Player Chapter 33. Osmanthus Oolong Milk Tea
Elena came back from the prayer room long after the temple had gone quiet.
The candles inside had burned low. The last of the acolytes had retreated to their chambers. Even the air felt tired.
She walked slowly along the corridor, the hem of her white robe brushing against the stone floor. Her shoulders ached faintly. Her mana pool still felt hollow from earlier healing. But that wasn't what exhausted her.
It was the pretending.
She was used to it by now.
The calm voice.
The steady hands.
The composed Saintess of Hope.
She had been wearing that mask for a year.
A year.
She paused by one of the open archways that overlooked the temple courtyard. The night sky stretched above, deep indigo, scattered stars.
She stepped closer to the edge and rested her hands on the stone railing.
It was another tiring day.
She had reassured people. Smiled at frightened acolytes. Spoke firmly to knights. Pretended that she was strong enough.
She exhaled.
"I'm tired," she whispered to no one.
The word felt wrong leaving her lips.
Saints weren't supposed to be tired.
Saints were supposed to endure.
She tilted her head back and stared at the sky.
For a moment, she wasn't Saint Elena.
She was just…
Her.
A girl who had once walked under neon lights.
A girl who knew the sound of traffic and vending machines and late-night convenience stores.
A girl who used to complain about school and deadlines and stupid online matches.
She closed her eyes.
"Home…" she murmured softly.
Her thoughts drifted to her real world.
The smell of her mother's cooking.
Her younger brother arguing over stupid thing.
Her old room.
Her phone.
Milk tea from the shop near the station.
She swallowed hard.
Her home was far away from this place.
Far beyond magic.
Far beyond temples.
She wanted to stop.
She wanted to say she wasn't a Saint.
She wanted to say she was scared.
That she was tired of being the hope of the world.
She wanted to be selfish for once.
Just once.
Footsteps echoed lightly down the corridor.
She wiped her eyes quickly before turning.
Riven walked in.
He looked mildly annoyed, muttering under his breath.
"Ungrateful bastard. I heal him and he calls me sadistic."
He stopped mid-step when he saw her.
Then blinked.
His expression shifted instantly.
The annoyance disappeared.
He straightened slightly and walked toward her with an easy smile.
"Oh. You're here," he said. "I thought you were asleep already."
She tried to compose herself. Failed slightly.
"I was at the prayer room."
He leaned against the railing beside her casually.
"Praying for a more reliable prince than Eric?"
She let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh.
"Something like that."
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
Her posture.
Her silence.
The way her fingers curled slightly against the stone.
"Long day?" he asked lightly.
She nodded.
"Yes."
A pause.
He didn't fill it with jokes immediately.
She appreciated that.
She looked up at the sky again.
"I miss my home," she said quietly.
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
She swallowed, then continued in a small, fragile voice.
"I miss stupid things. Streetlights that hum at night. My phone buzzing with nonsense notifications. Traffic noise. Instant noodles at 2 AM. Bubble tea shops on every corner. Even bad WiFi. I miss complaining about normal life."
She expected confusion.
Instead…
"I understand," he said gently.
She froze.
Her eyes slowly turned toward him.
He was still looking at the sky, expression softer than usual.
"My home is far away too," he added casually.
Her breath caught.
She studied his face carefully.
Secretly, he reached into his inventory.
He held a familiar-looking cup out toward her.
She frowned slightly, confused how he suddenly held a cup. "What is that?"
He smiled. "Just try it. Count it as my apology for making you worried."
Her fingers wrapped around the cup.
It was cold. Not a bad cold. Just cold.
Familiar shape.
Familiar scent.
Her heart skipped.
She brought it to her lips and took a cautious sip.
Time stopped.
The floral note.
The roasted depth.
The honeyed sweetness.
It wasn't exact.
But it was…
Her eyes widened.
Her hand trembled slightly.
It was Osmanthus Oolong Milk Tea.
Not perfect.
But close enough that her chest hurt.
She looked at him slowly. Tears swelled up.
He smiled, a little sheepish. "It's the closest one I could make," he admitted. "Finding the ingredients was a pain. I had to beat up a bear for the leaves."
She blinked. "A bear?"
"Long story." He scratched the back of his neck. "Anyway… I hope it helps. At least for a bit."
Her vision blurred.
Tears slipped down before she could stop them.
"Riven…"
He stiffened slightly.
"Yeah?"
"Does that mean…?"
He held her gaze. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm a transmigrator too."
The world tilted.
Her grip on the cup loosened for a split second…
He reacted instantly, taking the cup before it spilled.
"Careful," he muttered.
She didn't care about the tea anymore.
She stepped forward and hugged him without thinking.
Hard.
He stiffened.
Then froze completely.
She buried her face against his chest and sobbed.
Really sobbed.
"I've been trapped in this game for a year," she cried. "A year… and I couldn't tell anyone. I couldn't be myself. I couldn't say I'm not from here. I had to act like I understood everything. I had to act like I was born for this."
His hands hovered awkwardly in the air for a second.
Then slowly…
Gently…
He placed one hand on her back.
The other still holding the cup safely away from disaster.
"You're not alone anymore," he said softly.
She clutched his tunic tighter. "I thought I was the only one," she whispered. "I thought… I was crazy. I thought maybe I imagined my world."
"You're not crazy," he said lightly. "I'm here… Elena. We are both not from this world."
The words settled inside her chest like something fragile and glowing.
We.
Not Saint.
Not symbol.
Not chosen hero.
Just we.