Chapter 41
This is a story from my childhood.
I visited my maternal grandmother’s house with my parents during summer vacation.
There was a puppy at my grandmother’s house.
Brown fur, innocent eyes, and a tiny body.
It was an adorable puppy.
I loved that puppy very much.
For a child, there wasn't much to do at Grandma's besides watch TV.
For me, who was terribly bored, the little puppy was a special friend.
So I spent a lot of time with it.
One day...
My eldest maternal uncle brought home a pure white puppy.
It was a pretty, snow-white puppy, like one of those plush toys sold in stores.
My heart fluttered at the arrival of the new puppy.
It was cuter and prettier than the one I'd been with until then.
I shouldn't have.
I was captivated by the puppy my uncle had brought, and neglected the one who'd been there before.
Because it was prettier.
Because it was cuter.
Because it was more affectionate.
When I visited my grandmother's house again, the beautiful golden-brown puppy was nowhere to be found.
When I asked my grandmother, she told me it had left the house the day after I went home.
Had the affection and attention it had always received abruptly stopped, making it think this was no longer a place for it?
My grandmother's words made me feel heartbroken, despicable as I was.
If only I'd taken care of it, even a little.
If only I'd spared it even a little affection.
Then the puppy wouldn't have left.
What must it have felt?
What was it like to have the affection that had always been directed at it turn cold, until it was not only neglected but ignored?
It must have been an unbearable, miserable wound.
This may sound very strange.
But when I looked at Azazel, I thought of that puppy.
Her expression was just that wretched.
It would surely be wrong to leave her like this.
So I advised her to be honest with her feelings.
Presumptuous of me, I know.
I didn't feel good saying it.
Naturally.
From what I'd learned while living with Ain, I realized I was an extremely possessive person.
It hurts to tell the person I like—the person I love—to confess to him.
It hurts to see his attention turn toward another woman.
I wish he'd look only at me.
I wish he'd love only me.
It's a selfish heart, bound up in stubborn possessiveness.
But is that really the right thing to do?
If I want to stand proudly by Ain's side, I have to change.
I have to aspire to be a fair and benevolent Saintess.
I can't just leave someone who's suffering alone.
I should show her a way forward.
That's why I urged Azazel to be honest about her feelings.
Fortunately, she seems to have taken it positively.
Still, I can't say I have no worries.
What if, by some one-in-a-thousand—or ten-thousand—chance, Ain accepted her confession?
What if he grew sick of wretched me, turned away from me, and came to love Azazel more?
Would I end up like the puppy I'd neglected?
At the thought, a chill ran through me, and the hair on my nape stood on end.
My heart tightens.
My chest feels heavy.
It's so painful.
But I suppose I'm not the only one feeling this way.
Azazel must feel the same.
After all, she'd known Ain longer than I had.
I couldn't bring myself to ignore her pure, unwavering love.
You could call it empathy.
Erasing your feelings without ever expressing them is so sad.
“That's enough. Let go.”
Azazel pulled herself out of my embrace.
Her face was as red as her hair and irises.
“Your face is a mess.”
Sniffling and rubbing her swollen eyes, she looked less like a witch and more like an ordinary girl.
I wiped her face with a wet towel.
She didn't reject my touch.
“Are you feeling calmer?”
“Yeah.”
As if embarrassed, she turned her head away.
Who could see that adorable sight and not find her endearing?
No one, I think.
A warm smile came naturally to my face.
“I'm glad.”
“B-but, what's your name?”
Azazel asked my name.
Come to think of it, we hadn't properly introduced ourselves.
This must be a positive sign for our relationship.
“I'm Aria Rameld.”
“Azazel Anaid.”
She answered curtly, perhaps to hide her embarrassment.
Still, that's fine.
I held out my right hand to Azazel Anaid.
She stared at my hand blankly.
“What?”
“I look forward to getting along with you, Ms. Azazel Anaid.”
“……You're making this awkward.”
“When have we ever not been awkward with each other?”
She thought for a moment, then nodded.
“That's true.”
Her small, slender hand clasped mine tightly.
Azazel declared with a confident look.
“I'm going to confess to him.”
“I see.”
“I'm not confessing because of you. I was going to do it anyway.”
Of course.
Even if I encouraged her, the one making the choice was Azazel—you.
I could tell from that fierce expression alone that this was a choice you'd considered and made yourself.
I smiled faintly and replied gently.
“Did I accuse you of anything?”
Perhaps she thought I was being coy; her red eyes filled with confusion.
A beautiful person looks beautiful even when flustered.
“……You're annoying. Don't cry if I steal Ashtein from you later.”
“I don't want that. If Ain gets stolen from me, I'll cry.”
“You don't have any pride?”
“Does pride take care of love?”
“……I guess not.”
“Right?”
When I smiled, she reluctantly smiled too.
The mood had softened.
“It'd be strange for me to root for your love, wouldn't it?”
Azazel made a strange face, as if I'd caught her off guard.
“W-what? You're saying you'd be okay with me stealing Ashtein?”
“It's not that. I just want to support you.”
“You're too nice, idiot.”
Azazel pouted and lowered her head.
What would Ain do at a time like this?
He'd definitely...
Without thinking, I patted her head.
“What are you doing?”
Perhaps she thought it rude of me to touch her head without permission.
Her voice was somewhat sharp.
“I'll stop if you don't like it.”
“………No, I don't dislike it.”
That's a relief.
I kept stroking her hair until Azazel told me to stop.
“Hey, Aria.”
“Yes, Azazel.”
“I'm sorry. For saying such awful things.”
It was a shy apology.
Thinking she wasn't a bad person at heart made something flutter inside me.
So I teased her a little.
“What are you sorry for?”
“F-for badmouthing you.”
“Could you be more specific about what you said?”
“………S-sorry—I mean, I'm sorry.”
It was a very polite apology.
I replied just as politely.
“It's all right.”
“……Really?”
I put on a calm expression.
“Yes, really. How can anyone always be rational?”
Perhaps my words sounded sarcastic.
Azazel lowered her head like a rice stalk bowing under the weight of its ripe grain.
“………I'm sorry.”
She kept apologizing for a long time.
Even though it really was all right.
At this point, I didn't know what to do.
I wish she'd understand that too many apologies can become a burden.
“Let's stop talking about that now.”
“B-but...”
“That's enough. We're done talking about it.”
Azazel fidgeted at my firm tone.
Had all those apologies still not been enough?
Before long, Azazel's gaze fell to my chest.
My chest was damp with her tears and snot.
“S-sorry about that, too.”
As expected, Azazel apologized again.
I actually puffed out my chest.
I thought comforting a girl had been worth it.
“I like it. It feels like a medal.”
“A medal?”
“A medal proving I was able to comfort you.”
“………What's that supposed to mean?”
“Does it sound strange?”
“It's unbelievably cringey. And it looks awful, too. Your clothes are wet and clinging to your breasts.”
“M-my breasts?”
I blushed at her blunt words.
Azazel was someone who had no filter.
She flicked her fingers casually.
In an instant, my damp robe dried.
“Whoa, what was that?”
“I dried it with magic. It's, it's my fault.”
I guess it was a spell that worked like a hair dryer.
I couldn't help marveling at it.
When people thought of magic, they usually focused on ‘destruction’—demolishing buildings, causing explosions, or collapsing terrain—so I was surprised by how useful this was in everyday life.
“That's amazing and convenient. Is it hard?”
“What's hard about it? I'm a genius magi—”
Azazel stopped mid-sentence.
I looked at her, wondering why.
“Azazel?”
“…No, I won't brag to you.”
For just a moment, she lowered her eyes and wore a bitter expression.
I quietly took her hand.
Azazel flinched, then clasped my hand in return.
“I'm scared of Ashtein coming back.”
No matter what it is, the moment before you face it is always the most nerve-racking.
I knew that well, so I patted her back.
“Go ahead and be as scared as you want.”
“……Isn't this where you're supposed to tell me to calm down?”
“Even if I tell you not to be afraid, you'll still be scared, right? In that case, wouldn't it be better to let yourself be afraid now?”
“I-is that so?”
“That's just what I think.”
Azazel rested her chin on her hand and pondered.
“Hmm, now that you mention it, I think you're right.”
She was surprisingly easy to persuade.
The charming red-haired witch nestled against me again.
“Let me borrow your chest. I'm going to be really scared now.”
“………I know I said that, but you're pretty forward too, Ms. Azazel.”
“I'm scared. Do you know how I feel, confessing when I know I'll obviously get rejected?”
“There's no guarantee you'll be rejected, is there?”
“You're shameless. You've already gotten that far with a beautiful woman like you—would someone like me ever catch his eye?”
I fell silent at her compliment.
Azazel was plenty beautiful herself, but she didn't seem to realize it.
We decided to wait until Ain came back.
But the sun set, and night fell, and he still hadn't returned.
As time passed, Azazel and my faces grew increasingly tense.
He wasn't the sort to stay out this late.
Something must have gone wrong.
“Ms. Azazel.”
“Yeah, Aria.”
I spoke in a stiff voice.
“I think something's happened to Ain.”
“For once, I agree with you.”
We gathered our things.
Our destination was obvious.
Mount Ascendio, where he was.