"You can do it, Muel. You’re a brave man," the witch’s quiet whisper filled the room.

Beyond the flickering lamp, a massive shadow stretched against the wall.

The silhouette cast by Muel's raised arms extended up to the ceiling, with his shadowed arm reaching down toward the bed as if preparing to strike.

To a child, that would have looked like a monster.

Even to me, the shadow twisting and writhing on the ceiling had a disturbingly eerie look.

Yawning loudly, I stretched.

I was sleepy.

The witch glanced over her shoulder, pressing her fingers tightly against her lips in a gesture to stay silent.

Come to think of it, she’d mentioned something like that once before.

She said that if even the slightest sound interrupted her spell, it might shatter.

But that guy had been lifting and lowering his knife for over two hours now.

Two hours.

When would this end?

“What exactly is he doing in my room?”

Maybe this is why she pleaded with me not to kill him at the start.

I should’ve denied her request back then.

Would’ve saved me this headache.

Wait—did I even agree? It felt more like I’d just let it slide.

Yawning again, I lay down on the other bed.

One perk of using a double room: two beds.

I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes, the witch was rubbing hers, muttering sleepily to herself.

“Muel… find your courage… just kill him already…”

Was he still not done?

I was about to sigh when I heard the bard’s labored breathing, heavy and unsteady.

Huff… puff… huff… puff…

His shoulders were rising and falling in exertion.

Ah, muscle fatigue.

Just as I thought this, the bard’s arms came down, and his small knife punctured the straw mattress with a slight tearing sound.

The hardest part of any crime is the first step.

Once he started, the bard seemed to lose his restraint, stabbing the bed repeatedly.

“Die! Just die already, you fiend!”

“…”

Amateurs always struggle with knowing their limits.

When to apply force, when to ease up, when to run full speed, and when to pace themselves—they have no sense of this.

My mother always told me that rushing things too early would drain your strength when you needed it most.

Even promising talents could meet their end this way, she said, if they overexerted themselves at the start and couldn’t finish strong.

She must have worried about these things more than I realized.

And now, the bard was in exactly that state.

He flailed with the knife for about two or three minutes, not twenty, before his movements slowed, arms heavy from exhaustion.

Two or three minutes.

Just that, and his arms couldn’t keep up anymore.

Maybe singing had left him with even less stamina than I had when I was a child.

Or perhaps comparing him to me was just unfair.

Still, it seemed he was nowhere near my father’s endurance.

Despite his fatigue, there was pure hatred in his voice as he muttered.

“… Die… just die…”

Well, I suppose I wouldn’t let go of my grudge either if I’d suffered what he did.

This time, my mother had gone too far.

She should’ve just killed him outright.

Maybe she wanted him to suffer humiliation, as she’d done it right in front of my father, knowing how furious it would make him.

Mother, despite how she appears, is surprisingly sensitive about certain things.

Especially in front of Father.

She’d probably known he would go to such lengths after being humiliated in front of Father.

Yes, she’d left him like that on purpose, ensuring he would suffer.

Sighing, I decided to let it go out of respect for her tonight.

But they would be paying for that torn mattress and the bed linens.

As I muttered to myself, the bard suddenly collapsed forward.

Had he worked himself up so much that he’d fainted?

As I leaned over to check, the witch whispered softly.

"The spell… the spell is complete… Muel is a new person now. He remembers nothing of me or of your mother, and any memories of her have been replaced with someone else… he’s completely changed."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

There was a faint sadness in her voice.

But the next moment, the witch seemed to shake off her sorrow as she grabbed the bard by his arm, trying to lift him with a huff.

"Help me out, would you? I can’t carry him alone… Ugh, he’s heavy."

It would be impossible for her to carry him by herself.

But it wasn’t exactly my duty to help her.

I may have become her friend over these past nights, but that friendship didn’t extend to this man without… well, without certain parts.

After all, no matter what he saw in his delirium, he was here to kill me.

Only I was patient enough to tolerate it, sleeping on the other bed instead.

If it had been my mother in my place, he would’ve stood no chance.

I felt indifferent, but when I looked at her face, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, clinging to her lashes as she blinked hard, trying to keep them from falling.

Sigh.

If he stayed here, I couldn’t sleep.

Might as well move him so I can get a decent night’s rest.

Was I being kind, or just foolish? I couldn’t tell.

I hoisted the bard over my shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Where should I take him? Lead the way.”

The witch sprang up and hurried down the hall.

“This way. This way.”

She looked smaller and more delicate than usual as she ran down the dark corridor.

The room they were staying in seemed like the worst one in the inn.

One wall was piled high with junk, giving it the feel of a storage closet rather than a guest room.

Mold clung to the corners, and a crack ran along the ceiling near the outer wall.

If it rained, the place would leak for sure.

“Could you set him on the bed?”

The witch hurriedly adjusted the linens in the corner.

“….”

I looked at it, wondering.

Is this supposed to be a bed?

My bed back in my room was at least made from straw packed into a solid mattress, but what she called a “bed” here was nothing more than a pile of straw covered by a worn sheet.

The scattered bits of straw sticking out looked like old hay, likely something discarded and reused here.

When I kept looking at the bed, the witch spoke, a bit embarrassed.

“We’re not completely broke. We just have to save what we can, so we asked for the cheapest room. Still, it’s got two beds. And the food here isn’t bad.”

There are limits to frugality.

This room seemed a bit much, didn’t it?

This inn was already inexpensive, so I figured she must be making enough to afford something a bit better.

Considering how many people gathered around her performances in the plaza, she should be earning enough.

“…”

It wasn’t my business.

I knew that, but I still felt a sigh escape me.

I dropped the bard onto the straw pile with a thud.

“He’ll break his neck if you throw him down like that!” the witch gasped, going pale.

People don’t die that easily.

But she seemed genuinely worried, checking frantically to make sure his neck was still intact.

As I turned to leave, she stood and spoke up behind me.

“Thank you. Thanks to your patience, I was able to complete the spell. If it hadn’t been for you, it could have gone wrong at the last moment. Truly, thank you. I’ll repay this debt someday, I promise.”

I looked back, and her large eyes shimmered with tears as she gazed at me.

It didn’t look like she was happy to have completed the spell. Instead, she seemed… sad.

She had mentioned something earlier about the spell erasing his memories of her.

Maybe after tonight, her connection with Muel would be changed—or severed altogether.

What would she do now?

Would she continue to stay by his side as a dancer?

I wondered as I shrugged my shoulders.

“It’s nothing. I was glad for the company, too. There’s no debt to repay.”

“Still, thank you. Witches never forget a debt, no matter what the other person thinks.”

I wondered if that might be more of a nuisance than a kindness.

I shrugged again and left the room.

----------------------------------------

It was over.

It had all gone as planned.

Her role had never been as grand as her master’s.

But ever since meeting Rafa, the plan had veered off course.

If her master had been there, Muel wouldn’t have passed out like that in Rafa’s room.

It would have been flawless, completed without anyone noticing.

But she was still far from her master’s level, and clumsy.

If it hadn’t been for Rafa, it would’ve ended in failure.

Muel could have lost his mind and met a tragic end.

“Truly… I owe him nothing but thanks.”

Dorothe crouched down beside Muel, who lay there as if dead.

If her master had been like a mother to her, then this man was her father.

Looking back, they were always there in her past.

If she wanted a flower hanging high on a branch, he would lift her up without a word.

Gruff as he was, whenever she cried, he would sing a cheerful song from a slight distance.

She learned songs, tales of heroes, and the handling of instruments from him.

When Muel sang, her master would dance, and she grew up watching them together.

She’d never called them this aloud, but sometimes in her heart, she secretly called them by names she’d never spoken out loud.

Father.

Mother.

But now, this was the end.

It was truly over.

In his memory, both she and her master, the witch, would be gone.

Instead, what remained would be the false memories, carefully woven together by her master.

Dorothe knelt there, beside him, whispering a word she had never dared to say.

“Father.”

Goodbye.

Without even wiping away the tears that fell, she rose to her feet.

----------------------------------------

The next morning, I was woken by the commotion outside my window.

“M-my wife! Has anyone seen my wife? The dancer! Has anyone seen her?”

The bard was running around outside the inn, pale and frantic.

Wife… did he mean the witch?

So the spell had worked, completely changing his memories; in his mind, she was now his wife.

But… had she disappeared?

The witch was gone?

Huh.

I felt a pang of surprise.

I hadn’t expected her to just vanish like that.

She’d promised to repay her debt, so I thought she’d stick around.

Was this really the end?

A faint sense of loss crept into me.

“Guess this is what they call bittersweet,” I muttered, stretching as I stepped outside.

As I washed my face in the cold water, I thought back to her glistening eyes the night before.

So that sadness… was because of this?

Leaving behind her longtime friend, the bard, and setting off alone.

I wonder if she’ll manage on her own, that witch.

She had her powers, so she should be fine. But out there, there were people who, like me, were immune to her charms.

Would she be able to handle herself?

Somehow, she seemed a bit clumsy about life, and I found myself a little worried.

As I rinsed my hands, Rella, my bird companion, was fluttering nearby, snapping at bugs.

She couldn’t fly yet, but when I put her on a higher perch, she’d flap her wings and drift down.

But recently, I was starting to wonder if that counted as practice at all. Was she ever going to fly?

Her wings flapped a lot, but it felt more like she was just falling.

I might need to observe a mother bird raising her young to figure this out.

What would I do if she never learned to fly?

The thought made me shudder, and I braced myself against it.

Maybe I’d need to find a bird that could take care of her. Like a mother hen brooding over her chicks.

Then again, hens can’t fly, so maybe that wouldn’t work either.

With a mix of pointless thoughts buzzing around in my head, I made my way to the guild.

When I arrived, there was an unusual crowd of adventurers gathered outside the entrance.

For some reason, several people were standing there, refusing to go in.

Among them, I spotted Skinhead, one of the regulars at the guild.

Come to think of it, a lot of adventurers seemed to have bald heads.

Was it an occupational hazard?

“Not going in?” I asked, walking over to him.

Skinhead turned to me with a dazed look.

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“There’s an absolute stunner inside. She came to register as an adventurer, and now the place is packed with men trying to catch a glimpse. It’s not just adventurers; every guy around the area seems to have shown up.”

“She’s that beautiful?”

At my question, Skinhead gulped.

“I haven’t seen her yet. You’d have to get inside to see her.”

Just how gorgeous was this woman to have everyone flocking around? I decided to take a look.

The moment I opened the guild doors, I was reminded of rush hour back in my previous life.

It was packed.

Usually, people would step aside when they saw me, but here, there was no room for that, so I was stuck squeezing through the crowd.

Using my bulk and strength, I began pushing my way forward.

Behind me, Skinhead and a few other adventurers followed, taking advantage of the path I was making.

“Ow! Stop shoving!”

“Ugh!”

“Can’t… breathe… please, stop pushing!”

The men grumbled, but I paid no mind.

Finally, I reached the counter, and there, standing in front of it, was a breathtakingly beautiful woman.

She had long, golden hair, porcelain skin, a perfectly straight nose, and slender limbs.

She was truly gorgeous.

I’d never seen a woman this beautiful before.

I felt like my mind was blank.

Everyone in the guild seemed to fade into the background. She was the only thing I could see.

Was she human?

Was she really human?

Could she be… a fairy?

This was a fantasy world, after all.

With dragons and phoenixes, fairies might exist here too.

I stood there, stunned, as she suddenly turned her head and looked directly at me.