Unearned Warmth and Glitch
We kept moving. Not sprint. Just steady, measured steps forward.
The Verdant Hollow Forest stretched out ahead, quieter than before. The immediate danger had passed, the pursuit broken, but the air remained heavy with lingering tension. No one relaxed—not fully.
Viole's body is giving out.
I felt it clearly from within his consciousness. Not during the chaos of battle, nor during the initial frantic escape, but here—now—when everything had slowed down.
His vision was fading. The edges darkened first, blurring into soft shadows like a lens losing focus. His steps remained controlled, but each footfall hit the dirt heavier than the last. His breathing dragged through his chest, straining against overtaxed lungs.
Consecutive uses of Flash Step…
That level of high-density spatial movement wasn't free. The physical toll spread through his calves, his thighs, his forearms, and deep into his core. Everything was locked tight with lactic acid and sheer exhaustion.
Yet he kept walking. No complaint. No physical acknowledgment. Just a relentless forward momentum.
Honestly, it makes sense, I thought, looking out through his waning sight. He wasn't just fighting out there. He was taking the brunt of the pressure so these kids could actually make it out alive.
A sudden shift beside us broke the rhythm.
Luna stepped closer, reaching out to slip her shoulder beneath his arm. The sudden weight made Viole's frame dip slightly before he stabilized. His posture snapped back—not entirely, but enough to clear the fog from his eyes.
Luna didn't let go immediately.
"…Thank you," she whispered, her voice soft but firm. "You didn't have to… but you still did."
Viole said nothing.
Ahead, Kiran adjusted the unconscious survivor on his back, his shoulders shifting beneath the strain. "…Yeah," he muttered, glancing back. "Thanks."
"You saved them," Rath added, her tone characteristically sharp and direct.
Eira nodded softly beside her. "…All of them."
Even the weak, shivering survivors being carried managed tiny, broken rasps of gratitude against their coats. All of it was directed squarely at the quiet man leading them.
Viole heard every word, but he didn't offer a nod or a verbal reply.
Why did I even do it?
The thought floated up from the bottom of Viole's mind. It wasn't doubt, nor was it regret—it was a genuine, quiet question. The choice didn't align with his personal protocol. It didn't match his survival-first ledger.
Deep down, I knew what sparked it. Someone had shown him unconditional warmth when he was bleeding out in the dirt, and a part of him felt obligated to pass it forward.
Still, I couldn't shake the question. One good deed isn't enough to instantly break years of paranoid, self-preserving habits. You don't just drop your guard and play the hero overnight because a nice girl gave you a potion.
What did that one character from that rom-com anime say again? Something like, 'Men are simple creatures—show them even a tiny shred of kindness, and they'll lose their damn minds.'
The context application might not be a clean 1-to-1 match here—we were talking about brutal survival and lingering trauma, not high school romance—but the core logic was basically the same. Human brains are wired to react to unearned warmth. Even someone as cynical and hardened like Viole wasn't entirely immune to it.
I looked closer at his internal state, tracing the quiet avenues of his mind.
He hasn't changed. He just buries it so deep under tactical detachment that he doesn't even recognize it himself. It's unpracticed. Unfamiliar. Like a limb he forgot how to use.
***
Minutes dragged into an agonizing pace. The trees thinned, the canopy opening up to reveal the massive stone perimeter of the city walls. The outer gate came into view, guarded by stationed sentries.
The guards spotted the battered group immediately, running out to meet them as they took in the bloody, exhaustion-racked sight.
Then, Viole's final thread snapped.
The world went dark from the center out. His balance dissolved.
Luna caught him before his knees hit the cobblestones. The sudden weight pulled her down into the dust, her hands slick with the sweat and dried blood clinging to his dark travel coat.
"Viole!" Kiran yelled, dropping his burden to help support the collapse.
"Over here!" a guard shouted, rushing forward with a gurney. "Get them inside—it's this guy again!"
Darkness swallowed everything.
I should've gone under with him.
That was the rule. When his body lost consciousness, my awareness was supposed to fade into the same blank void.
But this time, something slipped.
Light. Soft, ambient, and entirely wrong.
Not the cave. Not the city. I was somewhere else.
A bright, clean room surfaced around my perception. Voices drifted—warm, close, and deeply familiar.
A tall man with sharp, gentle European features stood beside a woman with calm, Japanese eyes. Both were looking toward the center of the room.
Not at me, not exactly. At a smaller version of myself.
A young boy wearing formal clothes, holding a rolled paper tied with a ribbon.
Elementary graduation…
Oh.
A strange feeling of quiet recognition washed over me. I felt a smile form—or rather, the ghost of a smile from a life I'd left behind on Earth.
The scene fractured without warning.
A bathroom mirror. A middle school uniform, slightly too large around the shoulders. My hands were at the collar, straightening the fabric for the first day of class.
Shift.
An empty school hallway after hours. Sunlight streaking through high windows. A girl stood before me, fidgeting with her hands, her face flushed red as she looked up.
"I—" her voice trembled slightly. "…I like you."
Ah. I remember this.
I opened my mouth to respond—but before I could, a sudden, violent pull yanked me backward. The memory shattered into light, dragged violently out of the illusion as physical reality crashed back over my mind.
Pain followed immediately. Sharp, heavy, and absolute.
Viole woke up, and I snapped back into alignment with his senses.
The plain wooden beams of the clinic ceiling met his gaze.
Viole pushed himself upright, a harsh hiss escaping his teeth as every overused muscle screamed in protest. His arms shook from the effort, his core tightening like overwound wire.
"…How long?" his voice was raw and dry.
Mira wiped her hands on her apron, watching the stubborn fool push himself upright. He looked like death warmed over, yet his first instincts were purely operational.
She grinned wide. "Oh? Look at you—" she began, leaning against the bedside rail. "Didn't think you had it in you to—"
"It's not what you think," Viole cut in flatly, killing the joke before it landed.
Mira's grin only sharpened. "Mmhm. Sure. They're outside. Waiting."
Viole exhaled slowly, his gaze sweeping the room. Every bed in the recovery ward was occupied with bandaged, resting figures.
Mira's mocking tone softened slightly, a quiet warmth replacing her humor. "Hmm? They are the girls you brought in. All of them are here."
They made it. All of them.
Viole stared at the occupied beds. Seven were conscious, four were resting under heavy stabilization. Alive.
He turned back to her. "Mira. How much?"
He paused, his shoulders hitching slightly. "…And something for muscle pain. It's too shitty to ignore."
Footsteps echoed outside the doorway. Luna peeked her head in, her eyes lighting up. "He's awake!"
The four novices filed into the room, forming an awkward, sincere line beside his bed.
Kiran scratched the back of his neck. "…Thanks."
"For guiding us," Eira added softly.
"And for helping us save them," Luna whispered.
Rath gave a single, firm nod. "…We learned a lot."
Viole offered a single, microscopic nod in return. No speech. No dramatic acceptance.
Kiran grinned, stepping back toward the door. "…We're looking forward to next time."
The words hung in the air as the four turned and walked out, their spirits light.
Next time?
I felt the slight, hilarious delay in Viole's processing. He stared at the empty doorway, then slowly leaned back against the pillows with a long, resigned exhale.
Yeah. That sounds about right.
Mira let out a soft laugh, turning to fetch a small glass vial filled with dried green herbs and a steaming mug of dark liquid.
"For the pain," she said, handing him the vial. "I already brewed a dose."
Viole took the mug and tilted it back for a sip.
"Bleh—"
The reaction was instant and unfiltered. He pulled the cup back, his face tightening as his tongue flicked out in sheer disgust.
"…Bitter."
I felt that through our shared link. It wasn't just bitter—it was the kind of foul, astringent taste that coats your entire throat and refuses to leave.
For a fraction of a second, Viole looked like a child who had just made a terrible mistake.
He took a slow, steadying breath, forced his expression back into stone, and downed the rest of the mug in measured gulps.
"How much?" Viole asked again, setting the empty mug down.
Mira tapped her chin. "Fifty copper for the herb vial."
"The rest?" Viole asked, gesturing to his bandages. "The treatment."
Mira shook her head gently. "On the house."
She looked toward the resting survivors in the ward beds, her expression softening. "Liora came by earlier. Told me how you ended up with that group. Joining them today didn't just keep those four novices alive, Viole. It saved those girls. Most were reported missing from the trade roads."
She met his gaze directly. "That one decision you made… saved lives."
Viole didn't answer. He sat in silence, staring at his hands.
Yeah. He's definitely not as cold as he thinks he is.
***
Two hours passed in quiet rest.
The herbal brew took effect gradually, loosening the knots in his thighs and dulling the deep bone-ache in his arms. Viole swung his legs off the bed, testing his weight. Stiff, sore, but functional.
He reached into his pouch, counting out fifty copper coins, then added another ten.
When he stepped out into the reception area, Mira was leaning against the counter. Viole placed the sixty coppers onto the wood without a word and turned for the door.
Mira stared at the extra ten copper, a quiet breath escaping her lips. "…This guy."
Outside, the cool evening air cleared Viole's head. His breathing was manageable, though a distinct limp remained in his left stride.
He directed his steps toward the Guild Hall.
The parchment needed to be turned in for the party to receive their official points, and he needed food.
***
He stepped through the heavy wooden doors of the Guild, walking straight to the counter where Liora was organizing late-day logs.
Viole dropped the completed mission parchment onto the scuffed wood.
"I'll take the points," Viole said, his voice flat and efficient. "Give them the money."
He turned on his heel, already heading back toward the exit.
Liora stared down at the parchment left on the scuffed counter, the noise of the Guild hall fading into background hum.
Well, that's a first.
She knew Viole wasn't rich. She knew better than anyone that he lived with strict frugality, hoarding every single coin he earned toward a massive goal—purchasing a high-tier Inventoria spell tome. A space-storage spell of that caliber cost a fortune in gold, yet here he was, handing his share of the contract payout directly to four greenhorns.
She let out a quiet, knowing sigh, a soft smile touching her lips as she marked the ledger. He really never changes.
Viole crossed the street, stepping into the noisy, bustling tavern opposite the Guild.
"Stir-fry. To go," Viole ordered at the counter. "And an ale."
The owner set a frost-covered mug down immediately. "Word got around about what you and your party did today. Don't know who those girls were, but someone out there—parents, lovers—they'll be glad they're alive."
Viole picked up the mug and drank, ignoring the praise.
The cold ale washed away the dryness in his throat, sending a comforting warmth spreading through his stomach.
I felt the relief hit his system. Yeah… that actually helped.
Before he finished the mug, the owner set down a thick, custom-made hollowed bamboo tube packed tightly with steaming, savory stir-fry—a durable container designed specifically for long-distance travel and take-out meals.
Viole finished the ale, dropped twenty-five copper coins onto the counter, picked up the sealed bamboo tube, and walked out into the falling night.
The quiet streets led him back to his home.
He unlatched the front door with a soft click, entering the familiar silence of his sanctuary.
Routine took over automatically.
His katana was placed onto the weapon rack beside the door within immediate reach. Next came his arm guards and shoulder armor, unstrapped and hung carefully onto a simple wooden armor stand.
He walked straight into the small kitchen, checking the pot on the counter.
Still good.
I felt a faint sensation flowed from his fingertips which I didn't notice yesterday, it was mana, it flowed into the base of the stove. The magical array responded instantly with a low hum, generating steady, controlled heat beneath the soup.
Mana really is everywhere in this world, I noted, watching the ambient energy flow. Everyone seems to possesses a baseline capacity. Simple domestic applications—stoves, water heaters, ambient lighting—are completely standard.
Advanced applications are where the ceiling skyrockets. High-tier combat spells require formal academic instruction or astronomically expensive spell tomes
Honestly? Having access to literal magic feels like an absolute cheat code.
Viole sat at the small table, unsealing the bamboo tube of stir-fry alongside a bowl of hot soup. He ate with steady, mechanical efficiency—treating the meal as pure fuel for muscular recovery.
When finished, he moved to the bathroom.
He channeled a pulse of mana into the bath heater. The low hum kicked on, filling the tub with steaming, heated water.
This house isn't cheap to maintain, I realized, observing the modern magical amenities around us. To an outsider, Viole looks like a struggling, hard-stuck Silver-rank living hand-to-mouth. But this place—the magic stove, the automated bath heater—were left behind by his parents. It's quiet, hidden comfort.
Viole stripped off his clothes and sank into the tub.
The heat wrapped around his bruised frame, loosening his locked tendons and melting the lingering fatigue from his bones.
I leaned into the sensation from within his mind. Man, that feels good.
Viole stepped out of the bath, dried himself, and stood before the mirror.
The face staring back was sharp, composed, and strikingly clean—a stark contrast to the physical wreck he actually felt like inside.
"…I mean, it's my face," I muttered internally, staring at the reflection. "…but this whole setup is still so weird."
He dressed in loose, comfortable clothes and slid into bed.
It was early, but his body was screaming for sleep.
Then, as the warmth of the bath faded, the pain returned.
The dull, deep muscular ache crept back into his limbs as the effects of the clinic brew wore off after the two-hour mark.
Viole sighed, pushing himself back up out of bed.
He walked back to the kitchen, heated a fresh cup of water with a flick of mana, and dropped a fresh dose of dried herbs into the mug from the vial Mira had provided.
He stared at the rising steam, dreading the taste.
Tomorrow is the trip to Lunareth Village. He'll be out the entire day, which means an early morning start to prep food.
As the thought crossed his mind, a subtle shift occurred in Viole's internal state—a faint lifting of his mood.
I felt it clearly, though I couldn't quite wrap my head around it. Was he looking forward to a break from the city? A change of pace? Or was it something else entirely?
Viole picked up the cup and drank.
The bitter, foul taste coated his mouth instantly, making him wince internally, but he forced the liquid down until the cup was empty.
He returned to bed, pulling the sheets up as the second dose of herbs began to dull the sharp edges of his exhaustion.
As darkness closed in, one final thought lingered in my mind.
That dream earlier… that wasn't a normal hallucination. It was too clear. Too specific. My own memories from Earth.
When he sleeps, I sleep. That's how this works. So what was that? A glitch in the soul-link?
It's only the second day. I'm not solving that tonight.
Viole's breathing slowed into a steady, rhythmic pattern. Sleep took him, and my consciousness dissolved into the dark alongside his.