Chapter 11: The Shattered Chalice, the Poured Life

The chaos in the commercial city of Junes had begun to settle—but "settled" wasn’t quite the right word.

The demon responsible was gone, but the aftermath remained. The brainwashed citizens were still in disarray, and the death toll had yet to be fully accounted for.

Then there were the victims—those who had been turned into the demon’s "larder," including the exorcists. Even with treatment, their recovery was uncertain.

They were currently being cared for at Holy Leyline, but despite the Saint’s healing Miracle Sign, their consciousness remained hazy. They couldn’t speak. Their expressions were vacant.

Likely, their brains had been damaged. Whether they would ever recover... no one knew.

A tragic outcome.

As for us—

Yuri had been treated by a Saint. Between my first aid and the fact that his injuries were shallow, he was discharged the same day.

As for me—

"............"

I lay sprawled on a bed.

The flower demon’s self-destruction had left me in bad shape. I’d attempted to heal myself with a mimicry of the "Holy Heal" miracle, but it had backfired. My bones had set wrong, leaving me in constant pain—until a Saint corrected the damage.

They had reshaped my bones, a treatment so extreme even modern medicine would hesitate, restoring them to their proper form. But the fractures still needed time to mend. My body had to adjust.

Full recovery: three days.

Short for multiple fractures, but long by this world’s miracle standards.

I recalled the Saint’s stern warning: "Rest."

I wasn’t trying to make things worse. I’d follow the expert’s advice.

The next day, in the infirmary—

"...Why are you here?"

"To visit you, obviously."

"...I don’t remember calling you."

Froila, my mentor and de facto guardian, had shown up.

Honestly, lying alone in bed had been lonely—not that I’d admit it.

"Come now. I brought gifts."

"...What?"

She placed an unfamiliar flower in a vase.

...The infirmary food was terrible. Fruit would’ve been nicer.

But I’d take what I could get.

"So, Elsie. Have you made up with Yuri?"

"Hah? Made up...?"

I blinked.

Right. Yuri had chased me all the way to Junes. Had Froila advised him?

I narrowed my eyes and looked away.

"Why ask me? Shouldn’t you ask Yuri?"

"I already have."

"Then whatever he said is fine. Answering’s a pain anyway."

I frowned, unsure what she was getting at—but Froila just smiled, unfazed.

"I wanted to hear it from you."

Annoying.

But also... very Froila.

Despite being only about ten years older, she had this motherly air—one I couldn’t bring myself to resent.

It made me... a little happy.

Not that I’d ever say it.

I rubbed my temples.

"...We weren’t fighting to begin with. I just... messed up a little."

"Hmm. I see."

She nodded, satisfied.

"...Not that it’s any of your business."

The words came out sharp—and stung me more than her.

Not just my body. My heart.

Like with Yuri... I doubted I could ever make Froila hate me, no matter how I acted.

So why bother pushing her away?

...But changing my attitude now would only raise questions. Why were you so cold before?

And Froila was sharp.

She might piece together the truth about my Miracle Sign.

Unlike Yuri, she wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

So... status quo.

In other words, I was running away.

As I wallowed in cowardice, Froila studied me.

"So, Elsie. What about you and Yuri?"

"...What are you trying to ask? 'What' what?"

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow.

"Any progress?"

"Progress?"

"Yes. Progress."

I had no idea what she meant.

My mind raced—until one possibility clicked.

"Well, against mid-rank demons, he's strong enough to handle them easily. Even if this one wasn't suited for combat, he still beat an upper-rank… so I'd say he's doing alright?"

Froila had trained Yuri as well, so she was probably asking about his performance on this mission.

I turned back to her, expecting some kind of follow-up.

"...Sigh. That's not what I meant."

She let out a long breath, clearly disappointed.

Apparently, I'd guessed wrong.

"Hah? Then what are you talking about?"

She sank deeper into her chair, settling in like this was going to be a long conversation.

…Well, lying in bed all day was boring. Having someone to talk to wasn’t the worst thing.

"Elsie, did you know that about thirty percent of buddy pairs in the world are mixed-gender?"

"...Hah? Uh… sure, I guess?"

I blinked at the sudden shift in topic.

"And the majority of those pairs end up romantically involved."

"...Well, if you're always together—sharing missions, eating, sleeping—I guess it makes sense that some people would develop feelings."

It was true. Most of the mixed-gender buddy pairs I knew were either dating or married.

Going through life-or-death situations together had a way of bringing people closer… or making them hate each other enough to split up.

Though, honestly, mixed-gender pairs were rare to begin with.

I propped my elbows on a linen pillow and rested my chin on my hands.

"So? What's your point?"

"Well, you see—"

Froila’s lips curled into a sharp grin. The kind that meant trouble.

She raised a finger.

"Do you and Yuri have that kind of—"

"Absolutely not. Don't be ridiculous."

I cut her off with a sigh.

There was no way Yuri had feelings for me.

I was scarred up, shorter than most girls my age, and my personality was a mess.

Who would fall for someone as troublesome as me?

Besides, I still had the memories of an adult man from my past life.

Thanks to that, my sense of self was too warped—I didn’t feel anything even around handsome men.

Just to be sure, I forced myself to imagine it.

Yuri and me, as lovers. Getting married. Having kids…

Him calling my name, holding me…

…Yeah.

Nope.

"............"

Not to mention, I wasn’t going to live a long life.

Even if we did get together, it would only hurt him in the end.

I was trying to keep people from getting attached to me—why would I start dating?

After all, I—

"Elsie?"

"...Hah? What?"

"Ah… sorry, that was an intrusive question."

"...Well, that’s nothing new. When aren’t you intrusive?"

Froila gave a wry smile, scratching the back of her neck.

What was her deal, really?

"Still… Yuri’s quite the catch, you know."

"Hah? Since when?"

"He’s hardworking, decent-looking, and his skills have improved. Personality’s not bad either."

"...I guess, aside from his face."

By my past-life standards, Yuri was good-looking.

He still had a bit of a baby face—more cute than handsome.

But this was a game world. Attractive people were everywhere.

I had no idea if Yuri counted as "hot" by this world’s standards.

Still… why was Froila pushing this so hard?

I narrowed my eyes.

"Ew. Wait, don’t tell me you like—"

"No, no! Come on, there’s a ten-year age gap!"

She waved her hands frantically.

I squinted harder.

"Mmm, suuuper suspicious."

"I’m telling you, it’s not like that! If I’d been born ten—no, even five years earlier, maybe I’d have considered it, but—"

She didn’t seem to be lying.

But… Froila, the "Exorcist of the Halberd," was one of the original game’s heroines.

And in some routes, she’d ended up with a man ten years younger than her.

No matter how much she denied it, I couldn’t ignore that fact.

There was no guarantee this world would play out the same way, but…

At least for now, it didn’t seem like she and Yuri would become a thing.

I felt relieved—

"............"

"Do I really seem that shameless to you?"

…Wait. Why was I relieved?

Oh.

Right.

If she got caught up in romance, she might neglect her duties as an exorcist.

And I’d be the one dealing with the fallout as her buddy.

Yeah. That was it.

"Well, whatever. It’s not like I’ve ever thought of Yuri as a man anyway."

"...Hm? Then what do you think of him?"

"A slave?"

"............"

"Or… maybe a puppy?"

Froila’s expression twisted in disapproval.

It always did when I said things like that.

In the end, our conversations were always tense.

To an outsider, it probably looked like we were fighting.

But still—

"...Hmph."

I did enjoy talking to her.

I’d just never say it out loud.

---

The sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of crimson. I averted my gaze from the window and turned my attention back to the book in my hands.

It was a piece of popular fiction—something light I’d grabbed from the stack in this hospital room to pass the time.

…Well, to be precise, it was a romance novel.

"...Haaah."

I closed the book.

I couldn’t say whether it was good or bad—just that it wasn’t for me.

The subtleties of love between men and women had always been lost on me.

I’d been a man in my past life, and now I was a woman… but neither perspective made it any clearer.

I was just incomplete.

I pulled the stiff blanket up to my knees and leaned back against the pillow.

…No drowsiness.

I’d already slept too much during the day out of sheer boredom.

Just as I was thinking that—

Knock, knock.

I turned my head toward the door.

"...Hm?"

Who would visit me here?

Yuri, maybe?

I thought he was busy today, but—

“…Door’s unlocked. Come in if you want.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

I was that bored. And, embarrassingly, a little happy at the thought of company.

I smoothed down my slightly tousled pink hair (all the tossing and turning had messed it up) and waited for the door to open.

"Pardon me, Miss Elsie."

But it wasn’t Yuri.

It was a woman.

And not just any woman—one I recognized.

One I’d taken an unreasonable dislike to.

“…Ugh.”

She stood there in the doorway, clad in the same maroon cassock as mine—a mark of an upper-rank exorcist.

Long, deep green hair.

The mentor of my former partner, Sherry.

I averted my gaze from her.

From "Exorcist Mireille of the Glaive."

"I hope you're recovering well?"

"...As you can see, I'm severely injured."

Even my usual sarcasm lacked bite.

I owed her.

I owed her for Sherry’s death.

Yet despite that, Mireille treated me with the same kindness as always.

That’s why I couldn’t stand her.

"I brought some fruit. Would you like some now?"

"Fruit…? Y-Yeah, I'll have some."

My appetite won out.

Froila had brought inedible flowers, but fruit? That I could get behind.

Mireille pulled an apple from her basket and started peeling it with a small knife, even grabbing a plate from the shelf like she belonged here.

I pretended not to watch, keeping her in the corner of my vision.

Then—

"Elsie, there's something I'd like to discuss."

"...Figured. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

"That's… fair."

Her brows dipped slightly, her expression dimming.

I clicked my tongue, annoyed at myself.

"I-I mean, it’s fine! Doesn’t bother me!"

Ugh.

I hated this.

Unlike Froila, she actually listened when I said things.

Time crawled by in awkward silence.

Bathed in the soft glow of sunset, she finished slicing the apple.

"Here you go, Elsie."

"...Thanks."

I took the plate and speared a piece with my fork.

The perfect balance of sweet and tart seeped into my weary body.

Just as I was savoring the small comfort, I noticed Mireille’s gaze.

"So? What is it?"

"Well… to be direct—"

Hesitation flickered in her eyes.

"—Are you a Saint, Elsie?"

The fork nearly slipped from my fingers.

"Hah? What’re you talking about? What proof do you even—? That makes no sense!"

I couldn’t admit it.

The Holy Burial Church never sent exorcists with Miracle Signs to the frontlines.

They were kept as Saints—protected, sheltered, hidden from the battlefield until death.

It wasn’t malice. It was doctrine. A safeguard.

But I—

I needed to fight demons as an exorcist.

No, I had to.

So I could never admit to being a Saint.

"Proof, you ask…"

"Y-Yeah! You can't just accuse me of—"

"Because I'm the same."

"...Hah?"

What does she mean, the same?

I blinked—

"I, too, possess a Miracle Sign… an unreported Saint."

"Wha—!?"

I lurched forward—pain jolting through my still-mending bones.

But come on!

This wasn’t in the game!

Mireille being a Saint was never mentioned!

Unless—

"You’re bluffing—"

"It’s the truth."

Her gaze locked onto mine.

And then—

Her eyes glowed with a prismatic light.

Not a mimicked Miracle.

Not one of the 101 replicable Miracles.

"O-Okay, okay! Cut it out!"

"...You recognized it."

"...Obviously. Not to brag, but I know my Miracles."

One of the 27 Forgotten Miracles—not left behind by Saint Leyline.

A Miracle Sign recorded only in classified documents, restricted to upper-rank exorcists.

"My Miracle Sign allows me to see everything—at the cost of my sight."

"...And you just used it like that?"

"Yes. Overuse would blind me, but this much is fine."

I let out a breath, tension draining from my shoulders.

Mireille allowed herself a small smile.

"So that kindness of yours… it really hasn’t changed since you were Sheri’s partner, huh?"

"Tch."

I clicked my tongue loud enough for her to hear, crossing my arms as I leaned back against the bed.

"So? Is that how you figured out I have a Miracle Sign?"

"No, not quite. My Miracle Sign lets me see anything… except for things related to myself or other Miracle Signs for some reason."

"Huh. That so?"

All Miracle Signs originally came from Saint Leyline.

If she couldn’t see herself, then it wasn’t too strange that she also couldn’t see things that shared the same source.

But if that was the case—

"Forgive me, but… I’ve used this Miracle Sign to spy on you more than once, Elsie."

"And? If you can’t see anything about Miracle Signs, then how did you figure out I was a Saint?"

I didn’t bother denying it anymore.

Lying or dodging wouldn’t work against her.

"…The light inside of you."

"Okay, that’s way too abstract."

I shot her a skeptical look, but Mireille’s expression remained unchanged.

She just stared at me—her gaze heavy with sorrow.

"Everyone has that light. It’s large in children… and small in the elderly."

"And?"

"Sometimes, there are young people with small lights too. Those are the ones who are sick, or who will be… That’s how I see it."

"……"

I finally understood what kind of light she was talking about.

"The light is the life force left in a body. In other words… it’s lifespan."

"Hah. I see."

The price I paid for using my Miracle Sign—that was the true nature of the light.

And if Mireille could see it, then—

"From the moment we first met… and even now. Compared to others, you’re burning through that light at an impossible rate."

"……"

"You possess a Miracle Sign that consumes lifespan as a cost… am I wrong?"

I clenched the blanket in my hands.

Exhaling deeply, I fell silent.

The crimson sunset bathed the room in its glow.

It was so quiet… I could almost hear my own heartbeat.

I took another breath. A long, slow exhale.

Then, I turned my gaze back to Mireille.

"…Did you tell anyone else?"

"No. Not yet."

"……"

Not yet.

Which meant she was considering it.

She took my silence as confirmation and narrowed her eyes.

"Elsie, you—"

"Don’t tell the church. Please."

Begging was the only move I had left.

A desperate plea to let this slide.

But Mireille shook her head.

"I can’t."

"…Why not?"

"If you keep using it, you’re going to die. I can’t just stand by and let that happen."

"…Tch. If you tell the church, then I’ll tell them you have a Miracle Sign too—"

"I don’t mind."

"…What?"

I looked into her eyes.

There wasn’t a shred of hesitation.

She meant it. Every word.

This woman… when she said she’d do something, she did it.

So damn stubborn.

Just like her disciple, Sheri.

"I don’t want to be locked up by the church either… but you come first."

"…You’re such a pain."

I glared at her, brows furrowed.

But she didn’t even flinch.

The clock ticked forward, each second filling the silence.

Outside, the sky deepened. The sunset would fade into darkness soon.

So—

"Mireille, I…"

I finally opened my mouth.

To say something I never wanted to say.

A story I wanted to bury.

A dream that had once been warm… but could never be again.

"…I abandoned Sheri."

The words left my lips.

Mireille stayed silent, simply listening.

"I hesitated to use my Miracle Sign… and she died because of it. Someone like me isn’t worth worrying about."

Even my usual tone was gone.

That was how serious these words were.

And yet… it didn’t seem to reach her at all.

"The measure of your worth isn’t yours alone to decide."

"So even if you—"

"Even then, Elsie. You are loved. By many people."

I fell silent.

Yuri. Froila. And now… Mireille.

Why won’t they hate me?

Why can’t they just… not care?

Ah, really…

Really, really, really—I hate this.

"Your light speaks for itself. You claim to have abandoned others, yet… you burn your own lifespan to wield your Miracle Sign for their sake, don’t you?"

"…………"

"I could never condemn someone who’d sacrifice themselves so recklessly to save others."

This was infuriating.

Because she was right.

I didn’t want to admit it, but…

If our positions were reversed, I’d say the same.

"I’ll inform the Church after you’re discharged—"

The moment Mireille stood—

"What happens… to my partner? To Yuri?"

The words spilled out—pure, unfiltered worry.

No ulterior motives. Just fear.

Mireille turned back to me.

"…He’ll be assigned a new partner. As a Saint, you’ll be confined to Holy Leyline."

"…I see."

I couldn’t even stand.

Clutching the blanket, I… thought.

So this was retirement.

Not death—just forced retirement.

I’d always assumed I’d die on duty as an exorcist.

I became one to save people.

But "success" was… debatable.

Sometimes I was too late.

Sometimes the saved died anyway—like those exorcists in Junes.

So even if I vanished…

Would it really matter?

"…………"

Yuri would be fine.

He’d grown strong enough.

He didn’t need me.

He’d save more people than I ever could.

So—

But—

Even so—

"…I hate this."

"…………Elsie?"

What’s right?

What should I do?

I’d always lived by those questions.

But I’m human.

Selfish. Just human.

"I… don’t want to quit being an exorcist."

"…That may be, but—"

"Even if it shortens my life. Even if I won’t live long—"

Ignoring my aching body, I met her gaze head-on.

"—I don’t want a peaceful life. Short or dangerous… I want to live without regrets."

"…………"

"You feel the same, don’t you? That’s why you’ve hidden your Miracle Sign."

Mireille looked away.

I pressed harder.

"I want… to live in a way that would make those who died before me proud. To the end… I want to live as I choose."

"But—"

"Even if the dead wouldn’t approve. Even then… I refuse to die with regrets."

Mireille’s expression twisted.

Not because she’d lost the argument.

She knew this was pure selfishness.

Yet… she understood.

Because she, too, was selfish—hiding her Miracle Sign, risking her life as an exorcist.

"Mireille… you get it, don’t you?"

"…Yes. I do. But…"

She wavered.

One more push—and she’d cave.

So—

"I won’t use my Miracle Sign anymore."

"…What?"

"Yuri… my partner… he promised to help me. To keep me from using it. Even though he doesn’t even know the full cost—"

I unclenched my hands.

The blanket slid to my lap.

"I won’t use it. I want to keep that promise. So, Mireille…"

Every word was wrong.

No logic. No justification.

Just a plea from the heart.

But to Mireille—

"…Very well. I’ll… keep your secret."

It reached her.

She touched her forehead, sighing.

A storm of emotions, no doubt.

"…I’m sorry, Mireille."

"…No, I should be the one apologizing. It seems I was just meddling where I wasn’t needed."

Mireille sat down in the chair, looking exhausted.

But as one of the top-ranking Exorcists, there was no way she’d be physically tired just from standing for a short while.

No, this was something else.

She was mentally drained—that’s how much she had seriously considered my situation.

She looked like she might regret saying anything, but still… I spoke up.

"So? …Why are you bringing this up now, all of a sudden?"

It’s not like I just met Mireille yesterday.

She must have figured out my situation a long time ago.

So why now?

"The other day… when you were injured and brought to the Holy Land of Leyline, I was shocked."

"……"

"I saw it with my own eyes. Your 'light' had shrunk so much that it was impossible to ignore."

Mireille clasped her hands together on her lap.

"I’m sorry, Elsie. I couldn’t bring myself to talk about your 'Miracle Sign' because of my own circumstances. You said you let Sheri die… but if that’s the case, then I’m just as guilty."

I understood what she meant.

For her to talk about my 'Miracle Sign' would mean admitting to the church that she was a 'Saint' too.

…Even with that in mind, she still chose to confront me.

And that meant—

"Mireille… how much longer do I have left to live?"

If my remaining 'light' was so small that she couldn’t ignore it, then that meant the worst-case scenario was—

"……"

Mireille fell silent.

She looked pained, as if struggling with how to say it.

"…Mireille, I’m prepared for this."

I’d been paying the price for my power without ever knowing when it would finally take my life.

I’d fought as an Exorcist all this time so that I wouldn’t have any regrets when the day came.

I wasn’t afraid of dying.

Well… maybe a little.

But I wouldn’t regret it.

Not even if I had only years, months, days… or just hours left.

"…Elsie, you… you only have—"

Mireille looked at me with a face on the verge of tears.

"Six years. That’s all you have left."

"…Huh? I still have six whole years?"

I let the blanket slip from my fingers.

The tension left my body, and I sank back onto the bed.

That’s it? Six years?

With how heavy the atmosphere had been, I was expecting something worse.

"Six years is all you have left…!"

But Mireille’s face hardened.

I’d never seen her this upset before.

I was so taken aback by her sudden anger that I instinctively leaned away.

"Uh, hey… calm down, alright?"

"This is exactly why…! You need to take better care of yourself!"

But her outburst quickly lost momentum, and the sadness returned to her face.

…This wasn’t what I wanted.

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked about my lifespan.

"…Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll try not to use my 'Miracle Sign' too much from now on."

"'Try'…?!"

"Well, what else am I supposed to do? If someone’s about to die right in front of me, I’ll probably use it anyway…!"

"That’s…! That may be true, but…"

Her voice trailed off.

Mireille and I were similar.

Even if she wanted to deny my way of thinking, she couldn’t.

"Fine… But please, really—don’t use your 'Miracle Sign' anymore."

"I’ll try. It’s not like I want to die for no reason."

"……If you use it again, I’m seriously going to scold you."

With those words, Mireille stood up from her chair.

She walked toward the door, moving with far less energy than when she had entered the hospital room.

Watching her back, I called out.

"Mireille… thank you. And… I’m sorry."

Her hand, gripping the doorknob, flinched slightly.

But she didn’t turn around.

"…Don’t thank me. In the end, I couldn’t do anything for you."

She opened the door and walked out.

I didn’t call after her. I just watched her go.