Warm, witty, and careful not to judge others hastily—why would someone resort to petty theft?
Seeing her toss a tip to the bartender, it didn’t seem like she was short on money.
Shirone: "Um... I’m not sure if I should ask this, but I’m too curious not to."
Marsha leaned back in her chair.
Marsha:"Phew, I was wondering when you’d bring it up. But Shirone, a woman’s measurements aren’t something you hear—they’re something you see with your own eyes."
Shirone: "No! Not that! Why did you steal the porcelain?"
Shirone: "You don’t seem like the type to do such things. And you clearly weren’t lying about money. It wasn’t even something useful, so why...?"
She propped her chin on her hand, lost in thought.
Marsha: "I just... wanted to steal it."
Shirone: "What? How is that possible?"
Marsha: "It is. It’s called kleptomania. A chronic habit, though it wasn’t always . I’m an orphan. My parents abandoned me when I was four. A man from a mercenary band picked me up and raised me—he became my foster father."
Shirone, too, had been abandoned by his birth parents, so Marsha’s story didn’t feel distant.
Marsha: "Comfort was never part of my life. Mercenary bands are crawling with strange men. When I was eleven, one of the most brutal among them tried to lay hands on me. Luckily, my foster father found out first and beat him half to death."
Shirone: "Of course. Any parent would do the same."
Marsha:"Heh, you think so?"
A flicker of sorrow passed through Marsha’s eyes.
Marsha: "After that day, he changed. All I got was a single loaf of bread and water each day. No clothes, no sweets, no accessories—nothing. Once, I stole an apple and got caught. My foster father came and paid for it without a word."
Shirone’s brow furrowed.
Shirone: "That’s cruel. If he could pay, why not just buy it for you? Did you ever beg him?"
Marsha:"...It’s hard to say out loud, but think of it as a twisted mind game. What he wanted was my submission—but I couldn’t give him that. My only rebellion was stealing. Every time, he’d compensate the victim, then take the item back from me at home. Days like that piled up. Eventually, the despair grew so heavy I gave up on everything. So I told him—"
Her gaze drifted to the ceiling.
Marsha:"’You can kill me if you want.’"
Shirone’s chest tightened.
Marsha:"I’ll never forget the look on his face that day. After that, those words became a kind of spell. Every time I stole and got caught, I’d say it: ’You can kill me if you want.’ And he’d storm off, furious. That’s just... how I lived. At twelve, at thirteen—until I left home at seventeen."
Shirone: "That’s around my age now."
Marsha:"By then, I understood. At first, I thought he was sick. But the truth? He was just weak. Torn between a father’s conscience and the desire to cross the line—unable to choose either. So he tormented me instead."
Marsha:"Pathetic, right? If he’d just picked a side, things wouldn’t have gotten so ugly. No courage to cross the line, no will to stay within it. Know what cowards like that choose instead? Hypocrisy. A shield for the weak. While he wavered, I was losing my mind. How was I supposed to face him? It felt like my blood was drying up."
Shirone couldn’t speak.
Marsha:"At some point, I started carrying a hidden knife. The older I got, the more obsessed he became. Life didn’t feel like life anymore, so I finally said it: ’You can hold me if you want.’"
Shirone:"...What happened?"
Marsha:"Heh. Strangely, stories like these never have twists. I had to use the knife. Stabbed him in the throat. Felt nothing, honestly. After that, I left. Drifted from place to place until I washed up here."
The mood grew heavy, and Marsha forced a smile.
Marsha:"But it’s fine! I make ends meet now. Though the stealing habit’s hard to shake. It’s gotten me in trouble more than once. Ugh."
Shirone said nothing. He couldn’t begin to judge her entire life.
Just then, the bartender emerged from a back room. Though the exact system was unclear, that room seemed to gather all sorts of information.
Bartender:"Gamos’ alert is lifted. He’s throwing a party at his mansion—seems he found a woman to his liking."
Shirone exhaled in relief.
Shirone:"Good, we’re not too late."
Marsha:"Hmph. That eager to get away from me?"
Shirone:"Hah! Not at all. My friends are waiting, that’s all."
Truthfully, Shirone was reluctant to leave too. No matter their backgrounds, conversations with someone who understood were always precious.
Shirone:"We’ll meet again, right?"
Marsha:"Of course. Unless you plan to flee mid-ocean? Drop by if you’re bored. I’ll be here a while."
Shirone:"Alright. I’ll go now."
As Shirone left, Marsha ordered a strong drink, her expression unreadable.
Just as she’d expected, two men who’d been watching her approached.
Thug #1:"Sent the kid away, huh? We lost money waiting. Booze ain’t cheap."
Marsha didn’t even turn her head.
Marsha:"Scram. Unless you wanna die."
Thug #2:"Feisty. You think this is funny? Do you even know who we are?"
Marsha sighed, then flashed them a smile.
Marsha:"Fine, let’s take this to a room. But—you two really enough? Bring more."
Marsha:"Ten? Twenty? I don’t care. We’ll play all night. But I hate being interrupted. Don’t disappoint me."
Thug #2:"The hell? She’s insane. Let’s go."
Thug #1:"Ugh, of all the luck..."
Marsha watched them leave with disdain, then turned back to the bar. Her drink waited. She downed it in one go, fire burning down her throat.
Marsha:"Now that’s liquor. Bartender, another."
Instead of handing her a glass, the bartender approached and poured it himself.
Bartender:"...You’re that Marsha, aren’t you?"
Marsha:"Heh. There another Marsha I should know about?"
Bartender:"The Magic Association’s got a bounty on you. Surprised you’ve lasted this long. Planning to stay?"
Marsha:"Nah. Just tidying up loose ends. I’ll be gone soon."
Bartender:"Keep it quiet. Someone like you causing chaos would destabilize the island. We don’t want the Accord broken. Cooperate, and we’ll let you stay awhile."
Marsha:"Pass. Never planned to linger."
The bartender polished a beer glass until it squeaked. After a long silence, he spoke.
Bartender:"Not what I heard. Lying for that boy? Unusual."
Marsha:"...He helped me."
Bartender:"Helped you?"
He looked genuinely surprised. If this was Marsha, she wouldn’t need help even if Gamos himself came knocking.
Marsha:"Know what he did? He offered to go with me to the guards. Pretty faces are troublesome. Though... maybe it wasn’t just that."
Bartender:"Hes a good kid."
Suddenly, she shuddered and hugged herself, staring at the ceiling. The emotions she’d felt toward her foster father surged back, vivid as reality.
Marsha:"How could anyone be so revolting?"