There wasn’t much they could do when Edward was like this.
“Mr. Alphonse, what’s going on with Mr. Edward?! Why is he so mad?! He seemed like such a wonderful person during the day!” the journalist cried out, while Edward once again chased him with the box.
It wasn’t just the journalist; Edward was now going after another guest who had come out of their room at the commotion. The whole ruckus headed down the stairs.
Alphonse heard screams in the distance.
“Mr. Alphonse, please answer! What happened to the calm, kind gentleman Mr. Edward used to be?!” the journalist asked.
“I don’t feel so good,” Alphonse said, clutching his nonexistent stomach as the hotel turned to pandemonium around him.
approximately one hour had passed since the start of Edward’s rampage.
The police had come to drag away the thieves and were taking a statement from Edward, who blinked innocently at them after having finally woken up. Meanwhile, Alphonse sat across from the journalist in the dining hall.
The journalist had unrolled the draft from his pocket and, despite having proclaimed it was complete, was now scratching away at it again, sometimes writing additions and at other times scratching things out.
The hotel had gradually settled back down after its trip into chaos. Alphonse had fixed the broken walls and doors scattered all around the hotel, as well as any shattered dishes. Edward had agreed to clean up the wrecked room after the military police left.
As he continued editing his manuscript, the journalist rubbed distractedly at the bump that had formed on his forehead from when he had tripped. When Alphonse saw the journalist erasing the words “kind and thoughtful,” “gentle demeanor,” and “well-mannered,” he slumped. He wondered if instead of “Person of the Week,” they’d get a “Monster of the Week” article.
The revisions were inevitable now that the journalist had learned the true form of his beloved state alchemist. Edward, in his half-asleep and stressed state, had chased down completely innocent bystanders. Apprehending the criminals hadn’t come anywhere close to making up for the rest of the violence, and there was no point in even trying to make excuses.
“You should write the truth, exactly as you saw it,” Alphonse said, resigned.
“I’ll be doing exactly that,” the journalist responded without lifting his head, his pen still moving.
Alphonse solemnly reflected on the past day. They’d planned on continuing their good deeds until Scar appeared, but it wouldn’t mean anything anymore, because as soon as the paper with the article was out, Edward’s good reputation would be gone.
What a fleeting dream, Alphonse thought wistfully, sighing. At the same time, the journalist stood up, apparently finished with his revisions.
“Here, this is the draft. Please take a look at it when you have the time.” The journalist pulled out a carbon copy from under the manuscript. He folded it carefully into fourths before offering it to Alphonse.
“Thank you.” Alphonse accepted the paper, but also had a hunch he knew what it contained. He couldn’t get himself to unfold it right then and there. Without reading the draft, he walked the journalist to the exit before turning to head back to their rooms, exhausted. A voice calling out from behind him made him pause.
“Mr. Alphonse!”
When he turned back toward the entrance to the hotel, Alphonse saw the journalist standing out in the street, his hat in his hand and illuminated by the streetlamps.
“I wrote the truth as I saw it, just as you said. Mr. Edward wasn’t quite what I’d call a poised and elite state alchemist, and he even showed a side to himself that was foul-mouthed and violent. Yet despite that”—here, the man paused, before smiling brightly—“despite that, he was true to his own emotions and seemed more like a real, living person than any of us. Even while half-asleep, he brought the hammer of justice down on those evildoers and proved himself worthy of being the pride of our country, a state alchemist.”
Having said his part, the journalist bowed, then replaced his hat while carefully avoiding the bump on his head. He hurried off down the empty cobblestone roads.
“Mr. Journalist,” Alphonse said warmly, standing alone in the lobby, “thank you, truly.”
Alphonse voiced his gratitude for the man who had disappeared into the night of the city. He climbed the stairs to his room, his footsteps the only sound in the tranquil hotel now that the police had left.
Keeping his steps light so as to not wake any sleeping guests, Alphonse quietly opened the folded paper in his hand.
Edward was someone who was a little—no, extremely—reckless, and at times he could be wild. When he snapped, it was beyond all control. Despite that, and much to Alphonse’s happy relief, here was an example of a time where others still managed to notice the kindness buried deep beneath Edward’s prickly exterior.
Alphonse came to a stop in front of their room and started turning the recently fixed doorknob while unfolding the draft.
“Ed, I got the draft of the article. Do you want to read it togeth—” Alphonse abruptly snapped the door shut again.
Standing there in the empty hallway with his hand still on the doorknob, Alphonse stared at the words at the top of the page.
The journalist had done as promised. He had written the truth—exactly as it was.
He wrote about how Edward had done good deeds through alchemy, and included all the wonderful things people had said. He wrote about how Edward had managed to catch the bad guys, even while half-asleep. It was excellent writing—honest and without embellishment.
But it was too honest.
The headline, written in large text at the top of the article, read “Little Alchemist, Big Deeds.”
Alphonse stared at the paper for a full thirty seconds before quietly folding it. He didn’t want to think about how Edward would react upon reading it.
The journalist hadn’t meant it maliciously. There was no reason to think that anyone else would have been aware of the reason behind Edward’s rampage. Most people didn’t have such severe reactions to being called short, after all. The journalist had probably figured that Edward’s foul mood had been caused by being woken up when exhausted. Even if Alphonse did tell the journalist the truth after everything that had happened, he imagined the response: “He flipped over something that trivial?” It’d only prove that Edward was petty.
Alphonse didn’t have a clue how he was supposed to even begin handling this.
All he could say for certain was that when the time came that Edward would try to break into the newspaper company’s office on a rampage, Alphonse would be the only person who could hold his brother back.
That, and the fact that once the paper was distributed throughout the country, the forbidden word would likely establish itself as an epithet for Edward. When that happened, it would once again be Alphonse’s responsibility to pacify his brother.
Well, Alphonse thought, it’s not like Ed had a good reputation to begin with. This was nothing new.
At least, that’s what Alphonse tried to tell himself.
In the end, it was Alphonse’s fate to run around covering for Edward. At this point, he might as well give up and accept that.
Feeling strangely enlightened, Alphonse opened the door once again, this time to help Edward, who was no doubt working on cleaning up their room. Instead, Alphonse found Edward sleeping, oblivious to his little brother’s concerns and snoring away without a care in the world.
Alphonse was met with a cracked pitcher, an open trunk, and crumpled clothes strewn all over. The room, trashed in the wake of Edward’s rampage, remained a mess. It was clear at a glance that Edward had exhausted all his energy flailing about earlier and had fallen right back asleep.
Alphonse didn’t have any words.
He draped a blanket over his brother’s exposed belly and silently cleaned up the room.
Reflecting on how everything that could have gone wrong had indeed gone wrong throughout the day, Alphonse prayed from the bottom of his heart that, if nothing else, their original goal from the first day—to draw out Scar—would meet with some success.
Maybe if he wished hard enough, his prayers would be heard.
As if in answer, Scar appeared the very next day. On top of that, part of the newspaper building was destroyed in the ensuing battle, and the “Person of the Week” section was gone for good. It might have been a gift from above to the jaded Alphonse, who needed someone to cut him a break.
Sometime later, Roy and Havoc learned of the demise of the “Person of the Week” and sulked over losing their free drinks. Likewise, Edward threw a tantrum when he realized he would not be in the paper.
No one needed to know that Alphonse, and he alone, felt relieved.