Prologue

Dear Son,

It’s Mom. Are you healthy?

It’s been a while since you went to another world.

Is the world over there easy to live in? Are you in the middle of an adventure? Maybe you’ve beaten the demon lord and are living comfortably with your friends? Have you created a harem as I’ve expected?

You love little girls, so maybe you’re being manipulated by a teacher-esque granny loli, or a beast-woman slave you’ve bought at a slave market… I’m worried. Please marry a heroine that is around your age and make them happy.

Everyone in this world is living happily.

Your little sister will become a middle schooler next year. Your grades during your middle school years were great, so if you were here, I would probably ask you to teach her. That’s one of my fantasies, among many others.

Do you remember? During the prefectural mock exam, you placed twenty-first, didn’t you? Our relatives tend to bring up how smart you are.

I bet you’re using those smarts of yours and are governing democratically, and making mayonnaise and gunpowder, right? My prided son.

Yesterday, Katayamsan said, “I know it may be a name you don’t want to hear, but…” and came to visit your grave.

Katayamsan came to apologize to you every month without fail. He promised to give me a part of his wage for the rest of his life.

You’re a kind child, so you may have forgiven Katayamsan a long time ago.

Even so, I’m a bad mother. I’ve lived until now without ever accepting what happened that day.

To be honest, I didn’t want his money or anything. I’ve told him that I didn’t want to see the bank envelope he brought anymore, but as long as the driver of the truck that killed my child is suffering, it’s fine. I want him to lower his head in front of your grave—that feeling has never faded.

Are you living comfortably in the other world? I’ve been curious about that all this time.

But you’re probably busy with adventuring and some internal administration and such, so you probably won’t reply this time, either. It’s a shame, but it can’t be helped.

If it ever becomes peaceful in the other world, and you have spare time… At that time, please write me a letter.

Well then, don’t push yourself too hard and ruin your health. And be careful of cars.

With love, your mother.

P.S.—I’ve divorced your father.