“Myungho.” He didn’t answer. “Myungho.” Still, he didn’t respond. Even when I waved my hand right in front of his eyes, there was no reaction. Even when I spread my fingers directly before him, he remained silent.
It wasn’t that he wouldn’t speak—it was as if he couldn’t. He couldn’t see whether I had folded or unfolded my hand. What I held in front of him was a fist. If he could see, he would have laughed and asked how many fingers I had spread.
His face, turned away from the mirror, was expressionless.
Not the usual smile, nor the fake grin he wore when uncomfortable—just emptiness. But his eyes were different. They spoke volumes. They said he’d known it would come to this someday, though he hadn’t expected to be found out so soon.
In his left eye, I could clearly see my reflection. But it showed only what was physically present without revealing anything deeper.
What should I say? Should I scold him? Why didn’t you tell me this happened? Why did you deceive me? Why did you keep such an important secret to yourself? Why, why, why…?
Countless thoughts pressed upon me. Whatever I said next felt like it might be irreversible. Yet, staying silent seemed just as dangerous—if not worse. It felt like the worst outcome would inevitably follow.
How should I proceed? The drunken babble outside and the carriage driver’s shouts faded into nothingness.
As if the world beyond this room ceased to exist. All that remained were the beats of his heart and the sound of my breathing. Had those sounds vanished too, I might have thought time itself had stopped.
“…Since when has this been going on…?”
After pondering dozens of times, I finally managed to utter a single phrase. It felt like we’d stay frozen forever unless someone broke the silence first.
“Since I broke free from the Demon Tribe’s hypnosis.”
I hadn’t expected an answer, but Myungho surprisingly replied without hesitation. Was he planning to remain silent all along? Or did he truly feel comfortable sharing this information? I couldn’t read his intentions.
Since breaking free from the Demon Tribe’s hypnosis. That statement brought back a vivid memory: a demon frantically weaving incantations with a look of shock, while Myungho stood calmly, swinging an invisible brush in the air.
“…Can you see something with that eye…?”
His movements appeared random, yet on closer inspection, they seemed deliberate—as if cutting through something only he could perceive.
“I see language. Spells, prayers, mantras—anything. On the other hand, ordinary things like with my right eye are invisible. That’s why I’ve always kept you to my right side. So I could see you.”
Myungho said this with a peculiar upward curl of his lips. Was he happy to share some private story, or was this a strained smile accompanying a confession of guilt? I couldn’t tell.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Instinct warned me not to ask further. The moment I did, I knew we’d never laugh or chat casually again. Something inside me tightened, holding me back like a cloak gripping my throat.
—If I stop asking here and now, if we both pretend this conversation never happened, maybe Myungho could simply claim his left eye went blind by accident.
But then, he’d still be lying to me. There shouldn’t be secrets between us—not after everything we’ve shared.
“…Is there anything else you’re curious about, Alterra?”
Was he encouraging me to ask more? Or telling me to stop? I couldn’t decide what was right or wrong. I knew I’d regret asking—but I had to.
“How did it happen…? Tell me.”
Why did a perfectly fine eye suddenly go blind? If it was due to the Demon Tribe’s tricks, it wouldn’t matter. In that case, I’d smash them to pieces and scold Myungho for not telling me sooner.
But if it wasn’t… If Myungho had done something he needed to hide from me…
“…I made a contract with a Demon, Alterra.”
And his response was far worse than my worst expectations.
—
Living your entire life according to someone else’s will isn’t pleasant. Ask anyone, and they’ll likely agree.
But what if we add some conditions? For instance, being adopted into a family with enough money to last several lifetimes. Acting and reacting exactly as your adoptive parents desire. Someone once posted this question online:
“If you were adopted into a wealthy family and had to live your whole life as their puppet, would you do it?”
The comments were all the same: “Why wouldn’t I?” “Please let me!” Everyone wanted it. Of course, knowing how others lived explained their reactions.
Still, I wanted to grab one of them and ask: Do you really want that kind of life? A life where your will is ignored, and you spend every day pretending to be the ‘perfect son’ just to avoid being kicked out?
To them, I was replaceable—an easily swapped doll among countless others.
When I learned what happened to the child they previously adopted, I didn’t sleep for a week. Somehow, whether by luck or because I was special, I survived.
Then, during a family outing, an accident occurred. ‘Father’ died instantly at the scene. ‘Mother’ fell into a coma for three days before passing away.
Strangers arrived, claiming bits and pieces of ‘my parents’ estate, leaving me with scraps. But even those scraps were enough to last a lifetime.
You could call it fortune, I suppose. But I didn’t know what to do with that money. Growing up following others’ orders rendered wealth meaningless.
Honestly, I lacked the drive to do anything. How could someone who spent their life suppressing their desires to please others suddenly find ambition? If I’d grown up normally, it might’ve been different—but I’d been playing someone else’s game since childhood.
A car. No desire to leave or do anything outside. Just having a place to move freely without supervision was enough. Food. Anything that filled my stomach.
My obsession with games had no grand reason either. I started because ‘my parents’ forbade it, wondering why they did.
Little did I know I’d be hooked for five years. Looking back, their prohibition makes sense. They wanted a son who greeted them cheerfully when they returned home—not someone glued to a monitor in a dark corner.
“You asked Akashi to teach you black magic so you could stand by my side… and you made a deal with a Demon?”
Alterra stared at me, clearly struggling to comprehend. She tried not to criticize my choices but couldn’t hide her disapproval.
Yes. This was the first thing I ever truly desired. To become someone worthy of you.
Adventuring might have been a choice, but looking back, it felt more like being pushed into it. Helping people was done under the title of a Hero, not out of genuine will.
Thus, I don’t consider much of what I’ve done as truly my own decision. The only exception was meeting you.
“Yes.”
Alterra wore an unfamiliar expression. Shock? Despair? There must be a word for it, but it escapes me.
“Would telling you to stop… make any difference?”
Of course, she anticipated my answer. Her eyes pleaded for her prediction to be wrong.
“Yeah.”
“I…”
“It’s not because you’re lacking. You’re already more than enough for me.”
“…”
Predictable. She was about to ask if this was because she wasn’t good enough. But Alterra was already plenty strong. Honestly, I wished she’d slow down a bit. Her rapid growth made me worry if I could ever catch up.
“…Do you value me more than yourself…?”
“Yeah.”
Back then, I might have hesitated. Now, dying for her wouldn’t seem like such a bad idea.
“Then… whenever you feel inadequate, will you keep striving—even at the cost of your body…?”
Alterra’s head was bowed, but the tremor in her voice was unmistakable.
“…Probably.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?! Just sit back and watch you destroy yourself?! Knowing any day you could be hunted down by others because of me?!”
Suddenly, Alterra grabbed my collar.
“If you’re mad, I’m sorry. But I hate feeling helpless. I hate just standing by. It’s not your fault. If there’s blame, it’s because I’m weak.”
“That’s not the point right now!!!”
Our eyes met. She looked close to tears.
“What… What am I supposed to do…?”
