Gratitude
For a long moment—nothing moved.
No, that wasn't entirely accurate. I didn't move. The body did.
Water continued to drip steadily from Viole's chin, sliding along the sharp line of his jaw before splashing into the ceramic basin below. But deep within the dark silence of his mind, my thoughts had completely stalled.
…This doesn't make any sense.
I leaned forward from within, narrowing our gaze as if reducing the physical distance to the mirror would somehow reveal a flaw in what I was seeing.
The shape of the dark red eyes. The exact slant of the dark eyebrows. The way the uneven strands of black hair fell along the sides of his pale face.
Every single detail matched. Not similar. Not a coincidence.
Identical.
…No. That's impossible.
I tried to reach back into my memory, searching for my original face—my real face from my previous life before waking up inside this body.
What did I look like?
Silence greeted me. A strange, hollow void lingered where certainty should have been. I knew I had lived. I knew I had possessed a face of my own. And yet, the harder I tried to picture it, the more the image blurred, slipping away like sand through clenched fingers.
My gaze hardened slightly in the glass.
Don't jump to conclusions, I warned myself. There were far too many unknowns. Too many missing pieces. I had no physical control over this body, no understanding of how my soul ended up trapped here, and no way to verify the connection between us. Drawing a firm conclusion right now was completely pointless.
A quiet, weary exhale escaped Viole's lips.
For now, I would leave the question unanswered. But as Viole turned away from the mirror, the heavy, unsettling thought remained rooted deep in my consciousness.
…Who are you, Viole?
Viole reached for the cloth hanging beside the basin, wiping his face in slow, deliberate strokes. He dragged the dry fabric across his damp skin before letting out a low breath, the subtle tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.
He stepped out of the washroom, the wooden floorboards creaking softly underfoot as cool air brushed against his skin. The surrounding house was quiet, grounded, and still—a stark contrast to the suffocating noise that had filled my mind only hours ago.
He paused in the center of the hallway, taking a deep breath before lifting his gaze toward the timber ceiling.
"Party, huh?"
The words slipped out in a low, casual murmur, but there was no lightness behind them. They carried the heavy weight of exhaustion, consideration, and a deep, ingrained reluctance.
Silence reclaimed the hallway. Then, Viole's eyes shifted to the side, coming to rest at the far end of the narrow corridor.
There stood a door.
If it could even be called that. It was a plain sheet of dark metal, seamlessly embedded directly into the stone wall as if it had been forged with the house's foundation. It had no handle, no hinges, and no visible lock—just a cold, unyielding surface, completely sealed.
Viole didn't react outwardly. There was no sudden spark of curiosity or physical hesitation. But deep inside his chest, something shifted. A quiet pause settled over his breathing, and with it, a buried memory surfaced.
It wasn't a violent flash, but a smooth, familiar transition—like stepping into a room he hadn't visited in years.
The same narrow hallway, but brighter, warmer, and filled with the scent of lived-in comfort.
A man stood at the far end, resting a heavy broadsword casually over his shoulder. He was tall and wide-shouldered, carrying a quiet, commanding presence that required no effort to prove.
"Again."
His voice was calm, firm, and unyielding.
A younger Viole stood across from him, his hands trembling slightly around the grip of a wooden training sword. His breath came in uneven, ragged gasps.
"…Yes," the boy managed to reply, stepping forward.
The man didn't strike immediately. His sharp, observant eyes carefully analyzed the boy's posture. "Too slow. Your hesitation comes before your swing."
In the next instant, the man moved—a sudden, effortless blur. The wooden blade in his grip swept forward in a clean, precise, and perfectly controlled arc. The heavy thud of impact echoed through the hallway as Viole staggered backward, barely keeping his feet beneath him.
"…Again."
There was no praise in the man's voice, nor any anger. Only absolute expectation.
The memory shifted softly into another scene.
The same house, but filled with the gentle, earthy aroma of drying herbs. A woman stood near the kitchen counter, her sleeves neatly rolled as she worked with practiced, graceful ease.
"You're pushing him too hard," she murmured calmly, without looking up from her work.
The man leaned against the kitchen doorway, crossing his heavy arms. "He won't survive out there if I don't."
A quiet pause stretched between them before the woman spoke again, her voice softer this time. "He's not you."
The man went still for a brief second. "…I know." His tone lowered, carrying a rare trace of quiet vulnerability, but he didn't take back his words.
The scene blurred again, turning darker and quieter.
The house felt hollow and still.
"We'll be back before nightfall," the man said, adjusting the leather straps of his heavy gear near the front door. The woman stood beside him, already fully equipped for travel.
A slightly older Viole stood near the hallway entrance.
"…Okay."
The woman stepped forward first, placing a warm, gentle hand on his head. "Stay inside," she murmured, offering a small, comforting smile—the kind that lingered long after she stepped away. "We won't be long."
The front door opened. The door closed.
They never came back.
The past snapped back into the present with cold, absolute clarity.
The quiet hallway. The sealed metal door. Unchanged.
Viole stood there for a moment longer—not staring, but simply existing in the silence. Then, he looked away, carrying the quiet acceptance of someone who had long since buried what couldn't be altered. There was no visible grief or dramatic hesitation, only a quiet weight tucked deep enough so as not to hinder his steps.
He lifted his hand, running it through his damp black hair before letting it drop back to his side.
He moved to his bedroom on the second floor, pulling a fresh, clean shirt over his head. But as he sat down on the edge of the narrow cot, a sudden, heavy wave of physical fatigue hit him like a physical blow.
The blood loss, I realized from deep within his thoughts. Mira said magic can mend the structure, but it can't replace the blood that left his veins.
Viole didn't fight it. The soft comfort of the cot pulled at his heavy limbs, and he let his back fall onto the coarse mattress. He closed his eyes, deciding that a few hours of rest were non-negotiable.
And as Viole's consciousness drifted off into sleep, my own awareness dissolved along with his—the dark silence of his mind swallowing my thoughts into a deep, dreamless void.
***
"Just three bottles left today!"
I carefully wiped the glass counter of my small wooden table, handing a warm, amber-tinted vial to a bruised mercenary who handed over fifteen copper coins with a relieved sigh.
"You're a lifesaver, little lady," the man grunted, carefully stowing the potion in his belt pouch before heading toward the Guild doors. "City alchemy shops charge fifty coppers for stuff half as good as this."
I offered a small, polite smile, though my shoulders throbbed with exhaustion.
From behind the main reception desk a few paces away, Liora leaned her chin on her hand, a proud smirk on her face. "Told you you'd sell out before mid-afternoon, Ai. Word travels fast when you're selling high-grade brews for dirt cheap."
"I just want to make sure everyone can afford them…" I murmured, my voice barely audible over the chatter of the bustling Guild hall.
It already late in the afternoon, and I hadn't sat down once since arriving in Sunridge. Between tending to Viole on the road, waiting at the clinic, and managing a constant line of thirsty adventurers at my stall, my stomach let out a tiny, desperate rumble.
I quickly pressed my hand against my apron, blushing as I packed up my remaining empty jars into my small cart.
I should probably find something to eat before I faint… I thought to myself, carefully wheeling my wagon out into the sunlit streets towards the market.
***
Snap.
Viole's eyes opened abruptly.
In the exact same instant, my own awareness snapped back into existence inside his mind—like a lantern suddenly lit in a dark room.
Viole didn't move right away. He lay still on the cot, staring up at the plain wooden ceiling while testing his limbs.
The severe heaviness in his arms and legs had receded into a manageable ache. A nap had finally allowed his depleted stamina to stabilize. He was still severely anemic from the blood loss, but he could move without his legs buckling beneath him.
He sat up slowly, turning his head toward the window.
The harsh glare of noon had completely vanished, replaced by long, warm streams of amber sunlight filtering through the glass. Dust motes floated lazily in the quiet warmth of the room.
Around two or three in the afternoon, I calculated from the angle of the light.
Viole swung his legs over the side of the cot, his bare feet touching the cool floorboards.
"…Food."
The single word came out low and practical, anchoring him back to reality. He stood up and walked past the sealed door without giving it another glance, the wooden floor creaking softly as he entered the small kitchen.
It was a simple, functional space. He opened a high wooden cabinet, inspecting the contents: a bag of flour, dried meats, and a few wilting vegetables. He checked a small storage basket in the corner, his mind weighing options not about the past or the locked door, but simply deciding what to prepare for dinner.
"…Need to buy a few things," he murmured, making up his mind. He turned back toward the front entrance, moving on to the next immediate task as if that alone were enough to keep everything else tucked safely out of mind.
The late afternoon air outside felt crisp and light, carrying the bustling background noise of Sunridge City—distant voices, stepping boots, and the rhythmic clatter of wagons over cobblestones.
The sun was dropping low toward the western ramparts, painting the brick buildings in deep orange and gold. The city was fully alive, moving to the steady beat of trade. Street vendors called out their final daily prices, colorful fabrics fluttered in the breeze from open stalls, and the mouthwatering scent of roasted meats drifted through the thoroughfares.
Viole moved along the familiar path with effortless instinct: Market, ingredients, return. Simple and routine.
People passed by on all sides. Some offered brief glances, but most ignored him entirely. To the city at large, he was just another weary, lone adventurer among hundreds navigating the late afternoon streets.
Is he really out walking already?
I shrank slightly behind a wide basket of sun-ripened apples, my fingers knotting nervously into the leather strap of my satchel as I watched Viole navigate through the crowd.
Only a few hours ago, he had been lying in the dirt with his tunic soaked in blood, pale as a corpse and barely breathing. Even with my potion and Mira's healing magic, he should have been resting in bed, not casually strolling through the market district!
I took a small, hesitant step forward out of the shadow of the stall, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Should I say hello? What if he's on his way somewhere important? What if I'm being a nuisance?
I froze in place, my hands clasped tightly in front of my apron as I fidgeted. I took another half-step, testing the waters, my eyes fixed on his dark hair tied in that low ponytail.
"…Um…"
My voice was completely swallowed by the roar of a passing merchant wagon. I squeezed my eyes shut, mortified, but before I could retreat behind the apple basket—
Viole stopped in his tracks and turned. "…Ai."
His recognition was simple, direct, and completely devoid of surprise. Just hearing my name spoken in that steady, grounded voice made the nervous knot in my shoulders melt away.
"…You're… outside…" I hesitated, lowering my gaze to his boots before forcing myself to look up into those striking dark red eyes. "…Shouldn't you be resting?"
"I did take a nap," Viole answered plainly, without a trace of self-pity. "…I needed ingredients for dinner. If I don't cook, I don't eat."
My mouth parted slightly in sheer astonishment. "…You can cook?"
Viole blinked back at me, tilting his head slightly. "…Yes."
My posture shrank, my voice dropping into a timid squeak. "…I can too…"
Viole looked at me quietly for a moment, observing my awkward stance, before offering a calm proposal. "…Wanna come with me?"
I froze. "…Huh?"
"I'm going to the market," Viole stated, gesturing down the wide cobblestone avenue. "…You are too, right?"
I offered a tiny, hesitant nod. "…Y-Yes…"
"Then it's the same thing."
With no logical counter to his straightforward reasoning, I quietly fell into step beside him.
The market grew progressively denser the further we walked. Stalls spilled onto both sides of the cobbled street, overflowing with fresh vegetables, dried meats, grains, small tools, and leather goods.
They walked side by side in a quiet, comfortable rhythm—neither too close nor too distant.
Growl.
A soft, distinct sound broke the silence between them.
Viole stopped and turned his head slightly. Ai froze instantly, a deep, burning crimson spreading from her cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears.
"…I—" She looked down at her dusty sandals, her hands gripping the strap of her satchel so hard her knuckles turned white.
I understood the situation immediately. She had stayed by his side on the road, escorted him to the healer's clinic, and then probably spent her entire afternoon selling potions at the busy Guild hall until her stock cleared out. She hadn't taken a single break or eaten a bite all day.
"You missed lunch," Viole noted flatly. It wasn't a question.
Ai gave a tiny, defeated nod.
"Come." Viole shifted his direction toward a nearby food stall without waiting for a response.
The mouthwatering aroma hit them first—savory, warm, and smoky. Rows of seasoned meat skewers were sizzling over open charcoal flames, dripping juices onto glowing coals.
Ai hesitated behind him, wringing her hands. "…I can't—"
"You can," Viole cut in smoothly, his voice calm and firm. "I'm paying."
"…But you already—"
"That was different," Viole interrupted, refusing to let her finish. "That was a business transaction. You used those potions on me."
Used, not sold or traded.
Ai went quiet, unable to find a single flaw in his logic.
"This is thanks," Viole added simply, leaving zero room for further argument.
"…Okay…" she whispered softly, finally giving in.
A few moments later, they were sitting on a narrow wooden bench along the side of the stall, warm skewers in hand.
The meat was so tender it practically melted.
I took a small, careful bite, and the explosion of savory, smoked spices on my tongue made my eyes light up instantly. Before I could stop myself, I took a second, much larger bite, my stomach letting out a quiet sigh of pure gratitude.
I glanced sideways. Viole was eating his skewer with quiet, methodical efficiency, looking out over the bustling market street.
"…Ai."
I paused mid-bite, looking up. "…Yes?"
"…You mentioned herbs earlier," he said, his tone turning reflective. "…Medicinal ones."
I straightened my back slightly, swallowing my food. "…A little…"
"I don't know anything about them," Viole admitted with characteristic bluntness. "I can fight monsters off, but I can't tell which wild plant is worth taking. I've been taking gathering quests specifically for that reason."
For a second, silence hung over our wooden bench.
And then… something inside me completely snapped.
Herbs! He asked about herbs!
A surge of pure, unadulterated excitement flooded my chest. "…If it's identification, then—!"
The words tumbled out of my mouth at a blistering, runaway pace before I could even filter them.
"…Most basic medicinal herbs have leaf vein patterns that are completely different from common weeds, especially the ones used for health recovery potions! Like the ones I used on you earlier—they usually grow in shaded areas, but not completely dark, and soil moisture matters heavily because if it's too dry the alchemy potency drops drastically!"
Viole just stared at me, but I couldn't stop.
"…And there are also dangerous look-alikes, but the key difference is usually in the stem structure or the distinct aroma when crushed! And if you're collecting specifically for alchemy use, you have to be extremely careful with storage because if they wilt even slightly during travel, they lose almost all their market value, and—!"
I cut myself off abruptly.
Oh no.
Reality slammed back into me like an icy bucket of water. My eyes widened in horror. My posture collapsed, shrinking into a tiny ball of pure humiliation. I lowered my gaze to my lap, my face burning so hot I thought my hair might catch fire.
"…I—" I squeaked softly, digging my fingers into my skirt. "…Sorry…"
Silence settled over the bench. I closed my eyes, wishing the wooden floorboards would swallow me whole.
Then—
A soft, low sound broke through the quiet.
A chuckle.
My head snapped up slowly, stunned.
Viole's eyes were half-closed, the usual quiet demeanor completely vanished from his features, replaced by a genuine, relaxed expression.
"…That actually helps a lot," he said softly.
My breath caught in my throat. Standing this close, seeing that stoic, battle-worn face melt into a real smile made my heart give a sudden, unpredictable thump against my ribs.
I quickly lowered my head again, trying desperately to hide my red cheeks. "…Sorry…"
Viole shook his head gently. "…No." He paused, his tone dropping lower than usual. "…Sorry. I didn't mean to laugh at you."
I blinked once, then twice, my fingers tightening around my wooden skewer. "…It's okay…"
A small, easy silence settled between us once more—not heavy or uncomfortable, but filled with a quiet, pleasant warmth.
"…Um… the Guild… sometimes puts drawings on the commission boards… of herbs…" I offered carefully.
Viole glanced at me. "…You've seen those?"
I shook my head timidly. "…N-No…"
"They're completely unreliable," Viole stated flatly. "Most of them are drawn by the requesters themselves. Some look like they were drawn by small children."
I went quiet, recognizing the practical truth in his complaint.
"The Guild sells an official flora index," Viole continued. "A proper one. But it's far too expensive right now. I'm currently saving my earnings for an Inventoria tome. Carrying capacity and spatial storage matter far more for a solo adventurer right now."
I nodded in understanding.
"…Besides, even if I bought the index," Viole added with a small exhale, "most flowering herbs look identical to an untrained eye."
Silence returned as both of us pondered the problem.
Viole paused, organizing his thoughts before speaking up at the exact same time I opened my mouth.
"…I—"
"…I—"
Both of us stopped instantly. Viole offered a slight nod. "…Go ahead."
I froze for half a second before the words rushed out of my mouth in a single breath. "…I can teach you!"
A quiet beat passed. Viole blinked. "…I was literally just about to ask you that."
My eyes widened slightly before I looked down with a soft, embarrassed smile. "…Ah…"
No awkwardness followed. We had simply arrived at the exact same practical conclusion from different sides.
"…When?" Viole asked directly.
I thought for a moment. "…The day after tomorrow… I'll be gathering ingredients near Lunareth Village… It's about an hour's walk from the city…" I fidgeted slightly. "…You don't have to—"
"I'll go," Viole replied without an ounce of hesitation.
I looked up, surprised by his speed.
"I'm the one asking for help," Viole explained in his usual matter-of-fact tone. "And I can help you in return. You travel alone when you gather, right?"
I nodded faintly. "…Yes…"
"Then your capacity is limited by what you can carry," Viole pointed out smoothly. "More hands means more herbs collected. More herbs collected means more potions brewed. More potions brewed means more income for your village."
He paused, letting the logic sink in. I had no counter to his reasoning.
"…Okay," I murmured with a small, happy nod.
By the time our conversation concluded, the skewers were finished. Viole stood up first, dusting off his trousers. "…Let's finish the groceries."
I followed close behind.
The market felt noticeably different now—less like a chaotic crowd to push through and more like a shared errand to navigate together.
We moved from stall to stall. At the produce vendor, Viole selected leafy greens with fast, efficient movements, but when I softly pointed out a fresher batch, he paused, looked, and switched his choice without ego.
"…Thanks," he offered quietly, earning a bright nod in return.
At the butcher's counter, Viole selected tough, cheap dried cuts based purely on cost, but when I gently mentioned that a different cut would soften much better when boiled into a stew, Viole adjusted his order immediately.
It went on like that—short exchanges, quiet adjustments, and effortless cooperation until everything on Viole's list was gathered.
At the edge of the market district, we came to a stop.
"…This is where I head back to the village," I said softly.
Viole nodded. "…Alright." He paused briefly. "…Thank you. For earlier, and for this."
I blinked in surprise. "…F-For what?"
"…Everything," Viole replied simply.
A soft, genuine smile touched my lips. "…You're very welcome."
She turned and walked down the avenue toward the gate, while Viole turned back toward his home.
***
The evening sky had softened into long, golden shadows, and the bustling noise of the city was beginning to settle into a quiet hum. Viole walked his usual path back, unhurried and steady.
Something feels different, I noted from deep within his mind. The subtle, suffocating weight that had hung over his shoulders in the hallway earlier had lightened—not completely gone, but undeniably eased. Not through physical rest alone, but through the simple warmth of a shared meal and an honest conversation.
Viole pushed open his front door and stepped inside. He set the groceries on the kitchen counter and began sorting them automatically.
Water went into the iron pot. The fire was lit.
He sliced the fresh vegetables into neat, uniform pieces with practiced precision, followed by the meat. As the pot began to simmer, his mind organized the coming days: Tomorrow, finish the leftover herb commission, add a quick goblin extermination request to maximize copper income, and prepare for the journey.
Then, an unexpected thought surfaced.
If I'm going to be out in the field all day tomorrow… preparing food in advance saves time.
Logical and efficient. But then his thoughts took another natural step forward.
If I'm already cooking a large pot of stew… preparing a second portion takes almost no extra effort.
Two portions instead of one.
A simple, practical decision.
As the stew simmered, sending warm steam curling toward the wooden ceiling, Viole glanced down at the dark, reflective surface of the broth.
Faintly mirrored in the liquid, the corner of his lips lifted into a soft, subtle smile. It was unintentional and unprompted—he didn't even realize he was doing it.
But I felt it. And for the first time since waking up in this body, I felt a quiet sense of peace settle over us.