why they say you should spend the New Year in Fran!"
Isabella's words, oddly buoyant with excitement, were true. There seemed to be no other nation that closed out the year with as much splendor as Fran. The contrast was especially stark for the others, who had come from places like the Holy Empire and the Holy Kingdom, where the year's end was marked simply with prayers and modest commemorations within the home.
'...That aside, is it really all right for the Saintess and the Emperor to be spending the New Year in a foreign country?'
But she couldn't help thinking that inwardly. Weren't both of them people who went beyond being key figures of their nations — people who were the very foundation of those nations? She'd momentarily forgotten their status thanks to having spent such a long time together, but now that she recalled it, things felt a little different.
Of course, the two of them weren't spending the New Year thoughtlessly.
In the case of the Holy Kingdom, Canaria had laid her hands on many things. She had come here after delegating a great deal of responsibility and authority to Francesco, so that the country could function even without the Saintess. It was the first year in the Holy Kingdom's long history that the Holy Spirit Festival was beginning without the Saintess.
And in the case of the Holy Empire, the Emperor didn't intervene to begin with. There was a reason Serena called Cain a wastrel, and one would do well to abandon any notion that a nation whose laws were first woven by such a wastrel would be ordinary.
Moreover, Zeke was a hero before he was an Emperor. The Holy Empire had more days spent without the Hero than with him, so even on the day the first sunrise came, that fact remained unchanged. Zeke's deputy would lead the New Year's festival in his stead, so it didn't matter.
"...I'm so glad you look happy, Isabella."
Rosaria meant every word.
The Isabella of this moment was deeply happy.
But precisely because of that, to everyone except Rosaria — to those who knew that Isabella had been tormented by her happy memories — that happiness looked deeply unsettling.
Yet they didn't let it show on the surface.
No one wanted to spoil the moment.
And so they quietly followed Isabella's lead and began to enjoy Fran as it welcomed the New Year. They had stayed long enough that they thought there was nothing left to see, but Fran, redecorated to greet the New Year, had changed so much in that short span that even places they'd already visited looked entirely different.
And so, before evening fell,
those precious hours slipped by in an instant.
Then, as the sun slowly began to set and night drew near, they arrived at the final course Isabella had prepared: a restaurant with a view of the Eiffel Tower at the heart of Fran.
'...How on earth did she manage to get a reservation?'
But the one who was surprised was Isabella. Paradoxically, the more famous a place was, the harder it was to get into. Securing a reservation for the New Year at this restaurant required heaven-sent luck — and yet Canaria had booked it the very day the idea was proposed.
Was this the power of a Saintess and a Hero?
She had no way of knowing the method, but Isabella felt a primal admiration for that power that made the impossible possible. And so, at a restaurant she might never have been able to visit in her lifetime, with the lights of the Eiffel Tower as a night view, she spent the finest evening imaginable.
'...This is the best.'
So much so that she thought it was worth being alive. Isabella felt that this moment was so radiant, so precious. She wondered if any day she'd lived before, or any day she would live from now on, might feel faded compared to today.
She was happy.
"...A beautiful sight."
Rosaria would not remember. The fact that the scenery Isabella had once apologized for not being able to see together — that very scenery — was the view before them now.
Isabella, too, would not remember. The scenery she had only ever imagined wanting to see together — that very scenery — was unfolding before her eyes now.
The only one who remembered was Canaria.
That this was the precious bond that had begun in that small orphanage — that this was the small dream she'd heard about in that dark underground room that day — that this was the moment she had envisioned, had promised, and had only now reached.
The gradual misalignments and absences —
she was the only one who had witnessed all of it.
Canaria wanted this brilliance to last forever.
"...Once today is over, by Fran's customs, we'll be adults, they say."
Then Canaria, recalling Isabella's words, spoke. When evening came, everyone would gaze at the tower brighter than the stars, promise each other tomorrow, end the happy day, and drink and make merry — Isabella had said.
"...I shall permit it to all of you, in the Saintess's name. Just for tonight — you may let wine touch your lips."
It was a somewhat arbitrary pronouncement. But when the person speaking was the Saintess — when it was Canaria — the weight was different.
Isabella felt a strange fluttering at those words. That deeply stirring sensation, as if she were crossing from girlhood into adulthood, began to make her tremble.
"...However, I forbid becoming intoxicated."
So saying, Canaria ordered wine. An elegant wine began to fill the glasses, releasing the fresh scent of grapes. It was poured only enough to savor the taste and aroma without becoming drunk. The light of the shining tower caught in the wine — red as a ruby — making it look like a crimson star.
And then, they drank the red star in the glass.
It was sweet.
Hot as fire,
and cold as the night air.
At the same time, the scents of wood and grape filled their mouths. And when they swallowed, a feeling of happiness seemed to flood the entire path the wine had traveled.
Rosaria looked at Canaria,
and Canaria looked at Rosaria.
It was as if the red star had moved to each other's cheeks.
Their faintly flushed cheeks came into each other's eyes.
Even the sight of her sitting with the tower's bright light behind her was elegant.
They touched their glasses together softly.
Even the chime of the glass was beautiful.
Though less so than the girl before her eyes.
A star that had descended from the heavens was there.
Two stars, shining with dazzling brightness.
That night was a night where stars watched stars and smiled.