* * *
“…She’s gone?”
Just her exit alone—the witch like a viper—was enough to make the chaos settle into quiet at a surreal pace.
Sure, an entire building had been obliterated, and wounded people were strewn everywhere, but still… they had a moment to breathe.
That alone was worth something.
“She’ll probably stay hidden for a while.”
Nothing had been definitively resolved, so Roilnia could reappear and wreak havoc at any moment.
But for now, it seemed safe.
Kneeling on the ground, Ben let out a breath and slowly stood.
“Ah—my leg…”
Relief made his knees weak.
His steps faltered.
Normally, he’d catch his balance, but his legs didn’t respond—he was heading straight for the ground.
But just before he collapsed, Haimar moved beside him, and Ben’s forehead bumped gently into his shoulder.
Haimar’s arm wrapped around him, holding him up.
Oddly comforting.
Ben thought he should stand properly, but his exhausted body had no strength left to take even one step.
He gave up and leaned against him, hand gripping his clothes.
“Hm. Is this you being clingy?”
“Just tired. Can’t I stay like this for a moment?”
It wasn’t about being clingy—it was just… comfortable.
Ben didn’t bother denying it.
He tilted his head a little more, making himself comfortable.
If Haimar didn’t like it, he could just push him off.
But he wouldn’t—Ben somehow knew that.
Haimar probably didn’t understand, but Ben had gone through sprinting, fighting, and even skydiving in one day.
This much indulgence was fair.
Honestly, it would be weird if his body wasn’t wrecked by now.
As Ben stayed still, Haimar said nothing, just gently ran his fingers through Ben’s hair.
Then, he pressed his lips near Ben’s ear, brushing against dried blood and dirt.
“Hold on… I’m a mess right now.”
“So? What were you doing to end up like this?”
The warmth of Haimar’s lips felt especially vivid in the cold air.
Warmer than Ben, likely because Haimar’s body ran hotter than usual today.
And though Ben never acted childish, Haimar was speaking in a soft tone, like comforting a child.
“What, planning to scold me if I tell you?”
“I could.”
“It’s nothing. Just… got into a fight with that woman. And…”
“And?”
“…No, never mind. Not important. Actually, shouldn’t you be the one we’re worried about, Haimar?”
Ben didn’t mention the part about being trapped in a hallucination involving his grandmother—too embarrassing.
He awkwardly changed the subject.
His physical wounds would heal in time, but Haimar had been in serious danger this time.
If Ben had been even a little later, the world might have ended.
But of course, Haimar—ever the mind-reader with a thousand perception skills—clearly noticed.
His sour expression gave it away.
“……”
Just let it go, please.
Ben was glad his face was hidden on Haimar’s shoulder.
His expression would’ve given him away.
“You should be prepared,” Haimar finally said, just as a nervous bead of sweat formed on Ben’s brow.
Calm and terrifying as ever.
Sometimes, it was scarier when Haimar didn’t get angry.
Still, Ben decided to think optimistically.
After all, his guiding was unstable, and he’d released two control locks—Haimar’s reaction was justified.
Tonight might be… interesting.
Just thinking that far made Ben’s ears grow slightly warm.
He seriously wondered if his exhaustion-ridden body could survive the night, but even then, he couldn’t bring himself to say he couldn’t do it.
Surely, it was just a figure of speech—no way he’d really stay up all night.
The night was too long for that.
Ben lifted his face from where it had been resting against Haimar and straightened up, swaying slightly.
Though the tips of his ears turned red at Haimar’s comment, he wasn’t so swept up in the other man’s rhythm yet, so he forced himself to reply calmly.
“Before anything else, I think we should get out of this godforsaken place first.”
Vehicles and crowds were beginning to gather quickly. If they didn’t want to get swept up in the chaos, it was best to leave and regroup with the people from Central.
Haimar agreed, and the two began walking toward the site still being cleared.
Beside what had once been a building, Ben spotted Enton giving out orders.
It seemed he’d wrapped up the situation in Elgran and made it back—his leg was bandaged and he limped, exhaustion etched across his face.
Beyond the crumbled ruins, the sun was slowly setting, casting the sky in shades of dusk.
Staring at that scene, Ben wiped his ruined face with a hand.
The sun that once seemed like it would never set was now disappearing beyond the horizon.
No matter how disastrous the day had been, time had passed fairly, and finally, the end of this long day was in sight.
Even if it left behind a mountain of unresolved things.
∗ ∗ ∗
Drip—
A droplet fell from the loosely shut faucet, sending ripples across the surface.
As he dazedly watched it, steam rising from the bath brought an old image back to life.
“Ben, finally—at last…”
Just once in his life, she had gone out with him at his request—and that day had ended in an accident.
She stood there exactly as she had then, frozen in place.
Her final words, spoken at the end of her life, were seared into Ben’s memory.
The part she never finished—he was left to guess at that forever.
[I suppose I’ll finally be free of this weariness.]
The dead do not speak.
Yet her dry smile seemed to say just that.
It didn’t matter how he looked at it—it always came back to the same truth.
Drip—
The drop of water sliding from his body felt like a signal, and her faint, emotionless image dissolved like mist, only to rise again, vivid and clear, facing Ben.
[You were always a burden to me.]
…Shit.
Reality blurred—the sensation of sitting in a hot bath faded, overtaken by the hallucination before him.
Her face and voice, always the same, always held the same feelings when directed at him.
It wasn’t hatred or contempt—at least then it would’ve been easier to take.
No, it wasn’t even that.
To her, Ben had simply been a load to bear—nothing more, nothing less.
[So I always hoped you wouldn’t become my burden.]
It felt like someone was digging up a long-buried memory and shoving it in his face—like chewing poison ivy.
You can’t erase the remnants of a painful past like rubbing out a mistake with an eraser.
The way this still tormented him, lingering like a scar, proved that much.
“Malicious hallucinations tend to target deeply embedded trauma in a person’s subconscious. The hallucination itself might have been neutralized, but the psychological aftermath can last days, even weeks. If you’re still seeing things afterward, it means some residue is still in your brain. It’ll go away with time, but everyone’s different… These kinds of psychic attacks are so vile! Don’t you think so, Riri?”
The words of Moria Iren, who had gathered incident reports back at Central while tending to their wounds, briefly crossed his mind.
Knowing it didn’t make it easier.
If anything, it was worse—to be caught off guard by such a worn-out memory felt pathetically weak.
[I just wanted comfort. And yet I forced you not to be a burden.]
The figure in the hallucination—Ben’s grandmother—hadn’t been a bad or irresponsible person.
She hadn’t abandoned him and fulfilled her moral duty.
Taking in her irredeemable son’s child, along with the debts he left behind, all by herself—who else would’ve done that?
But she had done only that.
Just fulfilled her moral responsibility to the letter—and nothing more.
Ben never expected anything from her.
Of course, he hadn’t been immune to craving warmth, but repeated disappointment taught him to give up hope.
What she had taught him was loneliness.
How to process it, and endure it, all alone.
[So don’t take everything this old woman says as truth.]
He knew that.
He realized it not long after she died—her words weren’t gospel.
To label someone a burden meant believing they weren’t even worth affection.
That truth cut deep.
Because it meant to her, Ben wasn’t even worth that.
Her repeated mantra—“Don’t be a burden to others”—was, in the end, just a message to not be a burden to her.
[I don’t expect you to understand. It was selfish of me.]
Her dim, gray face followed him.
Her emotionless eyes held the weight of what Ben Plaskun had meant to her.
Not through his own efforts, but simply through her view—he had always been nothing but a burden to her until the day she died.
But it was all in the past now.
If he had known it would only end in wounds, maybe he shouldn’t have tried so hard.
Maybe he should’ve thrown tantrums, hated her—done anything else.
Saying he didn’t have those regrets or resentments would be a lie.
But even those only deepened the hollow ache inside him.
So Ben chose to believe—maybe she was just trying to survive in her own way, and in doing so, slightly shifted the weight onto him.
If he could endure even this, he’d be fine.
Just like always.
* * *
