Raindrops tapped against the windowpane. Once. Then again.

The monotonous sound was infinitely amplified in the dead silence of the night. Was it crying? Or praying for the dead?

The darkness outside the tower was impenetrable. Only when lightning occasionally tore across the sky would it bring a moment of stark, pale light, illuminating the unfamiliar room and my wide-awake eyes.

The bed beneath me was soft to the point of discomfort, completely different from the hard plank bed in the church. My body was utterly exhausted, every muscle begging for sleep.

But my mind was like a string wound to its breaking point, humming in the darkness, refusing any form of peace.

Three clear knocks sounded abruptly at the door.
"Mary, it's me, Grey. I brought some dinner. Is now a good time?"
"...Please come in."

The door opened gently. A sliver of light extended inward with its movement, outlining a tall, slender figure.

Grey stood in the doorway, holding a tray laden with food—steaming hot, emitting the scent of rye bread and some kind of meat stew. A smell that should have been enticing now churned my stomach.

Grey walked in, his steps light. His pristine white mage's robe was spotless, without a single crease.
He placed the tray softly on the bedside table, his movements fluid and natural.
"Eat while it's hot. No matter how down you feel, as long as we eat, we can find a bit of happiness."

I forced myself to pick up the spoon, scoop some stew, and bring it to my mouth. The warm liquid slid down my throat but brought no warmth. Instead, it felt like sandpaper, grating painfully.
Grey stood by the bed, watching me quietly. His gaze was as gentle as gauze, concealing the true intentions hidden beneath.
"How are your ears and eyes? I performed healing, but there might be aftereffects," he suddenly asked, his tone still calm, carrying that gentleness I was all too familiar with, the one I had secretly recalled countless nights.
"Mmm... Thank you very much."

He showed no sign of noticing my distress and continued,
"In a couple of days, the town is holding an autumn harvest festival. Would you like to go together, to relax a bit?"

Autumn harvest festival?
Relax a bit?
The words slammed into my taut nerves like sledgehammers.
What in the world is he talking about?

I could no longer control myself. I slammed the spoon onto the tray with a clatter and glared at him, growling,
"You... how can you? How can you just sit here, bringing dinner... inviting me to some festival? The blood in the church isn't even dry yet!
"And just one day ago... you suspected I was that evil elf! You were going to kill me! Just in case, because of a few simple guesses! You told me! Told me with your own mouth!"

Tears blurred my vision without me realizing it. Whether to bolster my courage or out of sheer confusion, I suddenly raised my voice,
"I always saw you as a hero, a savior...
"And you? You used all that grand talk, that gentle, unquestionable, creepy tone to tell me to die! You almost... almost convinced me! Do you know that? For a few seconds, I really thought my death was necessary! Inevitable!
"That elf found the real monster and solved the fight for you. So, you just pretend nothing happened? Pretend you never looked at me with those eyes? Never sat in judgment over me, deciding my life or death?
"And now... the autumn harvest festival? Ha! How do you expect me to respond? How am I supposed to forget that you came within a hair's breadth of killing me?"

After the frantic, breathless questioning, my chest heaved violently. My whole body trembled uncontrollably from agitation and grief, tears falling like broken strings of pearls.

The room plunged into a deathly silence, broken only by the sound of rain, my choked sobs, and Grey's steady breathing.

I sat back on the bed, waiting for Grey's response.
What will he do? Scold me condescendingly from his position as the hero? Continue defending himself with that sickeningly calm attitude? Or not show even a flicker of disturbance?

However, the reaction he gave defied all my expectations.

There was no anger on his face, no guilt, not even a trace of displeasure at being yelled at. His deep eyes reflected a strange glint.
Was that... happiness?
Was he pleased?

He spoke.
"Over the past year, I visited the people in Stardrop City who survived by chance."
"It's interesting. Facing me, their 'benefactor,' most were superficially polite but inwardly cold and guarded, treating me like an unwelcome creditor."
"So, when I first saw your calmness—or rather, indifference—in the church, I thought you had completely forgotten the past, even more so than those others."
"Therefore, hearing your words just now, confirming that not only do you remember, but you even held me in such high regard... I am genuinely, sincerely very pleased. That alone is enough to set you apart from most people."

I jolted violently, staring at him in disbelief. The receding anger surged back like a tidal wave.
"You care about that? These trivial things? You cold-blooded, selfish, absurd monster... I've said all this, and you still haven't understood my feelings at all!"

Grey was silent for a moment, then gently pulled down his collar.
I stiffened involuntarily, my mind going completely blank in an instant.

On his neck was a horrifying gash, revealing crisscrossing blood vessels, dark red muscle, and broken bone.
The wound wasn't bleeding, wasn't festering. It just had a dead, eerie, unsettling quality. It seemed not to belong to a living being but was instead branded onto a corpse.

"Necross's attack targeted the essence of 'death.' After being directly touched by her, I've tried all sorts of treatments and medicines repeatedly, but even now, it hasn't healed. I'm afraid it will still take two or three more days to gradually recover."
"Right now, just to speak with you, I have to use structuring magic to simulate a substitute vocal cord."

Grey paused, lowered his eyes, his voice growing softer. He said,
"In the war against the demons, I myself don't remember how many times I suffered wounds many times worse than this, how many times I hovered on the very edge of true death."
"Unfortunately, I'm a coward by nature. No matter how many times I experience it, I can never get used to that immense fear."
"Every time I narrowly escape death, I can't immediately return to the reality of 'being alive.'"
"For several nights afterward, I can't sleep. The moment I close my eyes, I see the blood flying and scattered limbs from before death."
"I'd keep drinking hard liquor, trying to burn away those images, to numb myself... Sometimes, I'd even force concerned comrades to drink with me until both our consciousnesses floated away, until we could no longer distinguish the living from the dead, before I'd stop."
"Believe me, I understand your terror, your unease, and your sense of powerlessness better than anyone."

It was only then that I noticed his hand was trembling slightly.

His voice carried a strange power of suggestion, as if trying to drag me into his memories. My heart clenched involuntarily; my anger was being suppressed by more complex emotions.
He's lying. This monster who can express pleasure when I'm pouring out my pain, who has a near-immortal body—how could he possibly share the same fears as me?
And yet, his slightly trembling hand, the weariness and emptiness in his eyes... I found it terribly hard to believe it was all an act.

I heard myself utter a dry retort.
"...You're lying. You're not scared at all."
"I am the Hero, Mary. I don't have the right to show fear in front of the people."
"But if you peel away that outer layer, I, you, everyone—we are all fragile,不堪一击 (utterly weak) beings who value peace of mind above all else."