What kind of comfort could possibly suit a hero who had lost everything?
In Eddie’s mind—still a recovering webnovel addict—a handful of touching and dramatic scenes came to mind. But all of them were things only people who shared deep bonds with the protagonist could do.
A desperate lover, an adoptive parent who had raised them all their life, a master who taught them everything…
Hugging them, taking them to a place filled with old memories, saying an awe-inspiring line—those were things for people like that. Not something a stranger you just met could pull off. It was too much.
In the end, what Eddie could offer was painfully simple.
Of course, banana milk couldn’t replace all that comfort.
After having even his silent mourning disrupted, the young man—seated inside the inn—drifted aimlessly in a whirlpool of confused emotions, eventually sinking into a dull stillness, as if he had given up even trying to find direction.
The once-burning darkness in his eyes now looked deadened, blackened in a way that was deeply unsettling.
The banana milk Eddie had gone through the trouble of opening and handing over hadn’t even earned a glance. Having just come from the cold, it left a round condensation ring on the table.
Eddie had brought him in, sure, but as he’d said many times—he wasn’t someone all that great. Not in this world, and not in Ketron’s.
He couldn’t offer grand words of comfort. He didn’t have the right.
“…Hey, are you hurt?”
The faint metallic tang of blood was unmistakable in the quiet room. Eddie lowered his voice and asked softly.
He already knew from the novel that Ketron was injured, and he’d seen the blood firsthand when he tried to wake him up outside. He was nearly certain.
Ketron didn’t reply. He didn’t even look at him.
The fact that Eddie had managed to drag him in at all felt like a miracle. Staring at the silent figure, Eddie let out a small sigh.
Right. An injury probably didn’t even register for him right now.
But Eddie was a simple civilian. He couldn’t ignore an injury like that. The blood that had soaked his palm—how much must it be hurting?
Sure, Eddie had read the novel. He knew how many times Ketron had danced with death. He knew how much he’d endured. But knowing that didn’t mean his wounds didn’t hurt.
Eddie quietly stood and headed to the basement.
The convenience store Eddie used to run was a 24-hour one—which meant it was licensed to sell over-the-counter medications.
Band-aids and menthol liniments could be sold anywhere, but things like ingestible pain relievers and wound ointments were restricted to 24-hour stores.
In other words, his basement store had modern medicine. Real, effective stuff.
“Hmm.”
Eddie stood in front of the pharmacy section, tapping his chin.
He wasn’t a doctor, and he hadn’t even examined the injury directly, but from what little he saw, Ketron’s wounds looked inflamed. Even basic convenience store meds might help.
Holy water from a temple would be ideal—but that was a luxury reserved for nobles. And Eddie, still just a struggling innkeeper, could never afford that kind of price tag.
He could take Ketron to a local doctor—but given the era, those were the kind of people who went, “It hurts because there's a wound! Therefore, cut the wound off!” Not exactly comforting.
—A good surgeon in the Middle Ages was someone who could amputate quickly.
Remembering some random YouTube trivia, Eddie shivered. He resolved never to get seriously injured in this world.
Gerold could use a variety of spells, so he might know healing magic. But Eddie decided not to confirm that—if the injury healed too fast, Ketron might leave. And a minor infection or two wasn’t the end of the world, right?
He seemed like the kind of person who’d just wander off to die if he was patched up too quickly. Just look at those dead eyes.
Yes, Eddie was worried the protagonist would go dark—but more than that, he couldn’t bring himself to abandon a boy who was likely the loneliest person in the world right now. Anyone who’d read The Hero Doesn’t Hide His Power Too Well would feel the same.
So, Eddie’s choice was clear.
Just as he returned, arms full of medicine, Gerold was serving up a steaming bowl of soup in front of Ketron.
The smell was so good that even Eddie—who wasn’t hungry—felt his mouth water.
“Thanks, Gerold.”
Eddie gave his thanks, and Gerold nodded before stepping back without another word. He surely had questions, but he was always devoted like a faithful retainer.
Eddie placed the bundle of medicine on the table in front of Ketron, then sat across from him.
“You hungry? Go on, eat. Afterward, let’s take a look at those wounds.”
Those dull, black eyes flicked toward the soup, then back at Eddie. According to the novel, Ketron hadn’t eaten or slept properly in days—but even with a full bowl in front of him, he showed no desire.
Instead, he slowly opened his mouth.
“…Why are you helping me?”
It was a voice too deep and heavy for a twenty-year-old. A low, weary baritone, like someone who had seen everything the world had to offer.
And to be fair, no twenty-year-old—whether in Eddie’s world or this one—had been through what Ketron had.
He was a protagonist forged by trial. Raised on hardship. Chosen by fate to fight the Demon King, victorious… only to have even that glory stolen from him.
“Just because.”
It felt like a slap in the face to give such an answer to someone like Ketron.
“…Is that not allowed?”
Eddie chuckled awkwardly. It was a terrible laugh—stiff and unnatural. But what could he do? He followed his gut.
“You just looked like you had a story. I’m good at sensing stuff like that.”
Not true. He’d been called oblivious more times than he could count. He only knew because he’d read the original novel. But he couldn’t exactly say that, so he fumbled through the excuse.
If he said you just looked too pitiful, it might’ve earned him a shove your cheap pity up your ass.
“In this world, if you’re not shouting about how happy you are, people think you’re stupid.”
The inn was quiet, but the streets outside were buzzing. As if everyone really was happy.
“I’m not so heartless that I’d ignore someone sitting alone and offer them nothing—not even a bowl of soup.”
And with that, Eddie pressed a spoon into Ketron’s hand. A large, calloused hand from years of gripping a sword now holding a spoon like it was some toy for a toddler.
Sadly, Eddie didn’t have any noble reason for helping him.
He couldn’t say because you’re the Hero. Or because I’m a fan of your novel. There was no plausible excuse. Just one pathetic, shabby emotion.
Pity.
But maybe, even that cheap kind of emotion was exactly what Ketron needed right now.
“I won’t ask what your story is. I don’t expect you to tell me, and I’m not curious. …Luckily, we have one room left. You can stay as long as you want—for now.”
Eddie worried he might refuse. But Ketron had no money, no options, and no one who remembered him. Refusing wasn’t really on the table.
Or more accurately, he didn’t seem to have the will to refuse. Those lifeless eyes didn’t even twitch.
Even the spoon Eddie had forced into his hand went untouched. So much for eating. Eddie had hoped to examine his injuries once he was full—but what now?
After a moment’s thought, he decided to skip ahead.
He couldn’t leave those wounds untreated.
Alright. Decision made, Eddie leaned forward.
“If you’re not going to eat right now, would you mind if I check your injuries? I might not look it, but I’ve got some famous medicine from the Far East.”
As he spoke, he started pulling items out of the basket. Each one was clearly out of place in a fantasy world.
“This one heals wounds quickly. This one prevents infection. And this one reduces pain.”
Maxkassol. A large dressing sheet. Taxlenol.
These were the three medicines Eddie had brought.
He kept a straight face, but if he’d said that line in Korea, he would’ve been called a scammer on the spot.
But right now, Eddie stood tall.
Come on. His convenience store was based in Korea—so technically, it was from the Far East. These were time-tested, brand-name products developed by PhDs.
There wasn’t even anyone around to judge him, and yet Eddie felt the need to justify himself.
He smiled broadly.
It was the smile of a scammer, clear as day.