8. Their Senior at Life

“My name is Unjo,” the man said in the same language that Haruhiro and the others used.

To their surprise, this man, Mr. Unjo, had explained that “night has come thousands of times” since he’d strayed into this world.

Were the days here the same length as those in the other world, or were they different? That was uncertain, but if they worked on the hypothesis that they were the same, even two thousand days would be five and a half years, and if it was three thousand, then Mr. Unjo had been in this world for over eight years. He had survived all that time.

“It is hard to believe,” Unjo said in a hoarse voice which seemed to have a wry, laughing tone to it. “That I’m seeing... humans. It’s been so long. So very, very long since last these eyes saw a living human. Never did I think they would. Yet, now, they do.”

Haruhiro understood the words Unjo spoke. However, his accent was weird, and his word ordering could be bizarre. Perhaps he hadn’t spoken the human language in a long time.

Once he discovered that Mr. Unjo was a human, like them, Ranta pelted him with endless questions. “Senior, Senior, Senior, please, teach us! Were you from Alterna, too, Senior?! Were you a volunteer soldier?! Like, how’d you get to this world?! Honestly, what’s up with this world?!”

“Alterna...” Mr. Unjo whispered to himself, then fell silent for a long time.

While Ranta was going, “Yeah, yeah, Alnerta, that’s right, Analta! No, Atarna! No, Alterna! Man, I wanna get back to Alterna! For me, Alterna’s the home where my heart is, but how about you, Senior?! Like, if you could go back, would you?! Is there a way back?! If there was, you would have used it by now, yeah?! No, but, you know, if you have a hint or anything, could you maybe tell us, okay?! How about it?!”

Ranta just kept rambling on.

Seriously, cut that out, you moron, thought Haruhiro, and he tried to stop him, but, as per usual, Ranta snapped at him when he did.

“Huhh?! I’m not talking to you, pal! I’m asking our senior here! Shut your mouth and go to sleep, dumbass! You’ve got sleepy eyes, so go sleep forever, you idiot! Also, I hope you go bald and explode, too!”

“Um.” Haruhiro ignored the piece of crap and bowed his head apologetically to Mr. Unjo. “I’m sorry. Our worthless piece of trash must be bothering you.”

“You’re trash! Haruhiroooo! I hope you go spinning into hell!” Ranta screamed.

“He’s talkative.” Mr. Unjo suddenly reached out and grabbed Ranta by the head.

“Nwah?!” Ranta froze stiff.

Worthless Ranta was wearing his helmet to hide his face, but Mr. Unjo had grabbed hold of his head, helmet and all. He wasn’t as tall as Kuzaku, but his hands were much bigger.

“Alterna...” Mr. Unjo whispered the word once more, pushing down with so much force that it was like he was trying to crush Ranta. “I had forgotten Alterna. Yes. Because I can never return.”

“Ow, ow, owww... P-P-Please, forgive me, Senior...”

“Le—!” Yume took one step forward, gulping. “Let him go! Ranta didn’t mean to offend—Okay, maybe he did, but still, he’s Yume and everyone’s comrade...”

“Comrade...” Mr. Unjo cleared his throat painfully, then released Ranta. “Comrades, huh. Those, I have none of. Not a one.”

“Whaaaa!” Ranta spun around and put some distance between himself and Mr. Unjo. “I-I-I-I-I’m, I-I’m saved... right?! I—I’m not dead, right?!”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Merry said without emotion.

“Did you come all this way,” Shihoru asked in a shaky voice, clutching her staff tight, “b-by yourself...?”

Mr. Unjo didn’t answer, pulling up his scarf to cover the lower half of his face. “I cannot return. Nor can you. This is a grave. Mine. And yours.”

“Seriously?” Kuzaku exhaled slightly,

Haruhiro felt like hanging his head, but he forced himself to keep looking up. If he looked down now, he would never recover. He was overcome by that feeling. He had to say something. Less to Mr. Unjo, and more to the group as a whole.

“But, Unjo-san, you’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Mr. Unjo turned to Haruhiro, lifting his braided hat a little. He saw Mr. Unjo’s eyes.

He’s human, Haruhiro thought once again. This was a bona fide human. He was probably much older, literally their senior, but he was human, just like them. He had lived alone in this world, surviving all by himself. How hard must that have been?

It must have been hard. It must have been lonely. But, still, Mr. Unjo was alive.

Mr. Unjo might not feel this way, but he was living proof of something.

This place was not a grave.

It might become one someday, but everyone had to die someday. The moment a person died, that place became the site of their death. But that moment had not come yet. It was up to Haruhiro and the others, but if they did things right, they could survive here.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Haruhiro said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see you again, and learn all sorts of things from you.”

“Teaching. From me.” Mr. Unjo’s shoulders shook up and down just once. “To all of you.”

“We don’t know anything, after all,” Haruhiro told him.

“Downstream.” Mr. Unjo pointed in the direction the Lukewarm River flowed. “They are there. The dead ones. It’s a town. A ruin. They are not dead. Yet, they are dead ones.”

“...What’s there?” Haruhiro asked.