Nurturing the Hero to Avoid Death

“Hehe. I already had a gut feeling about your relationship from the start, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Huh?!”

What have you been imagining? Where did you even get the idea?

And what relationship?!

I want to ask this, but I feel so upset that only a single syllable left my lips.

“Also, welcome back Al! Judging by your face, it must’ve gone well, right?”

Alfred sighs deeply before raising his head and nodding at the owner’s wife. “Yeah. Ma’am, thank you for stopping me and telling me to cool off first. If I had impulsively set off, I probably wouldn’t have achieved anything.”

“Ain’t that right. If you left without a plan, you wouldn’t even have gotten through the hotel’s entrance.”

Alfred grimaces in embarrassment, unable to look directly at the owner’s wife. “Yeah. So I borrowed a suit to get Lian’s stuff, and planned on revealing this matter to the other captains. I talked and searched for the culprit with them. They followed me willingly, and… here we are.”

“I see, I see! I’m glad that things went well. The first to surrender to their anger in a fight will be the loser. So you first need to force yourself to calm down. Only then will you be able to analyze the entire situation and determine the best course of action, which will lead you to victory. I’ve… also repeatedly failed at this, so I understand how hard it is. But if you can manage it, then your win is guaranteed.” She grins, a slightly mischievous appearance to her.

Ma’am… You look cool, but also a little scary.

Did you get into fights when you were young? Did you wear a black leather jacket with words like “Bring on the fight!!” or “I’ll wipe you out!” on the back?

The image strangely suits her, but when I tell her this, she only treats it as a bad joke.

“Come on, let’s eat while the food is still warm. Sit down, sit down! Al, you too! You haven’t eaten, right? I made enough for you as well, so let’s have a meal together!”

After promptly releasing myself from Alfred’s loosened hold, I take a seat as urged by the pub owner’s wife.

I silently thank her.

If she hadn’t interrupted us, I might’ve blurted something ridiculous. Phew, she really saved me there.

The situation is too distracting, fogging my mind.

Alfred stares at me as if wanting to say something, but soon relents as he heaves another sigh. He finally sits, still looking reluctant.

After we both finish eating, Alfred and I prepare to leave Canal’s Bar.

Then Alfred tells me he needs to return to the village for his part-time job at Cheddar’s ranch.

Once we give our thanks to the owner’s wife, she tells me to come again, before sending us off with a smile.The owner also leaves the kitchen to wave us goodbye, a smile tugging on his lips.

Recalling the amazing songs and performances from last night, I make a mental note to come back again someday.

The aptly-named Canal’s Bar had a bar area, so I can drink as much liquor as I’d like. Without the need to act proper.

The image of a pile of cheap beers pops in my head. Now I feel a little… nostalgic.

“There’s a stop for a stagecoach nearby. Or maybe you want to call a carriage instead?”

I immediately shake my head the moment I heard the word ‘carriage’. “Let’s take a stagecoach.”

It’s probably unwise to be alone with him in such an enclosed and narrow space.

Wait, what do I even mean by unwise? The incidents last night and this morning are definitely worse. Yet I’m getting worked up over this.

But in any case, being alone with him will suck. The atmosphere will probably turn strange again… Okay, calm down. You’re talking nonsense.

“I see,” Alfred says.

Whether Alfred can see the storm within my heart, it isn’t evident on his face. With the usual languid smile, he reaches for my right hand.

His hold is gentle as he pulls me toward him, emitting from his hand a somewhat nostalgic warmth.

I have a slight urge to cry. When was the last time someone held my hand while walking together?

Only the vaguest impression is left in my memory. Just a person next to me. An incredibly tall person with a broad back, his hand as big as Alfred’s. I can remember my neck hurting from craning it.

Since it’s from a child’s perspective, that’s pretty natural.

I look up at Alfred. He’s a head taller than me, and his back is broad. His hands are a size larger than mine.

He walks slightly ahead of me while pulling my hand, each step firm and without hesitation.

His eyes no longer look cold, dark and lonely these days.

Up until now, he always gets into fights so easily. He’d rather think with his fists than his brain. But now, he’s able to properly analyze the situation before acting.

And his skill in the sword has eclipsed mine. He’s already learned all of the techniques I showed him.

That’s when I realize, I have nothing else to teach him.

I want to deny it.

The child who needed me to pull his hand, to hug him when he’s sad and lonely, has grown up. He doesn’t need my guidance anymore.

On the contrary, he is now the one pulling my hand.

As Alfred turns his head in my direction, his breath hitches in surprise. A troubled smile spreads on his lips.

“Why are you crying again?”