I Am the Hero's Immature Younger Brother

“Temar. Take care of your brother.”

“......”

Temar’s pupils blew wide.

His limbs locked up, stiff.

In the next instant, brutal phantom pain slammed through his arms and legs.

Luman noticed the faint tremor running through him and lightly furrowed his brows.

“This is after the Hero’s Miracle. Don’t tell me something actually hurts.”

“...No.”

His body was fine.

It was his mind that was in agony.

All of time had tangled together and was carving him to pieces.

“Why...”

Temar swallowed the words.

From the beginning until now, not a single question he’d asked had ever actually been answered.

This time, instead of asking again, Temar simply did as Luman said and looked after Ren.

Ren’s small mouth moved as he stood in front of a little coffin.

“The people left behind will be all right.”

Whose death was he talking about?

Passing the people dressed in black, Temar came to stand beside Ren and... felt as if his mind were splitting apart.

From the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, it felt like both his body and his mind were being torn clean in two.

The nightmare he never wanted to face was there.

Inside the coffin lay Ren.

***

“Hah—!”

“You finally back?”

There was blood at the corner of Luman’s mouth.

A cliff.

That was the first thing that came to Temar’s mind.

He forced his convulsing body upright and stumbled again and again.

Words that wouldn’t come out churned through his insides.

The violent energy surging inside him couldn’t break out and instead raged within him.

Another force pressed down on it—harsh, almost violent—suppressing what was eating away at him.

“Breathe.”

It was Luman.

“Right now...”

“Ren’s safe.”

“......”

At those words, his breath burst free.

Only then did Temar finally see his surroundings.

Not a cliff.

A forest.

This was definitely the road that passed that damned cliff, but—

it wasn’t the place where his limbs had been severed, where Ren had thrown away his life.

“I can’t remember that child’s name.”

“Whose?”

“......”

“Temar. There’s something we need to go over.”

Luman called his name, serious in a way that didn’t suit him.

“What’s with the blood on your mouth?”

“Ha. Did you lose your memory or something?”

Luman mocked him, one brow raised.

“Did someone die?”

“...Looks like I really should call Jepeto.”

“Jepeto?”

“Let go, Temar. I’m going to get the physician.”

“No. I think I just had a dream....”

Temar had gone deathly pale. He was trembling, like he didn’t even realize his own hands were shaking. Luman glanced down at the arm Temar had grabbed. Temar’s hand—usually hot enough to feel even through thick armor—was cold. That was how badly he’d been shaken. Luman didn’t even need to ask. It had been one hell of a nightmare.

Well.

After what had happened twice already recently.

Even so, Luman couldn’t shake the feeling that something about this was strange.

It had only been a short while ago that Temar had said a Hero had no heart.

And yet... there was still this much of the human left in him.

That was something Luman had wanted, at least in part—and yet, somehow, it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“...Fine, then let go. What kind of dream was it?”

Shaking off the thought, Luman brushed Temar’s arm away like swatting at a bug.

Temar dropped heavily to the ground. After a brief glance toward the carriage, he looked up at the sky.

It looked like snow.

The sky, heavy with dark clouds, felt frozen solid.

“Tell me.”

Temar couldn’t answer.

It was as if the winter air had frozen his mouth shut. Or maybe that dream still had him chained down.

Suddenly, Luman remembered having a conversation like this with Temar a long time ago.

Back then too, it had been about a dream.

What kind of dream had it been?

“That child.”

That was all Temar managed to say. White breath scattered from his lips.

Luman stared at him, slightly incredulous.

But Temar’s gaze was drifting somewhere in empty space. Like he hadn’t fully escaped the dream yet, he dragged a trembling hand down his face, as if trying to pull himself together.

“Which child?”

At the question, Temar’s eyes slowly shifted to Luman.

The stare was intense. Almost like he was trying to dig something out of him.

But what he wanted wasn’t Luman’s reaction—he was trying to drag up the memory of someone who had been there with him.

Temar’s eyes were still dark, still solid as rock, unshaken.

But Luman could faintly—very faintly—sense something inside them.

It was... a fresh, green light he’d seen once before.

“...The first one to become a star.”

“...Ah.”

Luman let out a hollow laugh. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

So that’s what it was.

The “child” Temar couldn’t remember was probably the companion who had died at the start of the Seven-Year War.

Had they been small and thin? Or big? He couldn’t remember.

The only thing he did remember was a small voice, always full of worry.

“I don’t remember either.”

Temar’s pupils widened for a moment, startled, then settled again. He nodded.

“Right.”

Back then, none of them had the room to remember things like that.

He had still been a boy who still had something left that could be called a dream.

He hadn’t known that Heroes could die.

Before they could even process the deaths in front of them, they had already been forced to fight their own fear of dying.

After that, everything changed.

“If you’re curious, go up and ask Giselle.”

“No. It’s fine.”

A deep wound had formed on Temar’s arm where Luman had torn at it. The ripped skin and tendon were slowly knitting back together, a faint blue light flickering through them, but the healing was slow. Luman frowned and jerked his chin at the wound.

“Wrap it.”

“For this?”

Temar asked like it was ridiculous. Luman looked at him like he was an idiot.

“Won’t Ren ask when he sees [N O V E L I G H T] it?”

“......”

“Temar.”

He looked a little better now.

Better than when the nightmare had him in its grip, at least. But not completely stable.

Had he already lost it back at that cliff?

The thought made Luman flinch.

Because what came to mind was Ren throwing himself forward past the writhing severed limbs.

Better not to think about that.

Luman forced a wider smile, recalling a rule he knew well.

“Temar.”

“What?”

“This is already the second time you’ve lost your mind. You know that?”

“...Yeah.”

But judging by his face, he didn’t seem to remember it properly.

There was no need to go into detail—but a warning was necessary.

If a Hero went out of control, the only one who could stop him was another Hero.

Or the king’s command—the thing Heroes obeyed absolutely.

If Temar lost his mind again while Luman wasn’t there... no one in that place would be able to guarantee their life.

But would a few words really be enough to control Temar?

“You keep this up, you’ll kill someone.”

Temar didn’t answer. He only narrowed his eyes. His tightly shut mouth looked like he was holding back anger.

So he understood.

His eyes showed he knew exactly who would be in danger.

Luman studied his expression.

“I didn’t even have time to react, and you crushed that shoulder in one grab. If you go on a rampage, they won’t even last thirty seconds before they’re beyond saving. Even after Kirky treated injuries like that, it still ended up like this. So what if it’s worse? Priests like Kirky aren’t exactly common.”

“I know.”

“No. You don’t.”

“I said I know.”

“Then listen properly.”

The wind swept low, brushing through the grass.

Luman felt the rough sensation along his fingertips.

“Think it through. You could end up hurting Ren yourself.”

“......”

Temar’s face stiffened slightly.

“If it’s not a fight—if it’s something like Ren getting sick on his own—then the best thing you can do might be to stay away. Not lose your mind and rush in.”

Temar.

The king’s strongest seventh star. The brightest, highest-shining blue star.

Even another Hero would struggle to subdue him.

Unless they were willing to burn away part of their own life.

“As much as possible, don’t travel alone. Stay with others. It might not be possible, but it’d be best if at least one of them were another Hero.”

“......”

“The best case—”

Luman met Temar’s eyes and smiled lightly.

“—is that Ren never has a reason to get sick in the first place.”

Temar looked deep in thought.

Luman waited for him to sort through it.

In his view, this was the best he could do.

Ren’s episode earlier had seemed like the first of its kind, but the boy Luman had watched before often had bad dreams. Luman had simply pretended not to notice the nights he struggled and groaned in pain.

Living alone in that shack on the edge of the village, enduring things no one should have to endure alone—maybe Ren’s nerves had already been worn down to nothing there.

And what happened this time had only made it worse.

Luman was the kind of person who assumed things could always get worse.

It probably wouldn’t improve anytime soon.

If luck was bad, it might never improve at all.

If Ren died... that would be unpleasant.

Death, which had dulled for him long ago, forced its way back into meaning again.

That feeling was... deeply unpleasant.

Luman covered his mouth for a moment, as if he might be sick.