How did he end up here—alone in a rented room in Banan, pretending to be someone he wasn't?
He replayed everything as he sat on the edge of the creaking bed, the moonlight slipping through the thin curtains like silver threads.
He had arrived in Kararagi by carriage, hidden among tired travelers and merchants too distracted by the chaos of recent events to care about a silent stranger. From the moment he crossed into Banan, he began two acts that would define his survival: he pretended he was mute, and he feigned memory loss.
It was the safest way to avoid the one thing he feared most—questions. Names. Stories. Anything that could accidentally trigger the penalty. Thankfully, the fake name he'd been given did not belong to him, and the world accepted it without consequence.
He thought he could get away with writing his actual name on a paper. It didn't matter whether it was in Lugunican, Japanese or even in English, they all triggered the chains that wrapped tightly around his heart.
As for the healing…It hadn't begun with a grand reason. There was no noble revelation or desperate necessity. He simply wanted to help. It was something he could still do—something that reminded him of who he used to be before everything rotted beneath his skin.
But he soon discovered the cost.
Using the mana inside him unleashed a backlash that gnawed at his insides like invisible fangs. His gate felt brittle, hollow, and every time he used it he could feel the cursed blood inside him push harder against the limits of his body, threatening to swallow him whole.
He couldn't replenish mana the way he once could. Spirits…To them he was nothing now—just a stranger, a severed thread drifting in their domain. Unless he reached out first, unless he touched them directly, they would not answer. And because of the cursed blood raging through him, he had less and less time to waste.
His pure mana was the only thing preventing the corruption from consuming him entirely. Every time it thinned, every time his body weakened, he felt the truth:
He was dying. Slowly. Quietly. Inevitably.
And so he searched for another way to survive.
Magic gemstones became his lifeline—his crude, imperfect way of restoring what little mana he could. They were miserably insufficient, giving him crumbs of energy, barely enough to keep the cursed blood from making him collapse for days at a time.
They were also brutally expensive.
So he charged for healing. Not always, not for people who couldn't afford it, not for injuries that wouldn't drain him too much. But he needed money, needed resources, needed anything that could delay the pain tightening around his bones.
Why did he stay here, in Banan? Why not run?
That didn't matter because the whole world was hunting him anyway.
His face—his real face—was wanted across the four nations. And after news spread that Stride Vollachia had survived, soldiers and hunters swarmed every corner of Lugunica, Vollachia, Kararagi, and even beyond. That name had become a curse.
But that wasn't the reason he was here.
His goal…It hadn't changed since the day he and Subaru stood against the White Whale. Since the day they vowed to fight back against the Witch Cult.
He wanted to go back.
Back to the Emilia camp. Back to the place he chose. Back to the people he swore to return to.
But he couldn't—not like this.
Not with cursed blood eating him alive. Not with this face. Not when even his own name threatened to kill him.
Two weeks have passed since Tanaka escaped from Pristella, what happened there, getting killed by Wilhelm, still hunted him.
Had it been someone else, someone he was closer to. The thought of him being hunted and killed by the Emilia camp.
That would have torn him apart for sure.
Probably one of the reasons as to why he was still unyielding is the fact that he found out about the alliance between The Crusch camp and their camp continued, even after the subjugation of the white whale, and the fact that the Anastasia camp also joined the alliance in order to rescue him.
Even though Tanaka knew that the latter's desire to rescue him stemmed from the fact they had a business agreement, this still relieved him deeply.
Ever since his confrontation with Wilhelm, his head was overwhelmed with dark thoughts. He desperately sought to return to that place again.
But what if no one cared? Despite splitting amicably, he was still the one who instigated it nonetheless, why would they care about him as much he does?
What if they forgot about him? He was just some random stranger who lived with them for merely two months, it would have been perfectly understandable if they did.
With such thoughts, as he became someone who was despised by the world.
He almost fell into despair.
That was his nature, with no way to know for sure, he always assumed the worst. And in all fairness, the life he lived caused to be that way.
Thankfully, he was wrong this time. After being isolated for more than a year, news did not reached him.
But the alliance between the three camps was formed in order to rescue him.
That piece of information gave him the hope and will...
To return, he needed to be healed. He needed the curse undone. And for that…
He needed Halibel.
Curse Arts. The wolfman was an expert—one of the few people who might understand how to unravel what had been done to him.
So when he asked the bar owner about Halibel—when he tried to hire him—he was told that the man had left Banan on a secret mission. No one knew when he would return.
He could have chased after him, roaming aimlessly across Kararagi in a frantic search.
But he was too tired.
Too worn down.
Too broke to wander without direction again.
So he stayed. He would wait.
With a trembling exhale, he tossed the shattered remains of the gemstone into the waste basket. Only dust remained in the center of his palm. His hand shook as he lowered it, the room spinning gently as exhaustion wrapped around him like a heavy blanket.
He lay down and closed his eyes.
"Just a little longer…" he whispered into the darkness—words meant for no one but himself.
A promise he wasn't sure for what it was about.
But still…
"I promise."
And with that, he finally drifted into sleep.
*********************************************************************************************************
Garitch Dartz greeted him at the counter, his frail figure framed by the early morning light leaking through the shutters. The old man's white hair was thinning, his skin pale and wrinkled like fragile parchment stretched too tightly over bone. Sunken cheeks hollowed his face even further, yet his eyes—tired as they were—still held warmth.
"Good morning, James. How are you feeling today?"
It wasn't casual small talk.Garitch had watched him work—day after day—kneeling over injured travelers and wounded mercenaries. He had witnessed the kindness… but he had also witnessed the toll. How the fatigue in his movements grew heavier, slower, harder to hide.
Tanaka raised his notebook and quickly scribbled.
"I'm doing fine. Thank you for your concern, Gar-San."
He rarely shortened names. The habit felt too intimate, too familiar for someone who was constantly pretending. But in this mute act he'd forced on himself, brevity was easier.
Garitch chuckled softly. "If you say so. Just remember to take care of yourself. You push too hard."
Tanaka paused, then wrote again:
"Did the new supply of gemstones arrive?"
"I'm sorry. The seller won't be here for at least another week. Honestly…" He rubbed the back of his neck, baffled. "I'm still surprised those things even work for you."
Tanaka had given him a partial explanation—just enough to avoid suspicion. He had told Garitch that he couldn't draw mana from the atmosphere, that he needed gemstones to replenish his gate. Naturally, he didn't mention the cursed blood.
Garitch's surprise was understandable. Humans didn't use gemstones to refill their mana; it was unheard of. Gemstones were meant for artifacts, meteors, and high-tier spirits, they were unstable.
A normal person trying to channel mana through them would be torn apart from the inside.
But he wasn't normal anymore.
"Well," Garitch continued, "I heard from the knight yesterday that you treated his gate. He said he felt like he was reborn." The old man smiled with genuine pride. "Your healing skills keep getting better."
Tanaka offered a small nod. Praise still felt strange. Heavy. Unearned.
Just then, a small tug pulled at Garitch's sleeve.
Tanaka blinked, glancing over.
A girl peeked from behind the old man—no older than her early teens. She had messy red hair tied into a short tail, soft grey eyes, and freckles dotting her cheeks. Her round face still held the softness of childhood, but her expression was shy, curious.
Garitch gently rested a hand on her shoulder.
"James, this is Nora-chan. Nora, this is James."
At the introduction, she immediately ducked her head, gripping the hem of Garitch's shirt with both hands. Her shoulders quivered just a little, like a startled rabbit.
"Please forgive her," Garitch said with a warm, apologetic smile. "She's a shy girl, and… well, the mask might have scared her a bit. Due to certain circumstances, she'll be staying at the inn and helping with the shop from now on."
Ah.
Tanaka lifted a hand to the fox mask covering his face, feeling its painted surface beneath his fingertips. He had almost forgotten it was there—he'd been wearing it for nearly two weeks straight. But without it, people would see his face.
The mask was inconvenient, suffocating at times…but it was necessary.
The cursed blood had caused him more problems than he could count—setting aside the fact that his face now resembled a wanted criminal's. Even the wounds he had inflicted on himself to escape Pristella had healed in a single day, his skin replacing itself unnaturally fast. His hair, too, had regrown completely overnight. Dyeing it had worked, thankfully, though dealing with long hair had quickly reminded him how bothersome it was.
And now, standing here before a frightened teenager, he couldn't help but feel guilty. A fifteen-year-old girl working in a bar unsettled him, but he had no right to voice any opinion. He was the last person who should question Garitch's decisions—especially when the old man was kind enough to shelter someone with such a suspicious, patchwork background.
Tanaka lifted his notebook and scribbled quickly:
"Let's get along."
Nora peeked at the words, then at the fox mask… her fear didn't completely vanish, but her eyes widened with something closer to awe, like she was staring at some mysterious forest spirit instead of a simple healer.
Not wanting to cause her any more discomfort, Tanaka offered a small nod and quietly retreated toward the backroom to change his clothes, the soft creak of the floorboards swallowing his footsteps.
___
____
_____
Hours passed.The sun had begun its slow descent, its orange glow spilling through the windows of the bar and painting the tables in warm amber.
Tanaka set down a freshly prepared plate of fried rice—steam curling upward like soft white ribbons—and handed it to the woman waiting at the counter.
"Thank you, Sonia-San. Have a good evening."
Sonia smiled brightly and leaned forward, her long red hair cascading like liquid crimson over one shoulder."I'm always looking forward to your food, Jay-chan. See you tomorrow."
She waved once more before exiting the bar, her silhouette briefly outlined in the sunset beyond the doorway.
Garitch shuffled over as soon as she was gone, smirking like someone who had caught a child doing something scandalous.
"Well, well," he said, elbowing Tanaka. "Look at you silently flirting. That girl was definitely seducing you."
Tanaka froze. He stared at the old man in pure disbelief, the blank expression beneath the fox mask practically radiating confusion. When it became clear Garitch wasn't joking, Tanaka reached for his notebook and scribbled in firm strokes:
"She is a nun…"
"So what?" Garitch barked, utterly unfazed. "She gave you another nickname."
Is this guy for real?
Pretty much everyone in the bar had gotten used to him and called him "Jamie."Sonia, however, had taken it a step further and—without permission—decided "Jay" suited him better.
She was around twenty, tall, with long blood-red hair flowing down her waist like silk. Her iris color matched her hair—rare, striking, impossible to ignore. Her red dress only made her stand out more. She worked as a nun in the Divine Dragon Church, fully devoted to the faith.
Although, he didn't know exactly how strict their faith was.
They became acquainted thanks to his healing work… and because you simply couldn't not notice a tall man with neatly combed hair, wearing a fox festival mask, communicating solely through written notes. His presence alone invited attention.
But while Tanaka was still trying to process Garitch's nonsense, something clicked.
A pattern.
Tanaka wrote:
"Are you going to gamble again?"
Whenever Garitch adopted this tone—half brag, half pitiful—he turned into a completely useless adult.
-------
One Week Earlier
Garitch had left Tanaka in charge of the bar for the first time, claiming he had "important business."That "business" turned out to be some card game.
When he returned…
"What's the matter with you? You're sweating a lot," Tanaka had written.
Garitch didn't respond. His face was pale. Exhausted. Defeated.
"Did you lose?" Tanaka scribbled.
The old man averted his gaze and muttered, "No… it's just hot today."
Tanaka said nothing.Just stared.
Garitch snapped, waving his fist at the sky."It's hot! It's so hot today! Hey, Sun! Take a paid day off, you idiot!"
-----
"Looks like a guy never comes to any good trying to get rich quick, huh."
-----
"If I had stopped right there..."
-----
"Money earned through your own sweat just naturally stays in your hands longer
-----
"If I had stopped right there, I could have won."
"Why didn't I stop at that point...?"
-----
"Hey are you listening to me?"
"I used to be a hopeful kid with a lot of dreams. How would that kid feel if he saw me right now."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
That had been Tanaka's experience for the last ten days.Garitch Dartz—innkeeper, cook, kindly grandfather figure—also happened to suffer from a very severe case of losing money.
The fox mask hid Tanaka's expressions, but Garitch still sensed the judgment radiating from him.
"Hey! What's the big deal?" the old man defended himself. "A man can have a hobby!"
You can have a hobby, but don't complain about your hobby to me…
"The bar's doing well these days, thanks to you. Lots of customers. Maybe I ought to increase your salary, eh?"
Tanaka stared silently.Didn't even bother writing a reply.
Garitch waved him off with a sigh. "Anyway, watch over Nora and the bar while I'm gone."
At the mention of the child, Tanaka instinctively shifted his gaze towards her, serving drinks to the customers. Despite his initial worries seeing her shy side upon their first interaction, the girl has been extremely diligent and had done a great job for her day.
Garitch stepped toward the door—then paused, as if remembering something.
"Oh, right. James—there's a kid I want you to take a look at later."
Tanaka tilted his head.
"He's been sick for quite a while. His parents took him to healers, but nothing worked. I know you just treated someone, so… you can refuse if it's too much trouble."
Tanaka exhaled quietly. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but it was rather difficult or that he couldn't at all.
He couldn't risk using his internal mana without having any more magic crystals to replenish himself.
He lifted his notebook.
"I can take a look first."
Garitch's face softened with relief."Thank you. Really."
He offered a grateful smile, then headed off toward the city—likely toward a gambling table.