* * *

I am useless.

Even when the Hero is in danger, all I can do is watch from the sidelines.

Because I’m weak.

The enemies he faces are far too powerful for me to intervene.

If I tried to lend a hand, I’d only get in the way due to the overwhelming gap in strength.

So, even when he’s injured, even when he’s in pain, I have to take a step back.

All I can do is evacuate civilians or tend to the wounds of our other companions.

Watching his back, I always thought to myself:

Don’t get hurt.

Don’t suffer.

Don’t be in pain…

Even though I couldn’t contribute anything, I couldn’t stop myself from praying.

The helplessness made me sick of myself.

The anger at my own inadequacy lingered inside me like a stain.

‘Please, survive.’

I prayed to the gods every time.

That the Hero would find a bit more strength, that he’d claim victory once again.

That his path would, if only slightly, be less burdensome.

And that even if he won, he wouldn’t have to endure nights of agony in a body wrecked by curses and injuries.

I prayed.

And prayed again.

Hoping my prayers would reach the heavens.

‘Please, survive.’

Schwack.

It wasn’t even enough time to blink.

Before I could close my eyes, the Hero’s sword sliced through the dark mage.

The enemy collapsed, blood spilling, without accomplishing a thing.

The viscous liquid pooled around the lifeless body.

Thank goodness.

The gods answered my prayers.

The Hero didn’t get hurt… Or did he?

My mind was a blur.

My vision remained hazy.

I had to check.

The Hero hates when I worry, so he hides even minor wounds.

But even small injuries could become dangerous if left untreated—especially if they carried a curse.

I approached him.

Strangely, the ground seemed to sway beneath me.

Or maybe it was my body that was unsteady?

“Hey.”

The Hero spoke.

Just hearing his voice, I knew it was over.

It must’ve been a lower-ranked demon wandering near the village, scavenging for scraps…

“Pull yourself together.”

…Those words snapped me back to reality.

“S-sorry! I’m really sorry!”

Why do I only ever end up apologizing to him?

My blood ran cold.

Sweat poured down my back, leaving me shivering.

Seeing the Hero under attack must’ve triggered memories from before the regression.

Without realizing it, I checked him over for injuries.

Touching him without permission—what was I thinking?!

Honestly, the fact that he didn’t immediately knock me out was an act of immense mercy.

I quickly backed away.

“My previous party was wiped out in an ambush… I think I just had a flashback. It’s not an insult or anything! Obviously, your skills are incomparable. I just… panicked.”

Oh, no. I’ve really done it now.

Who wouldn’t hate a party member who loses it and starts groping them?

And I’m the guy who wouldn’t shut up about his chest before! He must think I’m harassing him.

If he kicks me out this time, I really can’t blame him.

My heart pounded so loudly I couldn’t hear anything else.

Just the relentless thudding echoing in my chest.

Did I ruin everything?

---

‘But still.’

Still.

I’m relieved the Hero isn’t hurt.

I’m glad it wasn’t a real danger this time.

I felt at ease.

“What’s this? You were serious about all that…? I thought it was just an excuse.”

Vasco approached me.

His hand clamped onto my shoulder, jolting me further awake.

I steadied my breathing, which had been erratic.

Vasco looked at me.

“Why are you trembling so much? Are you hurt?”

No, wait—he wasn’t glaring.

He looked… worried?

I smiled weakly.

I didn’t want him to fret over something like this.

There was nothing wrong.

The world was still peaceful.

“If you’d mistaken the Hero… Zerbin… for someone else and grabbed him, wouldn’t you be shaking too?”

“…”

Vasco glanced at the Hero, then went pale and bolted away.

You coward…

But now wasn’t the time to grumble.

The Hero was walking toward me, silently.

Every heavy step he took sent my heart into my throat.

Honestly, I was terrified.

What if he told me to get lost because I’d been unreliable from the start?

If that’s the case, I’d rather he just punch me.

Of course, being punched by the Hero wouldn’t mean forgiveness—it would probably mean “Don’t ever follow me again.”

And one punch would likely leave me in critical condition!

When the Hero finally stopped in front of me, I shut my eyes tightly.

I couldn’t bear to meet his gaze.

Even though I’m trash who stole his opportunity, I couldn’t stand the thought of him seeing me as such.

If I’d made a mistake, shouldn’t I at least fix it myself?

But then I made another mistake.

What if I ruined everything?

---

Something touched the top of my head.

‘…?’

It was rough, warm, and carried a slight weight.

I opened my eyes.

The Hero’s hand rested on my head.

My mouth fell open in shock.

The Hero?

Touching my head? Why?!

And then, to my utter astonishment, he gently ruffled my hair.

I froze in place.

What did this mean?

Was he going to tear my head off?

Was he criticizing my useless brain?

This is terrifying!

“I-I’m sorry!”

I quickly apologized.

What else could I do?

“…”

The Hero said nothing.

Even in silence, the pressure was immense.

I felt myself shrinking under it.

I was trembling—pathetic, but what choice did I have?

I was scared!

So scared!

Then the Hero slung me over his shoulder.

I hung there like some sack of goods.

‘Uh…?’

What… was this?

Too flustered, my voice escaped without realizing it.

“…Why?”

Of course, the Hero said nothing in response.

Ah, deciphering the Hero’s intentions was always such a draining task.

Is the Hero a god?

Is this some kind of divine oracle?

Do I need a group of priests to huddle together and interpret his will?

Can’t he just spell it out for once?

Naturally, I couldn’t actually say that to the Hero.

After all, I’d snatched my life back from the jaws of death by depriving him of his chance to return in time.

I couldn’t just recklessly throw it away.

I had to live to teach him about love.

But… how does one even love someone when they have no clue what’s going on in their head?

‘Next time, I swear I’ll ask for someone the exact opposite of Naike—a talkative and cheerful woman.’

At least one of us needs to talk, or communication will remain impossible.

I dangled there, slung over the Hero’s shoulder, until we finished gathering the spoils and mounting our horses.

---

“Wow, that’s amazing!”

Aimone’s eyes sparkled as she listened to the story.

I honestly had no idea which part she found so impressive.

“Amazing?”

You sure this isn’t more like a ghost story?

“Especially the part where you came back slung over the Grim Reaper’s shoulder.”

To me, that was the scariest part!

“Why the face? It all worked out, didn’t it? You paid off the penalty fees, there weren’t any curses from raiding the dark wizard’s stash—wasn’t it a huge success?”

Aimone twirled her long, pale pink hair around her finger as she spoke, her tone casually dismissing my lingering fear.

“Did you even listen to me? I told you I groped Zerbin’s body!”

“If he was really offended, wouldn’t he have separated your head from your body by now? The Grim Reaper’s title isn’t for show, you know.”

Well… that was true.

But could I really trust that he’d forgiven me for it?

* * *