Chapter 21

Harold never dreamed that his opponent—who had been radiating blatant hostility before the match—was now harboring such thoughts. Nevertheless, he sensed the change in Itsuki’s aura and regarded the sudden transformation with suspicion.

Well, maybe he just got into a good mood after realizing he won, Harold thought, arriving at a completely misguided conclusion.

(I mean, I still lost. What happened to "I don't feel like I'll lose"?)

To make matters worse, it was a foul loss against a child. It felt more pathetic than a straight-up defeat.

Is it possible this high-spec body is also exceptionally skilled at triggering its own irony?

He shook his head a few times to brush away the grim thought. Seeking fresh air to lift his sinking mood, he made his way out of the dojo.

Instead of leaving through the front entrance he had used to enter, he took the service entrance next to the changing rooms. It led to the back of the building and out under the open sky.

A pleasant breeze brushed against his sweaty skin as he walked barefoot across the neatly laid white stone pavement. The dojo sat atop a small hill, its gates offering a panoramic view of Sumeragi Town.

Stretching out below the cliff was a townscape that bore a striking resemblance to ancient Japan. The buildings were all wooden structures; there were no skyscrapers to mar the horizon. Nature overflowed from every corner, and pink petals swayed in the wind, painting the scenery in soft hues.

It wasn't a landscape he was personally familiar with, yet it stirred a deep, direct sense of nostalgia in his Japanese soul.

Perhaps that was the catalyst.

It had been five months since he arrived in this world. He had tried so hard not to think about his home—afraid that if he did, his heart would break—but now, the memories came rushing back. His tear ducts loosened, and his vision began to blur.

As if it were the signal for a dam to burst, waves of emotion crashed over his heart.

The isolation of being so far from home, the terror of the future awaiting him, the constant, draining tension of staying on guard, and the mounting mental fatigue of carrying a mountain of anxieties.

No matter how much this world resembled a game he loved, there were limits to how much he could enjoy it. The psychological weight of living as a character destined to die, forced to follow a script he didn't choose, was no small burden.

A maelstrom of emotions writhed inside him. Unable to hold it back any longer, tears finally spilled over, tracing a single path down his cheek.

Under normal circumstances, he might have collapsed, wailing against the absurdity of his fate.

But he didn't. He stood there, silently weeping—a restraint likely born from the original Harold’s immense pride. For a person who wouldn't admit defeat even in death to reach a point where he cried at all showed just how cornered Harold truly was.

"……I won't let myself lose."

Even then, those were the only words he could force out. In a corner of his mind where a sliver of logic remained, Harold found it almost impressive that he could cling to his stubbornness even now, refusing to allow himself a single moment of voiced weakness.

If not for this steel-like mentality, he might have already shattered.

He stood there, immersed in sentimentality as the cherry blossoms danced over Sumeragi Town. Slowly, his heart began to steady.

Just as he was about to turn on his heel and head back inside, a voice called out to him.

"Lord Harold."

His heart gave a violent throb. It wasn't out of romance, of course.

He was simply panicking because he had been approached by the one person he hadn't expected to see.

Turning around with the jerky movements of a rusted tin doll, he found Erika standing there.

Harold had no idea why she was here or why she was speaking to him. As far as he knew, she absolutely loathed him.

Of course, his perception of being hated was entirely wrong. Erika had followed him because Itsuki had prodded her, saying, "He seemed depressed; why don't you go comfort him?"

In truth, Erika hadn't thought Harold looked depressed at all. When he had been talking to Itsuki, he had seemed perfectly composed—aloof, even.

However, hearing Itsuki speak as if he understood Harold’s inner thoughts made her feel inexplicably frustrated. Before she knew it, she had followed him.

Thinking it over, she realized this was the perfect opportunity to apologize. While her father’s wishes prevented her from telling him the misunderstanding had been cleared, she still needed to apologize for the slap.

But as she moved to approach him, Erika saw it.

He was covering his eyes with his right palm, but a single tear had escaped through the gaps in his fingers, tracing a line down his cheek.

Erika froze. She understood instantly that she had seen something she was never meant to witness.

She couldn't guess the reason for his tears or the weight behind them. She didn't know enough about him for that.

As she stood there, speechless at the shocking sight of Harold weeping, his small murmur reached her: “I won’t let myself lose.”

Has Harold—this boy my own age—been fighting like this all this time?

He always wore that arrogant, fearless smirk so naturally, yet perhaps he had been dealing with adults and life-or-death struggles while secretly shedding tears, never letting his true feelings show.

Strength alone wasn't enough; intelligence alone couldn't win. To behave as he did required an indomitable soul capable of repelling any adversity.

Ah, what Father said was true, Erika realized, the weight of it finally hitting her.

She saw now how mistaken she had been. She had assumed Harold was a person who could face any hardship with ease, and that his arrogance was merely a byproduct of his supreme confidence.

But he wasn't just "strong." Harold was a child, just like her. He had weaknesses, just like anyone else.

He was simply acting out a persona of insolent pride so thoroughly that no one would notice the truth. Because he had no one to show his vulnerability to, he had no choice but to be a monster.

Touching upon the truth of his circumstances, Erika felt a surge of concern. She didn't want him to be alone. She didn't want him to force himself into solitude.

(……Perhaps this is what Father meant by wanting to be a "person who can truly understand Lord Harold.")

If that were the case, her path was clear. There was no more room for hesitation.

Even if she wasn't qualified yet, even if she lacked the power, she would one day become someone who could support his wounded back.

Today was the beginning—the day she engraved that resolve into her soul. The moment she decided, the weight on her chest seemed to vanish.

That was why she was able to say his name so naturally.

Harold turned slowly, his gaze wary and suspicious. Given his current state of mind, the look was understandable, but Erika had vowed she would no longer flinch at his attitude.

"That was a wonderful match. Even to someone as ignorant of swordsmanship as I, it was clear how strong you are, Lord Harold."

"Did you and your brother come here together to rub salt in the wound?"

"Not at all. I suppose you could say you lost the match but won the contest."

"I see. So you've come to pick a fight?"

Harold had lost the match on a foul. By his logic, he had lost the match and the contest. Combined with her dazzling smile, her words felt like a calculated taunt.

"Hehe…… My apologies. I spoke out of turn."

It seemed Erika realized her mistake.

However, Harold found it more baffling that she was speaking to him so naturally. This exchange wasn't like her at all.

"Hmph. If you want to spout mindless drivel, go play with that servant of yours."

"Please, wait."

Erika blocked his path as he tried to leave. The frustration of not being able to read her intentions sharpened his tongue.

"Move. I don't have time for you. Even if I did, I’d rather waste it than spend it on you."

"But then I wouldn't be able to speak with you properly, Lord Harold."

"Yes, exactly. How convenient."

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that. Please, give me your time—just for a moment."

Until now, Erika’s presence had been as delicate as a flower. Now, Harold felt an unshakeable stability from her, like a great tree with roots deep in the earth. To put it simply, she didn't look like she would budge an inch.

Is this the pressure of a main character? Feeling overwhelmed, Harold clicked his tongue and let his displeasure aura flare to full power.

"……If you have business, get it over with."

"Thank you."

Erika bowed deeply, her form perfect.

"I am sorry for the other day. I was acting in the heat of the moment, but it was wrong of me to insult you and, more importantly, to strike you. Please, accept my apology."

"Hah. You came all this way just to say that? What a waste of breath."

His words were harsh, but he meant them. Harold had intentionally provoked her; her reaction had been perfectly reasonable. Most people wouldn't have bothered to apologize. The fact that she had was proof of her character.

That kindness was her greatest virtue. To most, it was a beautiful thing. It had even been one of the reasons Harold liked her when he was just a player.

But to the current Harold, that excessive kindness was like a venomous fang. It was a dangerous, loathsome thing that could deal a fatal wound if he let it get too close.

You're just swinging your kindness around for your own satisfaction. The thought had barely formed before his mouth was already moving.

"Your apology is worthless. Are you actually stupid? Apologizing before the breath of your words has even cooled after barking so loudly? That 'kindness' of yours is just a deception born of self-righteous goodwill. It’s nothing more than a nauseating, lukewarm facade of companionship. If you want to play the part of a fool, fine—but don't get in my way. Don't even enter my sight. You’re an eyesore, and I find you utterly disgusting."

His built-up resentment toward Erika burst out, channeled through the original Harold’s foul mouth. Once the poison was out, his composure returned.

I definitely said too much. I just took my frustration out on a young girl.

He felt like crying again, though for a very different reason.

Erika didn't move a muscle, even as the verbal abuse rained down on her. Had he made her cry? Or had he finally made her snap?

As he watched her fearfully, Erika slowly straightened up.

The expression she wore wasn't one of tears or anger. She didn't look crushed or defeated. Instead, she wore a serene, gentle expression—like a Holy Mother in a painting—as if she had simply accepted everything he had thrown at her.

Erika had expected him to react this way. She knew now that he was a person of strength and severity, possessing a true kindness that was far different from her own.

There was likely no lie in his insults. She understood, even without being told, that her presence was currently a negative for him.

(I lack so many things. The strength to face a cruel fate, and the kindness to reprimand the weak.)

She had been looking at it the wrong way from the start. Reaching out a hand wasn't the only form of kindness. There was also the kindness of watching over someone, of pushing them away, or of doing nothing at all—all for their sake, so that they could grow.

But to do that, one needed the strength to believe in the other person to the very end. Only a person like that could truly support Harold.

That was why she had to accept his words. No matter how fierce they were, they pointed out her immaturity. Using them as nourishment to grow was her first step toward truly understanding and supporting him.

"……Hmph."

Harold turned and walked away as if he had lost all interest.

As his small back disappeared into the dojo, Erika whispered a promise to him.

"I won't ask you to wait for me. But I will catch up to you. I promise—I will never let you be alone."

Her murmur rode the wind, drifting away with the cherry blossom petals into the vast blue sky.