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Chapter 22
First impressions last.
And more often than not, they’re right.
At least, that’s what Jeremy believed.
If you were to take the concept of cheerfulness and paint it onto a canvas, the result would surely be Isabelle’s face—so Jeremy thought. The impression Liz got wasn’t much different either.
Perhaps that’s why—when tears streamed down that ever-bright face—it felt as though one of the fundamental laws of the world had been broken.
“Uh, um… Sister? Are you alright?”
Inside the relief shelter, Jeremy was the only one who could say such a thing, so he asked Isabelle.
“Y-yes…”
Isabelle nodded and rubbed at the corners of her eyes. But the tears wouldn’t stop so easily; she had to wipe them away several more times.
Marcel, Delma, and even Gote just stared at her, frozen.
Delma tilted his head slightly and whispered to Marcel.
“Is she crying because three patients came in at once?”
“Read the room, old man…”
But truth be told, Marcel wasn’t reading the room either.
Because Isabelle was crying entirely because of him.
Still, Isabelle knew she couldn’t just keep crying. So after a few more sniffles, she spoke to Jeremy in a voice still caught in her throat.
“…Please.”
“Huh? What was that?”
“Please step aside. I need to treat him.”
As if he’d been waiting for those words, Jeremy jumped back in a hurry.
Isabelle’s eyes turned toward Marcel and Delma. They quickly rattled off Gote’s symptoms, eager to show that they were merely guardians, not patients themselves.
“Ahem.”
Eyes still red, Isabelle fumbled with the backpack she’d left behind her chair.
She pulled out a small glass vial, inside which rested delicate flower petals.
“Open your mouth, please.”
Gote did as asked, though instead of staying silent, he spoke.
“You… why…”
Marcel jumped in instinctively.
“He’s asking why you’re crying, old man?”
“Shut it…”
“….”
And then he deflated just as quickly.
Isabelle looked at Marcel for a moment, eyes shimmering, before turning her gaze back to Gote.
She pried open his mouth and took out one of the petals from the vial.
“Stick your tongue to the roof of your mouth. I’m going to put this underneath. It may feel strange, but you’ll have to endure it.”
Gote waited as she slipped the leaf beneath his tongue, then closed his mouth at her signal.
Isabelle gripped her staff and shut her eyes.
A radiant cross-shaped light burst from the staff’s tip, wrapping Gote in brilliance.
The petal of a Starfall Flower—soaked in a holy potion consecrated by Zeroprime’s high priest—reacted to Isabelle’s divine power.
“…!”
Jeremy’s eyes went wide.
He had watched Isabelle’s healing all day. He knew what he was seeing now.
Isabelle was pouring several times more divine power into Gote than she ever had into anyone else.
But that wasn’t all. Jeremy somehow felt that Gote’s body was accepting the healing more readily than usual. Was it because of the petal?
‘Sister, why can divine power heal people?’
‘Jeremy, the essence of divine power is order.’
‘O-order?’
‘We recognize what’s abnormal because we know what normal is, right? Our bodies remember their proper state too. That’s why when a wound heals, it returns to how it was before. Divine power helps with that. It’s the force that sets what’s broken back to its rightful place. The power of order!’
That was the answer Isabelle had once given him: the body remembers what is normal.
‘If the body mistook the abnormal for normal, then when an arm was regenerated, you might grow a leg or even a neck instead!’ she had added with a bright smile.
Recalling those words, Jeremy stared blankly at the miracle unfolding before him.
Everyone could see it—the clock of seventy-year-old Gote’s body was winding back.
The hollows of his eyes and sunken cheeks began to fill out, and the gray, age-spotted skin regained some color.
It wasn’t an earth-shaking transformation. He was still an old man, and time hadn’t truly turned back.
But Marcel, who had cared for him all this time, could see clearly how much better Gote had become.
Eyes closed, Gote let out a low groan—he could feel the change himself.
And then, moments later—
“The treatment’s done!”
Isabelle exclaimed with a smile.
Then hurriedly added:
“Ah—don’t open your mouth!”
Though directed at Gote, everyone there snapped their mouths shut, as if even one person opening them might undo the miracle.
And it truly was close to a miracle.
His paper-thin skin had grown sturdier, and more importantly, Gote could now move his arms and legs by himself.
Not rejuvenated, perhaps, but undeniably healthier—almost like his old self.
Yet even after such a miracle, Isabelle only looked around in puzzlement.
“Why’s everyone so quiet?”
“C-can we speak?”
“Of course! Just not Mr. Gote.”
Marcel quickly grabbed the old man’s shoulders.
“Grandpa!”
He held up three fingers.
“How many do you see?”
Since he couldn’t answer, Gote simply socked Marcel in the stomach with a short jab.
Marcel doubled over, groaning, while Delma muttered with a stifled laugh.
“Old Gote might be thick-headed, but he’s always been good with numbers, Marcel.”
“Ugh… t-the strength… Looks like he’s really healed…”
Isabelle walked over beside him. Marcel, moved to tears, said:
“Thank you for fixing Grandpa. But… this isn’t just healing, right? It’s like he’s younger again. Not a huge change, but… he looks exactly like he did five years ago…”
His voice trailed off despite himself, because Isabelle was looking at him with eyes full of wonder and heartfelt joy.
For Isabelle, it was natural. Her bond with Marcel from the first cycle still lingered deeply within her.
Isabelle, we’re counting on you for this fight.
Stay back! Don’t overdo it.
If not for you, we’d all be dead.
Marcel, the reliable leader of the hero’s party—the one everyone trusted. That side of him wasn’t here yet, but Isabelle believed he would one day grow into it.
“Hero… no, Mr. Marcel.”
“Huh? Y-yes?”
Isabelle took a deep breath, pushing down her emotions from the first cycle, and spoke as calmly as she could.
“What’s in Mr. Gote’s mouth is a flower petal soaked in a high-grade holy potion. That amplified the divine power working on him, recreating the physical strength of his younger days.”
She had to treat him not as a hero, but as a patient’s guardian.
“He hasn’t truly become young again. It’s temporary. And the Starfall Flower’s energy hasn’t been fully absorbed yet. So until tomorrow morning, he mustn’t open his mouth.”
Gote, moved by the sudden vitality, nodded firmly with his mouth shut.
Watching him rise to his feet with steady hands, Isabelle marveled inwardly. Healthy again, he looked truly robust.
Just as Lord Smiel said!
Gote hummed through closed lips and extended his hand with a grin. Isabelle clasped it, shaking firmly.
After they let go, Delma asked cautiously:
“If this is only temporary… does that mean he’ll grow old again later?”
“Yes!”
“When? Please, be honest. Will he return to normal by tomorrow morning?”
“It’ll last longer than that. About a year.”
Delma and Marcel’s jaws nearly hit the floor.
They listened intently as Isabelle explained that when the time came, the accumulated aging would catch up all at once. To avoid collapsing then, Gote would need to live as healthily as possible now.
“Exercise often, Mr. Gote. Especially the kinds you did when you were younger. Trick your body into believing you really are young again.”
“Then sword practice, Grandpa? Guess you’ll be swinging steel again.”
“Mmm!”
“Look at him grinning. Sister, you’ve doomed us. He was a complete rascal in his youth… Ah, wait! If he can grab collars again, Marcel, you’re in trouble.”
“He used to do that even lying in bed. Now we’re really doomed. Who’s gonna stop him?”
With the treatment done, the heavy mood lifted. Everyone rejoiced in Gote’s recovery.
Then Marcel heard a whisper in his ear.
“After the shelter closes, come to city hall.”
He jumped back in shock.
Isabelle was smiling gently through tear-stained eyes.
“Uh… w-what?”
“Please come alone. I have something to tell you.”
From her words, Marcel felt a strange premonition.
That Isabelle’s tears, her miracle healing, even restoring Gote’s youth—all of it had a reason they didn’t yet know.
But Marcel wasn’t used to such premonitions.
Something to tell me? He glanced back. Jeremy and Delma were busy calming down the excited Gote.
Thinking he understood why she insisted he come alone, Marcel nodded in agreement.
Isabelle watched as the three left. Gote, eager to show off his strength, hoisted them both up and strode out, while they shouted at him to put them down. Gote ignored them completely—after all, he couldn’t speak with his mouth closed.
As their figures receded, Isabelle sighed softly and sat back down.
Then she said to Jeremy:
“Next patient, please!”
“…Sister,” Jeremy asked cautiously, studying her pale face.
“You’re… okay, right?”
“Are you worried I won’t be able to treat anyone else?”
Her eyes, shining brighter for the tears she’d shed, overwhelmed him.
“N-no, I just—”
“Don’t worry. Just trust me!”
Thumping her chest proudly, Isabelle welcomed the next patient into the shelter.
Just as she always did.
Without pause.
Feeling triumphant, I slid down a playground slide.
Lately, I’d been spending my time like this. Since this personal space could be reshaped at will, I’d made myself the steepest, most exhilarating slide imaginable.
“Ah… she’s amazing.”
Admirable. Truly admirable.
Reading about something in words and actually seeing it happen—those are worlds apart.
So different.
I had no medical knowledge. I’d always been the patient, never the doctor.
That’s why I couldn’t give Isabelle advice disguised as quests. All I could do was quietly share a little of the five-hour stamina bonus with her, so she wouldn’t notice.
But even with energy to spare, treating dozens—hundreds—of patients must have been mentally crushing. And yet, Isabelle had healed every single person who came to the shelter that day.
Over four hundred in total!
Even one who’d lost a finger—she restored it perfectly.
That patient’s name was Lilton, wasn’t it? I think that was also the name of Thompson’s secretary.
When Isabelle and Liz visited city hall, Thompson had said Lilton was busy with other work. Who knew that “work” meant chopping ingredients in the kitchen?
It’s a bit suspicious, honestly. I’ll have to check with Isabelle later. If Lilton really hurt himself with a kitchen knife, fine. But if it was a run-in with Gerolt or his men, then this matter is far from simple.
But for now… there’s something even more exciting.
Someone who thrilled me apart from Isabelle.
The very reason we came to Rettina.
So that’s what Marcel looks like!
I flopped onto the sandbox, covered my face with both hands, and kicked the air furiously.
Wow. Just wow.
He’s the protagonist. The protagonist of A Long Tale.
So that’s his face. Kind of plain, actually. Well, the book did say he had a rather ordinary look.
When I glimpsed the Demon King’s castle from Sunya’s sanctum, the crisis was too urgent to think about appearances.
And when I first met Isabelle, my worry was so overwhelming that I didn’t even have time to feel the joy of meeting her.
But now—it’s different.
I, GenX, have finally seen Marcel.
The main character of my favorite novel.
At last… I’ve become a successful fan.
