Midnight.
The mansion slept.
Bare feet padded up the stairs.
The gray girl stopped in front of the armored man's door.
From inside came muffled, giddy laughter.
"Kukuku… perfect… so cool…"
She eased the door open a crack.
Red hair.
No helmet.
A young man hunched over his desk, polishing a pair of feathered metal boots like they were the holy grail.
His face was lit by a single magic lamp—eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, grinning like a kid who'd found treasure.
The girl forgot to breathe.
(He… looks happy.)
She stepped on something.
Crunch.
The man spun, helmet already halfway to his head.
Red hair vanished under steel.
"…It's you.
Don't scare me like that. I thought it was the damn cat."
He exhaled, shoulders relaxing.
Then noticed her outfit.
Long gray cloak.
Hood up.
Bare feet.
"…Why are you dressed like a ghost in the middle of the night?"
The girl bowed stiffly.
"I have… a request."
"Request?
It's past bedtime.
Come back tomorrow."
He waved her off and turned back to the boots.
The girl didn't move.
The armored man sighed.
"Fine. After I finish maintenance.
Five minutes."
He went back to polishing, humming.
The girl waited in silence.
Finally he set the boots down like they were made of glass.
"Alright.
What's the request?
If it's stupid I'm kicking you out."
The girl inhaled.
Took one step forward.
"Please—"
Her fingers found the cloak's clasp.
"—kill me."
The room temperature dropped ten degrees.
The armored man slowly turned.
"…Come again?"
The cloak fell.
She stood naked, skin pale under moonlight, eyes empty.
"My blessing doesn't work on you.
You can do it.
So please—"
"Put your clothes back on."
His voice was flat. Hard.
The girl didn't move.
"You can do anything you want with this body first.
Then kill me.
That's the deal."
The armored man stared for a long second.
Then stood so fast the chair crashed backward.
"Listen very carefully."
He stepped forward until the cold helmet was inches from her face.
"I don't know what hell you crawled out of.
I don't know what made you think this is okay.
But I'm not your executioner.
And I'm definitely not touching a kid."
The girl's voice cracked.
"…I'm not a kid.
And I'm tired.
Every day hurts.
No one can touch me.
No one can help me.
You're the only one who can end it."
Tears welled, but her face stayed blank.
The armored man's gauntlet rose.
She flinched.
He grabbed the fallen cloak instead and wrapped it around her shoulders, rough but careful.
"Death's easy.
Living's harder.
You're doing the hard thing right now."
He forced her to sit on the bed.
Then crouched so they were eye-level through the visor.
"I'm not killing you.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
That's final."
The girl's hands shook.
"…Then I'm still trapped."
"No.
You're just not dead.
There's a difference."
He stood.
"Now go to bed.
Tomorrow you're learning how to cast "Heal" without wanting to die afterward.
We'll figure the rest out later."
The girl clutched the cloak.
Looked at the floor.
Voice barely a whisper.
"…Why are you kind to me?"
The armored man paused at the door.
Already halfway into sleepy-grumpy mode.
"Because shutting up and dying is boring.
And I hate boring."
He left.
The girl sat on the bed a long time.
Then, slowly, pulled the cloak tighter.
And for the first time since she could remember, fell asleep without praying for morning never to come.
Outside the door, the armored man leaned against the wall.
Rubbed his helmet like it hurt.
Muttered to the empty hallway:
"…Damn it.
Now I really have to fix this."