Dawn Office Fixer: Sinclair's Story
You know, you could try different kinds of tea once in a while. Is my ssanghwa-cha really that delicious?
Master answers teasingly as though I was asking him the most obvious question in the world. My seonbae will be back from a contract soon, so I open the window wide for her return.
Seonbae said she'll just be making a quick stop at the workshop, so I don't suppose she'll be long.
Days without contracts were always so peaceful.
Chatting about the day-to-day goings-on with my master while sipping on a cup of ssanghwa-cha. Worrying about our next month's rent with my seonbae, who should be here any minute.
It was a warm and gentle hour, not unlike the cold dawn of our Office's namesake.
I enjoyed that hour.
I was making decent progress as a Fixer, too.
Under the skillful guidance of my master, I learned the basics of being a Fixer, things I should know if I was really serious about working in this field, and the tricks of using Stigma Workshop's weapons.
Whichever contract we picked up, we managed. It was mostly thanks to my master and seonbae's excellent skills, but still. Results begot recognition, and I naturally rose through the Fixer ranks.
... A proof that I was slowly bettering myself.
But...
Didn't really get to do anything in this contract, either...
My master was once a prominent Fixer during the Smoke War. My seonbae once took care of an Urban Legend contract all on her own.
Between these two giants of our Dawn Office, my earnest efforts amounted to nothing but a struggle not to fall behind.
The two of them always assured me that I wasn't useless. That I was helpful. But all that reassurance rang hollow.
We got the Invitation...? It's that Urban Plague, 'The Library', isn't it...?
Will I be going with you?
Am I even going to be of any help to you two there...?
My self-doubt grew with no end.
And with it, my faith in the two of them did as well. Too much.
I guess I won't have to do much more than provide them some basic support...
The faith that the two of them had this in the bag. That I wasn't really that necessary.
And with such shallow, selfish presumption...
... I walked into the Library.
My master, who was so worried about me to the end.
My seonbae, who refused to blame me for anything nor show any fear in face of the end.
Even Fixers of the affiliate Office who offered me help.
All were vanquished by the Library, each and every one of them turned into a book.
Everyone I'd grown so used to always being there for me... were gone. I alone survived.
Gah... Haah...
I consider if there's any point in me going back in there to fight them.
The fabricated heart isn't so bad...? No. That can't be.
I consider escaping, reporting everything I've seen here to an Association, and then asking them for help. That would be the most logical thing to do, right?
Y-you're right. No one really understood my true feelings.
Fear grips me. It holds me back from moving on; I slowly retreat.
... Will this path really bring me nothing but suffering?
A beautiful voice whispers comfort in my ears with every withdrawing step I take.
Then, all of a sudden...
... I begin to wonder if everything I'd ever done were nothing more than self-serving justifications.
And with it comes the inkling of an understanding that I will never be able to forge on so long as I continue protecting and embellishing myself with the shield of others.
That the right path is the honest, forward path. Not the stuttering retreat disguised as selflessness.
I accept that I wasn't even on a righteous path.
That I am a squalid, hideous person.
I admit it. I admit that I'm as uncaring and selfish as any other City dweller...
... and I cease my retreat.
If I were to close my heart to everyone else... turn my back on them... could I truly love myself more?
I don't know. I'm just... I just don't know.
Shield my eyes from apprehension.
Plug my ears from the beautiful voice.
Shut my mouth from the lies that I do this out of altruism.
I convince myself that the unembellished reality is no more heartless than my self-serving daydreams...
... and turn to face the battlefield I had fled from.
How unfortunate...
The child failed to reveal his true self. He even fell short of full self-restraint.
... No one's going to cry on behalf of my sorrow.
At the end of the day, this pain is my responsibility to bear.
Because it is an indelible stigma.
If only the child gave greater care to his own emotions.
He faced his feelings, and all of its hellish flames, and honed it all into a form of a tool.
The child failed to reach his pure self; instead, he remained the form of a human, and directed the tip of his sword against his enemies.
That's okay.
I once knew a child who was very much like him. A child who, even for a fleeting moment, reached the apex.
That child also ignored me the first time... only to lend me his ears later.
They are very similar to one another. So, I suppose a similar end shall await this one at the end of his path.
The child will eventually give up on forging onward. And he will retreat once again.
You're wrong, Miss Carmen.
I'm afraid. I'm so afraid that I want to let go of this blade and flee this place at this very moment.
But I don't want to linger here any longer.
But that path is such a painful one to walk. I wish that he wouldn't subject himself to such suffering.
The child, now freed from his shell, dangerously attempts to reach for the heavens when he has but a lone wing.
Not knowing that his shaky consciousness was the only thing keeping his wing intact in the flames that devoured his emotions as fuel.
He confidently regards the children of the Library, his sword-arm outstretched to meet their reception.
This feeling... is destiny bestowed upon me.
... I have to soar.
I will break this shell that stands in my way. I'll break it altogether and soar to a higher place.
How long will it be until that solitary wing of vanity melts into nothingness under the cascading emotions?
There is no way to know for now. But on the day of your wing's melting, on the day of your fall...
... heed my words once again, dear child.