Chapter 36: A Quiet Fire and an Unexpected Reaction
Late at night, in the ruins once called “Paradise.”
The only sound was the crackling of the campfire, and I stared blankly into the flames.
“…”
“…”
The rest of the party had gone to sleep, exhausted.
In the awkward silence, I groaned inwardly and fidgeted with my hair.
…How do I even start this conversation?
The guy who’s usually so loud was eerily quiet, making me even more uneasy.
What kind of wish is he pondering so seriously?
If he’s going to make one, just do it already. Why drag it out?
Feeling frustrated, I glanced at him.
Catching his eyes brimming with desire, I quickly turned back to the fire.
I’m screwed.
If his emotions are this raw, how intense is his wish?
Right after possessing this body, I didn’t fully grasp it, but in the original novel, Carl was a total maniac.
Did readers call him “a guy with his brain in his dick” for nothing? Even lusting after that creepy psycho Lorian, he was dead serious about [R-18] stuff.
And yet, he’s been acting subtly gentlemanly, not saying anything crude…
I couldn’t help but suspect.
Even with a remake, would a character’s personality change?
No, it didn’t. The story’s framework might’ve shifted, but the characters’ core personalities stayed the same.
Which means his perverted nature is intact.
I can’t even guess how extreme his request will be.
Pondering from late afternoon to midnight—he must be cooking up something creative.
…Should I stop him?
If I let him keep thinking, he might come up with something I can’t handle.
At the peak of my anxiety, I looked at the fire and spoke quietly.
“How long are you just gonna think?”
“Huh?”
“The wish. You’ve been mulling it over since this afternoon. Isn’t it time to decide? You’re not exactly the overthinking type.”
When I pressed him, Carl looked at me and grinned.
“You’re right, I’m not the overthinking type. But… I can’t help it this time.”
“…”
“It’s a one-time wish ticket. I don’t want to make a choice I’ll regret.”
He’s not wrong.
Who’d want to waste a rare wish ticket?
Feeling dejected, I hung my head. Carl suddenly stood, approaching me slowly.
Sitting beside me, he chuckled.
“What, scared I’ll ask for a night together?”
“H-Hmph! A night? I could handle that! Like I’d be scared of that!”
“Pfft… your mouth says one thing, but your body’s honest. You’re trembling—doesn’t look like you’re fine.”
Was I trembling?
Looking down, I saw my hands shaking.
…Guess my resolve isn’t enough for a one-night stand.
My body’s rejecting it, clearly.
Yeah, objectively, it’s too much.
It’s barely been a month since I possessed this witch’s body.
Even if the mind follows the body, a mind that lived as a man for nearly 24 years can’t just jump into a one-night stand.
No, it’s impossible. Unless I was born gay, how could I?
But I have to grant the wish.
If I don’t, I won’t be able to awaken Carl when the next unbearable danger hits.
Steeling myself, I looked straight into his gleaming eyes.
“It’s fine. I was just shivering from the cold.”
“…A witch getting cold? That’s a first.”
“What, you’ve never heard of chills? Guess whose perverted thoughts gave me those?”
“Dunno, doesn’t feel that perverted to me.”
Don’t judge by your standards, you damn pervert.
What you think is normal might be plenty perverted to others.
Squinting at him, he shrugged, playing innocent.
“Anyway, you’re saying I should make my wish? You sure you can handle it?”
“What’s there to handle? As long as it’s not ‘be my lover’ or ‘marry me,’ I’m good.”
“What, you thought that far? I was thinking something way simpler.”
“…Stop joking and make your wish. What do you want?”
Brushing off his nonsense, I pressed him. He looked thoughtful for a moment.
“I’ve decided.”
Then, with a bright smile, he made a wish far from my expectations.
“Let me pat your head.”
This guy…
Is he serious?
As Beatrice said, I really did think long and hard.
It’s a once-in-a-lifetime wish ticket—how could I not?
She even said naughty wishes were fine! As a red-blooded male, isn’t it normal to agonize over it?
With my lower half standing at attention, I pondered for ages.
What wish would satisfy me?
But the more I thought, the more I realized my options were limited.
It was obvious.
I didn’t just feel lust for Beatrice—I felt love.
With other women, I’d have demanded intimacy without hesitation.
But Beatrice was different. Something made it hard to ask for that.
I wanted it to be mutual, not forced.
I wanted to hear “I love you” from the witch and build something real.
Wasn’t that why I started this grueling journey—to find a woman like her?
Making a naughty wish and spending just one night, only to lose her, wasn’t worth it.
Sure, I wondered if it’d really end things, but my gut told me otherwise.
If I made a naughty wish, I’d lose her completely when this journey ends.
So, I chose patience.
I’d take it slow and conquer this witch.
No matter how ironclad her walls, a battering ram would eventually break through.
With my decision made, I told the tense-looking witch.
“Let me pat your head.”
She looked dumbfounded, as if saying, “Is this guy for real?”
Even I think it’s pathetic.
A guy who risked his life to clear a path, and all he asks for is to pat her head? Is that even a wish?
But I had no regrets.
My instincts, which saved my life countless times, told me this was the best choice—the one that’d create possibilities.
To Beatrice, still disbelieving, I repeated.
“Let’s call it even with head-patting. That’s enough for me.”
“Seriously…? Not groping, kissing, or sleeping together—just head-patting?”
“You don’t like those, right? From what I can tell, head-patting’s barely within your limits.”
As if I’d hit the mark, Beatrice nodded stiffly.
I don’t know why she looked so stern, but I could guess.
Witches are prideful—being patted must feel humiliating.
But I couldn’t compromise on this.
The soft texture I felt when I patted her before.
The way she quietly accepted it.
And that languid expression she showed.
I wanted to feel all of it again.
What would happen if I kept patting her?
Would her iron walls soften just a bit?
With anticipation, I asked.
“Can I pat you?”
Silently, she closed her eyes and took off her hat.
…Must be permission.
Removing my gauntlets, I slowly started patting Beatrice’s head.
Pat, pat.
Her expression melted, just like before.
Like a dog—no, a cat—enjoying the touch?
So different from her usual prickly self, I calmed my racing heart and kept patting.
Pat, pat.
“Heh… heh…”
Patting more, she trembled and let out a moan.
Did she get hurt in the fight?
No… her witch hat doesn’t show any damage.
Tilting my head and checking her face, I found the reason.
Tears welled in her eyes, her jaw clenched.
I realized things had gone terribly wrong.
Must’ve been really* humiliating.
To make her cry—how much did she hate this?
Panicking, I stopped. She glared at me fiercely and asked.
“Why’d you stop?”
I wanted to say—
How could I keep going when you look like that?
But saying that would make her hate it more.
Smiling awkwardly, I spoke.
“That’s enough. I’m getting tired, so I’ll sleep.”
I wasn’t tired—her soft hair had me way too excited.
But what else could I do? I needed an excuse to stop.
Stretching and feigning fatigue, I noticed… Beatrice’s expression was terrifying.
“Pat me.”
“Huh?”
“I said pat me.”
…Wasn’t she hating this?