It was the first time I had seen that expression.
An inscrutable expression—clingy and unsettling at once.
I had been confident that I could pick up on some degree of emotion even from a blank face, but I could not make heads or tails of the expression she wore now.
All I could feel was a chilling sensation, sticky and eerie.
When she had looked at me together with Kafka, she had not shown a trace of emotion.
So why was she giving off that feeling now, when she was looking at me alone?
The unfamiliar sight of her sent goosebumps down my arms, and the thought that I needed to help Kafka up was wiped clean from my mind.
"Are you okay? You look a little pale."
But it lasted only an instant.
When I blinked once and looked at Angelica again, that sticky, eerie air had vanished without a trace.
All I saw before me was Angelica, worried for my well-being.
What had that feeling been?
Had it just been my imagination...?
As if.
I knew better than anyone that it was not something I could simply dismiss as a trick of the mind.
The part of Kafka’s clothes I had been gripping was soaked through with my sweat.
My hand was drenched in sweat, proof enough. How could it possibly have been an illusion?
"...I’m fine."
I answered shakily as I helped Kafka to her feet.
Then I looked back at Angelica.
Wondering if she might have returned to that expression.
Fortunately, her face was still blank, but within that blankness I could see the relief she felt at my answer.
Yet the expression she wore now contrasted so starkly with the one from before that I could not speak for a moment.
...Maybe I had simply been overlooking it.
Maybe I had carelessly thought that as long as I maintained my title, nothing would happen.
Why had I forgotten?
That the person standing before me could one day become one of the bad endings that destroyed the world.
But then—
"Ian...?"
Her eyes began to tremble.
So clearly that I did not even need to use Insight Eye.
Her anxiety was written plainly across her face.
I had no idea what she was so anxious about, but her ruby-red pupils were shaking violently.
I was the one who felt anxious enough to die, so why was she the one worrying?
I did not know what could make her so uneasy.
Someone who could cut even such anxiety away with her sword.
Maybe anyone capable of making her like that would be even closer to a bad ending than she was.
No, I should first ask whether such a person could even exist.
I let out a small laugh at that useless thought, then looked at her again.
She was still staring at me with anxious eyes.
I really do not know why you are anxious over me....
Do not be anxious.
What would that make me, after I had made up my mind?
Right.
She could become a bad ending.
She was a sword demon with more than enough talent to do so.
And nothing changed about the fact that if she lost interest in me and my title was revoked, it would become a bad ending even if I reached the happy ending.
So what?
Did anything change just because I recognized that fact and corrected my own complacency?
No.
Whether she harbored the potential to become a bad ending or not.
Whether I knew about that potential or not.
Whether I took that potential lightly or not.
What I had to do did not change.
To become the best punching bag possible, so that she would not be disappointed.
Was that not what I had to do?
And so what if the gap between us did not shrink?
If she became a Sword User, then I would become a Sword User.
If she became a Sword Expert, then I would become a Sword Expert.
If she became a Sword Master, then I would become a Sword Master.
Even if I could never catch up to her, like Achilles and the tortoise.
I was confident that I could at least keep maintaining that unchanging distance between us.
A Sword Master?
I had planned to become one anyway.
So do not be anxious.
I looked at the wooden sword Kafka was still clutching tightly, then took hold of it.
"Want to have another round?"
"Really...?"
At my words, her pupils stopped trembling. She closed and opened her eyes, and her red gaze became sparkling rubies.
I never thought such insane words would come out of my mouth, but...
I thought it would not be so bad today.
So this is a special service, customer.
But then—
"No. I’ll stop here for today."
Angelica, whose eyes had been shining as she slowly approached me, stopped in her tracks and shook her head.
I was surprised for an entirely different reason.
Had that sparring monster just refused a spar?
Angelica, who had been pestering me for another round just moments ago?
I could only stare at her in bewilderment. She lifted one corner of her lips slightly before slowly opening her mouth.
"You were a patient until just a little while ago, Ian."
?
Is that really something you should be saying?
I felt my mind leave my body at her words.
I really did not think that should be coming from the person who had been gleefully beating that patient senseless just a moment ago.
Whether she knew what I was thinking or not, Angelica merely wore a faint smile.
"You aren’t any fun when you’re not at your best."
#
Ian had merely sat on the floor with his eyes closed, waving his hand through the air beside her.
Yet Kafka had used Mad Orlando.
Not an imitation, but the genuine Mad Orlando.
There was no falsehood in her sword. What remained was a storm made of nothing but fierce emotion.
How could that be possible?
She had not taken it into her eyes like Ian had.
Nor had she forged it through training, like Mother.
She had learned Mad Orlando simply because she was Ian’s spirit.
My interest was piqued.
I wanted to cross swords with Kafka’s madness.
And so the spar with her came to pass.
We clashed once, then twice.
Then the third exchange led into the fourth.
A battle against another madness that had received Ian’s swordsmanship.
We directly pitted our Mad Orlandos against one another.
But—
On the first clash, I felt puzzled.
It was the same madness as Ian’s, but it did not have his weight.
On the second clash, I felt disappointed.
It was the same madness as Ian’s, but it did not have his passion.
By the third clash, I felt nothing at all.
It was the same madness as Ian’s, but it did not have his persistence.
Interest became puzzlement.
Puzzlement became disappointment.
Disappointment became emptiness.
Why?
It was clearly the same technique.
Yet with every clash, all I could see was what it lacked.
Because she was not Ian?
But it was the same madness as Ian’s.
No.
She was not Ian.
This was not Ian.
No.
You are not Ian.
You are not.
You cannot even break my wooden sword.
You have neither that fierce emotion nor that persistence.
How could it possibly be the same madness as his?
As expected.
"It really isn’t the same."
I looked at the fallen Kafka.
Not enough.
Not enjoyable.
Not delicious.
She was not delicious.
I looked at Ian, trying to help her up along with Kafka.
Satisfying.
Delicious.
Fun.
Delicious.
Delicious.
As expected.
The eyes that had held both of them now held only one person.
"As expected, I think it has to be Ian."
It has to be Ian’s madness.
It has to be his sword.
It only means something when you swing it.
Sparring with Ian is fun.
Sparring with Kafka is not fun.
That is why it is not enough.
I want to be filled.
I want to fill this emptiness again.
So, Ian, will you fill me again?
My gaze kept following Ian.
I fixed Ian inside my world.
Because only you can fill this emptiness.
Fill me, until I am satisfied.
Make me full.
Your spirit had stirred me up so much, but I was not satisfied at all.
Then...
Shouldn’t you, the contractor, take responsibility?
Yes, that is not bad.
This is Ian’s fault.
You made me expect things without permission, then failed to satisfy me at all, didn’t you?
So come on, hurry.
I reached out my hand.
The most delicious food of all, a lavish feast that would fill me.
It was right before me.
I want to eat.
I want to eat again.
I never tired of it no matter how much I ate, and it had brought something new into my world.
I want to eat your sword.
So fill this emptiness with your sword—
At that moment.
—Monster.
A single word flashed through my mind.
Why...?
Why did that word suddenly come to mind?
I blinked once, then looked at him again.
And I could see that Ian’s face did not look well.
"Are you okay? You look a little pale."
He looks pale.
"...I’m fine."
No, he must be fine.
I was relieved.
—Monster.
But then.
Something occurred to me.
Really.
Was Ian’s face truly the one that looked unwell?
The person whose face really did not look well...
"...Ian?"
Was that not me?
Monster.
The more I looked at his face.
The more that word filled my head.
That word I had always heard, always seen.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
That is not it.
It is not.
Ian said so.
Even if he saw me as a monster, he would become a monster like me.
He said he would not leave me alone.
He said that.
Even if I am a monster.
—Monster.
I knew you saw me as a monster.
But when you look at me like that, my chest still aches.
Ah.
His mouth is starting to open.
I am scared.
Because I do not know what you will say.
No, I think I know. That is why I am scared.
Do not.
Do not say it.
Do not call me a monster...
Snort.
But what came from his mouth—
Was the sound of air escaping in a short puff.
A hollow laugh.
He was laughing without saying anything.
Then his next words were—
"Want to have another round?"
A challenge to a duel.
The second challenge to a duel he had ever uttered—the first time he had asked for another after always stopping at one.
I closed my eyes, then opened them.
When I looked at him again.
He was smiling as he always did.
And for the first time, preparing for a second spar.
He lifted the wooden sword Kafka had not let go of.
As though telling me he would continue the fight that had failed to fill me.
The moment I heard those words.
That one word which had filled my mind began to fade away.
"...Really?"
I walked toward him, one step at a time.
I had been left wanting because I could only eat one a day.
But I endured it.
Because I could eat again tomorrow.
But when I spent three days lying down.
I was hungry.
So terribly hungry.
And I endured it.
So it is okay to eat one more time, right?
Because you gave me permission.
I slowly approached him, about to reach out my hand.
No.
I shook my head.
"You were a patient until just a little while ago, Ian."
Ian had spent three days lying in the infirmary.
And not long after that, he sparred with me.
He could not be at his best.
Would he taste good, then?
Ian would be delicious no matter when I ate him.
But if I wanted to enjoy him at his most delicious.
I did not think now was the time to fight.
If we fought tomorrow.
If I fought Ian after he had grown stronger than before, when he was at his best.
Would he not be even more delicious?
So—
"You aren’t any fun when you’re not at your best."
Yes, he surely would not taste good.
So I will endure it until tomorrow.
I endured three days, so I can endure one more.
The more I endure, the more delicious it will be.
Because delicious things are meant to be saved and savored.
So, Ian.
Please.
Grow stronger and stronger.
And keep remaining strong like that.
Tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that.
So that I can fill my stomach to my satisfaction.
#
Today had been rather dizzying.
Both the sudden ring incident and that Angelica brat.
Still, learning that passing skills on to a squire was so simple had been a major gain.
But why was I this tired when I had barely done anything?
Once I reached the dormitory, I roughly washed up and lay down in bed.
As soon as I settled onto the soft mattress, crushing fatigue came flooding through my body.
Seriously, I could not believe I was this tired even after sleeping like a log for three days.
Still, those three.
They only glared at me and did not say much else.
I thought they might ask about the ring, but while they were wary of me, not one of them directly brought it up.
It seemed Iris had explained things well enough....
Even so, Asdel and Charles had especially been glaring at me.
I could understand Charles. His kingdom’s secret technique had been NTR’d and turned into a public resource, after all.
But why had Asdel been looking at me like that?
He had looked as though there was something he wanted to say.
Could it have been because of the ring?
The Holy Kingdom probably did not have many items filled with that much holy power either.
I had suddenly possessed that ring, then suddenly given it to Iris, so perhaps he was curious about that.
Well, if he was curious, he would come find me eventually.
More importantly, Dante is late.
I looked at the empty bed beside mine.
Was he out on another nighttime walk today?
He had said nightly walks were part of his routine.
Deciding there was no reason to wait for him, I simply closed my eyes.
It seemed as though the shadows were rippling, but I did not pay attention.
I assumed Kafka was tossing and turning in the shadows while she slept, and I was too exhausted.
And then—
"—Aaaaaah!"
I had to wake at the sudden, high-pitched, thin scream.
What the fuck? An attack?
No matter how lacking in business ethics those villain bastards were, there should not be an event where they attacked in the middle of the night.
I opened my eyes and looked beside me.
Dante was there.
It seemed that thin scream had come from Dante.
But was that not strange...?
That had been an awfully thin scream for a man.
And that was not all.
"You, you. Ian, you."
How should I put it? Dante wore an expression I had never seen before.
Was it contempt? Or an expression that said he could not understand?
What could he possibly be looking at to make that face... Wait.
What is this?
This heavy, stifling sensation?
Something soft pressed against my chest, bearing down on me.
And something fluffy was brushing against my trembling legs.
I looked down, and I had no choice but to gape.
Because—
Kafka was sleeping while hugging me like I was a body pillow.
Completely naked, at that.
Ha ha.
Is this what they call pleasure without responsibility?
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