The gentle flow of time is pleasant.

In the end, Shii allowed Yuka to meet with Sota. There wasn't any explicit permission given, but since Yuka and I often hung out together, it seemed unavoidable.

Yuka didn't openly pay attention to Sota. While misunderstandings about Sota and me had mostly disappeared, she didn't show any obvious interest in him either.

Perhaps she was being considerate of my relationship with Shii. Maybe Shii's reduced wariness was influenced by Yuka's neutral attitude.

Not that Shii had completely dropped her guard, though.

While our personal relationships continued to develop, Yuka and I kept up with our work reasonably well.

"..."

"What?"

I tilted my head when I noticed Yuka looking at what I was doing with obvious discomfort.

We were standing in an abandoned temple.

All the surrounding buildings were deserted. It was an awkward size to call a village, but thinking about it again, it might have functioned as a small village when it was full of people.

Two middle school girls standing in the middle of such a place created a strange atmosphere.

Especially because of my attire.

"No, it's just... how should I put it."

Yuka looked at my hand with a complicated expression.

Blood was flowing from my hand. Not enough to splatter everywhere, though. If left alone, it would drip down, but not flow freely.

It was my judgment that wounds should be controlled as much as possible.

Something I'd noticed after fighting a few times was that people get lightheaded when they bleed. You might think that's obvious, but how often do people normally bleed that much?

You might feel a bit dizzy after donating blood, but there's quite a difference between donating blood and bleeding from a wound. It's the difference in mental pressure, I suppose.

I wrapped a cloth around my hand.

Just in case, I wore arm covers like office workers sometimes use to prevent blood from getting on my clothes. Over my clothes, I wore a baggy raincoat to prevent any blood from splattering elsewhere.

It wasn't because I didn't want to throw away my clothes, but because I didn't want Kagami to see my bloodstains.

I had considered drawing blood beforehand and using it, but like in a light novel, there seemed to be various restrictions—it only worked while my blood was flowing out of my body.

"..."

I looked down at myself.

One hand was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage, and in the other, I held a fairly large military knife. What's more, the blade of that knife was sticky with blood.

"Hmm, I guess I look a bit like a psychopathic serial killer, right?"

"No, that's not what I meant."

Hearing my self-awareness, Yuka sighed deeply and said:

"I was wondering if you really need to keep fighting like this."

"What do you mean?"

"I can handle opponents by myself. I'm not saying your skills are bad, so don't misunderstand. I just wonder if you need to fight and get hurt like that."

"..."

I stared up at Yuka.

"My wounds heal completely after the fight."

"You know that healing or not healing isn't the important part, right?"

...

This was something Sota had also heard from Yuka. Specifically in the original story.

Sota consumed more and more of himself with each fight. How much must Yuka have suffered seeing the bloodied Sota when she cared for him?

The reason I heard such talk earlier than in the original timeline was probably because the current Yuka was a bit too young to be completely detached from everything.

In the original work, she wouldn't have had occasions to go around with me, so during those three years, Yuka must have been swinging her sword alone, seeing blood.

Three years is a long time. Long enough for a person's personality to completely change. Long enough to get tired of anything, long enough to become numb to anything.

"The same goes for you, Yuka."

When I finished my thought and spoke, Yuka stared at me.

"Both of us might be people who don't need to be here."

It's a story often ignored in light novels. Light novels of that era were often sold to teenagers, and naturally featured protagonists that teenagers could relate to.

It's an age when you want to do exactly what adults tell you not to do, an age when you wish boring everyday life would just shatter.

But this is reality.

For a child whose everyday life was already shattered long ago, who no longer knows what normalcy is, such words would be difficult to understand.

"Are you saying we're not needed?"

"...No, that's not what I'm saying."

It's not easy to logically and coherently express what I want to say to Yuka. My everyday life in this world has long since collapsed, and so had my previous life's.

In my previous life, I was someone who lived in a crumbling daily existence. My own daily life had collapsed, I had seen the daily lives of people I tried to save get miserably destroyed several times, and I had seen the daily lives of my colleagues get ruined.

So, perhaps it was natural that I couldn't make such persuasive arguments.

"Yuka. Someday, we might have to go our separate ways."

"...Ah."

So, I tried to persuade Yuka in a slightly different direction.

"Right now, I'm in a position to learn, but someday we might both have to go our separate ways."

"...I see."

"But we'll still keep in touch."

"Really?"

In truth, having Yuka attached to me probably had some element of surveillance. Even if we separate, it won't be right now. It will probably be after quite some time has passed.

So until then, I thought it was okay to feel a little at ease.

"So, I'd like you to let me learn properly. So I can fight properly even when I'm alone later."

"I see."

Yuka seemed to sympathize with this statement to some extent.

That fact was strangely bitter.

"First, we should change that knife to something a bit longer."

"...I chose this one because it looked sturdy."

"Reach is important."

I did think that a spear might be better than a knife, but well, Mumei was originally made as a sword, not a spear.

I shrugged at Yuka's words.

"And if you really don't want to throw away your clothes, how about making separate work clothes? ...If you don't want your mother to see them, I can wash them along with my own clothes."

"You don't have to go that far—"

"Covering up with a raincoat will eventually reach its limit. Besides, it doesn't breathe well, so you can't use it in summer."

Yuka's logic seemed reasonable.

Well, she was someone who had been in real combat.

When I finally nodded, Yuka smiled.

"I'll wash them for you, and you can pick them up later. If they get too worn out, we can just buy new ones. If you're planning to continue this work, that is."

"Yeah."

I have no intention of giving up the struggle.

And to continue that struggle, I need to get used to this work quickly.

So that I can cut down yokai, return home, and smile naturally when I see Kagami.

So that even if someone tries to completely shatter our daily lives—we can smile naturally and go to school the next day.

*Thump.*

My heart beat a little faster. Lately, I feel something every time I fight.

Is my body responding to the bloodshed?

Or am I sensing that being who might be watching me from somewhere?

I'm not sure.

It seems like both a good omen and a bad one, making it impossible to tell.

"Let's go."

"Yeah."

At Yuka's words, I nodded.

...Worrying about the unknown won't prevent approaching dangers. I've felt this many times throughout my life. In both of my lives.

If that's the case, I need to prepare for what comes after. Fortunately, the approaching things I know about are the kind I can cut down.

Someday, until I can cut down all those problems and smile brightly for a photo.

I will continue to cut them down, again and again.

Yuka cut through space and led the way into the lair.

From inside, the smell of blood wafted out. The smell of someone's shattered daily life, of a trampled ordinary existence.

"..."

My somewhat elevated mood slowly subsides.

It's a smell I've encountered before.

In this life, and in my past life. Terribly, over and over again.

That smell of life included the smell of my own life.

"You—!"

The one shouting so loudly had the appearance of an old man.

Literally human-like. With a face grotesquely distorted.

"What business do you have here—!"

Perhaps this monster also has a life. Maybe it's just struggling to survive in its own way, and somehow its life overlaps with ours.

After all, it doesn't take just monsters to destroy a life.

"It would have been better if it had just eaten corpses."

Yuka muttered.

"If you think about making corpses yourself because there aren't enough corpses, of course people will come running."

Yuka's eyes were cold.

Her sword gleamed coldly.

So chillingly that even I, holding a sword beside her, felt it.