Allen quietly stared at the wall.
The patterns in the stone bricks seemed to crawl and wind within his pupils.
But his gaze felt as though it could pierce through the wall, seeing what Sylphy was doing on the other side.
After a few moments of staring, Allen shifted his eyes away, resisting the absurd impulse to use the map search function to check on Sylphy's condition, who was only separated from him by a single wall.
He turned.
Raised a foot.
His figure passed through the halo of candlelight.
He approached the table.
Opened a drawer.
Took out the letter paper he had just put inside and spread it across the table.
The first sheet read:
— Respond to Hilda's expectations — (blank)
— Respond to Sylphy's expectations — (blank)
— Respond to Ghislane's expectations — Blade of Light. —
He glanced at the pen on the table but didn't pick it up. Instead, he tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, as if trying to reconnect to that sudden "feeling" he had when arguing with Rudy earlier.
The bedroom fell silent.
Only the sound of slightly hurried breathing could be heard.
Suddenly, Allen chuckled.
He shook his head.
And muttered softly to himself.
His voice was faint.
"Self-righteous kindness."
"Because of my regrets from the original story, and the 'night of betrayal' incident in this timeline, I kept thinking…"
"That I should make sure Roxy, the first person I liked, wouldn't suffer like Sylphy did in this timeline—having to swallow her grief alone."
"And now…"
"In the beginning, it was because I understood Sylphy's feelings from reading the original that I didn't want any of them to suffer."
"And the result?"
He lowered his eyes, looking at the wall before him.
That moment earlier—when he crouched down and looked up at Sylphy—the change in her expression flashed through his mind once more, carried across a short bridge of time.
That look was easy to understand, wasn't it?
That emotion was easy to recognize, wasn't it?
The joy upon first meeting his gaze—because for half a year he hadn't shown any sign of affection.
And then, the averted eyes.
Why?
Because she had subconsciously thought of Roxy.
Oh, and of his original body's mother, Hilda.
Why Hilda?
Obviously, she had gone upstairs to see Hilda just now.
And why would she go to Hilda?
What happened today?
Who is Hilda the mother of?!
How much longer does it take to put it together?!
Who is truly feeling wronged right now?!
And because of whom?!
He covered his face with one hand, his shoulders trembling, a short burst of laughter escaping his lips.
The fluttering sound of wings drifted in through the window as the turtle-dove, frightened earlier by his quarrel with Rudy, returned to perch on the sill.
In that instant—
Allen lowered his hand and picked up the pen from the table.
Narrowing his eyes, he looked down at the paper.
The pen moved.
And left three words behind:
— Respond to Sylphy's expectations — Roxy.
The pen stopped. Allen lowered his head, silently staring at Roxy's name.
He casually took Roxy's letter out from the drawer and spread it open beside him.
Then he pulled out fresh stationery.
The sound of the pen scratching the paper resumed.
It mingled with the clear, melodious call of the turtle-dove outside.
By the time the bird once again took flight, the letter was already more than halfway written.
The last few lines were particularly concise—
But Allen wrote them with unusual weight.
His lashes lowered, and his curled brown hair swayed faintly with each forceful stroke of the pen.
The tip left the paper.
He exhaled slowly.
Looking up—
Through the strands of hair—
His eyes shone like sharp blades.
Smoke and dust materialized before him.
[Yo, this time, you made your decision faster than I expected.]
Allen stared straight at the system panel.
'How much slower should I be?'
[Not bad, not bad.]
[Rudy's words made you realize there's a potential for the two of them to get along—so long as both are willing, without sadness or resentment, you can have them both. And you immediately set out to act.]
[Roxy first, Sylphy later—keeping the order clear. You're seeking Roxy's permission first rather than approaching Sylphy without it. No problem there.]
[Given Roxy's personality, and the fact that she already knows you're an Asuran noble, she likely has the potential to accept a harem. No problem there either.]
[The master-disciple bond between Roxy and Sylphy is something you arranged yourself, so they already get along well. As the later arrival, Sylphy naturally wouldn't feel wronged. Still no problem.]
[Allen, Allen…]
[This choice of yours is the only one that ensures neither of them suffers even the slightest grievance—and it's also the most troublesome one.]
[Truly…]
[Upright, well-ordered, flawless.]
[And shameless to perfection.]
Allen raised a brow at the flashing words but showed no anger—instead, his expression brimmed with confidence.
'I am shameless. I do like them both. So what?'
'I will earn the recognition of both of them!'
'In this timeline—'
'I'm aiming for a damn perfect ending!'
'Shamelessly upright.'
'Shamelessly clear.'
'I'll carve out the perfect HE for my Mushoku journey!'
With a sharp clack, Allen slapped the pen onto the table.
'I want it all!'
He swept his arm.
Dense battle aura cracked in the air like a whip, producing a crisp snap.
He turned toward the knife handle nearby.
The blade was right there—
As if he could touch it by just reaching out!
Allen narrowed his eyes, but after just one glance, he looked away.
His gaze returned to the paper.
"Respond to Hilda's expectations"—still blank.
The smoke and dust reappeared.
[Not going to swing? Follow your heart, unity of thought and action.]
[You could very well unleash the Blade of Light now.]
'Not swinging.'
Allen's eyes narrowed into slits, his expression twisting slightly.
'Not enough.'
[Oh?]
'The blade can be drawn—'
'But I will swing the most perfect Blade of Light!'
The lamp's flame swayed beneath his hand.
The last lines of the letter stood out clearly:
——
Finally…
I want to ask you something.
If I were to make a truly shameless request—one that sounds utterly absurd—
Would you agree?
No—
Putting such a request into words is too pale, too weightless, too shameless.
Between Fittoa and Shiron, as long as it isn't winter, a carriage trip takes barely over half a year.
So—
I want to make the request to you in person.
I want to see your face, feel your emotions.
I want to hear your voice with my own ears.
I want to look into your eyes and confirm your answer.
When spring comes next year—
I will come to find you.
I want to stand before you.
When you see this letter, please let me know if your schedule will change, and if there are any new plans for next year—
So I don't make the trip in vain.
— Allen.
——
(End of Chapter)
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