A Cynic’s Way to Heroism

A sneeze.

    In the tales and other old stories I either read in a past life or heard from the jester, heroes are often nobodies rising from dust. It appears that these ones are more popular, unsurprisingly so. Less rich, more relatable I guess? With people’s jealousy already leering at the well-born, their ego would crumble if one more grace was gifted upon them.

    This makes me confident that, given my modest, homeless situation, I might be a good candidate.

    Indeed, if somehow the memory of that tavern popped into my mind earlier, the one of the place this Gryffin lived in? Of course not. The worst might be that I found a key in my pockets. He has a place to call his own. Knowing that a bed waits for me somewhere in this town is a torture I wish didn’t exist.

“Pwiih!”

    In the lone street I settled in a calm part of the town, Felbalia, Fufu floats around me. Now cleansed from any trace of blood. He seems to recognise me, as unlikely as it seems.

    Envious, I glance at his cottony body.

“Are you ever cold with all this fluffiness?”

“Pwih pwih pwih!” Fufu chirps.

    With a resigned sigh, I retrieve a notebook I kept at my waist.

“Anyway. Time to establish a couple of strategies. I need some if I want to become a hero, don’t you think, Fufu?”

    But as I glance at him, the tiny cloud seems pretty focused, his body quivering, edges stretching.

“What’s up? About to go for a poo?”

    I wonder if clouds do, though. Staring at Fufu, half-expecting to be blessed with a rainbow vision, the little cloud suddenly begins to stretch. Larger. Flatter.

    He keeps extending until morphing into a shape large enough for a geman to lie on, his cottony bumps inviting.

    A cloud mattress!

“You’re even able to do such things?” I widen my eyes, leaning in to probe the soft surface.

“Pwiiih!”

“Fufu. You truly are the best!”

    Without further ado, I climb onto the floating Fufu mattress.

    Settling on my back, cottony chunks are projected upwards before falling back into Fufu. The latter chirping as if pleased to please.

    I let out a relieved sigh at the thought of spending the night in that much more comfortable position.

“Alright! Let’s get back to these heroic plans.”

    Opening my notebook, I begin to scribble a few things with the tip of a pen, its edge a small, sharp onyx shard. A basic artifact, infused with a spell allowing it to form letters on the paper. I kinda miss those at the castle. The words shaped without me needing to form the letters with the tip; they simply appeared according to the user’s thoughts, as the tip hovered over the paper.

    I wince a bit at the messy letters I hence am not used to drawing on my own. Oh, well. At least I’m lucky I found one. Earlier, a man unfortunately dropped it. Hence, I picked it up and kept it. What touches ground no longer belongs to anyone, right?

“…A hero saves lives and, umm. Defeats the bad guys. So…” I trail off. “So..?” I trail off again.

    Who am I supposed to save, though? And how, without being skilled at magic? As I’m about to throw my pen away, I force myself to scribble notes.

“Let’s begin small.”

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    The most difficult part of my heroic schemes turns out to be such a blatant one that I failed to predict it.

“…”

    It’s been an hour or so that I’ve been following an older woman. Fufu even followed me, literally sticking to my waist. His airy body rearranged into the shape of a pouch.

    My plan is simple. Old ones being weaker, they are more susceptible to need help. Hence, all I have to do is to follow this old skin until she either stumbles, needs to cross the street, or to lift something heavy. Easy.

    Or so I thought.

    But when the first opportunity manifested itself like ten minutes ago, the granny indeed stumbling and falling to the ground, I found myself in a terrible predicament. If I wanted to help her, I’d have to approach her, to expose myself to her gaze and, most likely, to speak to her. To utter words. To communicate.

    After two lifetimes spent avoiding any form of interaction, which could only end poorly for me, I found myself stopping metres away. Unable to step any closer to the grandma.

    My hesitation was enough for my target to stand up and resume her path.

    And in these ten past minutes, the fact is that she fell to the ground quite a few times. And, each time she straightens up, her pace increases.

    I’m almost running now, following her, telling myself that next time, for sure, will be my grand moment.

    And here she trips and turns again into a carpet.

“Ok Razzel, my boy, this time you can do it!” I encourage myself.

    This time, I keep stepping closer until I can reach for her shoulder. My hand hovering over it once near. Everything screams at me to back off. To know my place.

    An image flashes through my mind.

    Behind the school’s gymnasium, a splendid girl, her black hair tied into loose twin tails flowing down her chest.

    An expression of sheer embarrassment as she glanced at the letter I held extended towards her, my back arched in a ninety-degree bow.

“You… don’t really think I’ll go out with someone like you, right?” She whispered.

    Words blocked in my throat, I glanced up at her.

    Pity in her eyes.

“But, I truly love you, Miyaji-san.”

    Lame as it was, that’s all I managed to say.

    For all reply, Michiko Miyaji backed away, as if I had just uttered a terrible slur.

“Freak…”

    I swallow hard. Interactions with my fellow congeners always triggered bad endings. But… If I keep escaping them, nothing will ever change.

    It would be easier. It would be the sane choice.

    But then, I’ll never be able to make amends to Peccelotte.

    After a moment of hesitation, I resume my move, my fingers brushing the granny’s shoulder, when she suddenly shrieks.

    I freeze.

“Don’t approach me!” She backs away. “Help! Help! Someone!”

    In no time, a pair of guards approach and help the old woman stand up.

“What’s going on?” One asks.

“That man has been following me for a while now!” She squeaks, pointing a wrinkled finger at me. “He wants to ravish me!!”

“…”

“…”

    The guards exchange glances.

    I exchange glances with the guards.

“You…” A guard trails off.

“I..?”

“…Would?”

“No.” I answer without missing a beat.

    Silence.

    After a while, the guards approach me. They hook their arms beneath mine, one on each side, and they drag me away from the quivering granny.

    Once far enough from the old woman’s limited hearing ability, one of the guards turned his face towards me.

“Don’t you think you’re already causing enough public disorder with all the times we already caught you drunk, Tiger Eye?” He calls me by a nickname, probably gained from the nature of my eyes. It can only be a nickname after all, since the low-born don’t get last names. “Please refrain from widening the range of your wrongdoings.”

“Wrongdoings?!” I suffocate. “I was trying my very best to be helpful!!”

    This is exactly why I don’t usually bother trying anything exotic in the first place! Oh, how I miss my bedroom. My lone refuge. My serenity shrine.

    Swearing between my teeth once the guards are gone, I pace through the streets, utterly pissed. When I step before the vitrine of a shop, the reflection catches just enough of my interest to make me pause. The reflection of a man staring at me. Despite the clothes torn at the edges, the nascent beard I caress curiously, I actually have a seducer potential, I must say. Messy though classy short chestnut hair, a slender silhouette, and this tiger-eye gaze. Brown and golden layers glowing according to the inclination.

    In another timeline, Gryffin would have had a woman on each arm instead of a half-empty bottle dangling from his numb hand. In another timeline, I would have hated Gryffin.

“Why did a man like him sabotage his reputation like this?”

    And I still end up feeling a bit annoyed at this man who ruined his own life. A man who is either ignored or kept in the corner of the eye by a cautious passerby.

    Approaching people ends up being the same pain as usual, but at least… I mean, not having the same face helps. It’s me, but it isn’t me. People aren’t reacting to Razzel Od Mithril, but to a random drunkard. Right?

    After a while, feeling reassured by that logic, I finally take aim at my next victim.

    Chaining the attempts all afternoon, I keep failing in disastrous and unexplained ways. Before I notice it, the sun is declining, its rays piercing through the massive gem floating at the end of a long chain fixed to the top of the highest tower in the whole town. Made out of a stacking of bone half-spheres, the Observation Tower is able to repel monsters thanks to this artifact.

“At this rate, I’m going to run out of heroic plans before the end of the day…”

    I let out a sigh, hands leant against my knees as I take a brief respite. With part of the people I tried to help recognising me and backing away on sight, the other part reacting in… incongruous ways to say the least, my hopes of succeeding are melting like ice.

“Ice… Ice cream… I’m hungry.”

    How long has it been since the last time I ate?

    As I reflect on my hunger, a woman with a baby crosses the street in the opposite direction. Barely has she passed me before something falls to the ground. I glance down.

    A rattle.

    The baby’s rattle lies, unbothered. Without anybody caring about it. Without anyone noticing it. Nobody aside from me, kneeling to retrieve the key to my first heroic moment.

“Wait! You let this fall!”

    As I approach the woman, she pauses to glance back at me. Her quizzical look changes, though, the moment she catches sight of me. Instead, her expression changes to one of sheer worry.

“The drunkard…” She mutters.

“Your baby’s-”

    Not even have I the time to end my sentence before the woman turns away, picking up her pace.

“Why? I even smiled! Well, I think I did, at least. That sure was a smile. Smiling is… instinctive, right? Even if you’re not used to. Right?”

“Wait!” I exclaim. “Miss!”

    Determined to end this day on a positive note, I speed up my pace in turn.

    But the woman doesn’t turn around, doesn’t slow down. Much to the contrary, she grips her stroller tighter, gradually speeding up.

    I end up breaking into a sprint through Felbalia, driven by the failures of a day spent chasing the shadow of an elusive hero.

“TAKE BACK THIS FUCKING RATTLE, YOU CURSED WOMAN!!!!!”

    The guards soon join our race, the dumbfounded passersby our audience.

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    A massive sigh.

    After failing to give back the rattle to its rightful owner despite my most heartfelt attempts, at least I managed to escape my pursuers. I guess my endurance has reached new summits. Upgraded from panting stray dog with a lung infection to panting stray man with a sabotaged liver.

“Maybe I should leave Felbalia.” I mutter to myself. “Maybe starting on new basis in a town I don’t have a bad reputation would help. Not like I have any reasons to stay here, anyway.”

“Fwiih, fwiih.” Fufu comments.

    Being thoughtless is a blessing.

“Enough for today. Good deeds are more draining than I envisioned.”

    Except I still have nowhere to return to. I would take a room at an inn, but with the little monster’s crystal powder this Gryffin has with him, that won’t last more than a night, at best.

“Bring me a heart by tomorrow evening and I will pay you twice the market value.” A muffled voice makes me widen my eyes.

    As I turn my head towards the origin of the voice, it takes me a while before catching sight of them. Two men standing in the shadows of a dark alley.

“Any preferred variety?” The other man asks.