* * *
Sure, Gaspar was nice to the townspeople, but when you hear how he helped, it was all simple stuff any adventurer could do—
like catching a pickpocket or watching a shop for a bit.
All of it was just to polish his reputation so he could cash it in later.
Just like he did with Batista— saddling him with gambling debts, committing crimes and passing the blame, pretending to be someone he wasn’t while using people as shields.
And Batista’s exceptional.
Anyone would’ve recognized that.
Besides, the temple kicks you out when you become an adult anyway, right?
With that kind of strength, of course he would’ve become an adventurer.
I don’t think Gaspar did anything good at all.
He’s just… an obstacle in human form.
[Even so, I felt pride in being a squire to a man who did good.
Back at the temple, I didn’t have the means to help others even when I wanted to.
But I couldn’t keep my eyes and ears shut forever.
As long as I stayed by his side, I couldn’t avoid seeing the crimes he committed.
Gaspar, unable to handle his debts, began exploiting the weak, and lost control of his emotions due to gambling, hurting others in the process.
It happened so often that I couldn’t even list everything here.
If you find it hard to believe, I’ll write more next time.
It was far too late to hope he’d return to being the mentor I first met.
So I gave up.
I didn’t want to be swayed by him anymore, and I decided never to see him again.
I also stopped talking to others about it.
Everyone trusted the carefully built image of Gaspar more than my words.
Eventually, I gave up on the idea of being with anyone at all.
But then you showed up. Raul Florenti.
Does that sound too cold? Raul.
You’re truly a strange person.
No matter how much I tried to push you away, you never gave up.
Even when I tried to keep my distance, I found myself making room beside me without realizing it.
And then… all the feelings I’d forgotten came rushing back.
That ache of possibly losing someone precious.
That same terrifying emotion that tormented me for so long.
The more interested you seemed in Gaspar, the more it hurt.
No one who knew both of us had ever taken my side before. Even knowing you didn’t truly understand Gaspar, I still worried.
At first, I thought I should cut off contact with you completely. But once we did meet again, I found myself wanting to believe you’d listen to me.
But nothing went the way I wanted.
When you sided with Gaspar, I realized just how much you really meant to me.
Even just imagining losing you made me unbearably angry.
I hated Gaspar. And I hated myself too—for being the kind of person who couldn’t hold onto you.
And I even hated you a little—for acting like you’d always be by my side, only to turn your back on me when it mattered most. I decided, on impulse, to just end it all.
If I was going to be left behind again, I thought I might as well be the one to walk away first.
At least then, I could keep a shred of pride.
But now that I think about it, maybe… maybe I just expected you to stop me. Like always. Maybe I was arrogant.
What I said—that there was no reason for us to stay together—I didn’t mean it.
I regretted it the moment I saw you walk away, but I didn’t have the courage to call out to you. So I didn’t follow.
I’m sorry I hurt you.
I want to travel with you again. I hope this makes you feel a little better.]
As I read the heartfelt letter, emotions I couldn’t even name surged wildly inside my chest.
I felt awful for siding with Gaspar and making Batista feel anxious.
And in the end, I left him behind—how pathetic.
My chest ached with guilt.
I had to apologize, immediately.
But… even though that was true—
—I was happy.
“Batista…”
The words “I’m sorry” or “I was wrong” wouldn’t come out, so I could only whisper his name with a voice tight with emotion.
The moment I said it, I realized it was on the verge of tears.
My eyes burned.
Startled, I blinked, and the tears that had gathered at the corners of my eyes spilled over and rolled down my cheeks.
Once I started crying, I couldn’t stop.
My face was soaked.
I wasn’t embarrassed at all to cry like this, even though I looked a mess.
All I could think about was how many times Batista must’ve crumpled up sheets of paper to write this letter.
That thought alone made everything else fade.
Batista, for someone like me… picked up a pen, agonized over what to say, just to get me to stay.
And not just that—he apologized for hurting me.
He said he wanted to stay by my side.
It all felt like a dream.
What was he like when we first met after I turned back time?
He said, “Are we even on speaking terms?”
Forget about treating me as a companion—he acted like he didn’t even want to acknowledge me as someone he knew.
But now… someone who hates talking about himself actually found another way—writing—just to share his past with me.
All just to ease my anger.
Honestly, even I wouldn’t want to talk about something like that.
Unpleasant memories like those only leave a bad taste.
But Batista did it.
He dug up old wounds and carefully laid out all those heavy emotions onto paper.
His thoughtfulness, his kindness toward me—it filled my heart with a warmth so sweet it almost hurt.
I couldn’t be happier.
Looking back, I felt ridiculous for wondering whether Batista was better off without me, whether he found life more comfortable on his own.
No way. Not even close.
Batista was… honestly, so gentle.
So kind.
The kind of person who takes care of those close to him—someone who’s more suited to be a hero than anyone else.
My voice still wouldn’t come out through the tightness in my chest.
I wanted to say something, anything—but all I could do was tremble.
I have to say something.
I have to.
Batista made me so happy.
I can’t just sit here crying like an idiot.
If I can’t manage an apology, then at least I should say thank you.
Tears kept falling, soaking the letter.
Not wanting to smudge the words, I folded it carefully and finally lifted my head.
I turned and looked at Batista.
He hesitated, then looked away.
Was he embarrassed?
It was rare to see his gaze waver like that, but I didn’t tease him.
There was no need—his cheeks were already burning red.
‘…’
Adorable.
So incredibly adorable!
I suddenly imagined him carefully writing each word in his neat handwriting.
Anytime he messed up even a little, he’d crumple the page and start over.
What was going through his mind?
How much effort did he put into crafting the perfect letter for me?
Especially since it was probably his first time writing one. It must’ve been hard.
The more I thought about it, the harder it became to hold back my feelings.
He was just too… lovable.
I couldn’t help it—I had to hug him.
“I didn’t mean any of it either,” I said, sniffling pathetically.
But I didn’t care how I looked. I’d regret it more if I didn’t say anything now.
Batista had opened his heart first—if not now, then when?
* * *
