Chapter 20 Bonds of Love
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Rain pours down, heavy and relentless, as if the smoke rising into the sky summoned it.
I’m trudging back from the Dungeon, no umbrella, just me against the downpour. I’m a tall guy—somewhere between six-foot-two and six-foot-three—clad in black Full Armor, my long black hair plastered to my face, gold eyes squinting through the rain. I mutter a curse as water drips down my cheeks, but I’ve already accepted it. Once you’re soaked, there’s no point stopping. Just keep moving.
Then something catches my eye, and my boots halt.
In the narrow gap between two buildings, barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through, a figure huddles, knees pulled tight to their chest. Suspicion prickles, but I step closer and call out.
”Hey, what’re you doing in a place like that?”
The shadow stirred at my voice, flinching as though caught. She raised her head, and I froze. Long violet hair framed a face too perfect to belong in this rain-soaked alley—skin pale and untouched by damp, features so delicate they seemed carved with intent. Then her eyes met mine. Ruby-red, dulled by sorrow, with tears still clinging to her lashes.
She was beautiful—achingly so. The kind of beauty that felt impossible, as if the very idea of it had been shaped into a person and left here, trembling before me.
”You’re gonna catch a cold,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Go home.”
My heart’s pounding, a nervous rhythm I can’t control. She shakes her head, ignoring my unease.
”Running away from home?” I ask, throwing out the most likely reason a kid her age would refuse to leave.
She shakes her head again, a quiet denial.
”No place to go back to?” I press.
Her reaction hits like a storm. Her body trembles violently, her gaze locking onto mine as she bites her lip, tears spilling over. Damn it. I curse myself for my careless words. She’s lost something—someone—haven’t I?
”If you’ve got nowhere to go, come to my place,” I say, extending a hand. “I’ll look after you for a bit.”
I hurt her with my thoughtless question. The least I can do is take some responsibility. Sure, there’s a flicker of something else—her beauty’s hard to ignore—but mostly, it’s guilt driving me.
She hesitates before taking my hand, then stumbles as she tries to stand. I catch her—cold, trembling, soaked clothes clinging to her, feet muddy and bare. She can’t walk like this.
I scoop her up in a bridal carry. She doesn’t resist, only looks at me in silence.
”Walking’s too risky like this,” I tell her. “We’re doing it this way. It’ll be bumpy, so hold on tight.”
She nods once, her fingers delicately grasping the fabric peeking through the gaps in my armor. I pick up the pace, heading home.
”Oh, right,” I say, glancing at her as I walk. “I’m Tatara. Tatara Julon. You?”
Her lips quiver as she speaks. “…Etheline Nel-Baral.”
I let her name roll around in my head, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “Nice name. Cute, too.”
”Really?” Her voice is faint, hesitant. “If you think so… that makes me happy.”
Her smile’s awkward, like her face isn’t used to moving that way, but it’s not empty. She’s not emotionless, just guarded. Realizing I’m not someone to fear, she relaxes, leaning into me a little more. Our shadows blend in the night, close, like they’re meant to stay that way.
* * *
Some time later, a grim group gathers where Etheline had been sitting. They’re decked out in Mithril Light Armor and Tower Shields, urban gear that looks excessive for this place. Instead of spears, they carry Trident Catch Devices—non-lethal tools meant for capture. They look like guards, sweeping the alley with lanterns, searching for something—or someone.
A carriage rolls up, gold foil on its side depicting a griffin crossed with spears. A soldier hurries to it, shouting over the rain. “Sir! She’s not around here!”
The carriage window cracks open, and a voice snarls back. “Search every spot near that bat’s mansion. A little girl on foot can’t have gone far.”
”Yes, sir!”
”Word is she’s got thick Succubus blood,” the voice adds, dripping with menace. “Find her. I’ll have my fun, then you lot can have a taste.”
”Yes, sir!”
The carriage rumbles off, and the soldiers resume their hunt. Fate shifts here, a tragedy narrowly avoided.
* * *
A kilometer away, I reach my house, Etheline still in my arms.
”I’m home,” I call out, more out of habit than anything. No one’s here to answer.
”Um… thanks for having me,” Etheline murmurs, her voice shy, her expression softening in a way that feels new.
Like in my past life, this world’s custom is removing shoes indoors. Etheline’s barefoot, her soles muddy. I snap off my greaves with a heel strike, water spilling into my socks, then carry her inside, careful not to drip. In the bathroom, I set her down and close the door.
Through the frosted glass, I explain: “Take off your clothes, toss them in the basket, then wash up. Shower’s under the mirror, lever for the faucet, another for hot water. Twist to adjust.”
Showers exist here, but I modified mine to match my old world setup—easy knobs for the perfect temperature. My mom always praised it.
Etheline’s voice comes from the other side, soft but concerned. “What about you, Tatara? You’ll catch a cold if you don’t warm up.”
I can make out the outline of her figure through the glass—her curves are impossible to miss, and I’m fighting a nosebleed. “I’m, uh, gonna grab some clothes,” I stammer. “Sorry, I don’t have women’s underwear, but I’ve got a long, thick shirt. Should work for now. I’ll shower later, don’t worry.”
Her voice cuts through again, relentless in its kindness. “But if you wait, you’ll get sick. Why don’t you grab the clothes and come in? We can shower together.”
A quick pause for context: Etheline’s sheltered, almost naive about strangers, especially guys. She used to bathe with her dad when she was younger, and her looks scare off boys her age. I’m the first guy to treat her like a normal person, so she’s acting like I’m family. It’s sweet, but it’s killing me.
My teenage brain—research-obsessed but still very much a hormonal boy’s—can’t handle this. I’m attracted to girls, especially ones my age, and Etheline’s beauty is on another level. I’ve got zero experience with women, and now she’s suggesting this? My mind’s a mess.
”O-okay,” I manage, voice cracking. “I’ll grab the clothes quick.”
I bolt to my room, heart racing, a sad, hormonal mess of a teenager.
* * *
”Any itchy spots?” I ask, washing her hair.
I ditched my armor in the workshop, grabbed a thick shirt from my room, stripped at lightning speed in the changing room, and jumped into the bathroom like some kind of hero. I debated picking a thinner shirt to sneak a peek at her figure but didn’t. I’m a gentleman, damn it.
”It’s fine,” Etheline says, her voice ticklish and warm. “Your hands feel nice, Tatara.”
Her words shake me. My hands, rough from work, move gently through her hair, shampooing as if it’s fragile glass. I’ve never done this before, but she giggles softly, and it tightens my chest—she trusts me more than I deserve. My heart’s about to burst.
Wrapped in a towel, I find Etheline sitting bare on the bath chair. She admits she’s never used a shower—her parents always washed her. So here I am, shampooing someone’s hair for the first time. I try not to notice her curves, focusing instead on her small black horns, bat-like wings, and impossibly white skin. It takes nearly an hour, but somehow I survive.
Out of the bath, she sits quietly as I dry her hair with my homemade Magic Hair Dryer, built to repair hair damage. My oversized shirt hangs loose on her, slipping at the neckline, testing my self-control.
When I’m done, I make her sit at the table, serving instant onion soup with bread. It’s all I have—the pantry’s empty, dinner was supposed to be bought after the Dungeon.
Etheline takes a sip, then sets the cup down with a frown.
”…It’s not good,” she says, her voice flat.
”Yeah, sorry, it’s just instant,” I say, scratching the back of my neck.
”It’s not good. I don’t want it,” she repeats, her tone sharper.
There’s something in her voice, a familiar ache. It’s not just pickiness—it’s deeper, more desperate.
”No way,” she says, her voice breaking. “I want Mom’s soup!”
It hits me like a punch. That’s the sound of loss, raw and unbearable. I rush to her side, pulling her into a tight embrace, pressing her head against my chest so she can hear my heartbeat.
”Tatara!” she cries, her voice frantic. “Where’s Mom? Where’s Dad? I don’t wanna be alone!”
She’s screaming my name, her mind racing to process the loss of her parents, but her heart can’t keep up. I know this feeling. I’ve lived it.
”Dad! Mom!” she wails, her voice a raw scream. “Da… aaah!”
It’s a cry of pure anguish. All I can do is hold her tighter, let her feel my warmth. This kind of pain—you can’t fix it for someone else. They have to claw through it themselves.
* * *
About a year ago, I was waiting at home for my parents. One of their Explorer buddies showed up, his usual carefree vibe gone, replaced by a heavy, pained expression. I’ll never forget how he looked.
”Your parents are gone,” he said, voice low.
I understood the words, but not the meaning. Time didn’t care, though. It kept moving. When their bodies were brought back from the Dungeon, they looked almost untouched, thanks to the desperate efforts of those they’d saved. But to me, it didn’t matter. They were gone.
I went through the motions. Normal chores. Normal school. Normal crafting. I even made a new piece to show them, like always. Then I stepped into the empty living room and it hit me—they weren’t coming back.
The despair was crushing. I collapsed, dropping my work, covering my face, and sobbing. I called for them, over and over, knowing no answer would come. It only made the hopelessness worse. Then, out of nowhere, the ‘Archangel’ appeared, holding me close. I begged for forgiveness, convinced my selfish crafting had cursed them, that I should’ve died instead. I screamed it until I was hoarse.
I cried myself to sleep that night. When I woke, my emotions felt… dulled. I thought I’d moved on. I was wrong. I’d just numbed myself. Stopped talking about them. Avoided their room. Dodged their friends. I pushed their memory away, locked it up.
Time passed, and my heart started to heal, bit by bit. But the wound’s still there, raw and open. Meeting Etheline, seeing her pain—it’s like staring at my own weakness. All I can do is hold her, two broken souls clinging to each other as the night deepens.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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