Rumors
The news that the Saintess had given birth to a demon's child should have spread like wildfire.
He'd assumed the refugees fleeing in every direction would have carried the rumor with them.
And yet, against all expectations, not a single word about the Saintess's child had apparently passed anyone's lips.
Well, they were probably embarrassed.
In a village with a tiny population and nothing in the way of local specialties, the only claim to fame they had was that the Saintess herself was recuperating there. Slandering her honor would have been like spearing their own reputation through the gut.
Fine by him either way. So that was that.
"Ugh. God, you're heavy."
The moment he hoisted up the little deadweight, every stray thought evaporated.
And it wasn't his imagination.
The kid was definitely getting heavier by the day.
She was barely two weeks old, and yet her cheeks had already plumped up and her teeth were starting to come in — her growth was absurdly fast.
She was clearly no ordinary baby, then.
It was about time, he thought, to stop feeding her breast milk and move on to something else.
Her suckling strength had gotten so powerful that it was starting to hurt.
"Hey. What do you want to eat?"
"Umama."
"What does that even mean? And what am I supposed to call you, anyway...?"
He was on his way to the market when his feet suddenly stopped.
All this time he'd been calling her everything-but-her-name — this, that, little deadweight — without ever actually giving her one.
For convenience's sake, she needed a name.
Which raised the question of what to name her...
"Tiamat?"
The name had just popped into his head.
She was a dragon, after all, so it seemed oddly fitting.
But Tiamat was long and annoying to pronounce.
"Tia?"
"Mua!"
"You like it? Tia works for you?"
"Mue!"
"Alright. Tia it is. Easier on your mom's mouth, too."
Seemed the kid was fond of it as well.
Now that he'd actually picked it, it was a little too cutesy for his taste and he wasn't entirely sold on it — but he decided to leave it be.
Hated her though he might, you couldn't exactly name your child after a curse.
She was riding on his back, and as he walked along quietly patting her bottom, soon the only sound she made was the soft snuffle of her breathing. The little movements against his back had stopped.
She'd fallen asleep, apparently.
Wouldn't it be nice if it stayed like this forever.
Granted, he was exhausted from feeding her, changing her diapers, and washing her every single day — but if she started tearing around on her own two legs, things were only going to get worse. He knew it.
How wonderful would it be if she just stayed like this forever, dozing quietly on his back like a high-maintenance doll?
Even as he thought it, another part of him sincerely hoped she'd shoot up fast and start supporting him someday.
Whether that day would ever actually come, though...
No matter how he imagined it, the only future he could see was the one where the Inquisitors found her horns and dragged them both off to the executioner's block.
"Ah. No, scratch that. It's better if you grow up fast."
If that future could just hurry up and arrive.
He didn't have it in him to kill her himself, so all he could do was pray, desperately, that someone else would come along and lift this burden from his shoulders.
Having imagined at least a slightly hopeful road ahead, his footsteps felt a little lighter, too.
"Hmm..."
The tavern stood empty.
The man, freshly changed into his work clothes, trimmed his mustache and stepped out behind the bar. There was still plenty of time until opening — one of the few quiet, peaceful stretches of the day he could actually enjoy.
This place, which at a glance looked like a classy upscale bar, would soon enough be packed and rowdy, a rundown gin joint where he'd have to witness every stripe of humanity the town had to offer.
There was a lot to get ready before the doors opened.
First, he pulled the linen out of the drawer and got to work polishing the glasses that had gathered dust overnight. He held a glass up to the light to inspect it for specks and smudges, wiping it with the careful touch of a man wary of leaving a single fingerprint — and that was when it happened.
BANG!
"Boss!"
"Ah, for god's—"
The door-shaking bellow startled him so badly the glass slipped right out of his hand. His eyes went to the door, flung wide open, bright midday light pouring through it.
Standing there was a silver-haired girl of such breathtaking beauty that, were her mouth shut, she'd pass for the picture of demure elegance.
She was a woman entirely out of place in a dive bar like this.
"Another glass broken... and that one was expensive."
"Was that my fault?"
"Yes. That was entirely your fault."
"Then bill me. It's bad enough that I'm up to my neck in debt covering the refunds for whatever lunatic ruined things, and now this? Ugh. I can't live like this. Maybe I should just drop dead."
"You do realize the reason for those refunds was you...?"
"Oh, that jerk keeps throwing tantrums. If he wants to get his rocks off, he can go to a brothel. Tsk."
She'd cancel reservations on a whim — she'd even smacked a customer across the head once. Something about her seemed a little unstable.
That was why, despite her staggering beauty, she'd ended up buried in a dive bar like this instead of a cabaret.
There was no way on earth you could bill a kid who sang "I wanna die, I wanna die" all day long for the price of a glass.
The man heaved a long sigh and quietly fetched the broom to sweep up the broken glass.
"Why are you here so early today?"
"What's it to you? Pour me a scotch, Boss."
"Hey. We're not open yet."
"I know. That's why I'm asking for just one."
"One with you means the whole bottle."
"You know I won't, though."
"..."
At the sight of Yulia's bitter smile, the man shook his head and pulled out the bottle of scotch left over from yesterday. Any other employee would never have been served a drop before opening hours. But with Yulia it was a different story.
Apparently blessed with a stomach of solid steel, she could gulp and gulp and never get drunk, no matter how much she drank.
It was one of the reasons she was so popular with the regulars.
"You know you're an alcoholic, right?"
"Says who? How can I be an alcoholic when I literally can't get drunk? Stop fidgeting and pour."
"Why do you even drink? You don't get anything out of it."
"Mm. While I'm drinking, I do get a little tipsy. Then barely any time passes and it all fades away... but that little window is why I can't stop."
"You know every drop comes out of your paycheck, right? More than half your first month's wages is already gone."
"Oh, come on. No employee discount?"
"I gave you ninety percent off and it's still like this. Ease up."
"Tch..."
Yulia clicked her tongue and slid the empty glass back across the bar. Smiling to himself, the man pressed the cork back into the bottle and collected the glass.
Docking her wages for the drinks, of course, had been a lie.
He planned to give her the full contracted salary — plus a bonus on top.
After all, Yulia wasn't raising that child alone...
"Did I ask earlier why you came so early?"
"Yeah."
"Why else? I stopped by for food. Fix me one of those iron-plate fried rice dishes, Boss. Staff meals don't come out of our wages, right? Correct?"
"You should eat something else once in a while. You're going to coat your stomach in grease, you brat."
"Can't help being broke."
"What about the money I lent you?"
"Drinks and diapers and blankets and, uh... I forget. Point is, it's all spent. Turns out you can't just use any old cloth for diapers — if it's not the expensive stuff, everything leaks straight through and it's a total catastrophe?"
"If you'd spent a little less on booze, you'd have had plenty saved up."
"Why would I save money? I don't feel any need to."
"..."
The man blinked, feeling the edge of vertigo creep in.
So this is how the young generation thinks, huh.
He didn't want to sound like some out-of-touch old-timer, so he swallowed the lecture down deep.
"So. Is the baby... healthy?"
"Healthy. Dangerously healthy. I'm basically starving her, and she gets heavier by the day, exponentially."
"Hahaha. Well, that's just how babies are."
"No, I'm dead serious, this isn't a joke — she's puffing up like rising dough. It's giving me the creeps."
"You can't already be creeped out by your own daughter. In no time she'll be talking and walking around."
"Tell me about it."
"When that day comes, you'd better be careful. If she ever wanders outside alone and someone sees her..."
"Sees what?"
"Ah."
The instant he met Yulia's razor-sharp glare, the man froze solid.
He'd dropped by the storage room back when Yulia had been working a full overnight shift — worried about her, wanting to check in — and that was when he'd seen it.
The black horns rising from the baby's head.
Realizing, perhaps, that he already knew, Yulia's expression hardened into something grave.
"I'm sorry. I saw..."
"Are you going to spread it around? Tell the church? Hmm? I said, are you going to tell them?"
"No. I won't. Never. It stays a secret."
As that suffocatingly beautiful face loomed in close, the man shook his head over and over, swearing it up and down.
He couldn't very well let a rumor like that wreck the reputation of his best employee.
Yulia settled back into her seat with a look that was only half convinced, her hostile eyes still not softening one bit.
"That child... is, after all..."
"Yeah. You're probably thinking the same thing I am, Boss. A demon's—"
"A child of the demonkin, right?"
"Huh?"
"Yes?"
Demonkin...?
Wondering if he'd misheard, the man tilted his head. Horned folk — nothing came to mind except the demonkin.
That terrifying race that had once thrown the entire Human Realm into panic...
"Weren't you taking in and raising a demonkin's child?"
"Huh? Oh? Yes. Right. Demonkin — yes, that. That's it. Somehow or other I ended up taking in a demonkin's child, so... Mm. We'll just go with that..."
"...?"
Yulia nodded slowly, as if some realization had dawned, murmuring to herself.
Apparently there was quite a story behind it all.
If a young woman had reasons enough to take in a demonkin child and raise it in secret, it wasn't something she could easily share with others — so the man decided not to press the matter. He figured she'd tell him on her own when the time came.
"You'll keep it secret, won't you, Boss?"
"Of course. The central government is accepting demonkin immigrants and all, guaranteeing equal rights and whatnot... but if the church catches wind of you, they'll pin every impossible crime under the sun on you and kill you. It happens all the time."
"Hmm. But would they take the little one too? Curious, aren't you, Boss? Maybe we should turn ourselves in and find out. Even zealots wouldn't actually kill a child... right?"
"Yulia..."
Her mental state, it seemed, was not entirely healthy.
Just as the man called her name in concern and reached gently for her hand, something outside kicked up a commotion.
Wondering what was going on, he turned from the bar table and cracked the door open.
For some reason, the regulars had gathered out front and were clamoring away, utterly worked up.
"Master! So you were in there! I heard the rumor — is it true?"
"What rumor—"
"Yulia's in there too! We can just ask her ourselves! Yulia! Yuuuuulia!"
"Whoa, why is everyone losing it in broad daylight?"
With the crowd surging in through the door, the man had to throw his whole body into blocking it.
He had a pretty good idea why the regulars had shown up this angry.
Some unsavory rumor about one of his employees had obviously gotten out.
"...Tsk."
Watching a figure slip smoothly away through the seething crowd, the man clicked his tongue. All he'd caught was a pair of large fox ears standing bolt upright, but he had a fair guess who it was.
It was the waitress they called the Fox Granny — already up to three strikes of airing her coworkers' dirty laundry to the whole town.
"Is it true Yulia has a baby? Master, you'd know, wouldn't you!"
"..."
So that was the rumor.
So it finally came. The day I knew would come eventually.
This was exactly the time to keep his head.
The man took a deep, steadying breath.
"Ah. Well, you see..."
"Why are you dragging this out! It's suffocating! Yulia! You answer! Is it true? Do you really have a kid?"
"Haaah... Yes! It's true! So all of you, please calm down and step back!"
The man's voice boomed out, louder than he'd intended.
Now that the rumor had spread this far, damage control was impossible. Whether it was true or not, Yulia's career here was finished either way.
From this point on, the only thing left for him to do was help her quit cleanly, without being hurt. At least, that was what the man firmly believed.
"So it's true?"
"Yulia actually has an infant... oh my..."
"Th-then..."
The man squeezed his eyes shut.
He could already hear the torrent of abuse that was about to come pouring out.
But the words that burst forth next were nothing he'd expected.
"Yulia! If that was your situation, you should have told us sooner! You've been working here because you're desperate for money to raise the baby, haven't you! I always believed you were different from those tramps who sell their bodies!"
"Why slog away here when you could be my concubine instead? I'd treat you well, Yulia!"
"What did you just say, you old fool? Concubine, my foot! Yuliaaaa! I'll divorce my wife and make you my lawful bride! I'll treat the little one like my own flesh and blood! So please, come marry me!"
"Uh..."
Seated at the bar table, staring blankly toward the door, Yulia found her vocal cords locking up, unable to produce a single word.
The raw, unfiltered sweetness pouring out with no filter whatsoever had left her so dizzy she felt like her grip on sanity was about to slip.