A Journey Unwanted

Chapter 477 - 466: Help for the fragment?

[Realm of Little Alice]

The past was fundamentally irrelevant to Grimm.

It was not that he failed to understand the argument—that the past shaped the present, carved the path one walked, and influenced every choice that followed. He had heard it countless times, seen it argued with conviction, even watched others build their entire identities upon that belief. He understood it intellectually.

But he had never accepted it.

The past could not be altered. Not on a whim, not with strength, and not with will. It was fixed—unchanging and immovable, something already decided. And because of that, he found it difficult to assign it any real importance.

Why should something that could not be changed dictate the present?

Why should it hold power over the future when both the present and the future remained malleable—things that could still be acted upon, shaped, broken, or remade?

To him, it was simple.

The present could be changed.

The future could be changed.

The past could not.

And so, he had never understood those who clung to it so desperately—those who lingered on what had already happened, dissecting it, lamenting it, trying to extract meaning from something they had no power to influence anymore. They could question it endlessly—why it happened, how it happened—but in the end, it remained the same.

It was unmoving and essentially worthless.

And despite that, once again, he found himself before someone who longed for it.

Not in passing or idly, but almost desperately.

Alice.

She still wore that self-satisfied look from earlier, that small, almost childish pride at having managed to spite the other versions of herself. It sat lightly on her features.

But beneath it—behind it—there was something else.

Expectation.

He saw it in the way her gaze lingered just a moment too long. In the way her posture held, not quite relaxed and not quite tense. In the way she waited—whether she realized it or not.

Grimm already understood what she wanted.

"You want to remember," he said at last, his voice unhurried. As he spoke, his helmeted head turned slightly, his gaze drifting past her—toward the distant horizon where the sky stretched wide and blue, where the sun burned steadily overhead, where the endless fields of grass rolled without resistance. "That is the core of it, isn’t it?" he continued, his tone analytical. "The reason you called me here, the reason you kept extending this conversation, indulging it longer than necessary..."

A brief pause.

"...is because you believe proximity will yield results."

His head tilted ever so slightly.

"You think that by staying close to me—someone who, by your own admission, held some significance to the whole of ’Alice’—you may recover something you lost." His voice lowered just a fraction. "Memories, feelings, or maybe meaning."

Little Alice did not answer immediately.

She did not look surprised either.

There was no sharp reaction and no attempt to deny it. If anything, the silence itself confirmed it. She had not truly tried to hide it to begin with—her intentions had been too apparent and loosely guarded.

Eventually, she spoke.

"At first..." she began, her voice quieter than before, though still trying to hold some of her composure, "I was only interested in you because you resembled Ddraig." Her eyes settled on him fully. "That was the only reason I bothered paying attention."

A small pause followed before she continued, more honestly this time.

"But, I will admit you are correct," she said, the words coming with less resistance than expected. "You hold more value this way. Far more than I initially assumed."

"A useful tool, then," Grimm mused, finally lowering his gaze to meet hers, there was no offense in his tone.

"I doubt something like that would hurt your feelings," Alice replied, and there was the smallest hint of amusement in her voice.

Grimm exhaled softly through his helm—something that might have been a breath, or something closer to thought.

"It is a logical approach," he said, shifting slightly as his arms folded more comfortably across his chest. His tone took on an academic edge, as though he were dissecting an idea rather than engaging in conversation with her. "If you are truly an aspect of a greater whole, then it stands to reason you are not entirely isolated from the rest." His head tilted again, just slightly. "Fragments rarely exist in perfect separation. There are always overlaps—traces or residual impressions."

He paused briefly, then continued.

"If that is the case, then exposure to something familiar—something tied to the original whole—may act as a catalyst." His voice held intrigue at the prospect. "It may trigger dormant connections. Induce recognition. Stir fragments of memory that were not originally allocated to you."

"Something along those lines," Little Alice said quickly, clearing her throat in a way that felt just a touch too fast, as though she were smoothing over the fact that his explanation had gone slightly beyond her own understanding. "Yes, that is essentially it." She straightened slightly. "You will be helping me remember."

Her gaze held his.

Grimm regarded her for a moment before responding.

"...Why would I help you?" he asked, the question delivered flatly, without inflection and any attempt to soften it.

Alice did not seem particularly surprised by the response.

If anything, she had expected it.

"Because," she began, and then smiled sweetly and disarmingly. It was a smile that did not match the words that followed, "Perhaps I will refrain from erasing your existence for being a complete and utter prat."

Grimm did not react.

"Are you capable of providing an actual reason," he replied evenly, "one that might meaningfully influence my decision?"

There was a pause.

Alice sighed.

A small sound—more tired than annoyed.

("Right...") she reminded herself inwardly, her fingers tightening slightly against her arms. ("This man is the kind of idiot who genuinely believes he can contend with things far beyond him.")

Threats would not work.

Not in the way they were supposed to.

So, if she wanted something from him, she would have to approach it differently. From an angle that would actually reach him.

"You would do well to remain on my good side," Alice began, her voice carrying that practiced, almost rehearsed composure again—chin lifting ever so slightly, with her posture straightening as though she were reclaiming some invisible authority. "After all, I am not merely powerful in name. I am something far beyond what most would even begin to understand." There was insistence behind her words now, something that felt less like a threat and more like a reminder she needed to assert.

"I am powerful as well," Grimm replied without pause, his tone still flat. He did not lean forward or shift with interest—if anything, he seemed even more settled where he sat. "So I fail to see why that statement, in isolation, would influence my decision in any meaningful way." His helmet remained angled toward her, unreadable as ever.

Alice’s eyes twitched slightly at that, the composure she had just gathered threatening to crack at the edges. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes outright, though the impulse was clearly there.

"My power is not something so simplistic," she pressed, leaning forward just slightly now, her voice shifting with a mix of frustration and insistence. "You would no doubt reduce it to something crude. What I possess is not brute strength alone—it is far beyond that." Her fingers curled lightly against the tablecloth. "There are benefits. Tangible ones. If you choose to assist me, it would not be a one-sided exchange."

"I don’t particularly care for how powerful you are," Grimm said, cutting through her explanation with the same tone as before. There was no hostility in it, just his blunt lack of interest. "That alone holds no appeal." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "I am, however, interested in your personality data. You present as an anomaly worth observing. You would make for an interesting subject of study."

There it was, clear and unfiltered.

Alice’s expression faltered for just a moment.

Her eyes twitched again—more noticeably this time.

"I see," she said slowly, though the strain in her voice betrayed her irritation. She straightened, folding her arms with care, as though containing the reaction before it could fully surface. "So that is how you choose to frame this interaction." Her gaze sharpened on him. "Treating a dignified young lady as though she were nothing more than a specimen to be examined, dissected in thought, reduced to observations and notes." Her tone dipped. "You truly are a man entirely devoid of shame, aren’t you?"

"I only see a brat here," Grimm replied without hesitation.

Alice inhaled sharply through her nose.

For a brief moment, it looked as though she might snap back immediately—but she stopped herself.

"You will not provoke me with that again," she said instead, her voice steadier, though a small huff escaped her regardless. "That tactic has already grown stale."

Silence lingered for a second between them.

Then—slowly, almost reluctantly—she moved.

Her small, delicate hand lifted from where it had rested near her side. The movement lacked the earlier confidence she had carried, replaced instead with something more uncertain. She extended it across the table, fingers outstretched, the gesture simple.

"...Just..." she began, and for the first time since their conversation had taken this turn, her voice softened—not in refinement or in performance either. "Just help me remember."

The words came out lower than before.

Less composed and almost hesitant.

Her gaze did not fully meet his this time. It lingered somewhere between his helm and the space just below it, as though she were unwilling to fully commit to the vulnerability of the request.

Seems she there were no more threats or bargaining.

Just that.

A small hand, extended across the table and a request she could not dress up as anything else.