* * *
I wanted to return to the temple and see Batista waiting for me at the entrance like always.
I knew how impossible that was, but I had never let myself think about it seriously until now.
“Raul?”
Vasco called my name with a confused tone.
I needed to say something.
I came all this way—I had to say it properly.
But how did it end up like this?
I still didn’t understand.
I just wanted Batista to know love, to be happy.
I wanted him to find someone he could lean on, someone who would stand by his side.
I wanted him to be whole, so that he wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, so that he wouldn’t have to fight by himself, so that he could save the world without carrying everything on his own.
I did it all for Batista…
‘Then I should’ve apologized.’
If I really did it for him, I should have apologized when he got upset.
That was the right thing to do.
But instead, I got angry.
Batista had pushed me away before—plenty of times.
So why did it hurt so much this time?
Why did my heart ache so badly that I couldn’t suppress my emotions anymore?
It was because…
“I…”
“Wait… are you crying?”
I couldn’t say it.
Instead, tears started to fall.
I felt so pathetic.
“I… hhic… what do I do…”
My voice trembled with ugly, broken sobs.
“What the hell happened? Hey! Don’t just cry—talk to me!”
…I love Batista.
Since when?
Was it when I first realized I didn’t want to let go of his hand?
Or when I kept feeling bothered by the way Fer called him “Bati”?
Or was it even before that?
At first, it had just been admiration. I just wanted to help the Hero win.
That was all.
But somewhere along the way, I fell in love.
Now, just being by his side isn’t enough.
I want to hold his hand and go on dates.
I want to curl up in his arms at night like we used to.
I want to be special to him.
And because of that selfishness—because I wanted him to treat me differently than everyone else—when he deemed me unimportant, I couldn’t bear it.
I didn’t even realize it at the time, but I had been hurt. Deeply.
‘Idiot.’
My feelings don’t matter.
His love—his happiness—is what’s truly important.
I knew that.
And yet, the tears wouldn’t stop.
I ended up ugly-crying between the couple, unable to say a word, until they finally dragged me into the inn.
Vasco wrapped me tightly in a blanket, then brought me some warm water, telling me to hydrate.
When I asked for alcohol instead, he just scoffed and said, “You act like a drunk even when you’re sober. Why would I give you booze?”
That’s just unfair.
I mean, he wasn’t exactly wrong, but still.
After wetting my throat with some water, I was finally able to speak.
Of course, I left out anything about regression or the extermination of humanity, sticking only to what was understandable.
I mentioned meeting Batista’s mentor, how there had been a misunderstanding, how I had tried to set up a conversation but ended up fighting instead.
“So basically, a lover’s quarrel?”
Vasco summed it up in one sentence.
Completely wrong.
“It’s not.”
“What do you mean, not? You like Zerbin, don’t you?”
“I like him, but that doesn’t make it a lover’s quarrel.”
“If love is involved, it’s a lover’s quarrel.”
Stop redefining words however you want!
This is seriously not helping!
“That is correct.”
Don’t just blindly take his side!
“Anyway, you fought, got emotional, said you were breaking up, and now you regret it? Then just make up with him.”
Vasco’s solution was as simple as ever.
That was exactly what I wanted in the end, but his words had one major problem.
He gave me the conclusion, but not a single step on how to get there!
“How am I supposed to make up with him? What if he won’t forgive me?”
“How? Hmm… Get on your knees.”
Right. I forgot Vasco and I weren’t that different in intelligence.
His idea of reconciliation didn’t go beyond kneeling and groveling.
There was a reason we got along.
But honestly, I had already tried kneeling.
I wasn’t sure if it would still come across as sincere.
“Isn’t there anything else?”
I turned to Arthur with a sliver of hope.
He hadn’t even looked into the information yet because he was busy with his love life, so he could at least help with this.
“If you fought and want to reconcile, the first thing to do is understand exactly why the other person is upset. If you sincerely apologize for that, you should be able to make up.”
Oh.
That was such a priestly answer.
Predictable, but fundamental.
He was right.
If I wanted to make up, I had to ease his anger.
In this case, would I have to swear to never meet Gaspar again, kneel, and tell him I’d listen to everything he said?
Would that be enough for forgiveness?
Saying this now might be shameless, but… that’s kind of tough.
There’s got to be another way…
A way to clear the misunderstanding and ease the hero’s feelings…
Ah, right.
“Vasco, help me out.”
“Out of nowhere? With what?”
“Infiltration.”
Batista was mad because he thought I trusted his mentor more than him.
But if he found out there was a reason for that, maybe he’d cool down!
At the word “infiltration,” Vasco immediately agreed to my plan.
Considering his nickname literally had “ghost” in it, he was an expert at erasing his presence.
He’d never had trouble sneaking into places.
To him, helping his savior with this much was nothing.
Even after hearing that the plan involved breaking into a prison and swapping out a prisoner, his attitude didn’t change.
“Something I do often.”
“Right?”
The only difference was that instead of doing it on someone else’s request, I was doing it myself this time.
Any adventurer specialized in stealth would’ve done jobs like this before—sneaking into a prison wasn’t uncommon.
Besides, the prisons that held commoners were so poorly secured that breaking in was ridiculously easy.
I still didn’t get why Gaspar was so shocked.
Maybe because he was a highborn noble who had never done anything illegal?
Even though he gambled?
“You’re proud of that?”
Arthur shot me a sharp look.
He wasn’t an official priest, but he still served the gods, so maybe that’s why he was so uptight.
But seriously, it’s not like I did anything that bad.
I never killed anyone. I never hurt anyone.
All I did was help an innocent person escape or smuggle in food and medicine for prisoners whose families couldn’t reach them.
If Batista had said something, I would’ve explained.
But honestly, I didn’t care how Arthur looked at me, so I didn’t bother.
“Vasco’s done it plenty of times too.”
“…I’m saying neither of you should be bragging about it.”
His voice lacked conviction, though.
“And anyway, you just barely recovered. You shouldn’t be rushing off to work again.”
Oh?
So that’s what’s really bothering you?
You’re still shaken from seeing Vasco almost die, so now you’re worried about him running around before he’s fully healed?
Ah!
I miss Batista!
I have someone like Batista too!
* * *
