Chapter 2: That’s Not Love, It’s Transference

“…Please. Don’t abandon me.”

It was a thin, trembling voice.

A-Rank Adventurer, Lise of the Annihilation Sword.

The top-tier swordswoman who was always the subject of dangerous heroic tales—like how she took down a wyvern solo, or how she slashed her way head-on through a whole swarm of monsters—was currently gripping the sleeve of my uniform like a child.

Red, swollen eyes.

Trembling fingertips.

A voice that was far too desperate in its plea for help.

The instincts from my past life as a clinical psychologist quietly sounded an alarm in the back of my head.

Dangerous.

This way of clinging, this “I just want this one person to never let me go” mentality, is a straight drop into the swamp of dependency if directed at the wrong person.

However, pushing her away right now was out of the question.

“I won’t abandon you.”

I made my voice as flat as possible.

Not too gentle, not too cold. Searching for the exact middle ground.

“I am a guild employee. This is the consultation window. I don’t throw people out halfway through when they come to me.”

Lise’s shoulders dropped just a fraction.

“So, you are okay for now.”

After saying that, rather than suddenly shaking off the sleeve she was gripping, I gently detached her fingers.

Drawing a line as a professional was necessary.

But drawing a line and rejecting someone are two different things.

Lise curled her fingertips back with a slight look of reluctance, but she didn’t resist.

“…Thank you, very much.”

“You’re welcome. Can you drink a little more water?”

“Yes… just a little.”

With hands steadier than before, she held the cup.

From outside the small room, the hustle and bustle of the hall could still be faintly heard.

Demands for quest forms, complaints about rewards, someone’s laughter.

That noise and the silence in this room felt like entirely different worlds.

I sat back down in my chair, matching my eye level with Lise’s.

“Do you think you can continue talking about what happened earlier?”

“…Yes.”

“If it’s too much, we’ll stop.”

“I’m okay. Probably… right now.”

Attaching a “probably” was healthy.

It was infinitely better than completely ignoring her current limits and declaring, “I’m perfectly fine.”

“‘When I’m around, everyone disappears’—that’s what you said, wasn’t it?”

“…Yes.”

Lise looked down.

Her silver hair slipped smoothly down, hiding half of her expression.

“I’ve always worked solo. But for large quests, I sometimes temporarily team up with other parties.”

“That happens, yes.”

“It was like that this time, too. A B-Rank party hired me because they said they lacked vanguard firepower.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The plan was for me to draw aggro in the front while they chipped away with magic from the rear.”

Her way of speaking was detached.

But every time she chose her words, her shoulders grew a tiny bit stiffer.

“It was going well at first. But deep inside the cave, we ran into a swarm much larger than expected…”

“…”

“The formation collapsed, I pushed too far forward, and by the time I noticed, they had slipped right through to the rearguard.”

At that point, Lise’s breathing started to grow shallow again.

I lightly tapped my fingertips near her hand resting on the desk.

Tap, tap. Two times.

I am here.

We are talking about the present.

We are not back there.

Even without putting it into words, sometimes just doing that is enough to bring someone’s consciousness back.

Lise let out a small breath.

“…As a result, I was the only one who came out unscathed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Everyone else was heavily injured. One of them lost an arm…”

Her words cut off there.

“Even with healing magic, you can’t restore what’s been lost… They said they can’t continue as adventurers anymore.”

“…I see.”

I didn’t offer cheap sympathy.

This wasn’t a story that could be brushed off with a “that’s so sad.”

Lise squeezed her hands into tight fists.

“It happened again.”

“Again?”

“It’s the same thing with me, over and over. The people who team up with me die, get broken, or leave… Everyone disappears.”

“…”

“That’s why it’s my fault.”

She declared it as absolute.

As if it were a conclusion she had already repeated in her own mind hundreds of times.

“If only I had been stronger. If only I had cut them all down faster. If only I had paid better attention to my surroundings.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But I couldn’t. Therefore, it’s my fault.”

“…”

“If I just didn’t get involved with anyone, this wouldn’t happen in the first place. If I stay solo, at the very least, I won’t drag anyone else down with me.”

She said it all in one breath, then bit her lip.

Typical, I thought.

—It’s all my fault.

This conclusion seems painful, but it’s actually incredibly powerful.

The world was unreasonable.

Their luck was bad.

The enemies were unexpected.

The party members made errors in judgment too.

Acknowledging things like that—things outside of your own control—is terrifying.

Because it’s terrifying, people want to place all the blame on themselves.

Because it’s easier to think, “Next time, if I just try harder, I can change it.”

But that method just keeps dragging you up onto the execution block over and over again.

“Lise-san.”

“…Yes.”

When she looked up, she was slightly frightened.

It was the face of someone expecting to be condemned.

“I might phrase this a bit harshly.”

“…”

“But what you’re doing right now isn’t ‘reflecting.’ It’s closer to ‘executing yourself.'”

Lise’s eyes widened.

“Executing…”

“Yes. Looking back on failures is necessary. But when you end it all with ‘everything is my fault,’ you get to stop thinking.”

“…Eh?”

“What were your teammates’ judgments like? What was the nature of the enemy? Was there bad luck involved? What parts can be prevented next time? You’re refusing to look at any of that and just slapping down ‘It’s my fault’ at the very end.”

“That’s…”

“Because doing that is easier.”

I leaned forward just a little.

“Rather than acknowledging an unreasonable world, it’s easier to organize things in your head if you just make yourself the sole villain.”

“…”

“But that’s not organizing things to make it better. It’s organizing things so you can continue to punish yourself.”

Lise’s eyes wavered.

It’s piercing through.

It was piercing through, but it wasn’t a rejection yet.

If I kept up the accusatory tone, she’d close off. From here, I needed to drop the tension.

“I don’t intend to simply say ‘it’s not your fault.'”

“…”

“There are probably points to reflect on. Parts you can change next time, too.”

“Yes.”

“But ‘everything’ is wrong.”

“…Everything, is.”

“You are not a god. You aren’t omnipotent enough to fight in the vanguard while carrying the safety and destinies of the entire rearguard all on your own.”

At that, I let out a small laugh.

“If you could do something like that, you wouldn’t be in the guild—you’d be enshrined in a temple by now.”

“…!”

Lise’s throat clicked faintly.

Her face looked like she couldn’t tell if she was about to laugh or cry.

“You are a strong adventurer.”

“…”

“But at the same time, you’re a normal person who hurts when wounded, and suffers when you lose things.”

It happened in that exact moment.

Plop. A large tear spilled over.

It rolled straight down her cheek, leaving a trail through the dried blood and mud.

“Ah…”

“Yes.”

“Wh-y…”

As if surprised by it herself, Lise touched her own cheek.

But the next tear wet her fingertips.

It wouldn’t stop.

“I’m sorr… hic, I…”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“But, I, doing this…”

I gently offered her a towel.

“In here, that’s perfectly fine.”

As if that were the trigger, Lise pressed her face into the towel and began to weep.

“Hic… ugh, ahh…!”

“…”

“I always thought it was my fault…!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Even when people told me it wasn’t, I couldn’t believe them…!”

“Uh-huh.”

“But, Nagi-san, you…!”

Halfway through, it ceased being words.

The strongest A-Rank swordswoman was crying like a child.

If the guys outside saw this, their legs would probably give out.

But crying isn’t a bad thing.

It was proof that the string she had kept pulled taut for so long had finally loosened just a bit.

I didn’t say anything unnecessary. I just waited.

I think about ten minutes passed.

Her sobbing grew quieter, and Lise finally raised her head.

Her eyes were bright red, right down to the tip of her nose. Her perfectly proportioned, beautiful face was a complete mess.

And yet, strangely, she looked even more beautiful than before.

Maybe because a layer of whatever she had been bracing herself with had been peeled away.

“…Have you calmed down?”

“Yes… um, I showed you… something very unsightly…”

“That’s what this place is for.”

“What this place is for…”

“It’s a place where no one will tell you not to cry.”

Lise blinked slowly.

“…It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve talked this much.”

“I see.”

“And… having someone listen to me until the very end like this.”

She let out a small breath.

“Because everyone wants me to be strong.”

“Well, you are strong, after all.”

“But today… I feel like I was told I don’t have to be strong.”

That’s a slight misunderstanding.

To be precise, it’s “You don’t have to force yourself to act tough,” but it was better not to correct her right now.

“You were just carrying too much on your own.”

“…Maybe so.”

“At the very least, coming here today was the right choice.”

“…Yes.”

Along with that reply, Lise’s expression brightened up just a bit.

Thank goodness.

At the very least, we’re past the absolute worst of it.

—Or so I thought.

Lise suddenly leaned forward.

“Nagi-san.”

Both of her hands enveloped my right hand, which was resting on the desk.

“Eh.”

“You listened to me until the very end.”

“No, well, this is a consultation window, so.”

“You didn’t assume I was weak from the start.”

“That’s also my job.”

“Even if it’s your job.”

Bad.

The heat in her eyes had changed.

It wasn’t the fear from earlier, nor was it simple relief.

It was the eyes of someone who had found something. And what’s more, she was already starting to ensure she wouldn’t accidentally let it get away.

The knowledge from my past life set a red warning light spinning in my brain.

That’s not love, it’s transference.

At least, for now.

So please stop looking at me with those moist eyes. My professional ethics are booting up on reflex over here.

“Lise-san, please calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“No, your eyes are not calm at all.”

“…Can I come back again tomorrow?”

She was looking up at me through her eyelashes.

Her voice was reserved, yet the pressure was strangely intense.

It wasn’t the face of someone worried about being rejected—it was the face of someone who didn’t even conceive of rejection as a possibility yet.

No, wait.

Rejecting her poorly here would have the opposite effect.

Continuous follow-up was actually necessary, and in reality, she wasn’t in a state where one session was enough anyway.

“…You can come.”

“Really?”

“Yes. However, as the consultation window.”

“As the consultation window.”

She repeated it back.

And yet, why was it? Her face looked like only about half the meaning had actually registered.

“Because progress observation is necessary.”

“Then, it’s a promise, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“A promise…”

Lise’s face lit up brilliantly.

It was like her crying just moments ago was a lie.

No, as a sign of recovery, it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t bad, but the switch was way too fast and honestly a little terrifying.

“Thank you, Nagi-san!”

“You’re welco—”

“Actually, Nagi is fine, right!”

“Please don’t suddenly close the distance like that.”

“Then I’m Lise, too.”

“That’s not the issue…”

“I’ll come back again tomorrow!”

The woman who stood up was so light on her feet, she seemed like a completely different person from when she arrived.

She went all the way to the exit, then turned back as if she just remembered something.

“I’m going to go do some practice swings at the guild’s training grounds for a bit.”

“Eh?”

“Because I’m feeling better.”

“Your way of cheering up is way too militant.”

“About ten thousand swings.”

“Do things in moderation!?”

Just like that, Lise jogged out of the small room with a pitter-patter of footsteps.

The door closed.

In the now-quiet room, I stared at my right hand for a while.

The spot she had just been enveloping.

“…No.”

Calm down, me.

She opened her heart to me.

That in itself is fine.

In fact, it’s a huge step forward.

It’s just that the way she opened it was overwhelmingly focused on a single point.

“…I hope it’s just my imagination.”

The words rose to the back of my throat—In my past life, this would be a case for the ethics committee—but I swallowed them down.

It’s still too early. Probably. No, I actually have no idea.

＊　＊　＊

The next morning.

The guild opens at 8:00 AM.

I showed up for work a little before 7:00 and stopped dead in my tracks in front of the building.

There was a figure.

In front of the thick wooden doors of the guild.

A single silhouette was sitting obediently on the stone steps, with the morning mist still lingering around her.

“…”

As I watched in silence, the person suddenly raised her head.

“Ah! Nagi!”

The person who stood up was the strongest A-Rank swordswoman who had been covered in blood and mud just yesterday.

Today, her armor and her hair were strangely sparkling clean. She was well-prepared. Or rather, she was way too fired up.

“…Lise-san.”

“Good morning!”

“Good morning.”

“Ehehe.”

This is no time for an “ehehe.”

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting.”

“I can see that.”

“For Nagi to get here.”

“I can see that, too.”

“Am I a good girl?”

“I don’t even understand the meaning of that question.”

Lise wasn’t deterred in the slightest.

“Because I wanted to be the first one to see you.”

“…There’s still an hour before we open, though.”

“Yeah!”

“Did you come knowing that?”

“Yeah!”

That’s not something you say with a perfect, beaming smile.

“Lise-san.”

“Lise.”

“…Lise.”

“Yeah.”

“Your sense of distance is severely messed up for someone using a consultation window.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“But I had no reason to go home until Nagi got here.”

“This isn’t a matter of reasons, it’s a matter of common sense.”

She tilted her head just a little and smiled bashfully.

“Because we made a promise.”

In the morning light, that smile had an absurd amount of destructive power.

It was so direct, so genuinely happy, you couldn’t believe she was the same person who had cried her eyes out yesterday—and it was so heavy it gave me an incredibly bad feeling.

With a dull ache forming in the pit of my stomach, I inserted the key into the guild door.

The Mental Health Consultation Window, Day 2 of operations.

It seems my peaceful days are already beginning to end.