"That's why you need to rest even more!"
"I've rested enough."
Iris frowned, tugging gently at the collar of my patient gown like a stubborn child pleading with her guardian. "Just one more day. Can't you rest just one more day?"
I let out a slow breath, glancing at her. Truthfully, I didn't need to stay here another minute. My body was already fine, healed by the Blessing of Revival long before she dragged me into this so-called 'recovery room.' But the way she looked at me—eyes shimmering with unshed tears—I couldn't bring myself to refuse her.
"Sigh… Fine. I'll rest until tomorrow."
"Thank you." Her expression brightened instantly, her lips curling into that gentle, relieved smile of hers.
"There's nothing to thank me for," I muttered. "By the way… how much was the recovery room fee—I mean, the 'donation'?"
"I took care of it, so don't worry about it."
"But—"
"Nope. You just focus on recovering like a good patient."
"Ugh," I groaned. Honestly, I'd already recovered. Completely. But arguing with her was a battle I knew I wouldn't win.
After a short silence, Iris glanced at me again and asked, "By the way… is it really okay?"
"What do you mean?"
"To hide Professor Morpheus's true identity."
Ah. That.
After killing Astaroth, I asked her to keep everything that happened in the Veil of Illusions secret. No one else could know the truth—that Professor Morpheus had actually been the Archbishop of Illusions, Astaroth. Nor that I was the one who ended him.
"So the school was informed that Morpheus simply fled after the incident," I said quietly.
Thanks to the illusions Astaroth had cast, no one had seen what actually happened. Most of the people who'd been inside—Camilla, Priest Antonio, the orphanage kids—had lost their memories due to the illusion magic. There weren't any other witnesses.
"It's better this way," I continued. "If it gets out, it won't just be us in danger."
Astaroth had targeted Iris's Seven Eyes. If that truth spread, she would become a beacon for danger. Every demon cultist on the continent would come crawling out of the shadows to take her.
Not only that—Astaroth had said her eyes were an obstacle to unsealing the Demon God. If the Demon Church realized that her existence could stop their resurrection plans, they wouldn't just come for her. They'd bring armies.
And then there was me.
If the world found out that a mere candidate had killed one of the Six Archbishops—beings who ruled over legions of demons—the continent wouldn't sit still. Every noble house, every kingdom, every intelligence agency would set their eyes on me. Worship, fear, assassination attempts—none of it would let me live normally.
It'd be like a toddler killing a warlord with his bare hands.
So, yes. The secret was necessary. For both of us.
"For Iris's safety," I muttered to myself, "and for mine."
"Okay," Iris said softly. "I'll do as you say."
"Thanks."
"There's nothing to thank me for," she replied. "You risked your life to protect me, Dale."
"It's a cheap life," I said, looking away. "One that comes back even after I die."
"No."
Her voice was firm. She looked at me with something fierce and unwavering in her gaze. "Even if you have a blessing that brings you back to life, that doesn't make your life cheap."
I couldn't answer.
"Don't ever say your life is cheap again," she said. Her hand reached out, warm fingers gently brushing my cheek. "To me… your life is more precious than any other."
The words struck me harder than any blade ever had.
Precious. No one had ever called my life that.
'Why?' I wondered. Why did she say something like that?
"You asked me why I didn't stay put when you were fighting Astaroth, right?" she continued.
"I did."
"Well… honestly, I thought the same thing at first. I didn't know exactly what kind of blessing you had, but after seeing you come back to life again and again, I thought, 'At least he won't die.'"
"Then why did you step in?"
"When I saw you in pain…" she hesitated. "My body just moved on its own."
"...It wasn't a smart move."
"No. It wasn't. But if it happened again, I'd still do the same."
"Even knowing I wouldn't die?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The question came out more desperate than I meant. Why go through all that—for someone like me?
"When Astaroth turned his attention from you to me… do you know what I was thinking?"
"No…"
She gently lowered her hand from my cheek and wrapped both of hers around mine.
"Thank goodness," she said softly. "Thank goodness you're alive, Dale."
I stared at her, unable to speak.
She giggled, her voice light but trembling. "Hehe. Doesn't that sound familiar?"
"What do you mean, familiar?" I asked, frowning.
"Oh my, don't pretend like you've never heard it." Her finger reached out and poked my nose teasingly. "It's what you said to me the first time you talked to me, remember?"
"…Ah." I let out a dry cough and turned my gaze to the ceiling, embarrassment rising in my chest. I had said those words the day I returned to the past. Rushed up to her, full of emotion, and blurted out, "Thank goodness you're alive."
It was corny. But now…
"Alright, enough chit-chat," she said, standing up. "I'll peel some fruit for you, so lie back down."
"Mm."
I did as I was told and lay back. The ceiling above me was plain, unchanging. But in my mind, another sky appeared—the one that had turned red the day she died. I remembered her final words that day.
Did Iris think the same thing back then as she does now?
I didn't know. I might never know.
But even if I never found out, it didn't matter anymore.
"Say ah, Dale," Iris said, holding a fork with a piece of fruit toward me.
I looked at her and smiled faintly.
Thank goodness.
Thank goodness you're still alive.