Chapter 175: Scalpel
"Not saying anything? Then I'll just keep talking." Roswaal said this, ignoring Subaru's clenched fists, and continued:
"Natsuki Subaru, don't dwell on the process. As long as the result is perfect, that's all that matters—just like what you've always done. After all, that's what you've always insisted upon."
"You're joking, right?! Roswaal!!!"
"Angry? Of course you are. Anyone would be, if they realized they'd been used without even knowing it. But what can such an act accomplish for you?"
Roswaal smiled as he watched the shock spreading across Subaru's face.
"Why…?"
"Why do I know about your disguise? Hmm~~~ let me think."
Reverting to his usual clown-like tone, Roswaal put on an expression of reminiscence and said:
"The Subaru I know is someone who works very hard~~~ working hard at his duties, working hard at studying, working hard to draw closer to someone. Ah~~ don't make that face. If you pay close attention, it's really easy to figure out.
Because you tried too hard. It's as if something was constantly whipping you from behind, forcing you to burn up everything you have and keep pushing forward.
In the capital, fighting Elsa and nearly dying. In the mansion, resisting the demon beasts and getting yourself covered in wounds. Against the White Whale and the Witch Cult, the same—throwing your life away without hesitation.
There have been people like that before. History remembers such people. But you, Natsuki Subaru, are fundamentally different from them."
Roswaal narrowed his eyes slightly, smiling, and spoke each word slowly:
"Because you are not one of those people."
"..."
"I'm actually grateful—grateful for the imperfect endings you faced before coming here. Because of that, I could be reassured. You're not some idiot who is pure to the extreme.
What you've accomplished could be called heroic by anyone's standards. And in fact, many already see you as a hero.
But I know the truth. Because of your failures, you stopped moving forward."
Roswaal's words froze Subaru in place, making him involuntarily take a step back. In Roswaal's eyes, a dazzling light shone, but Subaru could no longer perceive it.
"Ah, no—that's not right. It's not that you've stopped moving, but that you've lost that forward-rushing state of mind. You yourself noticed it, and that's why you disguise yourself. No one around you has realized this change."
"No… That's not true! I'm not pretending!"
Subaru shouted. His body trembled slightly.
When he looked at Roswaal, the hatred in his eyes had vanished. Just as Roswaal had said, Subaru did know the truth—but he didn't want to accept it.
Roswaal's words were like a sharp scalpel, effortlessly slicing open Subaru's outer shell.
He was nothing more than a wanderer longing to return home. A boy who wanted to call himself someone's dearest friend, yet lacked the confidence to truly believe it.
Yes—that was it. A lack of confidence.
Always calling himself that person's "best friend," as if repeating the word could barely convince him that he truly was.
Once, the hiding Subaru stepped out the door and witnessed despair and pain—only then to see light, and be saved by it.
But as he kept moving forward, the light in Subaru's eyes gradually changed—from a warm flame into the sun.
That light was too dazzling.
To gaze upon it directly made one want to avert their eyes. But having finally seized that light, Subaru could not look away. And so, beneath that overwhelming brilliance…
Inferiority began to sprout and take root. Under this self-doubt and lack of confidence, Subaru constantly whipped himself forward, endlessly running, endlessly chasing—just to be worthy of being called that person's friend.
He kept running… until he caught fire.
The trigger was his failure.
Failure became the gasoline that set his self-doubt ablaze.
And so, the boy named Natsuki Subaru disguised himself, desperately searching for a way to extinguish the fire.
Even though he knew he was burning, even though he knew he needed to "put out the flames," he still marched toward the "sun."
On this path, the fire that was Subaru never found something that could extinguish it. And Roswaal, with a single cut, tore open the shell he had created, exposing everything inside.
"......"
Roswaal frowned.
He could see that Subaru's current state of mind wasn't what he wanted.
This wasn't the Subaru he was seeking.
For the first time, he began to wonder if somewhere along the way he had made a mistake—if an error in forging the sword called "Natsuki Subaru" had turned it into a failed blade at the very brink of completion.
But regardless, what mattered now was stopping Subaru—who was barely even a "sword" anymore—from continuing down this path.
Frowning, Roswaal discreetly made a hand gesture, dispelling the magic that enveloped the room.
"Ram, come in."
At his soft call, the door gave a slight creak. At that sound, Subaru suddenly struck himself in the chest with his fist. A dull thud rang out. And Roswaal saw it—Subaru had once again become "Natsuki Subaru."
"Lord Roswaal, what are your orders?"
"Hmm~~~ Subaru doesn't look like he's had enough rest yet~~~ Would you mind taking him to rest a while, Ram~~?"
"Understood. So it's just that useless Barusu overexerting himself again. Ram will make sure Barusu gets a proper 'rest.'"
"Don't be too rough, Ram~~~"
"Yes."
"Wait, what about my opinion?! I'm perfectly fine right now, more spirited than ever! We're just about to head back together, all of us. If I rest, it should be after we return together. So, Lord Roswaal, there's no need to worry about me."
"That won't do~~~ After all, Subaru, you've already reached your limit. A little rest won't hurt. I'll wait for you to recover~~~ Besides, we still have a very, very long time together~~~ Natsuki Subaru~~~"
"…Hahaha… Since it's Lord Roswaal's request, I have no choice but to agree, then…"
Saying that, Subaru added nothing further.
He ignored Ram, and with flawless courtesy, withdrew and left the room.
Ram, seeing Subaru's behavior, also performed the same courtesy and left after him.
When the door closed, Roswaal's expression twisted into something unpleasant. He reached under his pillow, pulled out a pitch-black book, flipped through it, and muttered softly:
"…Where exactly did it go wrong?"
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