The Harvest Mouse Exits the Fairytale Together with Cinderella

“Grandpa, were you always like this?”
“What do you mean?”

“Did you always have trouble recognizing people’s faces?”
Eisen didn’t bother asking how she knew.
After the nerve poison incident, he had started to believe that she was different from other children—someone who occasionally received divine revelations.

That was a relief.
Having to explain himself over and over again was exhausting.
“It happened at some point.”

No, don’t just brush it off—explain it properly.
Elodie widened her eyes and glared at him expectantly, making it clear she wouldn’t let him get away with such a vague answer.
Eisen let out a reluctant sigh and finally spoke.

“When I was young, my body was always drenched in blood. My skin was covered in cuts, some I didn’t even know I had. One time, I lost consciousness on the battlefield. When I woke up alone, my head was already damaged. It was such a common occurrence back then that I don’t even remember exactly when it happened.”
That was all.
“As long as I survived, that was enough.”

He added it like an afterthought, as if it were nothing of importance.
"So it wasn’t something he was born with."
That was a relief.

It meant she could fix it.
Elodie scurried to his side and, with a determined expression, made her declaration.
“Grandpa, I’m going to be a good granddaughter to you.”

“When did I ever raise you?”
“Think of it as an early repayment.”
An advanced filial piety payment.
Eisen looked dumbfounded by the ridiculousness of the statement, but Elodie was as stubborn as ever.

“I can fix it.”
“…You’ve been swinging that hammer around recklessly again, haven’t you?”
“You said I could! You gave me permission!”

“I told you to use it for self-defense.”
If the Holy One saw you like this, they’d probably weep and curse my name.
Eisen muttered to himself and let out a heavy sigh.

“I won’t fix it.”
Why?
Elodie blinked in shock.

“If it could have been healed long ago but wasn’t, there must be a reason for that.”
Now that she thought about it—
Elodie’s gaze dropped to his leg.

His left leg, the one he always leaned on his cane for support.
Duke Valkyrisen had connections with the Ratson family long before their downfall, which meant he must have had plenty of opportunities to be healed.
And yet, he had left it as it was.

“Grandpa, don’t tell me… you enjoy the pain?”
“……”
Elodie puffed out her cheeks and rubbed her forehead where he had lightly smacked her.

“At least tell me why! Give me a reason!”
A reason.
A battlefield where life and death were determined by a single moment of hesitation.

Eisen knew that better than anyone.
He knew it in his very bones.
All lofty ideals—patriotism, chivalry, honor—were stripped away. In the end, nothing remained but the primal instinct to survive, to wield his sword like a beast.

“Your Grace!”
He had heard the voice calling out to him.
Both enemies and allies addressed him the same way—Duke Your Grace—so he couldn’t tell who it was.

The battlefield was drenched in blood. The only thing he could see were faces—blurred, indistinguishable faces.
Was it the desperate plea of an ally begging for his protection?
Or was it the desperate surrender of an enemy begging for his life?

A single moment of misjudgment.
A single moment of hesitation.
A single moment of error.

His mind and eyes doubted themselves—his own subordinate’s face was unrecognizable to him.
And in that moment of uncertainty—
Schlkk—

A young soldier collapsed before him, fading into nothing.
Only when he saw that lifeless body did he realize—
It was someone he was supposed to protect.

This translation is the intellectual property of .
The moment that realization struck, his leg was slashed open.
He never got it treated.

That was all there was to it.
"…At the very least, I have to remember."
If he could no longer recognize faces, then he needed to keep the traces of his past failures.

How could he ever dare to forget?
But Eisen had no intention of explaining such a ghost-ridden tale to a child.
“This was my mistake. That’s why it was never healed. That’s all there is to it.”

And so, that was all he said.
Of course, Elodie had no intention of giving up.
“That’s not a good enough reason!”

Elodie let out a shriek of frustration at Eisen’s absurd choice to deliberately live in pain.
I don’t know what exactly he did wrong.
And I don’t know just how serious it was.

But if he was injured when he was young, wouldn’t that have been over thirty years ago?
Hadn’t he atoned enough?
What, you make a mistake and that’s just it?

I went as far as turning back time because I wanted to live longer, because I wanted to make up for my past mistakes—no matter how ugly or pathetic it looked!
But Eisen—he was alive.
Far too strong and healthy for someone who acted like he was ready to die.

“You said you were gonna live fifty more years!”
Compared to Eisen, she was nothing more than an old, withered mouse.
If she could reach out and grasp the happiness of her past again, she would claw for it desperately.

That was why she was here.
Elodie just wanted Eisen to have a little more greed.
“I want you to live for a long, long time, Grandpa.”

Eisen knew how healthy he was.
But it seemed he didn’t particularly like that fact.
He had thrown his body away in his youth to bring about peace.

Now, he worked himself to the bone, as if self-destruction was the only purpose left for him.
He had probably long since wanted to die—but because he had survived, he simply went on living.
People who left their wounds untreated were often like that.

“If Zeno finds out you could’ve healed this but chose not to, he’ll be sad.”
“……”
“And if your nephew finds out, he’ll be sad too.”

That is, assuming he wasn’t a fraud.
And if he was a fraud, then the real nephew would be looking down from the heavens, mourning him even more.
“…And I’d be sad too.”

Elodie locked eyes with Eisen, knowing full well that he could see right through lies.
“If you’re really planning to live fifty more years, you have to fix it.
If you’re keeping the injury to hold onto your past, then there has to be another way.”

Maybe it was because he couldn’t bring himself to tell a child, I don’t really care if I die right now.
Eisen remained silent for a while.
Then, with a sigh of surrender, he finally muttered—

“…Do as you please.”
“Yes! Then drink this right away.”
Elodie shouted excitedly, as if she had been waiting for those exact words, and handed him a small bottle of medicine.

Then she spread her arms wide, as if asking him to pick her up.
“Hah… You really are a troublesome little thing.”
Without hesitation, the old man tipped the vial back and drank.

Without even questioning what it was.
Elodie was secretly startled.
He didn’t even ask what I gave him—he just drank it without a second thought.

But she didn’t let her surprise show.
Instead, she let herself be scooped up naturally into his arms and placed her hand on his head.
Focusing all of her energy, she guided the medicine’s power toward his brain.

“All done!”
Elodie grinned and then casually tapped his left leg.
Since she had already fed him a trauma-healing potion, she figured she might as well fix his leg while she was at it.

“Hah. Honestly…”
Eisen let out a sigh, as if he had resigned himself to his fate.
Elodie handed him back the portrait she had taken earlier.

Eisen looked down at the image.
Eyes.
Nose.

Mouth.
His vision had always been fine—he could see the features clearly.
But before, his mind refused to recognize them.

And now, for the first time in years, his brother’s face was burned into his memory.
A soft, almost fragile expression—yet his eyes always brimmed with sharp intelligence.
His younger brother, who looked nothing like him.

And his nephew, who looked exactly like that brother.
“…He doesn’t look alike.”
That was Eisen’s final conclusion.

Still holding Elodie in his arms, he rose from his seat.
* * *
"I knew it would work."

Max swallowed down the laughter bubbling in his throat, forcing himself to keep a serene smile.
He had gone through absolute hell to get this far.
“I have longed to meet you.”

It wasn’t a lie.
When he looked Eisen in the eye and spoke those words, he meant every single one of them.
Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to meet you, Your Grace?

When had this plan first begun?
Five years ago.
When he had come across a dying old man, begging on the streets.

Back then, Max had had no intention of taking in some half-mad, disease-ridden beggar.
But the moment their eyes met—
“Young Master Cassian…?”

The old man had mumbled those words.
And that single whisper had piqued Max’s curiosity.