The white cat I found by the roadside dashed into the depths of the grass the moment I reached out my hand, as if exerting its last ounce of strength.
“Wait. That way is…”
I tried to chase after it, but it was a mountain path at night. If I stepped in with only the light of my smartphone, I might end up tumbling down the slope myself.
The sound of the grass rustling quickly faded away.
I lost track of both the bloodstains and the footprints, swallowed by the darkness.
Only that emaciated back and the white fur stained with mud remained lingering in my eyes.
I arrived at my grandmother’s house a little before the date changed.
The old single-story house looked smaller than in my memories. The color had faded from parts of the tiled roof, the storm shutters would not close all the way, and the persimmon tree in the garden had branches stretching out wildly. Moss grew on the stone pavement at the entrance, and weeds had grown to knee-height.
Coming here was the first time since my grandmother’s funeral.
“I am home.”
I said that to a house where no one would answer, and unlocked the door.
There was the smell of damp wood and the old smell of tatami mats. It was different from the inorganic air of an apartment in the city. It was a quiet, slightly lonely, but non-judgmental smell.
When I turned on the light, a bare bulb illuminated the room a beat late.
The main room, the kitchen, the Buddhist altar room. White cloths were draped over the furniture, and both the scratches on the pillar and the teacup my grandmother used remained just as they were.
Just putting down my luggage brought an overwhelming wave of exhaustion.
I had been banished.
That fact had sunk into the depths of my chest like a cold stone while I was being rattled on the local train and while I was walking the mountain path.
It was not that I did not feel any anger.
But I was too tired to be angry. I no longer had the energy left to scream for someone to understand.
That was why I came here.
The countryside where I used to visit only during summer vacation while my grandmother was still alive. A village twenty minutes away by car from the convenience store, where you could hear nothing but the sound of insects at night. There were almost no young people, and the only ones passing by during the day were old folks heading to the fields.
No one here would ask me about streaming viewer numbers.
No one here would look at me like I was a convenient baggage carrier.
No one would stubbornly accuse me of being a traitor.
At that thought, I was able to breathe just a little easier.
When I turned the faucet in the kitchen, water mixed with the smell of rust came out for a while. I opened the windows, swept away the dust, and tidied up only the bare minimum space needed to sleep.
Once I laid out the futon, I lay down on the tatami mats.
I thought I would be able to sleep.
Yet, even when I closed my eyes, I could not fall asleep.
Floating in my mind were the cold gazes of the guild and the faces of the people who used to be my comrades. Voices that cut me off without even listening to my explanations. The sensation of everything I had built up crumbling down over a single lie.
My chest felt raw and abrasive.
I tossed and turned.
It was at that moment.
Meow.
A small voice sounded.
At first, I thought it was the wind. Old houses make a lot of noise. The creaking of the ceiling space, the rattling of the sliding door pockets, the sound of a distant bamboo grove rubbing together.
However, once again.
Meow.
A feeble meow.
I raised my upper body.
“A cat?”
The sound was not coming from inside the house. It was coming from beyond the veranda, deep in the garden. It was in the direction of the barn where my grandmother used to keep her farming tools.
When I went outside carrying a flashlight, the night air touched my skin coldly. It was different from a city night. Because there was so little light, the stars felt unusually close. Insects were chirping in the grass, and somewhere far off, the sound of a mountain stream echoed.
The door of the barn was half-dislodged.
When I pushed open the creaking door, the smell of dust and dry straw wafted out. Inside, old hoes, sickles, broken flowerpots, and unused rice bags were piled up.
I swept the beam of the flashlight around.
In the shadow of a wooden box in the corner, something white moved.
“There…”
It was the cat I had seen by the roadside.
Its white fur was stained with mud and matted red-black in places. It was curled up as if protecting its front right leg, and its breathing was shallow. On its forehead, a faint pattern was emerging amidst the dirt.
It was not just an ordinary pattern.
It resembled the flow of magical power I had seen countless times in the other world.
“It is okay. I will not do anything.”
When I slowly approached, the cat let out a faint growl. Rather than a threat, it felt like it was squeezing out its final ounce of strength.
I knelt down and showed the palms of my hands.
“Scary, huh? I get it. Right now, humans are a little scary to me, too.”
Of course, the cat would not answer.
Still, saying those words made my own voice settle down just a bit.
I checked its injuries. A laceration on its front leg, bruising on its abdomen, and a shallow cut on its back. For injuries inflicted by an ordinary beast, the way they were cut was strange. It was not a blade. It was closer to a trace carved out by something imbued with magical power.
Dungeons existed in this world, too.
Ever since I returned from the other world, I had come to know that much to a sickening degree. Dungeons appearing everywhere, monsters, streamers, and clearing guilds. It was different from the place I used to be, but magical power still wore a similar face.
“Wait here. I will be right back.”
I hurried back to the house.
I searched for the first-aid kit, grabbed a clean towel, and boiled water in an old pot left in the kitchen. Furthermore, I pulled out a small leather pouch from the bottom of my luggage.
A meager material I had brought back from the other world.
I had thought I would never use it again. I did not want to use it, either. Because the memories of that place were not proof of victory for me, but the weight of the days I could not return from.
Even so, if I could save a life, that was a different story.
Returning to the barn, I gently wiped away the dirt from the wounds using the towel warmed with hot water. The cat twisted its body a few times, but it seemed to lack the strength to run away.
“It is going to sting. Just bear with it for a little bit.”
I gathered magical power in my fingertips.
It was not a flashy healing magic. What I had learned in the other world was first-aid treatment to keep comrades standing in the middle of a battlefield, and magical manipulation to extract toxins from ingredients and soften meat.
I released the heat from the wounds, stopped the bleeding, and adjusted the torn skin so it would not open up any further.
A faint light enveloped the cat’s body.
The cat’s breathing grew just a fraction deeper.
“Alright… This should get it through tonight.”
I let out a breath.
The problem was physical strength. Even if the wounds were closed, it would not recover if its stomach was empty.
I poured water into an old plate found in the house and placed it in front of the cat. After sniffing it just a little, the cat turned its face away.
I found unopened cat food in the cupboard. It was probably something my grandmother used to feed the local strays. The expiration date was a bit questionable, but it was not completely inedible yet. I served it on a plate and held it out.
The cat remained completely unresponsive.
“This is no time to be a picky eater.”
As I said that, I tilted my head in puzzlement.
An ordinary cat would at least react to the scent even if it was weakened. But this cat did not even seem to recognize it as food.
The pattern on its forehead glowed faintly.
I looked at the leather pouch.
“No way.”
What I pulled out from inside was a piece of dried meat about the size of a fist.
Meat of a lower-ranked monster, a horned rabbit. It was a common ingredient in the other world; the taste was plain, but it contained a slight amount of magical power. For some reason, I had not been able to throw away the smoked meat I had prepared for long-term preservation and had brought it back with me instead.
The cat’s ears twitched sharply.
“So you will eat this?”
I went to the kitchen and put a small frying pan on the stove.
I sliced the dried meat thinly and rehydrated it slightly with water. Into that, I dissolved a little bit of miso left in the corner of the kitchen. It was my grandmother’s homemade miso. The surface was dry, but the aroma was still alive on the inside.
A sizzling sound rang out.
There was not much fat on the meat. However, once heat was applied, the aroma of the smoke wafted up softly, and the smell of scorching miso spread through the kitchen. It was savory and slightly sweet. My exhausted stomach reacted on its own.
“Is miso too strong for a cat… Should I dilute it?”
I added hot water and cooked it on low heat so as not to burn it. I channeled magical power to loosen the fibers and make it soft enough to eat without chewing. I never thought the habit of figuring out how to make hard magical beast meat edible in the other world would come in handy in a place like this.
I served just a little bit onto a plate and let it cool.
When I returned to the barn, the cat had already raised its head.
The moment I placed the plate down, its snout moved. While remaining cautious, its eyes never left the meat.
“It is not hot. You can eat.”
The cat gently poked out its tongue.
One bite.
Then, another bite.
Despite being weakened, its eating manner was strangely elegant. It did not devour it greedily. It chewed as if to confirm the taste, swallowed, and then brought its face back to the plate.
I just sat there and watched that sight.
Someone was eating a meal.
Even though it was just that, the cold stone deep inside my chest felt like it was warming up just a little.
“Is it good?”
The cat did not answer.
Naturally.
Yet, the plate was empty in no time.
I brought a second helping, and this time I roasted a tiny bit for myself as well. When I put the horned rabbit meat flavored with the savory aroma of miso into my mouth, it tasted nostalgic. The taste I had eaten at a campsite in the other world—hard, smoky, yet necessary just to stay alive.
But right now, it was not for fighting.
It was not to blame anyone either.
It was a meal to get through the night, in the barn of an old house, with an injured cat.
That was more than enough.
Having finished eating, the cat rested its chin on top of the towel. Its breathing was calmer than before. The faint pattern on its forehead also shone quietly under the moonlight.
“Tomorrow, I will properly look for a veterinary clinic. It is far from here, but I will call a taxi or whatever it takes.”
I stood up intending to clear away the plate.
At that moment, a small voice sounded from behind.
“Terrible.”
I stopped moving.
There was no one in the barn except for me and the cat.
I slowly looked back.
The white cat was looking up at me with golden eyes.
And then, it spoke clearly in human words.
“Terrible. Still, my life was saved.”