The royal capital was being pierced by a raging downpour.
The violent hiss of wind slashing against the windows made one's shoulders flinch, and the roar of thunder—so close it felt as if it struck beside the house—rolled through the air with oppressive force.
No one would even consider going outside.
Streets that were ordinarily lively were now, naturally, completely empty.
…Yet, astonishingly, there was one single figure running through the storm-beaten capital.
A maid.
She was clad in a fine maid uniform, clutching a hand-carried basket as she ran.
The rain hammered her like glass beads, the wild winds battering her from every direction, yet still she ran, striving toward some destination.
Perhaps her rain-soaked clothes had grown too heavy.
Perhaps her vision was blurred by the storm.
Whatever the cause, her footing was uncertain, her pace wavering.
Her expression was filled with stark desperation—
as though she were rushing to the deathbed of someone dear,
haunted by a sense of overwhelming dread and guilt.
It was not the face of someone simply seeking shelter from the rain.
It was the expression of someone driven by something grave.
She ran.
Alone, across the storm-lashed capital.
Breath ragged, warmth stolen by the rain, yet still she pressed forward.
"...Ah—!"
Her foot slipped upon the wet stone paving.
She slid, and the next instant—
She crashed face-first into a shallow puddle muddied with rain and dirt.
Her empty basket slipped from her hand and rolled far down the street.
Groaning, she pushed herself up with clumsy, heavy movements.
The skin of her cheek and palms had been scraped raw, fresh red blood welling to the surface.
Wincing at the pain, she staggered after the basket.
Her lips trembled as she bit down, enduring both pain and cold.
She retrieved the basket—
and began running again.
The rain only grew harsher.
Momonga glared at the storm outside the window.
If Tsuare had run out into this weather alone, her life was in danger.
"Why would she…?"
Biting her lip, Momonga shut the window.
Rain splattered against her body with ease—such was the ferocity of the downpour.
She couldn't guess what had driven Tsuare to flee the manor like that.
But what she could do was clear:
She had to search for Tsuare.
Protect her.
Before something irreversible happened.
Ignoring the rain dripping from her hair and sleeves, Momonga pulled several scrolls from her item box and tossed them onto the table.
The design was from Punitto Moe—
a "super easy detection spell for anyone,"
a stripped-down version that ignored anti-scan measures.
By combining several spells, it would allow her to pinpoint Tsuare's exact location.
"…Please be safe."
Whispering a prayer, she tossed one scroll into the air.
It ignited instantly, burning itself to ash—spell activated.
Again.
And again.
"…Hm."
Gradually, the image formed.
A sensation as though the visuals were being projected directly into her mind.
She saw a side street a little ways from the capital's main avenue.
The resolution sharpened—
And there she was.
Tsuare.
Momonga exhaled in relief.
She was soaked head to toe, covered in fresh scrapes—but alive.
Tsuare was running.
Slamming into walls, stumbling, desperately fleeing.
Her expression was terrified.
What—?
Momonga pulled the viewpoint back.
A man was pursuing her.
A rough-looking brute.
Tattooed skin.
Stitched scars along his face.
No trace of a decent life about him.
He must've seen Tsuare alone inside a building and marked her as prey.
A murderer?
A kidnapper?
Whatever he was, if he caught her, her fate was obvious.
A shiver of cold dread shot through Momonga.
Her mind went blank—
Her body moved before thought.
Without armor, without equipment, still in her indoor clothes—
she cast teleportation silently.
The world snapped into place around her.
A storm so intense it made keeping her eyes open difficult.
Icy rain slashed her skin.
The wind howled deeply in her ears.
Before her: the brute.
Behind her: Tsuare's trembling presence.
The man snarled, startled by her sudden appearance.
Momonga planted her foot, jaw clenched.
Her soaked slippers squelched loudly.
"…My maid—"
A sharp, cutting whistle split the air.
It came from Momonga's right leg as she whipped it upward.
"What the hell do you think you're doing to her!!?"
Her kick cleaved the rain.
A perfect crescent arc.
It struck the man's face like a falling guillotine.
A crack—like crushing eggshells mixed with the wet crunch of soaked paper—exploded outward.
The man's teeth flew in all directions as his body launched into the air.
High, far, tumbling endlessly.
Momonga didn't spare him another glance.
"Tsuare."
When she turned, the girl was sitting on the ground, eyes wide, breath trembling—
fear from her pursuer mixing with relief at being rescued by her master.
Momonga strode toward her and yanked her into a tight embrace.
Her body was freezing.
Her maid uniform soaked through, clinging to her skin.
Clicking her tongue at the cold, Momonga didn't pause for breath before murmuring the spell:
Greater Teleportation.
The world shifted.
The storm vanished.
Only the warm crackling of the fireplace remained.
Gentle heat wrapped around their drenched bodies.
They were home.
"…What do you think you're doing?"
The soft words dissolved into the room.
A voice mixed with anger and relief—
yet even Tsuare could hear the care behind it.
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
The droplets mixed with blood from her scraped skin, falling to the floor in pale red dots.
"…I'm sorry…"
"You ran out alone in weather like this…
You could have been killed."
"…I'm sorry…"
Her apology was unguarded, almost childlike.
Momonga placed her hands on the girl's cheeks and forced their gazes to meet, frowning at her wounds.
"Why? Why would you do something like this?
Was it because you learned I'm a devil?
Were you that frightened?"
Tsuare shook her head violently.
Absolutely not—her entire body said it.
"…Look, Momon-sama…"
"Hm?"
She lifted the basket she had clutched so desperately.
Inside were fruits—her favorite.
"…These are…"
They were the ones Momonga often bought.
A local specialty she enjoyed.
"Did you… buy these? In this storm?"
Tsuare nodded.
"Ehehe… I… I went shopping all by myself.
I begged the shopkeeper to open the store…
He was a man…
And he was scary… but…"
Her words came out in trembling puffs.
She was still shaking from fear and exhaustion.
In this storm—
With only coins in her pocket—
Tsuare had run errands alone, something she'd never managed before.
Why?
…Because she wanted to prove something.
That she could walk on her own feet.
That she could face storms, face trauma.
That she did not need her memories erased.
She wanted to show Momonga her resolve.
"Tsuare…"
"Ehehe… I… I did my best…"
She smiled weakly, exhausted.
Her trembling hand reached out and grasped Momonga's—
as if confirming the warmth was real.
"You were trying to help me… weren't you?
You tried to erase my memories so I could stand on my own…
You revealed you were a devil so I wouldn't cling to you…"
Her voice shook.
Her body trembled.
She forced herself to speak, choosing each word with care—
pure feelings that made Momonga want to avert her eyes.
"If you are the kind of devil from a fairy tale…
I don't mind if you take my soul.
If it's you who kills me…
I don't mind dying.
My scars… they don't have to disappear."
Tears fell, again and again.
Tsuare stared straight at the woman she adored.
"So… so please…
Please don't erase my memories of you…
Please don't kill the me who loves you…
I beg you…
I beg you…"
She sank to her knees, clinging to Momonga.
Her hand shook violently.
A stabbing ache pierced Momonga's chest.
She finally understood—
How foolish she had been.
"Tsuare…"
Momonga knelt as well.
She embraced the trembling girl.
"Thank you…
And… I'm so sorry."
Words of gratitude.
Words of apology.
Gratitude for being loved so earnestly.
Apology for nearly erasing the memories of someone who loved her.
It had all been the result of Momonga's own low self-worth.
She had always believed people admired the illusion—
the power, the beauty—
not her.
But now, as Tsuare's trembling hands clutched her,
she understood she had to face at least this one person properly.
"Uu… uuh… ueeeeeeen…!!"
Tsuare's last restraint shattered.
She wept openly, and Momonga held her tightly.
The sound of rain.
The crackling of firewood.
Both wrapped gently around them.