The Protagonist's Party is Too Diligent

No matter how close two people are, their relationship isn't composed solely of positive emotions.

Of course, the majority of emotions between friends are positive; otherwise, they wouldn’t remain friends.

Negative emotions between friends are usually subtle and insignificant, small enough to seem petty if voiced aloud.

Take, for instance, two friends from different countries watching a soccer match.

Even if neither of them typically cares about soccer, the moment their respective national teams compete, they automatically become their country's loudest cheerleaders.

Winning or losing the match doesn’t result in any substantial gain or loss, but emotions run high nonetheless.

That was the kind of frustration Alice felt toward me at the moment.

"Ugh, this is so unfair! It's infuriating!"

Hmm.

Still, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her flailing her arms and legs like a child throwing a tantrum.

Noticing my gaze, Alice abruptly sat up and glared at me.

“What? Why are you staring? Haven’t you ever seen me like this before?”

“To be honest, no, I haven’t,” I replied, nodding seriously.

It wasn’t that Alice had never thrown tantrums. She’d harbored feelings of jealousy and inferiority toward me since childhood. Whenever I received orders from the Emperor or went to make reports, Alice would often insist on entering the audience chamber as well.

Each time, I tried to accommodate her as much as possible, usually by wrapping up my tasks quickly so she could have her turn.

Even then, Alice never resorted to lying on the ground and flailing her limbs. She always maintained a level of dignity as a princess, stopping just short of crossing the line.

Her tantrums were also reserved for times when no other nobles were around. Even on the train to Lutetia, although there were other nobles in the carriages, they were seated elsewhere.

“...”

As I answered her seriously, Alice’s cheeks flushed slightly.

“W-was I really like that?”

“At the very least, I’ve never seen you flail your arms and legs. Do you do that in your room when no one’s watching?”

At my remark, Alice immediately flopped back onto the bed, burying her face in the mattress.

After a few seconds of punching and kicking the bed in frustration, she sat back up and glared at me again.

“If you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll tell everyone your true self!”

“My true self isn’t much different from what you see now.”

At my response, Alice let out a dramatic "Hah" before flopping back onto the bed. This time, she turned her head to face me rather than burying it in the mattress. Didn’t her neck hurt lying like that?

“When I was younger, I think I threw tantrums in front of you a lot.”

“And I always handled them well. Honestly, if we were to argue about who was more mature, I’d say I acted more like the older sibling.”

I laid out the situation objectively, but Alice responded with a dismissive “Hmph.”

“Really? Then should I start calling you ‘Big Sis’ like Claire does?”

“...”

I paused to imagine Alice calling me ‘Big Sis.’

And quickly concluded that the current arrangement was better.

When I shook my head, Alice’s brow furrowed.

“I wasn’t planning to call you that even if you begged me to, but now that you’ve reacted like this, it’s annoying. Why not?”

“Claire’s ‘Big Sis’ and yours would feel very different.”

“...”

Alice’s eyes narrowed at my words.

I wasn’t wrong, though.

Claire had a naturally youthful and cheerful demeanor, fitting her age. If she called me ‘Big Sis,’ it felt natural.

But Alice...

Sure, she had some childish traits. At the same time, she had a calculating mind and a touch of arrogance befitting her status as a princess. If Alice called me ‘Big Sis,’ it would seem forced and out of character.

Alice didn’t even call Belahan, who was much older than her, ‘Big Sis.’ For her to use that term with me, someone effectively the same age...

“—Ack!”

Lost in thought, I was startled as a pillow smacked me squarely in the face.

Looking toward Alice, I saw her lying on her side, looking at me with a scowl.

“For some reason, you’re just irritating me right now.”

Alice turned over, facing away from me.

“Come to think of it, we haven’t been this open with each other for very long.”

I considered picking up the pillow and throwing it back at her but stopped at her unexpected comment.

“Is that so?”

Reflecting on it, she was right.

It had only been last year that we traveled to Lutetia together. Before then, we hardly ever spoke like this.

Alice had always been the one throwing tantrums, while I was the one accommodating her. Even our journey to Lutetia had only happened because Alice insisted on joining me on the train.

Perhaps the conversations we had during that trip were what brought us closer.

“Yeah. It’s only been since then that we’ve had talks like this...”

Thinking back, it was around that time Alice started visiting my room, asking about exams or studies, and even getting mad at me for the morphine she found there.

“I’m not exactly an open person, even now.”

Alice lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.

“But I noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

“All the times you looked out for me.”

“...”

I had thought she was completely unaware, given her constant complaints and tantrums.

“How could you do that?”

“Do what?”

I helped Alice simply because I liked her character in the original story. I hadn’t been trying to change her future or make her life better in any profound way.

It was more like offering a little extra kindness to someone I liked, just because.

And...

“You were young.”

“You were the same age as me.”

Alice chuckled softly before letting out a long sigh.

“Claire told me you were like that even as a child. Back at the orphanage—”

Alice’s voice faltered mid-sentence.

She had mentioned the orphanage. In this world, that word carried even more negative weight than in mine.

“It’s fine. It’s true that I was there.”

“...Claire said you used to share what little you had with the other kids.”

“...I already knew.”

“Knew what?”

It seemed safe to explain this to Alice, who had already guessed my ability.

“I knew what would happen to the children in that orphanage.”

“...”

Knowing they were doomed, I tried to be a kind presence for them, even if just for their final moments.

Not that I had much to give—maybe a piece of bread or a bowl of cold porridge.

“Yet you saved everyone.”

“Not everyone.”

“Huh?”

“There were some I couldn’t save.”

Alice’s silence deepened as I recounted the story.

We both knew there wasn’t more to say.