Chapter 11: Meal

“Yes, Shia-neesama. Say ah—”

Her name left my lips gently, almost like a ritual, as I lifted the spoon toward her.

“……”

Silence answered me.

“……Shia-neesama?”

For a fleeting moment, uncertainty crept into my chest. Had I been too forward? Too insistent? I hesitated, watching her closely.

“……Mm… ah—”

After a brief pause—just long enough to make my heart tighten—Shia-neesama slowly parted her lips, as though even that small act required gathering her courage.

Carefully, I guided the spoon in my hand toward her mouth. The motion was deliberate, almost reverent, as if I were handling something fragile that might shatter at the slightest misstep. She accepted the bite, chewing quietly, her movements small and subdued, before swallowing.

“Here, Shia-neesama. Ah—”

“……”

We repeated the process several times.

Each spoonful felt heavier than the last—not in weight, but in meaning. The room was quiet, save for the faint sounds of her eating and the distant murmur of activity beyond the infirmary walls. Time itself seemed to slow, stretching between each careful motion.

“Thank you for the meal…”

When the bowl in my hand was finally empty, Shia-neesama spoke in a thin, fragile voice, offering her customary thanks. It was barely above a whisper, yet it carried a weight that pressed against my chest.

“……Noah, thank you.”

“No, it’s nothing. This much is only natural.”

Once, she had been someone who stood tall and unshaken, even on the battlefield. But now…

Having lost both her arms in the war, Shia-neesama could no longer even manage a simple meal on her own. In these past days, it had become my role—no, my responsibility—to feed her.

“……I’m sorry… for being so useless.”

After the meal, she murmured an apology, her gaze lowered, her voice tinged with self-reproach.

Ever since returning from the war, she had changed.

The bold, confident woman she once was had all but vanished. In her place remained only a fragile figure, weighed down by anxiety and doubt.

“No, it’s okay. Really. You’re still you, Shia-neesama. No matter what happens.”

“……But…”

“Shia-neesama, you’ve always been someone I can rely on. That hasn’t changed.”

“……Noah. Mm… thank you.”

A faint, almost hesitant smile touched her lips, though it did little to hide the sorrow lingering beneath.

“Well then, I’ll go return the bowl.”

“Mm. Thank you.”

“……Please… get better soon.”

Leaving behind the infirmary—where Shia-neesama sat with her head bowed, her frailty painfully evident—I made my way down the corridor, the empty bowl in hand.

“Fatal…”

Along the way, a voice reached my ears.

“…!”

Almost instinctively, I held my breath and stopped in my tracks. My body reacted before my mind could catch up.

“…The Willard Marquis household has practically collapsed. All members incapacitated so early… and only Noah remains among the men. What a disaster.”

“……Indeed.”

The voices were coming from Father’s study.

It seemed Father and his closest aide were discussing the aftermath of the war.

“It is not only our house that has suffered losses… and that is precisely the problem. Power, influence, privileges—every family is scrambling to reclaim what they have lost. And ours has taken the deepest wound.”

“It would be impossible for the lord to return to the battlefield. However, we must still contribute to the war effort. As a great noble house, we must maintain our standing through merit.”

“…Easier said than done. If it were so simple, we would not be struggling like this. How is Shia?”

“……She appears deeply dispirited.”

“…I see. Still… regrettable as it may be, she is the only one left in this house who can be of use. It matters not who. We must marry her off somewhere—find someone who will become an ally to our house. She has a fine face. There will be no shortage of men who desire her.”

“……Yes, my lord.”

“…!”

I listened in silence, unmoving.

But at those words—at the casual, calculated decision to marry off Shia-neesama in her current state, without a shred of concern for her happiness—something inside me cracked.

A small sound slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

““…!””

Even that faint murmur did not escape their notice.

“…Who’s there?”

“…My apologies. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Steeling myself, I stepped forward into the room, revealing my presence.

“…Noah. If it’s you, then so be it. But you have your own duties, do you not? Return to your work. At this point, we also require your connections as a merchant.”

“…Yes. Excuse me.”

Something surged within me—violent, uncontrollable.

Anger. Helplessness. A storm that threatened to consume everything.

But I forced it down, sealing it deep inside my chest. Lowering my head, I quietly withdrew from Father’s presence.

“I need to return the bowl…”

Yes. That came first.

That was what I had to do.

“…The First World War, huh.”

Magic had vanished from this world.

And in its place, the goddess of the battlefield had become artillery, while soldiers now slept in trenches carved into the earth.

“Heh…”

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped me.

Until now, Shia-neesama had saved me countless times.

I had been scorned as a failure, looked down upon by those around me. I bore no grudge—but neither did I feel any familial affection.

My father, who saw me as beneath him.

My brother, who shared that same contempt.

My mother, who remained indifferent, as though I were a stranger.

They were nothing more than that—strangers.

But Shia-neesama… she was different.

“This time… it’s my turn.”

In my previous life, I had died young, leaving behind the parents who had raised me without ever repaying them—a final, unforgivable act of ingratitude.

That regret still lingered, etched into my soul.

So this time…

In this life—

For the sake of my family…

I will offer up this body of mine.