TFOA Chapter 32

Niksi and Gilbert ran all the way up to the hill above Auvers. Gilbert and Niksi stopped and gasped for breath. They had run with all their strength until their lungs hurt.

"Haa... Why, why did you suddenly do that! After touching a police officer, later, huff... do you know what could happen?"

"Huff... Even when I save you, you complain."

"That's not it...!"

"It was written all over your face! That 'someone please do something!' expression."

'That look on your face, Gilbert, as if asking why you lied to the officer.'

Gilbert wiped away sweat with the back of his hand.

From the farmer's words, he had somehow recalled a voice from long ago, one he missed.

"What's wrong with my expression..."

'It was written all over your face.'

"Don't you know? Gil, unless you're smiling, huff... whatever you're thinking is written all over your face!"

They had said to run away, so he had followed Niksi somewhere, but when he looked around, the path seemed familiar. A familiar road.

It was the way to Niksi's house.

On the sunflower path that was still at seedling level, Gilbert burst into laughter.

"Niksi! Ha, haha! When you say let's run away... huff, it should be to the back mountain where we can't be found, or... huff... toward the village entrance that leads out of Auvers. Why is it in front of your house? Ahaha!"

"Why, why! The basic rule of combat is defending your stronghold...!"

She said to run away, but at best it was just the hill leading to her own house. How foolish.

When Gilbert laughed so hard he was choking, Niksi scratched her head in embarrassment.

Still, he didn't dislike this clumsy and reckless way of hers.

He wiped away the tears that had formed from laughing too much and asked.

"You think your house is the safest place for me?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Because it's next to me!"

Niksi thumped her chest confidently.

What could this shameless person who had nothing but guts do to protect someone a span taller than herself?

Of course, her thick-soled sandals as big as finger joints were fearsome, but excluding that... No, excluding her head that might come up with some outrageous methods, and excluding her hands that made strange things...

Anyway.

"So you're going to protect me?"

"Of course. We're friends, aren't we?"

Even considering everything, she appeared to lean toward the fragile side, yet he couldn't understand how such shamelessness emerged from this small body.

Red eyes? Mischievous corners of her mouth? Slender neck?

That's why. He didn't know why.

Gilbert gently pulled Niksi's wrist toward him. Then he tightly embraced her, this person who was nothing but strong.

"...Thank you, Niksi."

He wanted to try believing in her.

Somehow it felt like she might be able to protect him.

Gilbert Grace, her friend. It felt like she could let him remain as he was, just like this, forever.

Somehow it felt like he too could change if he was by her side.

That's what he thought.

"It's been a long time."

A chillingly low voice echoed before his eyes.

The sound of a crutch being dragged across the ground.

Roughly grown beard. The smell of blood. Brown hair. Murky olive-colored eyes.

Gilbert looked at someone standing in front of him and drew in a breath.

"Son."

Mark Richter. Hunter.

A man who looked exactly like him, unchanged even with the passage of time.

'Who is that?'

Niksi narrowed her eyes and looked at the man.

No matter that Gilbert was a son of the village... there was no reason for him to be called son so suddenly by someone she didn't even know.

"Who are you?"

Niksi asked the man who was limping toward them.

Looking closely, the man's atmosphere was not ordinary.

The exhaustion emanating from his bloodshot eyes, or that raw smell wafting from him.

Niksi's instincts were screaming.

"You mean me?"

A dangerous person.

"I'm Gilbert's father."

The man said.

Father? She knew the dictionary definition of father.

However, she was puzzled about why that word came up now.

"As far as I know, Gilbert's father passed away."

Gilbert's face, which she glanced at, was indeed as pale as if he had seen a dead person come back to life.

No matter how much she couldn't sense others' emotions, his expression was obvious enough for even a two-year-old to notice.

"Hmm... It seems your son isn't particularly happy about his father's appearance."

When Niksi spoke sarcastically, Gilbert grabbed her arm firmly.

She looked up at him quietly.

"Let's go back, Niksi."

"Gil?"

"Quickly."

This time, it was Gilbert who suggested fleeing.

Since there was no reason to refuse, she gladly joined in.

The man seemed to have something to say as he called out to them, but when they ran away, he didn't try to stop them.

Following behind him, she turned her head to look toward where the man was.

That man limping on one leg probably wouldn't be able to catch up with them. Seeing him standing there dumbly, it didn't seem like he had the mind to do so either.

But strangely, that attitude bothered her. It gave her the feeling that he could appear before them anytime.

She turned her head away.

Benjamin and Raul laid the officer, who had collapsed drunk, on the bed.

The painter rolled his stiff neck several times.

He was just trying to go home, but somehow the middle process was completely cut out and he had to be laying a police officer on a bed.

So many excessive things happened simultaneously in such a short time that it was dizzying.

"Ah, Benjamin."

Just as they were about to part ways in front of the village hall, Raul called him.

"I heard from Niksi. There was a hole in her front door floor and you fixed it?"

That's right. Because of that incident, that neighbor's floor got blown away.

Benjamin nodded.

"I heard your skills are quite good. Could you help repair the store floor?"

"Why should I do such..."

"I'll provide free meals until it's all fixed."

It was quite a decent deal.

As expected, even while smiling so benevolently, the bartender was sharp when it came to money calculations.

He probably figured it would be more profitable to make a poor painter work like a cow with meals as collateral than to hire laborers, pay wages, and provide meals.

But what could he do?

Since ancient times, it had been routine for artists to starve.

"...What time should I come?"

That night. The village head didn't skip patrol even if his father fell from the sky.

Something big had definitely happened to him, yet he remained silent, which worried Niksi.

So Niksi decided to accompany Gilbert on his night patrol again this time.

"You said before that you'd have some kind of summer festival? When will that be?"

"Probably after the rainy season ends."

"How about having eating contests or summer fruit sharing at the festival? This summer, my blueberries are expected to have a good harvest. I want to show off to the village people!"

She listed exciting things. Festival. Eating contest. Summer fruit.

But Gilbert's somehow dejected atmosphere remained unchanged.

Niksi, who disliked such awkward situations, took a deep breath.

"Is it because of that man we met earlier?"

Gilbert looked at her.

"You said he was your father. But didn't your father pass away?"

"...I thought so. And that bastard isn't my father."

Then what else was he? She didn't understand why he wouldn't call a father a father.

The dejected atmosphere wouldn't lift easily.

They walked quietly along the path.

"You..."

"Yes?"

"You said it. Not to make that expression."

'Don't keep making that face. It bothers me.'

'...Huh...? That expression?'

'Yeah. Not the village head Gilbert expression, but the Gilbert Grace expression.'

Niksi scratched her head.

"I did say that."

"That probably isn't Gilbert Grace's expression either."

"Then what?"

She asked back. But Gilbert pressed his lips shut.

She, who had little patience, was about to open her mouth to urge him again. But Gilbert was faster.

"Niksi. Just don't try to find out. Just... okay?"

Gilbert smiled with an unfamiliar face.

When the person involved said that, an outsider had nothing to say.

Moreover, even if she heard his story, she wasn't someone who could empathize with someone's pain or offer comfort.

Niksi reluctantly but inevitably nodded.

After that, making her curiosity meaningless, the hunter was nowhere to be seen in the village.

Gilbert acted as usual, whether he knew where the man was or not, but Niksi didn't bother to ask.

The officer woke up three days later.

Fortunately, when the officer opened his eyes, he remembered nothing about the incident he had caused while drunk.

His last memory was just eating eggs in hell very deliciously.

"My head is still throbbing."

The officer sitting at Raul's bar counter muttered.

A bandage with rabbit stickers was wrapped around his head.

"That's understandable. A lot has happened."

Raul presented the meal along with a floor repair bill.

Officer Carl's eyes widened at the amount with one more zero attached.

He had no memory of drinking, yet he had been drunk, which was strange enough, but apparently he had gotten so plastered that he fell on the floor and even made a hole.

The unfair elements weren't just one or two.

But very regrettably, the hole in Raul's bar floor matched his head perfectly, so he couldn't even protest that it was unfair.

He checked seven times, but it was right.

"Ahem. Paying in installments..."

"It's almost rainy season, what a disaster. If water comes in through this floor hole, this bar will become like the Nile River, and then I'll be out on the streets, won't I?"

The bar owner smiled peacefully.

He wasn't a pharaoh, so he couldn't perform magic to make the floodwaters in Raul's bar subside.

Eventually, the officer groaned and signed the receipt.

"Raul! I made too much cherry syrup at home, so if it's okay, could I share it here?"

When the officer was shaking while signing, Helen entered the bar.

Helen, with her generous hands, had brought the cherry syrup in a whole pot.

She had put a lot of sugar and boiled it, so a sweet smell was vibrating from the entrance.

"Helen, of course. Mixed with lime soda, I could make a wonderful cocktail. Please come in."

There was a dedicated spot at the counter for shared food.

It was the same spot where there had been a health juice tasting just yesterday.

The officer found the village people, busy as worker ants, quite annoying.

He wondered what benefit there was in running around so diligently, and they even looked foolish.

The officer looked at Helen's flowing red hair and casually greeted her.

"Your hair is still pretty."

Helen had an amazing talent for picking out people who were hitting on her. Wherever they learned it from, their pickup lines were almost all the same.

First place was that red hair is attractive. Second place was hair like red roses. Third place was pretty hair.

The officer's comment was the least sincere and most crude.

"If you're going to use stale lines, go back to the village, Karl."

"Whoa, don't be so prickly. I just want to be friendly like old times. Is being prickly the trend among village people these days?"

Wait a minute. Being prickly was the norm? Who was that? It seemed like it was a woman.

The officer frowned slightly, feeling like he had mentioned someone and forgotten who it was.

'This is bad, Helen shouldn't stay here long.'

Soon it would be time for the hungry painter to return with varnished wooden boards.

If he let Helen and Benjamin meet, the 14th Auvers Cold War era would begin. He didn't want his store to become an ice kingdom.

Raul looked out the window anxiously.

"Come to think of it, Helen, you were born and raised in Auvers, right? Then you must know the neighbors here inside out."

"Even if I know, there's no reason to tell you."

"Why are you like this? Are you and I strangers? You saw me drinking with your husband often when he was alive."

"...Yes. I remember clearly that you're the one who gave my husband strange drinking habits."

"Come on. Are you still sulking about ruining the proposal? Well, I'm sorry about that."

Milk tea-colored hair peeked out from beyond the window. It was the painter.

"Excuse me for a moment. Continue your conversation."

Raul quietly came out from behind the counter.

Benjamin was standing in the corner of the bar. He couldn't come in because Helen was inside, so he was huddled in the shadows.

"Want to come in and stay in the kitchen for now?"

"No. A little later..."

"Let go of this!"

Just as he was about to continue speaking, Helen and the officer burst out of the store.

"I'll let you go if you answer my question."

The officer was holding Helen's wrist.

The painter quickly hid behind Raul, but it was already too late.

Helen saw the painter's hair sticking out and silently turned her head away.

"So why are you asking that! Don't you think I know what intention you have for asking that?"

"Just answer whether it's correct that Grace had no son in the family tree! It's not a difficult question."

What started as just verbal arguing gradually escalated into a physical fight.

Raul hurriedly stepped between the two to mediate.

"Officer Karl. You haven't been recovered for long, you shouldn't do this."

"I don't care about that. Get lost!"

"Tch!"

The officer made a sharp sound and let go of Helen's arm. A faint red mark remained on her wrist.

It was an unpleasant sight.

Even the painter, who was usually indifferent to most disturbances unless he was involved, frowned at seeing it.

"I'm not doing this without any certainty. I heard it from someone reliable!"

"Ha. It probably wasn't even a village person, so where is this reliable person?"

"Someone who used to live in this village."

"What?"

Helen let out a hollow laugh.

There was someone in the village who would casually blabber about such things? That couldn't be.

The village people Helen knew might say 'you die or I die' among themselves, but they weren't people who would sell out their neighbors to outsiders.

They had gone through war together, sharing blood and sorrow. It absolutely couldn't be.

"Who is it?"

Carl opened his mouth with an irritated face.

"Mark Richter."

"...What?"

Helen's voice, which had been fine just moments before, trembled slightly.

She covered her mouth in disbelief. Her eyes were trembling.

"You do know something, don't you?"

The officer spoke as if probing, noticing Helen's unusual atmosphere.

But Helen didn't answer. Instead, she just limped on her injured foot and hurriedly turned around.

"What! You should at least answer before you go! Hey! Helen!"

The officer tried to follow Helen, but realized he hadn't gotten his hat and baton from the store and came back.

It wasn't just Helen who felt a strange uneasiness.

"...Mark Richter?"

Benjamin muttered.

"Do you know him too?"

"No."

He wasn't someone he knew. But the name was familiar.

Where had he seen this uncomfortable name?

He leaned against the door and thought hard.

Because he suddenly leaned, the varnished wooden boards that had been standing against the wall all fell to the floor with a crash.

"Oh no, the varnish probably isn't completely dry yet."

"..."

"What are you doing, Benjamin? Pick up what's at your feet too."

"Wooden... buttstock."

"What?"

Wooden board. A wooden buttstock. A long shotgun.

The owner of the gun he had seen in the basement.

"A hunter."

"Hunter?"

"The hunter that the neighbor is desperately trying to catch with fire in their eyes."

Perhaps the culprit who attacked the village beasts.

Things he thought had no form were beginning to reveal their outlines one by one.

But that wasn't welcome news for the painter.

Benjamin was someone who knew part of the connection between that name and Gilbert Grace.

In his experience, when he felt that an incident was strangely connected to him, he had always ended up falling deep into it.

Anyway, he was someone who just wanted to stick his face out above the water and breathe. So he didn't want to get involved if possible.

'That was when I first saw that name.'

On a day when rain poured so hard it obscured vision.

'It's all because of you. Because of you. If only you weren't there. If only you...'

In the fading vision due to the pain of a torn abdomen and too much blood lost, the young man he had seen.

A young man with brown hair and olive-colored eyes.

The gun he had been pointing at his head.

The name carved on that gun's buttstock.

"...Was I already too deep to back out from back then?"

Benjamin muttered.

Gray smoke wafted from beside the door where they stood. It was the smoke from a strong menthol cigar.

"Tsk. The only thing I like in this village is that wheat field scenery."

The officer chewed on the cigar in his mouth. He looked full of dissatisfaction that things weren't going well.

The acrid smell was nauseating, so Benjamin tried to slip past him.

The officer looked at Benjamin's profile and blew out a deep puff of cigarette smoke.

"By the way, you. Your accent is peculiar."

"......"

"You're not from around here, are you?"

Benjamin crouched down at the hole in the bar floor without answering. He held up the wooden board he was carrying and placed it against the floor.

"I've been patrolling here for a long time, but I've never seen someone like you."

Sun-dried reed-like light hair. Long eyes and nose bridge that were annoyingly handsome.

Carl threw his completely burned cigar onto the street.

The man called Benjamin in front of him.

He hadn't heard him speak at length, but from the few words he had heard, he felt that his accent was subtly different from people living around here. The accent endings were rough and blunt.

Just like people from a certain country.

"...I get chills when I see Germanic people. I want to put a bullet hole in their heads."

Benjamin looked at Karl while holding a nail in his hand.

"If you're hiding it, hide it well to the end. If it's discovered that you're a filthy German, I'll throw you in jail on espionage charges."

Since Germanic insults were heard like greetings in Auvers, there wasn't much impact. The threat about throwing him in jail was new, so it was fresh though.

Benjamin didn't say a single word to the end.

Karl, finding it boring, ground out his cigarette and left outside the bar.

"I guess if you disappear soon, I should assume you went to jail."

"I see."

"...You know I'm worried even though I say things like this, right, Benjamin?"

"Not at all."

He hammered the nail into the last wooden board.

The patch was obviously visible, but if he put a backless chair on top, it could be reasonably concealed.

Raul brought out a splendid lunch, saying he had worked hard.

Chicken cooked in wine and carbonated water with cherry syrup.

It was a much more luxurious dish than what he had bargained for.

It wasn't even his birthday today.

Benjamin dipped the well-cooked, glossy chicken breast deep into the wine-scented soup.

'Is this a death row inmate's last meal?'

Because soon the officer would come to arrest him.

Everyone in the village knew he was German. So it was only a matter of time before his identity was exposed.

'This is exactly why I didn't want to get involved in noisy incidents.'

He chewed the sweetness dissolving in his mouth.