The Empty Seat

"Yulia. I wonder if she's doing okay."

"The fact that she hasn't come back is a good sign. No news is good news with her. Just forget about her."

"Yes, sir······."

It had been a week since Tia and Yulia left the Lyuba Tavern.

Sasha, bored out of her mind, slumped over the bar table with a groan. Customers had always been scarce, but with two conversation partners gone instead of one, the tedium was almost unbearable.

"Master, aren't you lonely?"

"Well. A little, maybe? But Yulia's the type to land on her feet wherever she goes, so I'm not worried."

"Well, I'm very lonely and worried······."

Sasha heaved a deep sigh and flopped back down onto the bar table. She already missed Yulia. She missed Tia too, who used to tear around the tavern raising all manner of hell.

From the very first moment she'd met her, Sasha had often thought there was something special about Yulia. It wasn't just her looks—the woman herself was strange. Like someone from another world, you could say. Strangely alien, and yet there was something compelling about her. To put it another way, she was clearly not cut out for working in a bar like this.

"Did you not hear back from Yulia? I sent her a mountain of letters. Maybe she's busy."

"Considering she hasn't replied at all, I'd say she's not busy—more like they never arrived. Or someone might be intercepting them along the way."

"Hmm······. I'll have to go visit her in person someday, then."

"Oh. Now that I think of it, an official letter came for the shop."

"What is it?"

"The murderer who killed your parents. They say he's been arrested."

"······."

Sasha took the paper, and her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠expression hardened. This is what the document read:

"That's good news."

"I suppose it is······."

Sasha gave an awkward smile and reread the notification she'd already read once, then read it again. When the police used a phrase like "strongly believed to be," it was safe to assume the culprit had essentially been caught.

Ten years ago, the enemy who had killed her parents had finally been apprehended. So what kind of reaction was she supposed to have at a moment like this? Should she break down in sobs? Or leap for joy? Sasha found herself wondering, internally, which response would seem most natural—because in truth, she felt nothing at all.

"People cheaper than dirt······ is what I'd say, but the Master would have a fit if he heard me."

Parents. There were people who said the mere mention of those two words brought tears to their eyes, but Sasha ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠simply could not understand them at all.

Her parents had been a remarkably well-matched pair: a commoner-born businessman for a husband, a fallen noblewoman for a wife. They lived lives of elegance, if not abundance—or so it appeared to everyone on the outside.

Ivan's business had begun to rot from the inside, cooking its books from early on to blind and deceive investors, while Lena's extravagance and kleptomania worsened by the day. The quarrels between husband and wife never ceased. And born in the middle of all that was Sasha—a horned unicorn beastkin, so rare that her very existence defied belief.

To the couple, horns were the stuff of legend, and at first they had dared to hope. Surely Sasha must have been born with some extraordinary talent.

And Sasha truly was a prodigy. She spoke her first words before she was even six months old, and by her first birthday she had already mastered two languages. But that was the extent of it. Aside from being a little ahead of other babies, there was nothing remarkable about her at all. The magic aptitude test they'd paid a fortune for came back a complete bust.

That was when it began. The education that bordered on abuse in pursuit of her hidden talent curdled into simple, senseless abuse. As the family business steadily collapsed, Sasha was reduced to a puppet for her parents to take their frustrations out on. Yet out in the world, Ivan remained a respectable businessman and a devoted father, and Lena a beautiful, supportive wife. The wider the gulf between their public image and the truth grew, the greater their stress and hysteria mounted—and it was always little Sasha who bore the brunt of it.

When her parents were murdered before her eyes by a robber, Sasha felt no emotion whatsoever. Instead of rage or grief, nothing but cold, detached reason filled her young mind. If there was one feeling she could faintly identify, it would have been exhilaration.

The robber, terrified by the sight of a girl standing motionless and expressionless, drenched in blood, forgot even to silence the witness and fled. But Sasha played the part of a child who had lost her memory from shock, and for over a decade the killer was never found.

Until today, that is.

"A pitiful person."

That was what the murderer was to Sasha—the one who had dragged her out of her own private hell. And now she couldn't even bring herself to stop that person from being executed as a murderer. She felt a little sorry, that was all.

"Is Irina not coming in today?"

"Oh, she's taking the day off. Said she was going to see the kids."

"Is that right? So Irina finally worked up the courage, huh."

"······."

A parent's love is an illusion. It was after meeting Irina that Sasha became certain of that. Irina had abandoned her two children. She made excuses, saying it was out of love, but the fact that she'd abandoned them remained unchanged. See? There's no such thing as a parent's selfless devotion. Parents, as a species, always look after their own comfort first.

That was the belief Sasha lived by, unshakable—until the day Yulia appeared and wrecked it all.

"She picked up a demon baby that wasn't even her own flesh and blood, and raised it?"

"Without receiving a single coin from anyone for it?"

"Even in a crisis that could've been solved by selling Tia off, she shielded her to the very end?"

It was all impossible to believe. Yulia poured out love for someone else's child—a child of an entirely different race, no less—more than any birth parent ever could.

Sasha wanted to believe Yulia was simply unusually meddlesome and a little foolish. In the beginning, she even brainwashed herself into thinking exactly that. But soon she had to admit the truth: that a parent's love does exist in this world. That it was only her own parents who were abnormal, and that parents everywhere loved their children.

After accepting that, her chest ached for a long time. It felt as though she alone had been cast out into the world, utterly alone.

But Yulia never left Sasha to suffer through it by herself. She took her by the hand and led her out. She showed her that she wasn't alone.

"Mmhm. I miss her······."

Sasha smiled as she recalled that warmth she'd once felt at the tips of her fingers. It seemed she only understood after Yulia was gone. Only after feeling that hollow ache did she realize it. It was a little funny, really, but Sasha had come to think of Yulia as a parent of her own. She had been craving from Yulia the parental love she'd never received.

And before that hunger could ever be filled, Yulia had slipped away and left.

"She'll probably stop by when she gets leave. Just wait for it."

"Yes, sir······."

When she was with Yulia, Sasha could even take pride in this horn of hers. But now it had reverted to being nothing but a cumbersome, repulsive burden.

"Nnngh!"

"Wh-what?! What's wrong, Sasha?"

"It won't break······."

She'd gripped her horn and strained with all her might, but all she got for it was a headache that felt like her brain was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠being shaken loose; the horn remained perfectly intact. Sasha gave a hollow laugh and patted her horn idly.

"Will I ever be able to love this horn someday?"

She tossed the question inward. The answer came quickly.

"Not a chance. If even my own parents recoiled from it, how could I possibly love it?"

Impossible. Although—when Tia had looked at her horn and told her it was cool, it had felt possible.

And already, she missed Tia and Yulia again.

Her nerves were shot. In over thirty years of life, this was the most nerve-wracking moment she had ever known. Even so, Irina wrung out every last drop of courage she had, set her frozen legs in motion, and began walking again.

"Hoo······. Haa······."

The lord's manor was already close by. That meant the moment she'd meet the two children was drawing near. The closer her destination came, the harder Irina felt her heart pound and the damper her palms grew.

"Ugh. Maybe I really should have come with Yulia after all."

A flicker of regret crossed her mind. If Yulia were beside her, she'd have grabbed her hand by now and dragged her forward. She'd have poured courage back into her every time fear made her want to turn around and run.

Even so, she had come alone because she didn't want to lean on Yulia anymore. It was thanks to Yulia that she'd even resolved to look for the children. That much was enough. Besides, Yulia was a busy woman now. Asking her to tag along yet again would only be a burden.

"Ah."

Irina's steps stopped. Beyond the iron fence lay a sprawling garden, and within it she could see the brother and sister running about endlessly, laughing. It was a sight that warmed her heart at a glance—and at the same time made it ache. They've already grown that much, huh. Kids really do grow fast, even if they're not Tia.

At that thought, Irina almost settled for simply watching from here. She almost turned back. But she couldn't do that. She had made a promise to Yulia.

Gritting her teeth, Irina barely managed to force one foot in front of the other. No matter how many times she smoothed down the ears standing rigid with tension, they kept popping right back up. In the end she gave up and left them sticking straight toward the sky.

"What do I say when I meet them? I should start with 'I'm sorry,' right? Or maybe······."

Irina's head was a tangled mess. The moment the children noticed the sound of her footsteps, their heads whipped around all at once. Then, as if entranced, they began slowly drifting toward the fence. It was the instant Irina, standing right at the bars, was just barely forcing the words past her lips while fighting back tears.

"Kids, it's······"

"Who are you?"

Who are you?

Those three words tore Irina's heart to shreds. Her fox ears, standing at full attention, slowly drooped and fell flat. As the children's puzzled faces pressed in close, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Irina shook her head silently and backed slowly away. When she came to her senses, she had already turned her back and was running away.

"Huu, haa! Aah······!"

Then she stumbled and crashed to the ground, and at last the tears she'd been holding back burst free. She lost all strength to stand. Her will had snapped clean in two. Flat on the ground, Irina clutched her chest and sobbed for a long while.

"Hm?"

Then she sensed a presence behind her and turned around. A familiar man was standing there.