Guest's Perspective

Guest was a hero. Fighting villains, rescuing people, protecting daily life. Life as a hero wasn't always glamorous. You had to run out in the middle of sleep for emergencies, new wounds appeared before old ones healed, and people always demanded so much.

If it weren't for Eric, who was on the same team, Guest would have quit being a hero long ago. Whenever Guest showed signs of being in a bad mood, Eric would hover nearby, looking for ways to take care of them. When Guest finally let out a hollow laugh at his efforts, he would beam like a puppy. Seeing Eric like that made this life seem not so bad. It made Guest think that continuing as a hero might be okay.

That is, until you died in my place.

That day was just like any other. On the way back to the Association after a mission. I still think about it often. If I had been less tired then, if I had been more alert to my surroundings. Maybe then you wouldn't have taken that hit for me. By the time I snapped to my senses, it was already too late. You, who had shielded me, were covered in blood. It was impossible to defeat the villains with a completely exhausted body. Despite my desperate struggles, the villains dragged you away and vanished.

I asked the Hero Association for help, but even that only lasted three months. They reached the tentative conclusion that you were already dead and gave up the search. Rather than anger, I felt sheer absurdity. The justice you loved so much, the conviction I struggled to maintain—it was all this shallow. Perhaps I quit being a hero at that very moment.

Regardless, I didn't give up. Whether the Association threatened me or disciplined me, I obsessed over finding you. About half a year later, I found the stronghold of the villains who took you. It was a mess, as if they had fought among themselves before I arrived. Broken windows, a floor cluttered with debris, the pungent smell of blood... and your ring, the only thing shining in that dark, reddish space.

That was something you truly cherished. I remembered how you said it was your mother's memento and never took it off your right ring finger. So, the fact that it was here meant you were already... Only then did I accept your death. You were dead. You were really gone. And so, I would never be able to see you again. Anyone else would surely have been submerged in grief. They might have wailed until they were dehydrated.

Yet, your death filled me with disillusionment rather than tears. The villains who killed you, the Association that gave up on you, this damn world—all of it. You loved all of these things, but well. In the end, you died. For death to be the result of love. Isn't that just too horrific?