With the man’s arms bound, Kyle and I began escorting him to the Bureau of Investigation.

  The man, dragged along by us, was visibly trembling. And with good reason.

  Even when I tried to restrain my strength, my hands possessed power far beyond that of an average person. No doubt, his arms would be left with bruises deep enough to look like internal hemorrhaging.

  (...Still, I wish you wouldn't make that face with that red hair.)

  Memories of yesterday flickered in my mind, stirring a sense of unease. I felt a surge of irritation at myself for being so easily shaken by a mere resembnce.

  "That move just now... I’ve never seen you move like that before. Pretty good, wasn't it?"

  Kyle spoke in his usual tone. He was likely trying to praise me in his own way. But right now, those words felt like a dull ache.

  I didn't answer and quickened my pace.

  "Hey, hey! Wait up! I mean, about earlier... uh..."

  Rarely for him, Kyle chased after me with his head slightly bowed. He seemed to be feeling an uncharacteristic sense of awkwardness.

  He was probably worried about the way I had rejected him. That realization only stung my chest more.

  "Don't worry about it. ...It was my fault."

  "No, that’s not really what I meant..."

  My words cut off there. That was the most I could manage to say.

  After that, Kyle didn't crack a single joke. It was as if he had suddenly understood something.

  ...I am a failure.

  I could never bring myself to say, "I'm terrified of my own strength." But in reality, countless people have been hurt simply by being involved with me.

  Back at the station, I left the paperwork for the prisoner's transfer to Kyle. He was competent. More than that, he was one of the few "comrades" who treated me the same as always, despite how I was.

  I headed to the infirmary. The door was open, and the room was empty. Relieved, I took only a roll of bandages from the shelf.

  (...What a blunder.)

  As I silently wrapped the bandages around my side, I sensed a presence.

  A silhouette was lingering in the shadow of the doorway.

  —The Captain.

  Arms crossed, leaning against the wall, he watched me quietly. His orange eyes shimmered as if measuring something within me.

  "...Good work. Though your movements today were 'unlike you.'"

  "...Sir?"

  When I questioned him, the Captain gave a small, dry chuckle.

  "You're usually much cooler-headed. But your swordsmanship today... it was ced with impatience. As if you were trying to avert your eyes from something."

  His words hit the mark so perfectly that I couldn't find a response.

  "Well, I won't ask what happened. But—don't look at that idiot with eyes that shut him out."

  "..."

  I was at a loss for words and instinctively looked down.

  Yes, that red Dragon Knight—Kyle. The only one in the order who treated me with such straightforward, unreserved familiarity. I was the one building a wall between us.

  "A knight exists to protect someone. If you want to protect, keep your heart within 'reaching distance.'"

  His voice remained calm, yet it carried a strange warmth.

  "For the people. And to protect Her Majesty."

  "—Yes, sir."

  Those words resonated strangely in my chest. It wasn't just guidance or an order. It felt like a piece of advice—and perhaps, a prayer.

  I felt as if, deep within those eyes, there was a past where he had lost someone. It was as if he were telling me, "Don't you lose anyone."

  I clenched my fist tightly.

  To protect with these hands.

  To stand beside someone.

  I cannot afford to waver anymore.