Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

.

---

Re: Getting Accused of Being the Sin Archbishop of Pride in Another World from Zero!

Chapter 1: The Chronicle of Ashes

My name is Joshua Juukulius. In the aftermath of the Great Fire, I found solace not in the sword my brother once wielded, but in the quiet order of ink and parchment. I became a librarian in the capital, and in the stillness of the archives, I began a solemn duty: to record every notable event following the coronation of our Queen, Emilia.

It has been seven years since the Calamity. Seven years since the day the sky turned to ash and the world burned. We do not call it a tragedy or a disaster; we call it what it was: The Great Fire of Pride. A calamity that snuffed out the lives of twenty million souls. A calamity that left behind a kingdom of ghosts and ashes. It was not an act of nature, nor a whim of the gods. It was a meticulously crafted hell, born from the mind and will of the Sin Archbishop—no, the Devil of Pride himself.

Emilia Lugunica, the 42nd King of the Dragon Kingdom. A woman whose silver hair and amethyst eyes mirrored the Witch who swallowed half the world. Once, she was hated for that resemblance. Now, she is hailed as the hero who saved the kingdom from the evil of the Witch Cult and from the devil who surpassed them all. She is our savior.

Her reign ushered in a new era for Lugunica, an era of peace and prosperity, free from the shadow of the Cult. An era where all are said to be equal… though the lingering fear of black hair, the devil’s mark, remains a stain on that promise. After she struck down the Devil of Pride, no one could ever again question her worth. I am thankful to her, for she avenged my brother, Julius Juukulius, the Greatest of Knights. He fell by that devil’s hand.

The Great Fire was the worst ordeal Lugunica has ever endured. We lost forty percent of our population. There is not a soul who did not lose a family member, a friend, a lover. The flames proved that even the mighty Sword Saint was not omnipotent. They proved the Divine Dragon itself could be rendered useless. But our Queen, the one who looked like the Witch, she and her contracted spirit, the Beast of the End, stood against the inferno and saved those of us who remained. The very features we once feared became the symbol of our salvation. She is our virtue. Our hope. Our Queen.

—Year 1 After the Great Fire—
Lugunica is a skeleton,slowly being given new flesh. Queen Emilia reforged the covenant with the Divine Dragon Volcanica. She liberated the elves of Elior Forest and, in an act of profound grace, used the dragon’s blood to heal the Sword Saint’s mother,Lounna Astrea. Honoring the final wish of her late sponsor, Lord Roswaal Mathers, she granted his niece, Annorose, his entire estate and a portion of the dragon’s blood. Our Queen does not waver in her promises.

The Vollachian Empire was shattered in the aftermath of the Great Disaster. Emperor Vincent Abellux fell to the witch who called herself Greed. In turn, Prisca Vollachia sacrificed her own life to end the witch’s reign. Yet, even in death, Greed’s legacy persists; her undead creations still wander the former imperial lands. We later learned that her knight, Aldebaran, took his own life upon learning of his mistress's fate. Our borders remain on high alert, a constant, grim reminder of the chaos to our south.

—Year 2 After the Great Fire—
Rebuilding progresses faster now,a testament to Lugunica’s resilience. The war against the undead in Vollachia continues, a distant, gruesome conflict. In Kararagi, rumors speak of a new Great Spirit of Fire, wild and untamable, attacking any who draw near. Communication is impossible. It is a dormant threat, another variable in an unstable world.

—Year 3 After the Great Fire—
Whispers slither through the streets again.The words "Witch Cult" are uttered in hushed tones, stirring old fears. The people are anxious, but their faith in Queen Emilia is a sturdy shield. A new, more disturbing whisper also emerges: a cult that worships the Devil of Pride himself. They call themselves the Devil's Cult. For now, they are only whispers, shadows without substance.

—Year 4 After the Great Fire—
The whispers became a scream.The watergate city of Pristella was attacked in a coordinated assault by the Archbishop of the Devil's Cult and remnants of the Witch Cult. Their goal: to retrieve the remains of the Witch of Pride. They painted the canals red, massacring the citizens before vanishing like smoke. The Sword Saint arrived too late to stop the slaughter. The old helplessness returned for a day.

—Year 5 After the Great Fire—
Hope was restored when the Sword Saint,Reinhard van Astrea, slew the White Whale as it materialized near the capital. The people, who had begun to doubt their protector, saw his divine power once more and their faith was rekindled. To the south, the coalition led by Cecilus Segmunt and Chisha Gold finally cleansed Vollachia of the last of the undead. A fragile peace treaty was signed between Lugunica and the rebuilding Empire, promising twenty years of uneasy truce.

—Year 6 After the Great Fire—
A year of quiet.The most notable event was the Sword Saint’s wedding to a nobleman’s daughter, a celebration that brought a moment of lighthearted joy to a kingdom still healing.

—Year 7 After the Great Fire—
Silence from the cults.The peace holds. Lugunica continues to mend, but the scars run deep. The hatred for black-haired individuals has festered into something institutional. To enter the capital with hair the color of night is an impossibility. Thousands have dyed their hair, so that finding a natural black-haired person is now like finding a single needle in a vast desert. In a surprising turn, our Queen rejected a proposal from a powerful noble, stating softly but firmly that her heart still belonged to another.

---

Chapter Text

Single, ridged 10-yen coin spun in the air, a tiny, metallic glint against a sky filled with two unfamiliar moons.

The youth who caught it, Natsuki Subaru, let out a sigh so deep it seemed to come from the very core of his being.

He was the picture of mundane Japanese youth—black hair, average height, a slightly athletic build hidden beneath a cheap tracksuit.

Yet here, in this bustling, alien bazaar, he was a grotesque spectacle.

The gazes that fell upon him weren't just curious; they were scalding. They were looks of pure, unadulterated revulsion, the kind one would reserve for a venomous spider crawling across their dinner plate.

He was surrounded by a kaleidoscope of hair colors—silver, emerald, cobalt, gold—and outfits that spoke of knights, mages, and merchants. He was a smudge of gray in a world of vibrant fantasy.

“So basically,” Subaru muttered to himself, crossing his arms as a defensive gesture against the brazen stares. “It’s like that, huh. Seems I’ve been summoned to another world."

His internal monologue raced, trying to categorize the chaos.
[*The genre is parallel world fantasy. Medieval tech level. Demihumans are a thing—saw a guy with cat ears. Culture seems hostile to... me specifically. The animals are a bit weird. Standard isekai setup, but where's the starter NPC? The tutorial? This is a buggy launch.*]

The hopelessness of his situation was a cold stone in his gut. No memory of a summoning ritual, no benevolent goddess, no shimmering portal.

Just a sudden, disorienting shift from the convenience store's fluorescent lights to this foreign sun. He had been buying cup ramen. Now, he was a pariah.

“Where’s my cheat skill? My overpowered magic? My cute guide?” he whispered, the frustration boiling over. “They hate me. I’m supposed to be the hero, and they look at me like I’m the final boss!”

He forced a grin, a hollow attempt at his usual bravado. "So, this is how Natsuki Subaru's new life starts from zero!"

Seeking refuge from the accusing eyes, he ducked into a shadowy alleyway, the stench of rot and stagnant water replacing the market's smells.

He clenched his fists, trying to feel for some latent power. "Come on... mana, chakra, ki, anything? I can't sense a damn thing. Did the gods forget to install my DLC? Is that even fair?"

Desperate for a plan, he took inventory. His life-saving gear consisted of: one cell phone (12% battery), one wallet (useless membership cards), one package of Shoyu Tonkotsu ramen, a bag of corn potage snacks, one unwashed gray jersey, and worn-out sneakers.

"A pistol would have been nice," he groaned, holding the ramen. "What am I supposed to do with this? Offer the Demon Lord a snack?"

The reality of his predicament finally crushed his flimsy optimism. He slumped against a damp wall, head in his hands. “Oh, give me a break. What on earth am I supposed to do here?”

The sound of heavy footsteps echoing in the confined space made him freeze. He looked up.

Three men, their silhouettes blocking the alley's entrance, had him cornered.

Their expressions weren't just predatory; they were laced with a familiar, zealous hatred.

[*Mission Start: 'Survive the Alley.' Clear Condition: Don't die. Failure Condition: Experience mind-shattering agony. Again.*]

Subaru smacked his cheeks, forcing courage into his trembling limbs. "Hesitation is defeat!" he declared, a line stolen from a video game. "This is another world! Maybe the gravity is lighter! Maybe my stats are through the roof!" He jumped experimentally. He felt exactly the same.

"Look, he's jumpin'. Think he's broken?" one thug, a burly man with a broken nose, chuckled.

"Needs to be taught a lesson," a second, lankier one sneered, tapping a rusty nata against his palm.

Unlike Subaru, they were utterly calm. This was routine.

"Woah there!" Subaru yelled, pointing a dramatic finger. "You guys are messing with the wrong protagonist! I've trained for this in a hundred RPGs! I'll turn you all into experience points!"

"Don't care about your babble," the leader, the one with the knife, spat. "Just die quietly, Devil's Mark."

"Devil's Mark? Again? What is with you people?!"

Fueled by adrenaline and sheer desperation, Subaru launched a preemptive strike. He threw a wild, full-bodied right straight at the leader's face.

The impact was jarring, a sickening crunch of cartilage and a sharp pain as his knuckles split on the man's teeth. The leader crumpled, unconscious.

[*First Blood!*] his mind screamed, a hysterical mix of terror and triumph.

He didn't stop. He spun towards the lanky thug, who was staring in shock. "Eat this! A high kick forged by after-bath stretches!" His sneaker connected with the man's temple, sending him crashing into the wall. He slid down, motionless.

"Two for two!" Subaru panted, his heart hammering. "I am overpowered! This world's physics are on my side!"

He turned to the final thug, the unarmed one, a grin of manic victory on his face. The thug didn't advance. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, sharp knife. The glint of steel snuffed out Subaru's bravado like a candle.

He dropped to his knees, the very picture of the Japanese spirit of immediate surrender. "I'm sorry! It was all my fault! Please, just let me go, I'll give you everything—!"

The plea was cut short as the knife plunged into his neck from behind. The leader, whom he'd thought was down, had risen with a gurgling roar.

"Die, Devil," the man hissed in his ear.

The pain was electric, a white-hot fire that seared through his nerves. He felt another stab in his back, then another.

He collapsed, his vision swimming, watching his own blood pool around him, soaking his precious tracksuit.

[*So that's it? That's how my story ends? In a filthy alley, killed for my hair color? Sorry, Mom... Dad...*]

Natsuki Subaru's world faded to black.

—

"Eh? Ehhhh? —What’s going on here?”

He was standing at the mouth of the same alley, the two moons still hanging in the sky. The coin was in his hand. No blood. No pain. Just the phantom memory of cold steel and tearing flesh.

[*I died. I felt my life end. How am I alive? Is this... my power? Return by Death? Why does the activation have to be so painful?! It's the worst! Absolutely the worst!*]

"Return by Death!" he shouted to the empty street, the name making the horrific power feel slightly more manageable. [*Okay, don't panic. Get out of this alley before they show up again. Don't want a repeat performance.*]

The memory of bleeding out sent a violent shiver down his spine. He stumbled back into the main thoroughfare, his eyes darting nervously. He needed information, food, something.

He stopped at a fruit stand, drawn to the familiar, apple-like fruits. "Appas," the sign probably said. He couldn't read it.

"You. Why are you standing there? You're scaring my customers. Buy something or move," the old vendor barked, his face a roadmap of wrinkles and contempt.

Subaru jumped. "Hah? Sorry, I... do you accept this?" He held out the 10-yen coin.

The man's scowl deepened. "I only take Lugunican currency, boy. And those are appas. Are you stupid as well as cursed?"

"Cursed? It's just my hair! Why does everyone keep calling me a devil?" Subaru's voice cracked with frustration.

The vendor's eyes widened in genuine alarm, and he made a warding gesture with his fingers, like someone shooing away a demon.

"The Devil's Mark is no small thing! It's the stain of the Witch! Now, get away from my stall before you bring ruin upon me!" He grabbed a broom and started swatting at Subaru as if he were a rat.

Subaru retreated, humiliation burning his cheeks. He tried two more stalls. A baker crossed the street to avoid him.

A woman pulled her child inside, slamming the shutters. He was a walking blight, a contagion of bad luck. The racism wasn't just passive stares; it was an active, systemic force pushing him to the margins.

He finally found a secluded spot, slumping down in despair.
[*What a shitty power. No cute girl, no guide, and the entire population is racist. How many times can I use this? Is there a limit? Can I activate it without dying? At least I know I'm in Lugunica. Probably the capital. Silver lining, I guess...*]

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice the three familiar figures approaching until their shadows fell over him.

[*Fuck! How are they here? This is a different alley!*]

"Look who it is. The tough guy from before," the leader sneered, his nose now a bloody, crooked mess. Subaru's previous victory felt like a lifetime ago.

"Probably doesn't get how things work here. We should educate him," the lanky one added, hefting his nata.

"If you value your life, hand over everything you have, Devil," the third spat.

Subaru looked at his plastic bag—his ramen, his snacks, his last connection to home. He couldn't. Instead, he did what any sensible, terrified 17-year-old would do. He filled his lungs and screamed.

"GUAAAAAAAARDS!! HELP! MURDER!"

The sheer, ear-splitting volume shocked even him. It was a sound born of pure, unrefined panic, a noise that shattered the alley's silence and ripped through the distant market's buzz. He had no pride left to lose.

"Bastard! Shut your mouth!" the leader yelled, flinching.

"You're supposed to be scared! You can't just do that!" the unarmed one cried, looking genuinely offended by the breach of thug protocol.

"Shut up! Who cares about your script?! I just want to live!" Subaru screamed back.

He looked past them, towards the street, hoping for a savior. He saw people. They stopped. They looked. And then, one by one, they turned their backs. A merchant averted his eyes. A guard, in polished armor, deliberately turned and walked the other way. No one was coming. The Devil's Mark wasn't worth saving.

The thugs saw it too. Their fear evaporated, replaced by smug cruelty.

"So, no one's coming to help the little devil," the leader grinned, pulling out his knife. The other two drew their weapons in unison.

Subaru's mind raced, calculating the odds. The knife was the real threat. The rusty nata might give him tetanus, but the knife would give him death. The memory of its cold bite was more persuasive than any threat.

"I'd really rather avoid the pain," he whispered, his bravado completely gone. The certainty of Return by Death was gone, replaced by the terrifying possibility that this time, it might be permanent. That this would be his final, pathetic BAD END.

"…In short, run. Even if I get cut, just run."

He focused on the knifeman, his muscles coiling for a desperate dash.

—Three… Two… One…

“―That is enough.”

The voice was not loud, but it carried an absolute, undeniable authority that froze the very air in the alley. It was a tone that brooked no argument, a sound that commanded obedience from the soul outward.

Everyone turned.

Standing at the alley's entrance was a young man. His hair was the color of a blazing sunset, and his eyes were a piercing, brilliant blue.

He was tall and impeccably dressed in black, a simple but deadly-looking sword at his hip. His presence was so overwhelming it felt like the world had tilted to center on him.

A wave of recognition and pure terror washed over the thugs.
"The Sword Saint...!"
"Reinhard van Astrea!"
"The Slayer of the White Whale!"

They didn't hesitate. They dropped their weapons and fled, scrambling over each other to escape his sight.

Subaru nearly wept with relief. "Thank the gods! A hero! A real, actual hero!"

But when he looked at his savior, the gratitude died in his throat. Reinhard was not looking at him with pity or heroic concern.

The Sword Saint's face was a mask of pallid shock. The awe-inspiring blue eyes were now wide with a storm of emotions—disbelief, a deep, searing rage, and a killing intent so potent it felt like the temperature had dropped.

Subaru's instincts, honed by two brutal deaths, screamed at him. RUN.

"Y-you...?" Reinhard's voice was a hollow, disbelieving whisper. "How? Who are you? How are you alive?"

He took a step forward, and the motion was not one of approach, but of a predator cornering its prey.

Subaru, fighting every fiber of his being that told him to flee, bowed deeply, falling back on formal Japanese etiquette. "I am ever so thankful to you for saving my life! Please allow me to express my gratitude! I, Natsuki Suba—"

He never finished the name.

In a movement faster than his eyes could follow, Reinhard closed the distance. A hand of iron clamped around Subaru's throat, lifting him off the ground. The grip was merciless, cutting off his air and crushing his windpipe.

"YOU," Reinhard hissed, his voice trembling with a hatred that seemed centuries old. "DEVIL. SIN ARCHBISHOP. I do not know what trickery this is, or how you still draw breath... but I will personally accompany you back to hell, Natsuki Subaru."

As the world darkened and his lungs burned for air they would never find, Subaru had one last, coherent thought.
[*Not the hair... it was the name... all along... it was the name...*]

And Natsuki Subaru's life was extinguished.

With that Natsuki Subaru lost his life yet again

The third awakening was the worst. It wasn't a gentle return to consciousness but a violent expulsion from the void, his lungs burning as they remembered how to breathe.

The phantom sensation of a hand crushing his windpipe lingered, a cruel memento from the man who had just saved his life only to snatch it away.

The Sword Saint. The name tasted like ash in his mouth.

"This can't be right, can it?" The words were a ragged whisper, torn from his raw throat. He pushed himself up from the grimy cobblestones, his body trembling with a cocktail of adrenaline and soul-deep exhaustion.

"I got isekai'd, got no guide, no power except for this shitty Return by Death, and I've died twice already. What kind of story is this? The plot makes zero sense! Why do people call me a devil? Even the supposedly 'Saint' wants to kill me. Fuck my life. It is the absolute worst."

He took a deep, shuddering breath, the air thick with the stench of waste and decay.

This time, he chose a different path, veering away from the main artery where he’d met the Sword Saint and down a narrower, filth-strewn lane.

He moved with a hunted creature's gait, his shoulders hunched, trying to make himself small.

His strange tracksuit and disheveled appearance already made him a target for curious glances, but it was his hair—his common, Japanese black hair—that acted as a trigger.

A woman carrying a basket of laundry froze as he passed, her eyes widening in terror.

She clutched a small, polished stone that hung from her neck, her lips moving in a silent prayer as she scurried away, pulling her child close and shielding the boy's eyes from Subaru as if he were a walking plague.

[What? What did I do?] Subaru thought, his confusion mounting.

He tried to approach a stall vendor selling roasted nuts. "Excuse me, could you—"

The vendor's friendly demeanor evaporated the moment he looked up and saw Subaru's face.

His smile twisted into a snarl. "Be gone, Devil's Mark! I'll not have your shadow fall upon my wares! You'll curse them!"

Subaru flinched back as if struck. Before he could form a reply, a rotten tomato sailed from the mouth of an alley and exploded against his shoulder, the acidic pulp seeping through his tracksuit jacket.

"Filthy Cultist!" a man's voice roared. "Think you can just walk among decent folk?"

Subaru stumbled, his heart hammering against his ribs. He broke into a jog, then a full-on run, but there was no escape from the eyes.

The hatred was a physical force, pressing in on him from all sides. Whispers followed him like a malevolent chorus: "...black hair...", "...is it one of them?...", "...should alert the guards..."

He ducked into a slightly wider street, hoping for respite, only to find himself the center of a widening circle of fear and anger.

People crossed the street to avoid him. A mother yanked her daughter indoors, slamming the shutters closed with a definitive crack.

"Please," he muttered, his voice lost in the din. "I just... I don't understand."

His plea was met with a glob of spit that landed near his feet. A burly man with a smith's apron stepped forward, brandishing a heavy hammer not as a tool, but as a weapon. "We don't want your kind here. Get out of our city before we drag you out!"

Tears of frustration and terror welled in Subaru's eyes. He was completely, utterly alone. The memories of his two deaths—the cold steel of a knife in a dark cellar,

he crushing grip of a hero's hand—merged with the searing humiliation of this public scorn. It was too much.

He turned and fled, his vision blurry, not caring where he was going so long as it was away from the accusing faces.

He plunged into a network of ever-narrower alleys, the sounds of the city fading behind him until only the echo of his own frantic footsteps and ragged breaths remained.

Finally, his strength gave out. He slumped against a moss-eaten wall in a dead-end courtyard, sliding down to sit on the cold, damp ground.

He buried his face in his hands, the weight of this hostile world finally crushing the last vestiges of his spirit.

[They called me a devil, a Sin Archbishop. Is it just the hair? The 'Devil's Mark'? Or is it more? What did that man the Sword Saint call me... Natsuki Subaru... did my name mean something to him?]

As he sat there, drowning in despair, the air in front of him began to shimmer. The shadows in the corner of the courtyard deepened, pulling away from the walls and coalescing into a single, tangible point of darkness.

From this void, a small, elegant form emerged—a sphere of deepest violet, pulsing with a soft, internal light. It hovered silently before him, observing him with an ancient, intelligent presence.

Subaru stared, too weary to even be startled. "Are you... the one who summoned me here?" he asked, his voice a dry, broken thing. "Can you talk?"

The sphere seemed to vibrate with indignation. "Are you an idiot? Of course, I can talk! I'm a Spirit of Yin. And what's with this 'summoned' nonsense?"

"A spirit?" Subaru mumbled. "Huh. After all, this is a fantasy world."

"You're clothes are strange. You're strange," the spirit chirped, its voice now taking on a childlike, curious tone. It began to orbit his head, a purple satellite to his planet of misery.

"You must be really, really dumb or really, really strong to walk around the capital with black hair. But judging by the look of you, I think you're just stupid."

"Hey!" Subaru's temper flared, a brief, hot spark in the cold emptiness inside him. "I don't know! I got summoned to this world today! I don't know anything at all! Where am I? Who summoned me? Why is black hair so bad?"

The raw despair in his voice gave even the flippant spirit pause. It stopped its orbit and hovered directly in front of his face. The playful light in its core dimmed, replaced by a more serious glow.

"Are you," it asked, its tone now devoid of mockery, "from beyond the Great Waterfall?"

Subaru looked up, meeting its gaze. This was the first being that hadn't immediately tried to kill or curse him. It was a thread of hope, however thin.

"I don't know what that term means. But if you mean another world... yes. I am not from anywhere you know."

The spirit was silent for a long moment. "I want to form a contract with you."

Subaru recoiled slightly. "A contract? What do you want, my soul?"

"I don't want to take anything from you," the spirit clarified. "Spirits like me, we are selfish. We act only according to our goals. And I like you. You have a high spirit affinity. Your very magic type is the same as mine—Yin. Thanks to you, I can grow much faster and become a Great Spirit. Furthermore, I want to learn about your world, and in exchange, I'll teach you about mine. Do we have a deal?"

Subaru let out a hollow laugh. "It's not like I have a choice. I really need someone to guide me right now. But sure, you have to fill me up with information." He took a shaky breath,

attempting a semblance of formality. "Anyway, let's introduce ourselves. My name is Natsuki Subaru. I'm clueless and broke beyond compare."

A profound silence descended upon the alley. The spirit, which had been bobbing gently, went completely still. The seconds stretched out, filled only by the distant drip of water and the frantic beating of Subaru's heart.

"Subaru Natsuki," the spirit finally whispered, and its voice was cold, as if speaking a blasphemy. "The same name as the Devil of Pride."

Subaru's blood ran cold. "What do you mean, 'Devil of Pride'?"
[What's wrong with them? Did the devil have the same name as me? Is that why...?]

"Aw, man," the spirit sighed, its form drooping. "This is going to be awkward. So listen close..."

“Long ago, the earth was at peace — untouched by sorrow, unmarked by fear. But peace is fragile, and from the black depths rose a Witch whose name froze the world in terror. She was called the Witch of Envy… Satella.”

She scoured the earth, tearing it in half, searching for her beloved in the depths of hell. Hurricanes followed her footsteps, and fire crowned her grief. But where despair rises, so too does hope

The Holy Dragon Volcanica. The Saint Sword Reid. The Sage Shaula. Three heroes who stood as one. Together, they sealed the Witch away.”

And yet… not all stories end. From the blackest pit of hell, the Witch’s voice lingered — sweet as honey, sharp as poison. For four hundred years, she whispered, and those who listened became her servants. Thus, the Witch’s Cult was born. For centuries, they spread chaos… until a darker shadow walked free.”

He was the Witch’s lost beloved — the one she had sought across earth and hell alike. Clad in black, with hair of shadow and eyes of burning red, he took the title of Archbishop of Pride. His true name… was Natsuki Subaru”

Now, when the fog rolls in from the Flugel Tree, mothers tell children: "Beware the Prideful One." He was no demon from folklore but a man who chose evil—who wore pride as a crown and built a throne of our ruin . His name is cursed in every district, a reminder that the greatest monsters are not born; they are forged in the fires of their own arrogance.

But fear not. Far in a distant village, a girl was born beneath the Witch’s curse. With hair of silver and eyes of amethyst, she carried the mark of Envy. Though scorned and hated, she did not bend. She fought on… slaying the Archbishops one by one.

And so it came to pass, that in a final battle of fire and fury, the Devil of Pride was struck down! Defeated, he fell…”

When the story ended, a heavy, suffocating silence returned, thicker and more profound than before.

"Do you..." Subaru's voice was barely audible. "Do you think I'm him?"

The spirit observed him, its gaze analytical. "I don't think so. You look like you're going to cry if I were to push you a little bit. But still, that name of yours... don't use it. It's a taboo. I recommend using an alias."

Relief, sweet and dizzying, washed over him. "Thank you! What about you? What's your name?"

"I never made a contract before, and I don't have one. Maybe you'll give me one." The childlike tone had returned, but it did little to lessen the unease coiling in

Subaru's gut. Who could be calm in his situation? He was a pariah, named after a demon, with no money, no knowledge, and no place to sleep. But he had a companion. That had to count for something.

"What about... Nyx?" Subaru suggested. He was named after a star, and Nyx was a goddess of the night, a cosmic entity. It felt fitting.

"Nyx... I like it." The spirit—now Nyx—bobbed happily. "So, we have to choose an alias for you. You can't say 'Natsuki Subaru.' If you do, you might get yourself killed."

Subaru bit his lip, a fresh wave of anger rising as he remembered the Sword Saint's grip.
[So he killed me because of a name? How is he even a saint if he murders people for their name? It's disgusting.]

"Alcor," Subaru said firmly. "Call me Alcor, then." Another star, forever bound to its brighter companion, Mizar. A hidden identity. It was perfect.

With a new name and a new purpose, his mind focused on a single, practical goal. "Do you know somewhere to stay? I don't have any money, though."

"Before that," Nyx interjected, "let's set the terms of our contract."

"How do we form one?"

"It's easy. You and I have to set our terms, both of us have to agree to them, and both of us have to know that we are making a contract. That's all."

"Then my terms are," Subaru began, thinking of the betrayals and loneliness he'd already endured. "One: No lying to each other. Ever. Two: No killing innocents. Three: You'll teach me magic and everything you know about this world; in exchange, I'll tell you everything about mine. And four..." He looked at the floating purple sphere, this strange, new, and only friend. "We are going to treat each other with respect, as if we are family. Do you agree?"

"I also have some terms," Nyx replied. "One: You will not make any contracts with any other Yin spirits, but you can make contracts with other types of spirits. Two: I'll take mana from both you and from the atmosphere. I'll accept your terms. Will you accept mine?"

"I'll accept."

"Then that's all."

Subaru blinked. "We made a contract? Just with words? Wasn't something supposed to happen? Like, flashy magical things? Runes in the air?"

"No," Nyx said, a hint of amusement in its voice. "It's my first time making a contract, too. But if you close your eyes, you can sense it. We are linked now, by an invisible rope."

Trusting his new partner, Subaru closed his eyes. He pushed away the lingering fear and focused. And there it was—a warm, thrumming tether, a cord of pure energy connecting his core to the vibrant presence of Nyx.

But as he concentrated, he felt something else. A second string. Impossibly long, unimaginably strong, and thrumming with a latent power that made his connection to Nyx feel like a fragile thread. It stretched into an impossible distance, a bond to something... colossal.

His eyes snapped open. "I... I can feel another string, too," he said, utterly bewildered.

"Have you ever made a contract before me?" Nyx asked, its voice sharp with suspicion.

"Not that I remember!" Subaru insisted, throwing his hands up. "I learned what spirits are today! I came to this world today! How could I have made one?"

"I dunno," Nyx murmured, beginning to rotate around Subaru in a slow, thoughtful circle. "But that is a spirit contract, one hundred percent, I'm sure. And its nature... it feels... immense. It bears the signature of a Great Spirit. What is this?"

Subaru's head was spinning. "What's a Great Spirit?"

"There are less than seven Great Spirits in the entire world," Nyx explained, coming to a stop before his eyes. "Beings of such immense power that each one, on their own, could erase whole kingdoms from the map."

For the first time since his second death, a genuine, unadulterated spark of hope ignited in Subaru's chest. A wide, incredulous grin spread across his face.
[Wow! So the gods of this world *did* give me something powerful! I just have to find it!]

"Which one is it?" he asked, his voice eager.

"I don't know," Nyx admitted, its gaze turning distant as it followed the pull of that mighty cord. "The pull is coming from far, far away. The direction... it looks like the Kararagi City-States."

"Our next destination is Kararagi, then!" Subaru exclaimed, a new energy coursing through him. Finally, a power he deserved! A key to surviving this brutal world!

"First," Nyx interjected, its tone practical and dousing his excitement with a dose of cold reality, "we have to get you out of Lugunica safely. With this look of yours, the people here aren't going to welcome you. You need to hide, or better yet, dye your hair."

Subaru self-consciously ran a hand through his cursed black hair. "Dye it? What color?"

"White would suit you, I think," Nyx mused.

"Wait a second," Subaru said, a new suspicion dawning. "Did you just read my mind? Can all spirits do that?"

"No, not all," Nyx replied, a hint of pride in its childlike voice. "Maybe three or four. I'm a special case. I can cast all kinds of Yin spells, remove curses, read minds—only surface thoughts, a little bit—and I can tell if people are telling the truth or not."

"You're pretty overpowered, Nyx," Subaru said, a genuine, weary, but happy smile finally gracing his lips. "But I'm really, really happy that I got you."

Nyx bobbed gently in the air, its violet light shimmering. "I would be smiling back at you if I had a mouth."

Chapter Text

The merchant’s jaw practically hit the floor. He’d never seen anything like the glowing, flat Metia Subaru showed him.

"Eighty! Final offer!" the man sputtered, his eyes wide with a mix of greed and awe.

Subaru puffed out his chest, trying to look like a shrewd businessman and not a completely lost kid. "You drive a hard bargain, but deal!" He handed over the phone, his last piece of home, and felt the heavy weight of a pouch filled with 80 gold coins land in his hand.

«We’re rich! We’re rich!» Nyx’s voice squealed in his head, doing a little happy dance.

The chill of the Lugunican night seeped through the thin walls of the inn room, but for the first time since his summoning, a flicker of warmth persisted in Natsuki Subaru's chest. The source wasn't a fireplace, but the small, floating spirit of Yin magic, Nyx, who pulsed with a soft, silvery light.

"The transaction was… acceptable," Nyx's voice echoed directly in Subaru's mind, a cool and analytical tone that was becoming familiar. "The merchant's greed was palpable, but his fascination with the 'Metia' outweighed his suspicion."

Subaru patted the now significantly heavier coin purse secured inside his tracksuit pants. "Acceptable? Nyx, we're rich! Well, I don't exactly know how much can 80gold coins can last, but we're not broke! I can actually afford a bed and a meal that isn't suspicious street meat." He grinned, the expression feeling strange yet genuine on his face. Selling his flip phone had been a smart move it's battery was ending. But as the shopkeeper's eyes had widened at the glowing, moving images within the "artifact," haggling over its origins became a secondary concern to the gold it could fetch. With Nyx's subtle guidance, nudging the merchant's thoughts towards avarice rather than accusation, they had secured a small fortune.

"Still," Subaru's grin faded as he glanced out the grimy window at the bustling, hostile city, "this money won't last forever. And my hair…" He ran a hand through his trademark black spikes. "It's a target. Tomorrow, we find a disguise."

_________________________________

The night passed with a strange, newfound comfort for Subaru. With Nyx's guidance, he had successfully sold his Flip phone as a Metia for 80 gold coins. After paying for an inn and adjusting to his room For the first time since arriving in this world, he wasn't entirely alone. The silent, floating spirit was a presence he could lean on.

Sleep came easier than expected, and the morning sun found him determined.It was his 2nd day in this new world.His first mission: acquire a disguise.

The innkeeper had pointed him towards a modest-looking shop tucked away in a less-traveled alley, a place known for sturdy travel gear. A bell chimed as Subaru pushed the door open, the scent of leather and dried herbs filling his nostrils. The interior was cluttered but organized, with cloaks, hats, and bags hanging from every available space.

An elderly man with kind eyes and a web of wrinkles that spoke of a long life looked up from behind a counter. "Good morning, young man. Looking for something to keep the sun or the eyes off you?"

Subaru flinched slightly at the man's perceptive question. "Uh, yeah. A cloak, preferably with a hood."

"Of course. Let's see what we have for your frame." The shopkeeper, whose name Subaru learned was Old Man Gerth, moved with a gentle slowness. He pulled down several cloaks, commenting on their material and weave. He wasn't pushy, just helpful in a way that felt genuinely caring.

It was this unexpected kindness that gnawed at Subaru. After the hostility he'd faced, it felt alien.

«He is sincere,» Nyx's voice echoed in his mind, a cool, calming stream. «There is no deception in his words.»

Finally, as Gerth held up a heavy, dark grey cloak with a deep hood, Subaru couldn't hold back his question. "Excuse me for asking, sir... but you've been really kind. Most people here... they don't seem to like someone who looks like me." He gestured vaguely to his own black hair.

Gerth's hands stilled on the cloak. The gentle smile on his face didn't vanish, but it became tinged with a profound sadness. He looked at Subaru, really looked at him, and his eyes seemed to see someone else.

"My son," Gerth began, his voice soft but clear, "Kael... he had hair as dark as a moonless night. Just like yours."

Subaru's breath hitched. He stood frozen as the old man continued, his gaze distant.

"He was a good boy. Full of life. But there are small-minded people in this world, fueled by fear and old superstitions." Gerth's knuckles were white where he gripped the cloak. "One day, he didn't come home. They found him in an alley... just for the color of his hair.Just because of that they killed him."

The air left Subaru's lungs. The casual cruelty of this world, which he had experienced himself,after all he also got stabbed in the back just for his looks in his very first day in this world.

Gerth looked back at Subaru, his eyes shimmering. "When you walked in, for a moment... you reminded me of him. The same nervous energy, the same determination in your eyes. I could never harbor hate for a feature that belonged to my beloved boy. Instead, I feel... a need to protect. A foolish old man's wish, perhaps."

«His grief is a deep, old wound,» Nyx observed quietly. «But his compassion is stronger.»

"I... I'm so sorry," Subaru stammered, his throat tight. He didn't know what else to say. The tragedy was too immense.

Gerth shook his head, the sad smile returning. "Don't be,That wasn't your fault,It's all that Devil's fault. Here." He pushed the dark cloak into Subaru's hands. "This one. It's not just wool. My late wife was a minor spirit arts user. She wove a simple enchantment into the fabric. It won't make you invisible, but it will help you blend into crowds, to be a little less memorable to prying eyes. It should help keep you safe."

Subaru stared at the cloak, then back at the old man. "I... I can't accept this. It must be expensive."

"It is paid for," Gerth said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Consider it a gift from a father to a son who reminds him of his own. A gift he wishes he could have given his boy to keep him safe."

The words struck a chord so deep in Subaru that his eyes stung. The rejection, the fear, the loneliness of the last day melted away under the sheer, undeserved warmth of this act. He bowed deeply, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. Thank you so much, sir. I... I won't forget this."

Gerth simply nodded, patting Subaru's shoulder gently. "Go on, now. Be careful out there."

Clutching the enchanted cloak to his chest, Subaru left the shop, the bell chiming softly behind him. The weight of the fabric felt like a shield. As he stepped into the alley, he swung the cloak over his shoulders, pulling the hood up. The world seemed to soften at the edges slightly, the sounds of the street becoming more muted.

«The enchantment is subtle, but effective,» Nyx commented, floating beside him. «A powerful blessing from a kind heart.»

"Yeah," Subaru whispered, his voice steadier than it had been in days. He felt a new resolve solidify within him. This world was cruel, but it wasn't devoid of goodness. There were people like Old Man Gerth. And he had Nyx. He wasn't the same helpless boy who had appeared in the capital.

"Okay, Nyx," he said, a determined glint in his eyes visible even from under the shadow of the hood. "I'm disguised. I have a power I can actually use. Now... let's figure out how to survive in this world. For real this time."

The spirit pulsed with a soft, approving light. For the first time, the path ahead didn't seem quite so dark.

The enchanted cloak was a marvel, a soft grey fabric that seemed to drink the light around it, but Subaru’s black hair remained a glaring beacon of otherness. As he walked through the market, the hood pulled low, he felt a new impulse, not of fear, but of opportunity. The money from his phone—a bittersweet severance from his old life—weighed heavily in his pocket. It was capital. A means to transform himself.

«The cloak is a reactive measure,» Nyx’s voice echoed, cool and logical. «Changing the color of your hair should be main priority now. The resources from the sold Metia allow for this.»

"Exactly!" Subaru whispered, a grin spreading across his face. He wasn't trying to hide his excitement. "A new look for a new life! If I'm gonna be an isekai protagonist, I can't look like every others like Kazuma or Krito. We need a signature style! And white hair? That’s top-tier protagonist material right there."

He asked a vendor for directions to someone who could "change hair color," receiving a grunt and a gesture toward a dingy alleyway. There, a sign with a faded painting of a leaf and a droplet hung above a narrow door. This wasn't the warm apothecary he might have hoped for; it was a practical, borderline hostile establishment.

A bell clanged harshly as he entered. The air was thick with the acrid smell of chemicals and dried herbs, a far cry from the pleasant aromas of the main market. A woman stood behind a counter, her arms crossed. She was middle-aged, with a severe face and hair pulled back in a tight, greasy bun. She looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his cheap tracksuit with undisguised scorn.

"What?" she barked.

Subaru, undeterred by her demeanor, pushed back his hood. "I need my hair dyed. White."

The woman’s eyes narrowed at his black hair. She let out a short, dismissive snort. "Difficult. Expensive. Five gold coins. Up front."

«Her price is inflated,» Nyx observed. «She thinks you're an idiot and she is correct.»

Subaru didn't care. The thrill of transformation was too strong. "Deal," he said, slapping the coins on the counter without hesitation.

The woman scooped them up, her expression not softening. "Sit," she commanded, pointing to a rough wooden stool stained with countless colorful spills.

The process was anything but gentle. She mixed a pungent paste from a powder that smelled like lye and a sharp, acidic liquid. Without ceremony, she began slathering it onto his hair and scalp. An immediate, intense burning sensation set in.

"Whoa! It stings!" Subaru exclaimed, more in surprise than pain.

"Of course it stings," the woman said, her voice flat as she worked the paste in with rough hands. "It's stripping the color. Don't be a baby. White isn't a natural color. It takes force."

«The compound is caustic,» Nyx informed him. «It is breaking down the melanin. The discomfort is to be expected. I can attempt to numb the sensation.»

"No, it's fine!" Subaru said, his eyes watering slightly even as he smiled. "This is part of the experience! The pain of rebirth! It's kinda awesome, in a messed-up way. This is real alchemy stuff!"

He sat there, the burning intensifying, but his mind was racing with excitement. He imagined himself with stark white hair, commanding respect, wielding power. He wouldn't be "that devil looking guy" anymore; he'd be someone new, someone unique.

After what felt like an hour, the woman gruffly ordered him to a basin where she rinsed his head with cold water. The water ran dark at first, then clear. She thrust a small, tarnished metal mirror into his hands.

Subaru took it, his heart pounding with anticipation. He raised it.

The reflection was shocking. His hair was now a brilliant, bone-white. It was stark against his skin, making his features seem sharper, his eyes more intense. The transformation was absolute. He looked…Handsome and at the same time more scarier than before .

"Wow," he breathed, a wide, genuine grin spreading across his face. "It's perfect! It's absolutely perfect! Thank you!"

The woman just grunted, already wiping down her counter. "It will not fade. Now get out. I have other customers." There were no other customers.

Subaru didn't mind her harshness. He pulled the enchanted cloak's hood back up, the white locks now hidden, a secret weapon. He felt invigorated.

Stepping out of the shop, the world seemed different. He wasn't a fugitive anymore; he was an agent of his own destiny. The disguise was complete, but for the first time, it didn't feel like hiding. It felt like putting on a uniform.

"Okay, Nyx," he said, his voice buzzing with energy. "Phase one: complete! New identity, activated! Now, phase two:how do I get the fuck out of Lugunica?"

_____________________________

As Subaru moved through the bustling streets of the capital, he noticed it right away. People's gazes just… slid off him. It was like he was wearing a "do not notice me" field. He didn't feel afraid anymore. He felt… sneaky. And it was awesome.

"Okay, Nyx, phase two!" Subaru whispered, a grin spreading under his hood. "We need to get to Kararagi. That's the merchant nation, right? They've gotta be way less hostile about devil thing !"

Subaru laughed, heading towards the noisy, smelly, and incredibly lively merchant district. The air was thick with shouts, the smell of strange spices, and animal dung.

He needed to find a caravan. But how do you do that? He decided on the direct approach. He walked up to a burly man unloading crates from a giant, lizard-like creature—a ground dragon, he remembered.

"Excuse me! Are you, uh, heading to Kararagi by any chance?"

The man grunted, not even looking up. "Packed full. No passengers. Get lost, kid."

Subaru shrugged. "Worth a shot!" He moved on.

He tried a woman selling maps. "Kararagi? Try the western gate at dawn. Some groups head out then." It was a better lead.

His big break came when he spotted a merchant who looked less grumpy than the others. The man was overseeing the loading of several wagons filled with Lugunican wool. Subaru approached, trying to look confident.

It is a thin, grey-haired man who scratches their head in response to Subaru.
With his slick black suit and black tie he could look like someone returning from a funeral, but a
closer inspection reveals the unobfuscable scent of death upon him.
His features are gentle, as are his eyes, but the way he casts his gaze around his surroundings
reveals clear wariness of others, and signals that he has survived slaughters.
But most of all, his dreary eyes. Those were the eyes of someone who found no benefit in living.

«He's thinking about the price of wool,» Nyx reported. «And he's worried one of his drivers is sick. He's stressed but not mean!»

Perfect. "Sir! Are you leading a caravan to Kararagi?"

The merchant,
And at the moment Their eyes met, the thin man stopped breathing for a second.

"Subaru Natsuki? "

Was all he could mutter, he knew this person was without a doubt Natsuki Subaru, his hair color was different than before,wearing something that he used to call "Tracksuit, "but his eyes were the same.

"No ,I'm not him my name is Alcor" Subaru answered while sweating, he was already panicking (who is this person?someone who knew pride?did pride looked exactly same as him? )

Chapter Text

Emilia —

The royal bedchambers were silent, save for the soft crackle of the hearth. Moonlight, pale and cold, streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air like forgotten spirits. Emilia sat at her vanity, but her eyes were not on her reflection. They were fixed on a single, Jacket: A white, zipped, stand-up collar jacket with deep-grey sleeves and shoulders, featuring an orange line down the side of the sleeves and orange cuffs. Which she took from her beloved's dead body.

Seven years. It felt like both an eternity and the blink of an eye. To the public, she was Emilia Lugunica, the 42nd King, the savior who slew the Devil of Pride. A hero.

The title was a cage.

Her fingers trembled as they traced the locket's cold metal. Behind her, a soft blue light coalesced, and a small, furry form materialized on her shoulder.

«Lia,» Puck’s voice, a gentle chime in her mind, was laced with concern. «Your thoughts are so loud. They’re hurting you again.»

“I’m fine, Puck,” she whispered, the lie tasting like ash on her tongue. She was never fine. The victory parade had ended, the cheers had faded, and all that remained was the memory of his eyes in that final moment. Not the burning red of the Devil the stories spoke of, but the wide, bewildered boy named Subaru.

“He killed them all for me, didn’t he?” The words escaped her lips, quiet and broken. “The other Sin Archbishops. Greed, Gluttony, Wrath… I never understood how they fell so easily, one by one. It was always him. He cleared the path. He made me a hero.”

She saw it now with horrifying clarity. Every “lucky” break, every defeated foe that paved her way to the throne—it was all the work of Natsuki Subaru. He had orchestrated her rise on a foundation of corpses, his own soul crumbling with each step, until only the monster of Pride remained.

And she, the beneficiary of his carnage, had been the one to strike the final blow.

“I ended it,” she said, her voice cracking. “I stopped the Great Fire. I saved everyone. But I killed him, Puck. I killed the only person who loved me. The boy who killer for me, over and over again, until there was nothing left but the Devil I had to put down.”

A sob wracked her body. The strong, regal Queen vanished, leaving only a grieving girl. “What does that make me? His greatest enemy was the one he loved most. How is that fair?”

Prick nuzzled her cheek, his cool fur a small comfort against her feverish skin. «Lia, you cannot chain your heart to a ghost. The boy you knew was consumed long before that final battle. What you fought was a shell filled with fire and arrogance. You saved the world from the monster he became.»

“But did I save him?” she cried, clutching the locket. “Was there ever a chance? Or was I just the final page in the tragic story he wrote for himself?”

She saw the proposal she had rejected yesterday. The nobleman’s hopeful face. How could she ever explain that her heart was a tomb, buried in the ashes of a city he had burned for her? That the only man she could ever love was the one she had been forced to kill.

«You carry the weight of too many lives, my daughter,» Puck murmured. «You carry the living. That is your duty now. The dead… must be allowed to rest.»

But as Emilia looked out at her peaceful kingdom, she knew the truth. Natsuki Subaru would never rest. And neither would she. His was a ghost that did not haunt the streets of Lugunica, but the throne room of its Queen.

"I am a truly a witch aren't I? Subaru"

— Reinhard —

The Astrea estate was a mausoleum of honor, and Reinhard van Astrea was its most dutiful relic. He stood in the training grounds, the Sword Saint, the slayer of the White Whale, the strongest being alive. His sword, the Dragon Sword Reid, remained silent at his hip. It had not sung for him in seven years, not since the Great Fire. A constant, silent judgment.

His muscles moved with divine precision, each swing of a practice blade perfect, controlled, and utterly empty. The power that coursed through him felt like a curse. It was the power that had failed to stop a single, determined boy from plunging the nation into hell.

I saw him today.

The thought was a shard of ice in his gut. His composure had shattered the moment those eyes—his eyes—had met his. The same eyes from the burning capital, filled with a mad, possessive love for the half-elf he had doomed. Reinhard’s body had moved before his mind, driven by a hatred so pure it felt like sanctity. He had choked the life from a boy who called himself Subaru Natsuki.

And then… nothing. The body was gone when he turned back. A ghost. A hallucination born of his own unforgivable guilt.

“Monster,” Reinhard whispered to the night air, the word a confession. He was the monster. He possessed the power to protect anything, and yet he had failed to protect everything that mattered.

His father, Heinkel Astrea, had died protecting his sleeping mother, a broken man long before the Fire finished him. His grandfather, Wilhelm, had fallen in battle against the White whale, his legendary skill no match for the fanatical tide. Reinhard had been elsewhere, “protecting the kingdom,” while his family crumbled.

If I had been smarter…… If I had been wiser…

The Divine Protections were a cruel joke. They gave him the strength to hold the world on his shoulders, but none of them could teach him how to stop it from bleeding.

A soft sound from the manor broke his trance. He turned to see a light in his wife’s window. His wife. The concept was still strange. A marriage of political convenience, a gesture to stabilize the kingdom. He did not love her, and she, a noblewoman who understood duty, did not love him. But he was kind to her. It was the least he could do. And she was a reason to keep the mask firmly in place.

And then there was his mother. Lounna Astrea, restored to life by the Queen’s grace. A second chance he did not deserve. To see the love in her eyes, a love untouched by the bitterness that had consumed his father, was a pain more exquisite than any wound. He had to be the hero for her. He had to be the stable knight for his wife. He had to live for them, because the man named Reinhard had died seven years ago in the ashes of his failures.

He was the Sword Saint. A title, a weapon, a shield for others. But inside, he was just a boy drowning in a sea of blood he could never wash away, haunted by the ghost of a Devil he could not kill .

Felix —

The room was opulent, a gilded cage. Silk drapes, polished mahogany, the faint scent of antiseptic and dried herbs—this was the world of Felix Argyle. He sat perfectly still on a plush chair, staring at his own reflection in the dark surface of a medicine cabinet. The person staring back had a sweet,cat-like ears,cat-like smile, but the blue eyes were empty, like polished glass.

A key turned in the lock, and the door opened. A stern-faced Argyle retainer entered, carrying a tray of medical supplies. "Felix. Your presence is required in the east wing. Lord Argyle's gout is acting up."

Felix did not move. His smile remained fixed. The retainer sighed, a familiar routine.

"The order comes from Subaru-sama," the man said, his voice flat with practiced patience.

A transformation. The emptiness in Felix's eyes vanished, replaced by a radiant, fervent light. He sprang to his feet, his movements suddenly fluid and alive. "Of course! Why didn't you say so?! Subaru-sama's will must be done immediately! Is he pleased with my work? Does he need me for something else?"

"He will be pleased once Lord Argyle is comfortable," the retainer said, guiding the now-pliable Felix out the door.

This was the only law in Felix's shattered mind. The world was a meaningless noise of demands and expectations, a chaotic play he was forced to watch. But there was one voice, one will, that cut through the static and gave him purpose. Subaru-sama's voice.

He tended to the gouty noble with expert, gentle hands, his mind elsewhere. In his world, Subaru-sama was not a dead devil. He was a silent, absent king. Every healing Felix performed was a prayer to him. Every patient cured was an offering laid at his altar.

This will please him, Felix thought, applying a cool poultice. Keeping these useless nobles healthy. They are tools for his grand design, even if they are too stupid to know it. I am maintaining his assets.

Back in his room, the door locked once more, Felix went to his true work. Hidden beneath a loose floorboard was his shrine: not to the Divine Dragon, but to a shadow. A lock of hair, jet black, obtained from a pillow in a ruined mansion seven years ago. A scrap of cloth from a tracksuit, stained with a faint, cherished drop of blood. These were his holy relics.

He knelt before them, his breathing quickening. "Subaru-sama," he whispered, his voice a mixture of reverence and desperate longing. "I am obeying. I am healing them, just as you wish. They think they command me, but they are merely speaking your words without understanding." He giggled, a soft, unhinged sound. "They are puppets, and your will is the only string that moves me."

He traced the outline of the bloodstain. "You are testing me, aren't you? Hiding to see if my devotion is true. It is. It is!" His whisper turned fervent. "I will heal everyone you point me to. I will make this kingdom whole for your return. And when you come back, you will see. You will see that I was the only one who never forgot. The only one who truly understood."

Felix Argyle was not just insane. He was a devout follower in a religion of one, waiting for his god to return and pass judgment on a world that had wronged him. And until then, he would follow every "order" given in that holy name, a perfect, powerful, and utterly broken instrument in the hands of a his own Family.

Roswaal -

There was a moment, a singular, pathetic moment, when Roswaal L. Mathers considered simply letting the candle burn out.

It was after the debacle at the capital. The half-elf girl had returned to the mansion alone, with a failure she did not even fully comprehend. The boy—Natsuki Subaru—was gone. Vanished. And with him, Roswaal’s four-hundred-year-old Gospel, the meticulous script for resurrecting his teacher, became a worthless scroll of empty promises.

The plan had been perfect. The Royal Selection would pressure the girl, her isolation would bind her to the boy, and the boy’s peculiar, desperate strength would be the engine that pushed her toward the throne, creating the conditions for the ultimate ritual. But without the boy, she was just a silver-haired doll, doomed to break under the weight of a world that despised her.

He had stood in his study, the silence of the mansion pressing in on him. Four centuries of scheming, of manipulation, of living with a soul split in two, all for nothing. The flame of his purpose, which had burned so fiercely for so long, guttered. To live on without that goal was not life. It was a tedium worse than death.

And then, the Devil came knocking.

He did not arrive with fire and brimstone. He simply appeared one evening in the study, as if he had always been there. His hair was a mess of black spikes, his eyes shadowed with a fatigue that seemed centuries deep. But in their depths burned a new, terrifying light: absolute, unshakable conviction.

“Roswaal,” the boy—no, the man—had said, his voice calm, devoid of fear. “You wanted Emilia to be queen. I will make her queen.”

Roswaal had merely stared, his painted smile a brittle mask. “And what~ could you possibly offer, I wonder?”

Subaru’s lips curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes. It was a cold, sharp thing. “I’ve read the book. Your Gospel. I know what you really want. And I’m the only one ruthless enough to get it for you. Emilia on the throne is just the first step. I’ll burn through every obstacle. The other Archbishops? The nobles? The Dragon? I’ll break them all for her. I’ll make this kingdom a pyre if that’s what it takes to crown her.”

He laid out his terms. A new soul contract if Rooswal were to break it nobody could save him.His soul would be perished. Details were Roswaal would provide unwavering, public support. Resources, influence, a legitimate framework for the carnage to come. In return, Subaru would deliver the throne to Emilia, no matter the cost. And there was one non-negotiable clause, spoken with a venom that chilled even Roswaal’s ancient blood: “You will never harm her. Not a scratch. Not a single word to break her spirit. Her heart and her body are mine to protect. You touch her, and our deal is void. I’ll turn my attention from your enemies to you.”

It was madness. It was the offer of a fiend. And it was the only spark left in the darkness. This was not the bumbling boy from the capital; this was a force of nature that had stared into the abyss and decided to conquer it. In that moment, Roswaal saw not a pawn, but an equal. A partner in the grand, bloody theater of their ambitions.

He agreed.

The years that followed were a masterpiece of orchestrated chaos. Roswaal watched from the sidelines as Subaru, the newly proclaimed Archbishop of Pride, systematically dismantled the Witch Cult that birthed him. Each fallen Archbishop was a checkmark on their list, a step closer to the throne. Subaru was magnificent—a artist of atrocity, painting the path to the throne with the blood of his former comrades. He was everything Roswaal had needed four hundred years ago: a friend who would walk through hell with him.

The Great Fire was the final, terrible act. The necessary catastrophe to break the old world and allow the new one to be built. Roswaal had played his part, and in the ensuing chaos, his original body had met its end. A calculated sacrifice.

His soul, guided by the final entries of his now-relevant Gospel, slipped into a vessel prepared by the contract’s terms: his young niece, Annorose. A new, smaller shell, but with all the dragon blood and authority he had bargained for.

And now, in the present, the goal was achieved.To resurrect a dead you would need their body preserved and especially their soul,the moment person died their souls would go back to od Laguna, but his teachers was kept in Sanctuary, both body and Soul, resurrecting her with the dragons blood wasn't a problem.

And now.He sat in a sun-drenched parlor of a restored Mathers domain, not in his own body, but in Annorose’s. The form felt strange, light, but the mind inside was centuries old. And across from him, sipping tea from a fine porcelain cup, was Echidna. His teacher. The Witch of Greed. Whole, real, and regarding him with those bottomless, curious eyes.

Beside her, Beatrice sat stiffly, her small hands clutching her own cup. She did not look at Roswaal; her gaze was fixed on the table, a mixture of relief and profound sorrow.

Ram stood behind his chair, her usual deadpan expression in place. She's been serving as the new head maid of the house,since her sister's death, her loyalty a silent, unshakable constant.

“It is a most peculiar blend, Roswaal,” Echidna remarked, setting her cup down. “The taste of a world changed beyond my records. I am… intrigued.”

“All according to your teachings, Teacher,” Roswaal said, his voice a higher pitch than he was accustomed to. “The pursuit of knowledge, no matter the path.”

But his thoughts were not entirely on Echidna. As the tea warmed his borrowed throat, he thought of the architect of this moment. Natsuki Subaru.

He had considered the boy a tool. Then, he had recognized him as an equal. And now, in the quiet victory, he felt a pang of something akin to loss. Subaru had been the only one who understood the scale of their ambition. The only one who looked at the impossible and saw a checklist. In another life, they could have been true friends. They were friends, in the only way monsters like them could be.

Subaru had gotten his wish: Emilia was queen, loved by all, untainted by the blood it took to get her there. And Roswaal had gotten his: his teacher was by his side.

The cost had been a nation’s worth of souls and the soul of the one man Roswaal had ever respected. A fair trade, by any rational measure. But as he sat there, with the ghost of a friend hanging over the table, Roswaal L. Mathers allowed himself a single, quiet thought, hidden behind a sips of tea.

It was a worthwhile journey, my friend. I only wish you could have been here to see the ending you bought for us.

— Otto’s POV —

Otto Suwen believed in deals. He believed in contracts, in the clear, unambiguous language of commerce where obligations were defined and, with enough sweat and shrewdness, could be paid off. That belief was the cage that had trapped him.

It started with a simple trade agreement gone sour. A shipment of high-value Kararagi spices, lost to a sudden, unnatural swamp dragon migration. A catastrophe no sane merchant could have predicted. But his employer, the notoriously merciless Russell Fellow, did not deal in excuses. He dealt in balances. The loss was astronomical, and with a flick of a pen on a contract Otto had signed in a moment of ambitious folly, his life was forfeit. Not just his assets, but his person. Debt slavery was a legal, if brutal, reality in the underbelly of Lugunican commerce, and Russell Fellow was its master.

One day, Otto was a promising merchant. The next, he was property. His days were spent managing Russell’s legitimate fronts, while his nights were haunted by the darker tasks: moving unmarked cargo, bribing officials, and cleaning up the messes left by his employer’s less savory associates.

It was during this time that Russell began dealing with him.

The Devil of Pride. Natsuki Subaru.

Otto was present for their first meeting. He remembered how the black-haired boy, no older than himself, carried an aura of chilling authority that made the ruthless Russell look like a fawning supplicant. They were forming an alliance. Subaru’s cult needed logistics, supply lines, and a veneer of legitimacy. Russell’s network provided it. In return, Subaru offered power and protection.

And as part of the deal, as a sign of “good faith,” Russell offered a gift. His most useful, disposable asset.

“The boy is yours,” Russell had said, clapping a hand on Otto’s shoulder like a farmer presenting a prized pig. “He’s clever. He’ll clean up your… operational overspill.”

Subaru’s eyes, old and tired in a young face, had scanned Otto. There was no malice in that gaze, only a cold, pragmatic assessment. “Fine. See that he does.”

And just like that, Otto Suwen became the personal “mess cleaner” for the most feared man in the kingdom.

His despair was bottomless. He had gone from a merchant to a slave, and now to a servant of the Devil. But a strange thing happened as he worked in the shadows of Subaru’s empire. He began to see the architect behind the monster.

Subaru was a strategist on a level Otto could scarcely comprehend. It wasn't just brutality; it was a terrifying, flawless calculus. Otto was tasked with erasing evidence, redirecting investigations, and ensuring that no loose end could ever lead back to Subaru or his ultimate goal: Destruction of Lugunica. He saw the plans unfold.How he killed the archbishops.The assassination of the 2 Candidates.The "miraculous" discovery of a plot against the candidate Priscilla about her being Vollachian royalty.
Every move was a piece on a grand board, and Subaru was playing both sides against the middle with a genius that bordered on clairvoyance.

Otto once dared to ask him, during a late night arranging false documents, “What if the Sword Saint himself comes for you? What then? No plan can account for that.”

Subaru had given him a wan, hollow smile. “Reinhard van Astrea is a weapon. And weapons are predictable. You don’t block a landslide; you divert it. Or you make sure you’re not standing where it will hit.” He spoke of the invincible Sword Saint not with fear, but with the weary familiarity of a man who had already calculated a thousand ways to evade him. Otto realized, with dawning horror, that Subaru’s plans did account for the Sword Saint. They accounted for everything. Failure was not an option he entertained.

The most chilling demonstration of this came months before the capital burned. Subaru called Otto into his study. “You have a sister, don’t you? In a village near the Flanders region.”

Otto’s blood ran cold. “Please… she has nothing to do with this.”

“I know,” Subaru said, not looking up from a map. “Take this money. Invent a family emergency. A rich, dying uncle in Kararagi. Get her, your parents, everyone you care about, and go to the city of Banan. Stay there for the next 2 months. Don’t tell anyone why. Not even Russell.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order. But there was something in Subaru’s tone—a strange, almost merciful finality. Otto, conditioned by now to obey the unspoken currents of Subaru’s will, did exactly as he was told. He fabricated the story, secured leave from a suspicious Russell, and evacuated his family.

He returned to the capital alone, a knot of dread in his stomach. He knew something cataclysmic was coming. Subaru was tying up every loose end. Otto just never imagined how literal that would be.

The day of the Great Fire, Otto was with Russell Fellow in a fortified counting house near the city's center. The sky turned orange. The screams began. Russell was panicking, trying to save his ledgers, his gold. “That madman! That devil! He’s burning it all down!”

Otto stood by a window, watching the world end. He felt a surreal calm. Subaru had known. He had known exactly what would happen, and he had given Otto a chance to save what mattered. It was a flicker of humanity in the heart of the apocalypse, and it confused Otto more than any of the Devil’s cruelties.

A burning support beam gave way, crashing through the ceiling. Russell Fellow, clutching a chest of jewels, was buried instantly. The sound was final. In the hellish glow, Otto Suwen looked at the body of his master. The contract was burned away. The debt was paid in ash.

He was free.

—

The following years were a blur of rebuilding. Otto used his sharp wits and the remnants of his merchant knowledge to carve a new life. He became a successful trader again, a man who had miraculously survived the Great Fire. He never spoke of Russell Fellow. He never spoke of Natsuki Subaru. He married, had a child, and built a life on the foundation of a secret debt he could never repay.

Maybe they could have been friends?

And then, he saw him.7 years after.

Otto was overseeing wool wagons, negotiating a price for Lagunican wool for a Kararagi-bound caravan.Then he approached A young man with white hair and a face same as pride. His voice was same as pride, his hair was wrong, but the way he gestured—a sharp, decisive chop of his hand—the cadence of his speech when he was trying to sound confident…

Otto’s blood turned to ice. His heart hammered against his ribs. It was impossible. He had seen the reports, heard the Queen herself confirm the Devil’s death.

The white-haired youth. For a single, fleeting moment, their eyes met.

There was no recognition in ‘Youth's gaze. Only the vague politeness of a stranger.

But Otto Suwen saw past it. He saw the ghost in the machine. The weary sharpness in those eyes was exactly the same. The architect of the fire was walking the earth again, disguised as a simple traveler.

"Sir! Are you leading a caravan to Kararagi?" The Youth asked

"Subaru Natsuki?" It was a choked whisper

The youth was panicking

"No, I'm not him! My name is Alcor"

Chapter Text

Guys i use ai to polish the work, correct mistakes, and details, at first I send my own work to ai so it analizes it then I'll ask it to do the things that I stated . With it if my Chapter was 3k words after ai it will be about 5k or more I'll use ai but, idea and plot scenes mine

Chapter Text

Otto Suwen was haggling with a wool supplier when a voice cut through the noise.

"Sir! Are you leading a caravan to Kararagi?"

He turned, a polite rebuttal on his lips, and his world froze.

The young man had white hair and a traveller's cloak. But the garment underneath—the one he wore like a second skin—was a faded black and yellow jersey with a zipper and coarse matching pants. A tracksuit.

Otto’s mind went blank. The wool merchant's words became meaningless static. His heart hammered against his ribs like a wild thing. He saw not a stranger, but a ghost clad in the most intimate, bizarre uniform of his nightmares. Only a handful of people in the entire world would recognize the significance of that outfit. He was one of them.

His professional composure shattered. The color drained from his face. He took an involuntary, stumbling step back, his hand flying out to brace himself against a nearby wagon. A strangled, breathy noise escaped him.

"You…" he whispered, the sound torn from the depths of his soul. His eyes were wide, locked on the tracksuit with a horror that was seven years fresh. He wasn't seeing a resemblance; he was witnessing a resurrection. His gaze snapped up to the face—the white hair a flimsy veil—and saw the same sharp, weary eyes. "It's… it's you."

He didn't shout the name. He breathed it, a cursed secret shared between them. "Natsuki Subaru."

The reaction was so visceral, so specific, it hit Alcor with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't a case of mistaken identity. This man wasn't reacting to a legend. He was reacting to him, to the clothes on his back, a detail no one should know.

Alcor stumbled back, panic seizing him. "No! I'm not him! My name is Alcor!"

«He's not lying about his shock!» Nyx's voice was a sharp, panicked chime. «His recognition is absolute! He knows you! He knows the clothes!»

That was the most terrifying part. The clothes. This man wasn't just seeing a face he remembered from wanted posters. He was recognizing a piece of clothing that had no business existing in this world, a piece of clothing that belonged exclusively to the Devil. The suspicion that had been a shadow in Alcor's mind now solidified into a cold, hard truth. This was proof.

Otto, seeing the sheer terror on Alcor's face, seemed to realize the cat was out of the bag in the most devastating way possible. There was no pretending this was a coincidence. He pushed off from the wagon, his movements jerky. He closed the distance between them in two quick strides, his voice dropping to a low, frantic whisper meant only for Alcor's ears.

"The tracksuit," Otto hissed, his eyes burning with intensity. "Only a few of us would know what it means. And if one of them sees you… If Reinhard sees you in that, he won't ask questions. He'll just kill you. Do you understand? He will cut you down where you stand."

He grabbed Alcor's arm, his grip like iron. "You want to get to Kararagi? To disappear? Then you will get in my wagon at dawn. But you will hide yourself.Never wear it where Reinhard can see.This is not a negotiation. It is the only way you walk out of capital alive."

He wasn't offering passage. He was issuing a desperate ultimatum. He was containing a walking secret that could get them both killed.

Alcor, trapped by the man's grip and the terrifying certainty in his eyes, could only give a shaky, mute nod.

Otto released his arm, his own hand trembling. He took a step back, his chest heaving. "Dawn. Western gate. The wagon with the blue flag."

He turned and walked away, not looking back.

—

Alcor didn't remember fleeing the market. He found himself in a deserted alley, his back pressed against the cold stone, sliding down until he sat on the filthy ground. He hugged his knees, staring at the grey fabric of his tracksuit pants.

"It's true, isn't it?" he whispered into the silence. "I'm him. I'm the Devil. I'm the one who… who burned everything."

The silence stretched. Then, Nyx's purple sphere pulsed softly in front of him, its light a gentle, steady glow in the dim alley. "The merchant believed it completely," Nyx said, its voice softer now, losing its sharp edge. "He knew about the clothes. It's… very likely."

Alcor squeezed his eyes shut, a sob catching in his throat. "Nyx… if I am him… if I really did all those horrible things…" He took a shuddering breath. "Does that… change anything? Between us?"

The spirit floated closer, its light pulsing gently, like a comforting heartbeat. "Oh, Subaru," Nyx said, its tone now warm and unwavering. "Look at me."

Subaru opened his tear-filled eyes.

"I am your spirit," Nyx said firmly. "I don't care about the person you might have been. I care about the person you are now. The person who shares his snacks with me, who named me, who treats me like family. That's the Subaru I made a contract with. Whatever happened in your past life... it doesn't change what we are now."

The words were an anchor in a storm-tossed sea. In a world that wanted to kill him for a past he couldn't remember, his companion judged him not on the ghost he might be, but on the person he was now.

A single, hot tear traced a path down his cheek, followed by another. He wasn't the Devil. But he was carrying the Devil's name, the Devil's face, and the Devil's sins. And the only one who didn't condemn him for it was a spirit who saw his true heart.

He looked down at the tracksuit. It was a death warrant. But it was also his last link to a home he couldn't go back. He would hide it, as Otto said. He would bury that part of himself deep, and step into the wagon at dawn, placing his fragile future in the hands of a man who looked at him and saw the end of the world.

The Lugunican sun beat down on the western gate, but Natsuki Subaru—no, Alcor—felt only a cold that seeped from his marrow. The cloak Otto had given him felt less like a disguise and more like a shroud. Beside him, the merchant in question, Otto Suwen, was a whirlwind of false cheer and sharp commands, his voice cutting through the morning bustle.

“—tighten that harness, you want it to slip in the ravine? And you! The food wagon goes in the middle, are you trying to feed bandits instead of my drivers?” Otto’s commands were efficient, his smile never quite reaching his anxious, blue-green eyes. He was a man of average build, grey hair tied back, looking every bit the harried but competent merchant. But Alcor saw the way those eyes, the color of a restless sea, flickered back to him every few seconds. A warden checking his most valuable, most dangerous prisoner.

«He’s incredibly stressed,» Nyx’s childlike voice chimed in Alcor’s mind, the purple spirit a hidden, pulsing warmth against his chest beneath his clothes. «But his focus on you isn’t hostile. It’s… calculating. Like you’re a complex ledger.»

[Calculating. Right. Because he knows I’m a bomb that could blow his entire world to hellish cinders. Again. But I’m not that bomb. I’m just a guy who bought the wrong cup ramen.]

Their departure was a blur of noise and motion. Just as Alcor thought he’d be sealed away in a dark wagon, Otto clapped a hand on his shoulder, the grip deceptively friendly and unshakably firm.

“Everyone!” Otto announced, his voice projecting a warmth Alcor knew was a lie. “This is Alcor. My new personal assistant and apprentice. He’s a bit quiet, so don’t overwhelm him. You listen to him as you’d listen to me.” He turned the friendly grip into a steer, pulling Alcor towards the lead wagon. “You’re with me. We have work to do.”

The claustrophobia was immediate and suffocating. Trapped in the open, under the sun and the gaze of two dozen strangers, was infinitely more terrifying than hiding in the shadows.

“Why?” Alcor hissed under his breath, the sound swallowed by the creak of wheels.

Otto didn’t look at him, his eyes scanning the road ahead. “A man hiding in a corner draws eyes. A man working in plain sight is invisible. You will stay by my side. Always. You will learn, you will help, and you will not give anyone a reason to look twice at you.” His tone was that of a master craftsman explaining a basic tool’s function. It was dehumanizing. “Think of it as your first lesson in survival.”

The first day was a special kind of torture. Otto forced a ledger into his hands. The numbers swam, the Lugunican script a tangled mess.

“The numbers, Alcor. They tell a story. This column is for tolls paid at the last bridge. Cross-reference it with the travel time. See the discrepancy?” Otto’s finger, calloused and stained with ink, tapped the page. “Someone’s pocketing the difference and blaming it on delays.”

Alcor, his head pounding, saw it. A simple pattern. “The third driver,” he mumbled, pointing. “His ‘delay’ reports always match the stolen toll amounts.”

Otto went very still. He looked from the ledger to Alcor’s face, his expression unreadable. “Yes. The third driver.” He leaned back. “He had a way with patterns, you know. My old business partner. Could see the lies woven into a spreadsheet as easily as reading a children’s book. A brilliant, twisted mind.”

The words were a poison dart. Alcor felt a chill, but he met Otto’s gaze. “It’s just numbers. Anyone could see it if they looked.”

“Could they?” Otto mused, not breaking eye contact. “I wonder.”

When Alcor successfully haggled for fresh apples at a waypoint, Otto remarked, “He had a way with words. Could convince a man the sky was green and make him thank you for the revelation. It was terrifying.”

“I just offered a fair price,” Alcor retorted, a edge of frustration in his voice. “That’s not strategy, it’s basic decency. Stop seeing his ghost in every shadow.”
When a wagon’s axle cracked and Alcor suggested a way to reinforce it with spare leather and rope, Otto observed, “He’d have engineered a solution from nothing. Saw connections and resources no one else could.”

“It’s common sense!” Alcor shot back, his patience wearing thin. “Or are you telling me this ‘Pride’ invented being practical?”

[He’s determined to paint me with that brush. Every time I breathe, it’s a reminder of that monster. But I’m not him. I won’t let him make me believe I am.]

«He’s telling the truth about the memories,» Nyx whispered, her presence a small comfort. «But he’s projecting them onto you. It’s not an observation; it’s a confession of his own trauma .»

The true torment began when the sun went down. After the campfire stories and the drivers had retired to their bedrolls, Otto would lead Alcor to the supply wagon under the pretense of taking inventory. In the cramped, dark space, surrounded by sacks of grain and crates, the interrogation began.

“Let’s review the day,” Otto would begin, his voice a low, relentless murmur in the near-darkness, lit only by a single, guttering lantern. “When that child ran in front of the wagon today, you grabbed the reins. Your first instinct. Why?”

Alcor, exhausted, didn’t shrink. “To stop. To not hit her. It’s what anyone would do.”

“Was it?” Otto pressed, his gaze intense in the flickering light. “Or was it a calculation? Preserving the asset of the wagon and its cargo, avoiding a messy scene that would draw attention? He was very good at reducing people to variables.”

“That’s a sick way to look at the world,” Alcor said, his voice flat. “And I’m not him.” He leaned forward, the shadows sharpening his features. “You keep talking about his ‘brilliant mind,’ but all I see is you, jumping at shadows. If he was so perfect, why are you so terrified of a memory? What did he do to you that you can’t let go?”

It was the first time Alcor had directly challenged the source of Otto’s fear. Otto blinked, thrown off balance. “What he did… he remade the world in fire. And I was there. I had a front-row seat.”

“Doing what?” Alcor pushed, his tone firm. “What was your job? You weren’t a soldier. You’re a merchant. What did he have you do? Manage his finances? Keep his books?”

Otto let out a short, harsh laugh. The sound was brittle in the small space. “Is that what you think? No. Nothing so clean.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, laced with old shame. “I was his mess cleaner. When his plans left… spillage. When there were bodies, or evidence, or witnesses that needed to become unlucky accidents. That was my duty. To make the problems he created disappear.”

The term hung in the air, ugly and final. Mess cleaner. Alcor felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. The reality of what Otto had lived through was far darker than he had imagined. He seized on the opening.

“And before him?” Alcor asked, his voice low but insistent. “You said you were given to him. Who owned you before that? What kind of man owns another man and just… gives him away?”

Otto looked away, into the dark corner of the wagon. The question had struck a nerve far more raw than those about Pride. “His name was Russell Fellow,” he said, the name a curse. “A merchant. The worst kind. He traded in anything that turned a profit, and people were just another commodity. I was young, ambitious, and I made a mistake. A single lost shipment, and my life was forfeit. I was property. And one day, my owner decided to gift his property to a more powerful partner.”

“So, you went from one monster to another,” Alcor stated, not with pity, but with a cold, clear understanding. “You’re so haunted by the architect you can’t see the chains you still carry. You keep trying to find the monster in me to justify the part you played for both of them. But I’m not him. The only thing I’m guilty of is having his face.”

The dynamic had shifted entirely. Alcor was no longer a suspect being grilled; he was a prosecutor presenting a new, unsettling theory: that Otto's obsession was a form of penance for his own past actions, a desperate attempt to prove he had served a uniquely evil master to justify his own survival.

You’re so haunted by him that you see his reflection in a puddle of water.” He looked Otto dead in the eye. “I am not The Devil of Pride. I don’t know him. I don’t have his memories, his goals, or his sins. The only thing connecting me to him is your testimony and this face. And I am getting very tired of being punished for a crime I don’t remember committing.”

Otto stared at him, the lantern light dancing in his wide eyes. The relentless prosecutor finally had no retort. The boy in front of him wasn’t a broken ghost; he was a person, defiantly asserting his own existence.

He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, he reached over, uncorked a waterskin, and placed it gently on the sack next to Alcor. “Drink,” he said, his voice stripped of its earlier sharpness. It was just tired.

The next morning, everything was different. Otto’s demeanor had shifted. The aggressive prosecutor was gone, replaced by a grim archivist of a painful history.

As they rode, the only sound the rumble of wheels, Otto began to speak. Not with accusations, but with the heavy tone of a man recounting a disaster he’d narrowly survived.

“I was in debt slavery,” he started, his eyes on the horizon. “To a monster named Russell Fellow. He traded in anything that turned a profit, legal or not. I was young, ambitious, and I made a mistake. A single lost shipment of Kararagi spices, and my life was forfeit.” He spoke now not because he was forced, but because Alcor had earned the right to hear it. “One day, Russell gave me to him. I became Natsuki Subaru’s ‘mess cleaner.’” Otto’s voice was flat. “I saw it all. The plans. The cold, flawless calculus that saw people as pawns. I believed I was serving a devil.”

He glanced at Alcor, who listened silently, no longer interrupting.
“Then,one day, he called me in. He told me my sister’s name. The village she lived in. He told me to take his money, invent a story, and get my entire family to the city of Banan. He told me to stay there for two months.” Otto’s knuckles were white where he gripped the wagon’s seat. “He gave the order with the same tone he used to order an assassination. No emotion. Just… fact. I obeyed. I saved them.”

He finally turned to look directly at Alcor, his expression one of profound, exhausted confusion.
“The Great Fire happened.Russell Fellow died. I was free. My family was alive because of a warning from the architect of the apocalypse.” He let out a shaky breath. “He was a monster. But he saved my family. That debt is a chain around my neck. I look at you, and I don’t see that monster. I see a boy. And I realize my debt… it now extends to you.”

Alcor absorbed this, the full, tragic picture of the man beside him finally coming into focus. “You don’t owe me anything,” Alcor said quietly. “But thank you for telling me.”

The rest of the journey passed in a different kind of silence. It was heavy, but not hostile. Otto stopped testing him. He started teaching him—genuinely. How to spot quality wool, how to judge the temperament of a ground dragon, how to speak to border guards. It was the education of a merchant, a trade, a normal life.

And then, they were there.

The border river gleamed in the sunlight, separating the verdant, haunted landscape of Lugunica from the arid, open plains of Kararagi. The air itself felt different—lighter, free from the spectral weight of a million ghosts.

At the crossroads, Otto handed Alcor a heavy pouch. “Your stake. As agreed.”

Alcor took it, the coins feeling like the weight of a potential future. “Thank you! I think your debt is paid” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

Otto shook his head, a faint, weary smile touching his lips. “No. It’s not. A debt like that is never fully paid. But it is for now.” His expression grew serious. “Remember this. You are not Pride. You are Alcor. You carry his shadow, but you write your own story. Do not let his past become your future. The world here doesn’t know your face. Use that.”

Alcor met his gaze, the self-doubt still a familiar chill in his gut, but now joined by a fragile, newfound resolve. “I know.”

He watched as Otto’s caravan, the last tether to the hell of his past, turned and began its journey back towards Lugunica. He was alone. Truly alone, save for the spirit nestled against his heart.

He opened his bag and looked inside. There, folded neatly, was the black and orange tracksuit. The last relic of a home he, the uniform of a devil. He didn’t see a death warrant anymore. Nor did he see a comfort. He saw a reminder. A headstone for the person he was, and a warning for the person he could become.

He closed the bag. He turned his back on the kingdom of Lugunica, on the ghost of a devil. Taking a deep breath of the foreign Kararagi air, Natsuki Subaru, now and forever Alcor, took his first step into an unwritten future. The road ahead was his, and his alone, to define.

Chapter Text

The air of Kararagi was a peculiar brew—a mélange of sizzling street food, incense from roadside shrines, and the faint, ever-present scent of ozone that clung to spirit arts users. To Natsuki Subaru, now known only as Alcor, it was both alien and disconcertingly familiar. The Wafuu architecture, with its wooden lattices and tiled roofs, the people gliding by in kimonos and zori… it felt less like a fantasy world and more like a historical reenactment populated by extras from a high-budget anime. He half-expected a samurai to round the corner, only to be met with a cat-eared woman haggling over the price of fish.

It was a feeling that gnawed at him, this cultural dissonance. It couldn't be a coincidence. This "Japaneseness" had to be a stain, a footprint left by someone like him, another poor soul dragged through the great waterfall. The thought was a cold stone in his gut, a reminder that he was not a pioneer, but merely the latest in a long, likely tragic, line.

[Alcor: I'm sorry, Nyx. It went awful. I tried my best, but it was just awful...]

His shoulders slumped as he replayed the morning's failed attempts to mimic the local Kansai-like dialect. Each mangled phrase had earned him nothing but confused or pitying stares.

A purple sphere of light, visible, pulsed with amusement near his ear. «Why are you even trying to talk like them? You sound like a dying frog trying to recite poetry.»

-"Well, I know I'm not good," Alcor muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, "but you know what they say, 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do'. I'm doing my best to fit in as soon as possible. I can't stick out more than I already do."

The streets of Banan, the second-largest town in Kararagi and the cradle of this Wafuu style, should have felt like a welcome reprieve from the Gothic spires and overt hostility of Lugunica. But instead, it just felt… off. It was a pale imitation, a fantasy cosplaying as his homeland, and the uncanny valley effect was stronger than he'd anticipated.

he whispered to himself, his voice barely a breath, "——It feels like the Edo Period, or going back a bit forward, the Meiji Era and Taisho Era."

He coughed, the sound swallowed by the din of the marketplace. He saw buildings constructed with wood lined up neatly, stores with their sliding doors wide open, inviting and yet isolating. The people wore their Wasou with a natural grace he could never hope to emulate. Among them, beast-humans of all kinds moved with an ease he envied. They belonged. He was a ghost in a borrowed cloak, the enchanted grey fabric from Old Man Gerth a constant, bittersweet weight on his shoulders. Gratitude for the old man's kindness warred with a sickening guilt. [If he knew it was me… the other me… the one who set his world on fire…]

[Alcor: It's like people in a fantasy cosplaying. Well, the material is nice so it looks good on everyone, and it all comes together perfectly, though.]

The thought was a hollow comfort. He and Nyx had arrived in Kararagi just two days prior, the heavy pouch of coins from Otto Suwen a tangible link to another life, another self. The money would keep them afloat for months, a fact for which he was endlessly grateful. But they hadn't come here for sanctuary alone. The true purpose of their journey was a pull, an invisible string tied to his very soul, leading east. Nyx had confirmed it—the faint, persistent thrum of a spirit contract, one he had no memory of making. A Great Spirit, powerful enough to shake nations, was inexplicably bound to him. Their goal was to find it.

"Al! You know we should go to the Public Employment Security Office that mutt told us about."

Nyx's voice, a petulant chime in his mind, snapped him from his reverie. Alcor frowned. "Hal-san isn't a mutt, be a little nicer to him, Nyx! We don't want to have to go searching for a different apartment. We have to buy me some local outfits, too."

He picked up his grey cloak, swinging it over his shoulders. As the familiar fabric settled, he felt a phantom touch of the old man's hand, a memory of undeserved compassion that both warmed and chilled him.

Just as he and his spectral companion stepped out of their tenement house and into the bustling street, a familiar, languid voice called out.

[Halibel: What’s wrong, Al-san? You’re walking with a serious look…what a scary face!]

[Alcor: Don’t be so rude about people’s serious looks……]

Alcor turned to face the speaker, his frown deepening. The man was a study in casual insolence.

[Alcor: With that dog face, you must be Hal-san. Don’t startle me.]

[Halibel: “A dog face”. Don’t put it that way. I’m a wolf, of the dog family.]

The demi-human, Halibel, was tall and lean, a head taller than Alcor. He was clad in a simple black kimono, a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of the street. His wolf-like features were sharp, but his eyes were perpetually narrowed into amused slits, giving him a fox-like cunning. A golden kiseru was clamped between his teeth, a wisp of sweet-smelling smoke curling into the air. He was their neighbor and the self-proclaimed manager of the tenement house, a title that seemed to involve a lot of napping and very little managing.

[Halibel: You look like you want to say, “If you’re not a dog, then you’re a fox”. Al-san, you just don’t know when to stop, do you?]

[Alcor: Don’t make complaints based on people’s looks. I really was thinking that, though.]

[Halibel: I am neither a Kobold nor a Fox. I’m a Wolf. We are a rare species on the verge of extinction, so don’t make that mistake. It kinda feels like I’m carrying the pride of our kind.]

Alcor highly doubted the pride of an entire species, especially one on the verge of extinction, should be entrusted to someone with Halibel's napping habits. He was friendly, sure, but trust was a currency Alcor was bankrupt of.

[Alcor: I can’t chat with you right now. I’m burning with the will to become a hero. Don’t get in my way.]

[Halibel: Come on, Al-san, that sure is a cold way to greet me. I’m really depressed, so stop it. Besides, even if you’re burning with the will to be a hero, you don’t have any power. It’s just cinders.]

[Alcor: I’m also really depressed, so can you not!?]

His voice cracked, the truth of Halibel's words striking a nerve. The wolf-man simply chuckled, the kiseru bobbing as he exhaled a plume of smoke.

[Halibel: Go ahead and get more and more depressed.]

[Alcor: You don't know anything about me! If I wanted to, I could beat you up!]

It was an empty boast, and they both knew it. Alcor’s shoulders slumped in dejection. Halibel let out a hearty, "Harharhar!" at his expense.

[Alcor: Did you come here to make fun of me? Or did you come here to cheer me up?]

[Halibel: We’re both jobless, and I thought we could have a pity party or something.]

[Alcor: No way! I need my heroic adventures. Maybe I have to save some silver-haired damsel in distress.]

He shook off Halibel’s attempt to sling a comradely arm over his shoulder, rejecting the notion of a shared failure. Besides, Halibel wasn't truly jobless. He was a "manager," a fact that only deepened Alcor's frustration.

[Alcor: Basically, Hal-san is a dazzling being out of my reach.]

[Halibel: Don’t say something so sad; we can be friends. It’s true that I can get money just by lying down all day and playing with the frayed spots of my kimono, but putting that aside, I think it’s precious how Al-san is working hard to get strong? Isn’t it just lovely? You're maybe the 3rd spirit arts user I've ever seen.]

[Alcor: Shut up, you slacker! ……Actually, who did you go to to become a manager?]

[Halibel: Hmm, sorry to disappoint, but I just happened to be acquaintances with the owner of the tenement house. With that connection, I was able to be a couch potato……Sorry, Al-san, I’m a winner.]

[Alcor: Damn you!!]

Alcor hissed, a genuine spark of anger flaring in his chest. Personal connections. It was always about who you knew. In this world and his last, he, Natsuki Subaru, was a master of having none. The only people who "knew" him here were a Sword Saint who wanted him dead and a cult that worshipped a phantom of his own sin.

[Alcor: ──And so, I came to the public employment security office to start my heroic journey.]

He declared this to no one in particular, a mantra to steel his resolve as he arrived at his destination.

The employment agency was a modest, single-story wooden building tucked away from the main thoroughfares. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of old paper and ink. Help-wanted posters and bounty notices papered the walls, a tapestry of desperation and opportunity. Behind a reception desk sat a man who was less a man and more a mountain of scales—a lizardman of such impressive girth he resembled a bipedal toad, a fact accentuated by the cute, frilly apron he wore over his kimono.
____________________
[Crane: ──Ugh! Welcome]

The greeting was less enthusiastic and more of a pained grunt. The lizardman, Crane Donahue, owner of the town-approved agency, looked up at Alcor with undisguised annoyance.

[Alcor: Umm, hello, sir. Are there any jobs that suit a spirit arts user?]

[Crane: You're a spirit arts user? Wait please, young man.]

Crane’s demeanor shifted from bored to mildly intrigued. His large, reptilian eyes scanned Alcor up and down, assessing his cheap tracksuit and youthful face with clear skepticism.

[Crane: How strong do you think you are? Can you do some dirty work?]

[Alcor: Er, well, you see, I'm not totally into dirty work, but I'll see.]

[Crane: Hmm, a job for a Spirit Arts user… we have a couple. Dangerous ones. Can you manage? You look so young.]

Alcor was about to protest when Crane’s eyes drifted past him, widening in recognition. A sycophantic smile spread across his broad face.

[Crane: Oh! It’s Halibel! Sorry for not contacting you for quite a while!]

[Halibel: Oh, it’s fine, don’t worry. I just came to check on Al-san’s future.]

Alcor looked between the suddenly obsequious Crane and the lazily smiling Halibel, his brow furrowed.

[Alcor: You know this playboy?]

[Halibel: Playboy! Playboy! Why does it have such a lovely ring to it? From now on, I’ll be calling myself ‘The Eternal Playboy’. Does it sound good? Does it sound bad?]

[Alcor: What’s bad is that you actually like it.]

As Alcor quipped, he watched Crane visibly sweat, his large hands wringing the edge of his apron.

[Crane: Dimwit……I mean, Mr.! I don't know your name, but you made it big. I knew you could do it.]

[Alcor: You can’t just blatantly change the way you treat someone!]

[Crane: Well, of course I’m going to use ‘Mr.’. Who do you think Mr. Halibel i……]

Crane cut himself off, a look of sheer panic flashing in his eyes. He coughed, looking away.

[Crane: Mr. Halibel is, you know……a─an eternal playboy.]

[Alcor: He got that name just a second ago.]

[Crane: Anyway! Moving on! So what’s the matter? How can I refer you, Mr.?]

[Alcor: Alcor. Just Alcor will be fine. So, is there any job for a Spirit Arts user?]

[Crane: Of course, Mr. Alcor! Let me see.]

Crane busied himself scanning the bulletin board, a clear attempt to regain composure. Alcor’s eyes drifted over the wall of postings. Monster exterminations, bodyguard details, courier missions to hostile territories… each one seemed to scream 'certain death' in its own special way.

[Alcor: If I accept exterminating a dragon and fail, your reputation would be damaged as the one who got me the job.]

[Crane: I would never ask you to do that, and I’d leave the country once something like dragon extermination was announced.]

[Halibel: If it was in an empire, I’d exterminate a dragon with pleasure. If you have a good plan to kill it, you might even defeat the kingdom’s God Dragon. Then you could take the country and……]

[Alcor: Oh! Crane! That’s it! Let me check out that ‘Zarestia Bed Search’!]

Alcor’s voice cut through Halibel's dangerous musings. He strode to the wall and dramatically snatched a particular poster, reading its contents aloud.

[Alcor: Let’s see… “Recruiting investigators for the bed of the Great Spirit Zarestia! The habitat of the Great Spirit that has been a mystery for many years ─ the time has come to recruit members to explore it! Working conditions are negotiable, and the reward depends on results!” This! This……this doesn’t sound good at all……]

[Crane: Why are you talking so loudly to yourself, Mr.! Also, I’ll be putting that back. Give it back here, please.]

As Alcor’s eyes glazed over at the sheer suicidal audacity of the offer, Crane snatched the poster back. He glanced at it and grunted.

[Crane: I forgot to take this off. Applications closed quite a while ago. It’s just a crappy recruitment form I left on there just because I was told to do so. Just forget about it.]

[Alcor: Did it actually happen?]

The idea of a group of people willingly marching into the lair of a Great Spirit was insane. According to Nyx, each one was a natural disaster given consciousness.

[Crane: There are a lot more idiots in this world than you think, Mr.]

The blunt reply sent a fresh wave of depression through Alcor. He hoped those daredevils had, at least, died quickly. Seeing his expression, Crane misinterpreted his despair for determination. He tapped a claw on his apron.

[Crane: So…….I really don’t know if I should give you this……!]

[Alcor: So you’re saying you have a job that’s better than pretty much suicide!?]

[Crane: Actually, you know what? Take a look at this!]

Crane handed him another, slightly less weathered poster. Alcor took it and read: "Great Spirit of Fire has been located near the borderlines of the east. We recruit members to investigate it. Working conditions are negotiable, and the reward depends on results!"

His breath hitched. The East. The pull.

«Al,» Nyx's voice was a sharp, excited whisper in his mind. «Wait a minute. The pulse… it's coming from the east. Could it be… my spirit?»

«Take the mission, Al. We'll see. But I'm pretty sure it's him. Or her.»

Alcor looked up, his earlier despair replaced by a flicker of desperate hope. This wasn't just a job; it was a thread leading directly to the mystery shackled to his soul.

Crane: "So?"

Alcor: "I'll take it."

Halibel, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "Al-san, are you sure? It's a hard mission. If you die, we can't resurrect you."

The words were a bucket of ice water. They slammed into Alcor, dragging up visceral memories—the searing pain of a knife in his back, the crushing finality of Reinhard's grip on his throat. Return by Death. If he died on this mission, where would he respawn? Back at that damned apple stand? Was there a limit to his cheat-code? Would the next death be his last?

A cold sweat beaded on his temple. But the pull from the east was a siren's call, a promise of power, of an answer, of maybe, just maybe, a way to survive in this world on his own terms. He couldn't back down now. He had to believe he would make it.

He forced a confident smile onto his face, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Trust me, Hal-san. I'm sure."

Crane shrugged his massive shoulders. "I mean, sure. You just have to wait here for now. The one who put the sign up said that she would be back in the evening."

Alcor nodded, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He had taken the first step. The road east stretched out before him, a path leading toward a fiery spirit, unknown dangers, and the ghost of the man he might have been.

Chapter Text

There was a silence in the forest that was not merely an absence of sound, but a presence. It was the silence of deep roots and older magic, a hush woven into the very air of the hidden elven enclave. Here, among the trees that whispered secrets in a language only they understood, children were born without names.

To receive a name was to be gifted an ego, a self. And a self was a barrier to the sacred art, the dream-technique that was their clan’s legacy and their burden. It was a delicate, terrifying magic—the ability to walk the gossamer threads of memory, to gentle nightmares, to reshape the landscapes of the mind. To do so, one had to be a clear pool, reflecting the dreams of others without the ripples of one’s own desire to distort the image. They were taught to be vessels, empty and still.

The girl who would one day be called Shion was one such vessel. For fifteen years, she was simply a presence, a pair of wide, observant eyes in a face as pale and smooth as moonlight on bark. She learned the meditative forms, the subtle hand gestures that could pluck a memory like a fruit from a branch. She practiced the art of unwinding herself, of becoming so still inside that she could feel the dreams of the sleeping sparrows in their nests. She was good. She was diligent.

But she was not empty.

A secret, fragile ego had taken root in the silence of her heart. A longing to be more than a vessel, a desire to have a story that was hers alone. She would watch the named adults, her parents included, and see the subtle weight of their identities in the set of their shoulders, the light in their eyes. She craved that weight. It was this tiny, stubborn seed of self that doomed her.

The final test was conducted in the Grove of Whispers. Under the gaze of the elders, she was to enter the dream of a captured nightmare beast—a creature whose mind was a tempest of fear and rage—and calm it into eternal slumber without leaving a single trace of her own consciousness behind.

She knelt. She breathed. She reached out with her spirit, and for a moment, she was the clear pool. She felt the beast’s chaotic dreams, a storm of red and black. She began to weave a lullaby of peace, her will a gentle pressure smoothing the jagged edges of its terror.

And then, the thought surfaced, unbidden and triumphant: I am doing it. I am succeeding.

It was a ripple. A single, selfish thought.

The beast’s dream-mind, sensitive to any foreign presence, recoiled violently. The lullaby shattered. The psychic backlash threw her physically from the grove, her small body slamming against the trunk of an ancient tree. The beast, now driven to greater madness, had to be put down by the elders, its death a stain on their peaceful creed.

The judgment was swift. She had failed. She had polluted the sacred technique with her ego. The punishment was not death—that would be a recognition of a self that had no right to exist. The punishment was exile. She was cast out from the only home she had ever known, not as a person, but as a broken tool, still nameless, her fifteen years of life rendered meaningless.

Alone in the vast, terrifying world, the girl stumbled through forests she did not know. The silence that had once been sacred was now a crushing loneliness. Hunger gnawed at her, and fear, a emotion she had only ever felt secondhand in the dreams of others, became her constant companion.

It was this fear that led the slavers to her. Rough hands seized her. A sack was thrown over her head. The world became darkness, the jostling of a cart, and the smell of unwashed bodies and despair. In that pitch-black terror, the training of a lifetime evaporated. The stillness shattered. The vessel broke.

She was no longer a clear pool, but a stormy ocean. And from the depths of that ocean, a new voice surfaced, sharp, desperate, and fiercely possessive.

I don’t want to die.

It was not her thought. It was… other.

As one of the slavers, a man with a cruel smile and rotten breath, leaned in to inspect his new property, the girl began to weep, her body shaking uncontrollably.

“Please,” she sobbed, her voice a ragged thing. “I don't want to die. I don't want to die.”

The slaver laughed, a harsh, grating sound. But then, his laughter died in his throat. The girl’s sobs had ceased abruptly. Her head lifted, though the sack still covered it. The posture of her body changed, the cowering fear replaced by a wire-taut tension.

From within the sack, a new voice spoke. It was still her vocal cords, but the cadence was different—oflatter, laced with a chilling pragmatism. It was the voice of the survival instinct, given form and will. It

You are tired,” she" said, her words not a plea, but a statement of fact. “Your limbs are heavy as stone. The fire is so warm. You haven’t slept in a long, long time.”

"She "wasn’t just speaking." She" was pushing. "She" was using the dream-technique not as a healing art, but as a weapon. "She "reached into the slaver’s mind, past his lust and his cruelty, to the base, animal part of his brain that understood exhaustion." She" didn't create a dream;" she" imposed a waking one. "She" poured the sensation of leaden limbs and overwhelming drowsiness directly into his nervous system.

The man blinked, confusion warring with the foreign sensation suddenly flooding his body. “Wha… what sorcery is this…?” he slurred, his grip loosening.

“No sorcery,” she" cooed, her voice a hypnotic lullaby. “Just truth. Your eyes are so heavy. You can barely keep them open. Sleep now. Just for a moment. It’s safe to sleep.”

"She" reinforced the command, weaving a tapestry of false security and profound weariness. The man’s head nodded forward. His weight settled on her, but now it was the dead weight of sudden, irresistible slumber. A deep, guttural snore escaped his lips.

In an instant, "she "was moving. "She" shoved the unconscious bulk off her, her movements efficient and devoid of the girl’s former fragility." She" didn’t look back at her would-be violator. He was already a solved problem, a piece of scenery. Her only goal was distance.

"She" fled into the night, purposeful energy driving her legs, until the camp was far behind. She scrambled up a rocky outcrop, lungs burning, and risked a look back toward the distant, hidden valley that had once been her home.

And " she" saw it.

A hellish glow on the horizon. Orange tongues of fire licking at the stars. The slavers, perhaps enraged by her escape or following some other vile design, had found her village. The ancient, silent trees were now a pyre. The home that had exiled her was being erased from the world.

A sound wrenched itself from her throat—a raw, broken thing that was part sob, part gasp. It was the sound of the last bridge to her past collapsing into ash.

In that cataclysmic moment, as the survivor, solidified her control within their shared mind, a name surfaced. It was not a gift. It was a verdict. A label for the hollowed-out creature that remained, for the grave of the life that was now burning before her eyes. It was the name of the one who had been broken so that "she"could be born.

The world after the fire was a cold, sharp place. Survival was no longer an abstract concept whispered by "her" from the depths of their mind; it was the daily, grinding reality. The girl without a name.

__________________________________________

Her first few months were a blur of stolen fruit, hiding in ditches, and the constant, gnawing hunger. The dream-technique, once a sacred art, became a tool for petty theft. She would brush against the mind of a market vendor, planting a fleeting distraction—a memory of a dropped coin, a sudden worry about a child—long enough to snatch a loaf of bread. It was a desecration, and each time she felt a piece of her soul flake away. But "her" voice was a cold comfort in these moments: We eat. Or we die. There is no third option.

It was this ruthless pragmatism that led her to the shadowy door of the Assassins Guild. She wasn't a fighter, not in the physical sense. But she was a ghost who could walk through walls of memory and make locks forget their purpose. Her first contract was a nervous nobleman who wanted a rival’s trade documents altered. She didn’t steal them; she spent a night in the inn next door, slipped into the rival’s dreams, and subtly twisted the key financial figures in his memory. The man woke up believing his business was failing and sold it for a pittance.

The Guild took notice. Her methods were clean, untraceable, and left no blood—physical blood, at least. She became known as "The Weeper," for the single, unconscious tear that would often trace a path down her cheek during a job, the only protest her original self could muster.

It was this unique skillset that drew the attention of a… different kind of client. The message came not on parchment, but through a dream—a cloying, perfumed, and utterly invasive dream that felt like being smothered in silk. It was an invitation, or perhaps a summons, from the Sin Archbishop of Lust, Capella Emerada Lugunica.

The meeting was held in a gilded cage of a manor. Capella, a horrifying, mesmerizing spectacle of fluid flesh, found the hollowed-out weapon fascinating.

"A little doll whose strings are tangled!" Capella had crooned. "You don't even know who holds them, do you? You are a perfect portrait of self-loathing! You shall be one of my children meatbag. My little broken toy."

The girl could only bow. To refuse was death, or worse, a reshaping into one of Capella's mindless "children." This was simply another layer of survival.
_________________________________
Her missions grew darker. She didn't just alter memories; she erased them. She didn't just plant distractions; she crafted full-blown paranoias that drove targets to madness or suicide. Each job was a stain, and Shion felt herself becoming a canvas of blackness. The friendly, hopeful part of her was buried so deep she wondered if it had ever existed at all.

Then came the mission with Elsa Granhiert.The Bowel Hunter

The contract was vague, sourced through the Guild but carrying the distinct, perfumed stink of Capella's influence. She was to assist the "Bowel Hunter" in the acquisition of a certain key from a noble household in Lugunica. Elsa was the blade; She was the silence that would allow her to work.

The details of that night were… gone.

It wasn't like a forgotten memory. It was a black hole in her psyche, a void with jagged edges. She remembered meeting Elsa—the beautiful, deadly woman with a terrifying warmth in her violet eyes. She remembered the scent of blood and old wood. And then… nothing. A gap. A scream of static in her mind.

When she awoke, she was miles away, her clothes clean, her dagger spotless, but her soul feeling violently scrubbed. The only thing that remained was a voice. Not Elsa's, not Capella's. A new voice, echoing in the empty chamber the mission had left behind.

It was a young man's voice, laced with a strange, upbeat desperation. And it spoke words that made no sense, yet felt more real and familiar than her own name.

"Isekai protogonist huh…" the voice sighed in her memory.
"Just Like a true NEET!"
"It's like something out of a rom-com…"
"This is the final boss."

The words— "isekai," "NEET," "rom-com," "final boss"—were alien. They were loanwords, but not from any language in this world. They felt like… home. A home she had never known.

In the wake of that nothingness, two things emerged with crystal clarity, as if they had always been there.

The first was a name. "Her" name.

Shion.

It felt right. It felt like her. It was the name for the one who carried the weight, the one who smiled with borrowed warmth and navigated the waking world.

The second was the awareness of the other. The cold, pragmatic presence that had guided her survival was no longer a nameless instinct. It had an identity, a resonance.

Lilac.

They did not question these names. They did not remember receiving them. The names were simply fact, emerging from the amniotic silence of the lost mission, the only solid artifacts salvaged from the void. They were labels for the two souls sharing one vessel, a fundamental truth that required no origin story.

"Lilac," Shion would whisper internally, feeling the presence shift in response. "What do we do now?"

The response was not in words, but in a wave of cool focus, a survivalist's assessment. They were a team now, more defined than ever.

____________________________________

The following months were a curriculum in cruelty, taught by a mother whose love was a whetstone for suffering. The lesson was seared into Shion’s soul during a mission to eliminate a minor noble. She hesitated. Not out of mercy for the man, but from a sudden, paralyzing flash of the girl she had been in the elven enclave—the one who believed in stillness and peace. That single moment of weakness was all it took for the noble’s guards to intervene, and the mission failed.

Mother’s response was not anger. It was a delighted, artistic fervor.

"Oho? My little meatbag forgot how to be useful?" Capella’s voice had purred, a sound of oily malignancy. "Don't worry, Mama will remind you~! Let's see what you look like on the inside!"

The world dissolved into an agony beyond comprehension. It was not mere pain; it was the utter unraveling of self. Bones lost their purpose, flesh its form. She was a screaming, conscious mound of meat, a lump of sensory torment with only a single, unblinking eye and a lipless mouth to voice a silent, endless scream. In that form, there was no Shion, no Lilac—only a raw, exposed nerve of existence, and the only thought it could form was a plea for the final, black silence of death.

After an eternity measured in heartbeats of pure horror, her original form was restored as capriciously as it had been taken. She collapsed on the cold floor, gasping, whole again but forever fractured.

Capella leaned over her, a vision of beautiful malice. "There, there, my precious little failure. See how kind Mama is? I could have left you as a rug~! Now, remember this lesson, meatbag. Disappoint Mama again, and next time... you'll stay as my new favorite paperweight."

The thought of escape was a ghost that haunted every one of Mother's children, a terrifying dream quickly stifled. To run was to be hunted. To be caught was to become a living monument to her displeasure—a frog, a chair, a screaming knot of flesh forever.

When two of Mother's most prized assets—the peerless assassin Elsa and the beast-tamer Meili—vanished without a trace, the cage shook with Capella's wrath. "My beautiful weapons! My beloved daughters! How dare they hide their love from me!" she shrieked, her form flickering through a gallery of nightmares. The order was absolute: find them.

Shion was dispatched as part of a large hunting party, her dream-arts meant to track their psychic residue.

The journey was a silent, grim procession. The cave mouth loomed like a jagged wound in the earth, exuding an aura of cold foreboding. As they ventured inside, the darkness was broken by the flickering light of torches, revealing a subterranean network of tunnels that served as a stronghold.

They hadn't gone far when a group of black-robed figures emerged from the shadows, blocking their path. These were no mere fanatics; these were disciplined witch cultists , their eyes burning with a cold, intellectual fervor. Their leader, a stern-faced man with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward, ready to issue a challenge.

But then his eyes fell upon Lye and Roy.

The change was instantaneous. The defiance melted away, replaced by sheer, unadulterated awe. The scarred man dropped to one knee, bowing his head deeply. Behind him, his entire contingent followed suit, a wave of obeisance rippling through the cavern. The reverence was not for Capella, not for their mission—it was for the sacred office of the Sin Archbishop.

"We... we did not know you were gracing this humble place, Your Eminences," the scarred man stammered, his voice filled with reverence. "To what do we owe the honor of hosting the Archbishops of Gluttony?"

Roy giggled, the sound echoing unnervingly in the cavern. "We're looking for Mother's runaways, tsu! Elsa and Meili! Are they here?"

Before the cultist could answer, a new voice, calm and laced with a familiar, terrifying authority, cut through the damp air.

"Now, now. Causing a scene in my home, and interrogating my followers? I expect this from the slut of Lust's rabid dogs, but from my fellow Archbishops? I'm a little disappointed."

From a deeper tunnel, he emerged. He wore robes of a sin archbishop, his black hair messy, his eyes holding that ancient, weary sharpness that belied his youth. He didn't walk with menace, but with an air of absolute ownership.

The kneeling cultists bowed even deeper, their foreheads nearly touching the stone floor. "Lord Pride!" they chanted in unison.

Pride ignored them, his gaze fixed on Lye and Roy. He offered a thin, cold smirk.

"Lye. Roy. A pleasure, as always. I assume the whore sent you to fetch her toys?" He didn't wait for an answer. "You can tell her that her property has been repossessed. They now belong to me. And as per the covenants that even she wouldn't dare break, what one Archbishop claims, another cannot touch." He tilted his head, his eyes glinting. "Or would you two like to explain to the Witch why you started a fight over a run away assasins?"

The silence was absolute. Roy and Lye exchanged a look. The fervent obedience of the cultists, the unshakeable calm of Pride, the weight of the Cult's ancient laws—it was a checkmate.

"...We are leaving, then," Lye said, his usual sing-song tone flattened into resignation. "Mother will be... very unhappy with you, tsu." Roy finished.

He turned, and Lye followed with a disappointed pout. The Lust assassins needed no further orders; they retreated quickly, the confrontation having ended without a single blow being struck. Shion fled with them, her mind a whirlwind. As she glanced back one last time, she saw Pride standing amidst his prostrate followers, his expression one of utter boredom, as if the entire affair had been a minor inconvenience.

---__________________________

The return to the guild was a march of the condemned. The air in the ornate hall was colder than the cave they had just fled, thick with the scent of fear and old blood. They had failed. The weight of that single word pressed down on them, heavier than any chains.

Capella was waiting on her grotesque throne of fused flesh and precious metal. She was perfectly still, a vision of beautiful, contained fury. Her eyes, like polished gemstones of pure malice, tracked them as they entered. She noted the missing Lye with a flicker of annoyance, but her gaze settled on Roy and the rest of the assassins.

"Well?" she purred, the sound dripping with false sweetness. "Where are my lovely daughters? Where is the proof of your… devotion?"

Roy, for once, was not smiling. "Mother… the Archbishop of Pride… he claimed them. He cited the ancient rules—"

"Rules?" Capella’s voice sliced through his explanation, sharp enough to draw blood. "You come back to me empty-handed, and you dare speak to me of rules?"

Her form shimmered, flesh rippling. In a blink, she was no longer a beautiful woman but a towering monstrosity of teeth and claws, her voice a guttural roar. "You let that arrogant, black-haired vermin make fools of you! Of ME!"

She pointed a single, elongating claw at Roy. "You first, my hungry little boy. You need to learn what true hunger feels like!"

Roy’s eyes widened in terror. "Mother, please—!"

His plea turned into a choked gurgle as his body began to warp. His limbs twisted and contracted, his robes dissolving into his changing flesh. His form shrank, his skin turning a mottled green, his mouth stretching into a wide, frothing grin. Within seconds, where the Sin Archbishop of Gluttony had stood, a single, large frog now sat, its throat pulsating with silent, panicked croaks.

The other assassins stared, paralyzed with horror.

"But a lesson for one is a lesson wasted on the many!" Capella shrieked, her form shifting back to its beautiful state, though her eyes burned with hellfire. She gestured dismissively at the remaining assassins.

Their screams were a symphony of agony as their bodies were un-made and re-forged. One man’s legs fused into a single, fleshy pillar. Another’s arms elongated into useless, boneless tentacles. A third was turned inside out, a screaming, pulsing mass of organs that somehow still lived, a living anatomy lesson in torment. The hall echoed with their muffled, inhuman cries.

Shion stood frozen, waiting for her own transformation, her mind screaming for Lilac. But Capella’s gaze passed over her, for now.

She knelt, picking up the frog that was Roy, stroking its slimy back with a single finger. "There, there, my child. Think about your failure in there. Think about how you disappointed Mama."

She dropped him, and the frog hopped frantically in a circle, confused and terrified.

Then she stood, her voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow more terrifying than her roar. It was a whisper filled with centuries of spite.

"That meatbag," she hissed, the word laced with pure acid. "That upstart, Pride. He thinks his little rules can protect him? He thinks he can steal from me? He thinks he can humiliate me?"

She began to pace, her heels clicking on the stone like a countdown to an execution. "I am going to peel that pride away layer by layer. I will take everyone he has ever smiled at, everyone he has ever thought about, and I will turn them into my prettiest, most screaming works of art. I will make him watch. I will make him beg."

She stopped, turning a smile toward her collection of tortured living sculptures. A smile of absolute, unhinged hatred.

"Let him have his little victory today. Let him hide behind his rules. It just makes the hunt more interesting." Her eyes gleamed with a dark, joyful promise. "I am going to make that meatbag pay in screams. And when there is nothing left of his pride but a bloody stump, I will personally tear out his heart and make him eat it.

That… is all."

---________________________________

The following year was a paradox carved into Shion’s soul, a twelve-month stretch that was simultaneously the most horrific and most hopeful of her life. News, filtered through the Cult’s grim channels, spoke of a silver-haired half-elf, the Royal Candidate Emilia, systematically hunting the Sin Archbishops. Greed, then Wrath, then Sloth—each name was struck from the list, one by one, until only three remained: Pride, Gluttony, and their own monstrous Mother, Lust.

With each announcement, a treacherous, desperate hope bloomed in Shion’s chest. Let it be her next, she would pray to any entity that might be listening, the hatred for Capella a cold, hard stone in her gut. This hatred had been forged in the crucible of the past year. She had failed only 2missions , but each failure had been met with a punishment so creatively sadistic that the memory of it was a screaming wound. It was only Lilac’s cold, pragmatic intervention—using their dream-arts to surgically excise the most visceral memories of the torment—that kept Shion from shattering completely. She was left with the ghost of the pain, the knowledge of its occurrence, but mercifully spared the full, soul-scarring replay.

When the news came that the Rooswal L.Mathers supporter of Royal candidate Emilia had cornered and slain both Lye and Roy Batenkaitos, a silent, fierce joy surged through her. The Gluttony twins were monsters, but they were Capella’s favored monsters. Their end felt like a portent. She is next. She has to be.

Three months later, the summons came. Every remaining "child" of Mother was ordered to the main audience hall of the organization's stronghold. A palpable tension filled the room, a mixture of fear and a sliver of that same hope Shion felt. They stood in rows, waiting for the familiar, shifting silhouette of their tormentor.

The figure that emerged from the shadows was not Capella.

It was a boy. He wore the ornate robes of a Sin Archbishop, his hair a nest of untamable black, and his eyes held a sharp, ancient weariness that was utterly terrifying. Shion’s breath hitched. Pride. What was he doing here? Confusion rippled through the assembled assassins. Whispers suggested it was another of Mother's cruel games, a new form to test their loyalty.

The boy, stopped before them, his gaze sweeping over the room as if taking inventory of tools.

"Some of you are undoubtedly wondering," he began, his voice calm and unnervingly clear, cutting through the murmurs. "Who is this person? And more importantly, where is your 'Mother'?" He paused, letting the silence deepen. "The answer is simple. There is no Mother. She chose to play a game with someone she had no chance against. And she lost. Permanently."

A silence descended upon the hall so absolute it felt like a physical blow. It was a silence of shattered reality. Their Mother—immortal, monstrous, a force of nature—was gone? It had to be a lie. A trick. The most elaborate test yet.

"You may not trust me," Pride continued, his tone utterly matter-of-fact. "But there is nothing left of her. Not a scrap of flesh. Not a single ash. So, you are now presented with a choice."

He held up a single finger. "One. You can be useful to me. In which case, you will be fed, housed, and allowed to keep the forms you currently wear."
A second finger joined the first."Or two. You can die. Here and now."

It was no choice at all. It was the same brutal calculus that had always governed their lives, just with a new master. But the terms were different. Survival was no longer a reward for flawless obedience, but a transaction for utility.

"From this moment forward," Pride announced, his voice gaining a subtle, chilling edge of authority, "the assasins organization belongs to me. To the Sin Archbishop of the Witch's Cult, representing Pride—Subaru Natsuki." A cold, hollow smirk touched his lips. "It's your pleasure to meet me."

Shion felt the world tilt. She had wished for Capella's death, and her wish had been granted by a devil. The Devil of Pride had taken them.

_______________________________

In the weeks and months that followed, the changes were profound. They were paid. Actual, tangible coin for completed contracts. Failure was not met with transformative torture, but with a simple, financial penalty; you simply wouldn't get paid. The targets shifted exclusively to the Lugunican nobility. It was a systematic, focused campaign of destabilization. He hates them, Shion realized. Pride hates Lugunica with a passion that makes Mother's whimsical cruelties seem almost innocent.

A months passed

And then, she saw the culmination of that hatred. Standing on a ridge, looking down at the Lugunican capital, she watched the world burn. It wasn't a metaphor. The sky was blotted out by smoke, and the city below was an ocean of flame, a roaring, consuming inferno ignited by the Devil of Pride himself. To set an entire nation ablaze, to end the Royal Selection not with a coronation, but with a holocaust... it was a act of malice so vast it felt like a dream. But the heat on her face, the smell of incinerated lives carried on the wind—it was terrifyingly real.

After the Great Fire, everything ended. Twenty million souls. The number was too large to comprehend, but the result was simple: there was no one left to hire assassins. The economy of an entire kingdom had been reduced to ash. Their work, their purpose, was gone. And their leader, the architect of it all, was confirmed dead, struck down by the new Queen, Emilia, and the Sword Saint.

Shion stood in the aftermath, a free woman. The chains of the Assassins Guild and the Witch Cult had been melted in the very fires that had consumed a nation. She was liberated, not by an act of heroism, but by an apocalypse.It was a hollow, ash-choked freedom, but it was hers. And for the first time since she was a nameless girl in an elven forest, her future was her own to write.

She chuckled if she thought about it her life looked like a fan fiction, how does she even knows these words? Yeah she still had to find the person who loaned these words, with half of nation is gone maybe that person is also gone.

Following years were peaceful she worked as a mercenary in Lugunica then now she was in Kararagi. Some noble asked her to investigate the Great spirit of fire, and she had given a poster to the employment agency, what was she even thinking investigating a great spirit? But if they were to find a way to remove the spirit there was reward of 300holy gold coins. 300gold coins they wouldn't have to work for a years . As she entered to the building she saw a boy in a blue kimono with a white hair talking with a floating spirit. She couldn't see the boys face but she heard

"Come on, Nyx," Boy muttered under his breath, . "You have to admit, this is all kinds of weird. One month ago, I was a shut-in NEET, worrying about my next bowl of cup ramen. Now? I'm with a demon lord's name, a spirit in my head, and a supposed super-weapon waiting for me somewhere in fantasy-Japan. I'm either the potential protagonist of the world's most convoluted isekai, or its final antagonist, and I don't even know which one."

Anime? Shut in net? Protogonist? Antagonist? Isekai?Japan? Maybe he is the one who she loaned the words from .

Chapter Text

If someone were to ask Natsuki Subaru—now Alcor—how his isekai protagonist journey was going, he would, with every fiber of his being, tell them to go fuck themselves.

It was nothing like in the anime. There was no beautiful girl who had summoned him with tears in her eyes, no grand destiny laid at his feet. Instead, he had enemies who looked at him and saw a ghost, a devil whose very name was a death sentence. The ultimate twist? He was the Devil in this world's history. Could this isekai get any more messed up?

The answer, he had learned, was a resounding yes.

He had died. Not in a glorious, scripted battle to be revived with newfound determination, but literally. Twice. Once in a filthy alley, bleeding out from a thief's knife in his back, and once at the hands of a legendary hero who looked at him with pure, unadulterated hatred. What kind of protagonist gets killed in the first episode of the anime ? By low-level NPCs, no less? Sure, he’d gotten a cheat code out of it—the horrifying, gut-wrenching Return by Death—but the cost was a trauma that still echoed in his bones. And his companion? Not a silver-haired heroine or a brunette-haired clingy girl, but a floating purple orb. A wonderful, loyal, snarky orb, but an orb nonetheless. He wasn't complaining, not really,after all she was his only friend in this world, but it felt like the author of his life was a hack who loved subverting expectations just for the sake of it.

So, he did what any sensible, traumatized person would do: he ran. He fled the kingdom that wanted him dead and found himself in a nation that was a walking identity crisis. Kararagi wasn't just inspired by ancient Japan; it was a carbon copy, complete with wooden latticework, kimonos, and a dialect that sounded like someone had taken the Kansai region and dropped it into a fantasy world. The cognitive dissonance was staggering. He, Natsuki Subaru -now -Alcor, was now standing on a street that looked like it was ripped from a history book, wearing a blue kimono he’d bought just that morning, feeling more like a cosplayer than an otherworldly adventurer.

He had thought RBD was his one and only cheat, a cursed power for a cursed existence. But then Nyx had casually mentioned the second invisible string tied to his soul—a contract with a Great Spirit, a being of such immense power it could, in theory, shake nations. The hope that had ignited in him then was a fragile, desperate thing. A real power. Something that could protect him, something that could finally turn the tides.

And so, here he was. Waiting. For a person who put a poster to investigate a great spirit of fire,which in theory is his spirit.

He sighed, the sound lost in the bustling agency apartment. The fabric of his kimono felt strange against his skin, both foreign and unnervingly familiar.

«You’re thinking too loudly again,» Nyx’s voice chimed in his mind, a cool stream cutting through the noise of his thoughts.

"Come on, Nyx," Alcor muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the crowd without really seeing them. "You have to admit, this is all kinds of weird. One month ago, I was a shut-in NEET, worrying about my next bowl of cup ramen. Now? I'm with a demon lord's name, a spirit in my head, and a supposed super-weapon waiting for me somewhere in fantasy-Japan. I'm either the potential protagonist of the world's most convoluted isekai, or its final antagonist, and I don't even know which one."

A wry, tired smile touched his lips. "The author of my life is definitely the worst. No sense of pacing, terrible character introductions, and the plot twists are just cruel."

He leaned against a wooden post, the scent of street food and ozone filling his lungs. This was his reality now. No guide, no script, just the painful ability to reverse his mistakes with death, a snarky spirit, and a hope that the next chapter of this terrible, weird story would finally give him the power to stop being a victim and start writing his own destiny.

leaning against a wooden post, steeling himself for whatever came next, when Crane's voice cut through his reverie.

"Hey, Mr. Alcor! Over here! This is the person who put up that poster you were asking about." The large lizardman gestured with a claw toward a figure stepping into the agency.

Alcor's breath caught in his throat.

The girl was… striking. Long, verdant green hair was swept into a practical yet elegant ponytail over her right shoulder, the color of a deep, sun-dappled forest. Her eyes were her most arresting feature: a vibrant, sunset orange iris encircling a pupil of such a deep, oceanic blue it seemed to pull him in. The subtle, pointed tips of her elven ears were the only obvious mark of her otherworldly heritage. She offered a small, polite smile, but it didn't quite reach those fascinating, dual-colored eyes.

"H-hi," Alcor stammered, feeling a sudden, self-conscious heat on his neck. God, is everyone in this world genetically blessed? "My name is Alcor."

| O |

As Shion looked at the boy, a strange, unsettling familiarity tugged at the edges of her consciousness. His face… it felt like a melody she’d heard in a dream, familiar yet impossible to place. I'll have to ask Lilac if she recognizes him, she thought, the presence in the back of her mind remaining still and observant for now.

"My name is Shion" she said, her voice melodic. "So, you're interested in the investigation, correct?"

"ummh Okay, yeah, I am," Alcor replied, the foreign word slipping out naturally before he could stop it. He scratched the back of his head with a nervous energy. "Could you please fill me in on the details? I'm, uh, kinda new to these things."

| O |

Shion’s head tilted slightly, her dual-colored eyes narrowing with a spark of intense curiosity. That word. It was one of the spectral fragments that drifted through her mind, untethered to any source.

"Okay…?" she repeated, the sound foreign yet perfectly formed on her tongue. "That word… what is that? I've never heard it before." It wasn't an accusation, but a genuine, almost hungry inquiry.

Alcor blinked, caught off guard. "Huh? Oh, that. It's just… a word from my homeland. It means 'alright' or 'I understand'. Force of habit, I guess." He offered a weak, nervous smile, his mind racing. Idiot! Why did you have to use that here?

But Shion's reaction was not one of suspicion or hostility. Instead, a profound, almost relieved light dawned in her heterochromatic eyes. The puzzle piece had clicked into place.

"Your homeland…" she whispered, her voice barely audible. The chaotic lexicon of loanwords that cluttered her mind—'isekai', 'final boss', 'NEET'—they all suddenly had a potential source, a single point of origin standing right in front of her.

She took a small step closer, her gaze intensifying. "I… I'm a Dream Arts user. Sometimes, I pick up words, phrases… memories that aren't mine." She searched his face, looking for confirmation. "I've been looking for the person I… borrowed these words from. Words like that. I think… I think it might be you."

"W-whoa there! No, I'm sure it's my first time meeting you," he said, the words tumbling out too quickly. He plastered on a wide, practiced smile, the kind he used to use to deflect bullies back in school. "I'm positive I'd remember meeting someone as cute as you!"

The moment the word left his lips, he wanted to snatch it back. Too much! You're laying it on too thick, you idiot!

But Shion didn't seem offended. A genuine, surprised laugh escaped her, a soft, melodic sound that was far more natural than her previous polite smile. "Cute? That's... not something I hear every day." A faint, almost imperceptible blush touched her cheeks.

It was at that moment Nyx chose to materialize, her purple sphere pulsing with a faint light of impatience. «She's flustered. Good. Keep her off balance.» Her voice, when it echoed aloud for Shion to hear, was cool and businesslike. "Now, now. Let's proceed to the details, shall we, miss? My contractor's flattery, while perhaps warranted, is not a substitute for a mission briefing."

Shion blinked, collecting herself and giving the spirit a curious look. "Right. Sorry. Listen, the job is straightforward. We just need to go to the marked location in the foothills, observe the Great Spirit of Fire, and report on its current state and behavior. If, by some miracle, we can coax it to leave the area or find a way to placate it, the reward increases significantly." She finished with a playful wink, though her heterochromatic eyes remained sharp and analytical.

Alcor, grateful for Nyx's intervention, latched onto the professional tone. "Understood. When are we leaving, and where do we meet?"

"Tomorrow morning, just after sunrise. We'll meet right here," Shion said, gesturing around the employment agency.

"Very well then," Alcor said, offering a short, polite bow that felt awkward in his kimono. "Goodbye for now, Miss Shion."

"Bye," she replied, offering a small, curious wave as Alcor turned and practically fled the building, the bell above the door chiming his exit.

| O |

The moment the cool evening air hit his face, Alcor let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He hurried down the street, putting distance between himself and the employment agency.

"Do you think she knew Pride?" he whispered, his voice tense as he glanced at Nyx floating beside him.

«Her recognition was vague. A feeling, not a memory. If she had concrete knowledge, she would have acted, not flirted,» Nyx replied, her tone pragmatic. «So, for now, it's a win. She is intrigued by you, Alcor, not the ghost you might be.»

"You call that flirting? I was having a internal crisis!" Alcor groaned, running a hand through his white hair. "Still... you're right. So, what are we gonna do until evening? I don't think I can just sit still."

«We acquire supplies. Rope, rations, water. Investigating a Great Spirit is not a stroll in the park. We should also attempt to gather any local rumors about the spirit's behavior. Knowledge is a weapon,» Nyx advised, her light bobbing along as they walked.

| O |

Back inside the agency, Shion watched the strange boy with the white hair and the floating spirit disappear into the bustling street. Her smile faded, replaced by a pensive look.

Cute.

The word echoed in her mind. It was another one. Not as jarring as "okay," but it carried the same otherworldly flavor, a loanword that felt... right. She replayed the brief interaction in her head—his initial panic, the forced smile, the obvious deflection.

He's hiding something, Lilac's voice, a cool and certain presence, finally stirred in the back of her mind. His heartbeat spiked when you asked about the word.

I know, Shion thought back. But he didn't feel hostile. He felt... scared. And he's connected to the words. I'm sure of it.

She didn't know who he was, or what he was running from. But for the first time in her long search, she had a tangible thread to pull on. The investigation into the Great Spirit of Fire had just become infinitely more interesting.

She had a mystery to solve, and it was no longer just about a fiery entity in the mountains. It was about the boy with the strange vocabulary and the terrified eyes that tried to hide behind a smile.

---

| O |

The cool night air felt sharp in Alcor’s lungs as he and Nyx hurried back from their supply run, the weight of their purchases a small comfort against the city's encroaching shadows. His mind, ever a restless thing, was already leaping ahead.

"Nyx, what should we do after we get to my spirit?" Alcor asked, his voice casual, a deliberate attempt to paint a normal future over his chaotic present.

«I don't know. You know I'm not really the leader type. Or, as you say, I'm not the protagonist,» Nyx replied, her telepathic voice laced with dry amusement.

Alcor couldn't help but chuckle at his companion's response. "Sure, you're learning from me, after all, my dear sidekick." He then shifted his tone to one of genuine curiosity. "So, how does a Great Spirit look? Will it be a bigger, more impressive orb?"

«No, you idiot. Great Spirits are pure concentrations of mana. When a spirit ascends to that rank, they choose a permanent form, a vessel to embody their power and nature. It is a decision that cannot be undone.»

"Hmm. What form are you gonna take?" he asked, genuinely curious about the future of his first and only friend in this world.

They were already halfway to their tenement, the quiet backstreets of Banan enveloping them, when the atmosphere shattered.

A small, slender figure stood silhouetted against the moonlit path ahead. She was shorter than him, her form delicate and vaguely feminine, clad in a black dress that seemed to drink the light, its hakama boldly shortened to reveal pale, unnervingly white legs. At first glance, she could have been a lost soul of the night, a beggar or a courtesan. But it was her eyes that betrayed her—twin points of sharp, penetrative light shining from the shadows, radiating a hostility so pure it felt like a physical force.

[???: Die.]

The woman's voice was a flat, emotionless decree. The air itself twisted, becoming a visible, grinding maw of wind aimed to devour them.

The reaction was instinctual, forged in countless hours of desperate practice. In perfect, panicked unison, Alcor and Nyx chanted.

"ADB!"
One of the 3 spells which they created while they were in the way.
A shimmering,barrier of distorted space erupted around Alcor. The Absolute Defense Barrier—their trump card. It made him momentarily untouchable by interfering with the very fabric of space-time around him. But the cost was immense; he was rooted to the spot, a statue in a bubble, and he could feel his and Nyx's mana reserves draining like a ruptured dam. They had five minutes. Maybe less.

Without a flicker of emotion, the woman repeated her chant.
[???: Die.]
The wind's jaw tore at the sky and the ground,a relentless, grinding force.
"Die! Die! Die! Die!"

Even as her attacks splashed harmlessly against the inviolable barrier, she continued, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

"This is bad," Alcor muttered through gritted teeth, feeling the strain in his soul. They were being cornered. When the mana ran out, they would be exhausted, helpless.

[???: Die──]

[???: ──That’s not happening. That’s enough.]

A new voice, languid yet firm, cut through the cacophony. The sound of the biting wind was replaced by the sharp, metallic clang of something being deflected.

The sudden change finally made the death-chanting woman pause. Standing between her and Alcor's barrier was a tall figure in a black kimono, a kiseru pipe held casually in his mouth.

[Halibel: "Yes, yes. This is the Hal-san you all know. That was a close one, huh, Al-san? Would've been bad if I hadn't come."]

[Alcor: "Why… are you here……?"] Alcor stammered, his mind reeling. The barrier flickered as his concentration wavered.

[Halibel: "Ahh, I get why you’re curious, but I’ll have to postpone the explanation for now. Or else……"] Halibel’s tone was as aloof as if he were discussing the weather, a stark contrast to the life-or-death situation.

He slowly turned to face the woman, his posture relaxed.
[Halibel: "It’d be hard to fight that girl."]

He took a slow step forward. Alcor tried to protest, "That’d be reckless!"

But Nyx’s voice, calm and certain, cut him off.
[Nyx: "Let the mutt handle this."]

[Alcor: "Nyx? But she……she’s……"] He wanted to say she was a monster, an impossible opponent.

[Nyx: "──Halibel 'The Great'. The one deemed the strongest in the Kararagi city-state. That's the mutt.]

[Alcor: "……Huh? And you still call him a mutt?"] A disbelieving laugh escaped him. He looked at Halibel’s back—the lazy tenement manager now walking towards a force of nature as if heading to a party. The sight stole his breath.

[Halibel: "──Unbelievable, is what Al-san might be thinking. How about you?"] Halibel addressed the woman in an overly familiar tone, standing as an unshakeable wall between her and her target.

The woman’s response was unchanged. Her limitless hostility remained fixed on Alcor.
[???: Die.]

The invisible murderous intent solidified into a globe of cutting wind, a threat that devoured all defenses. Halibel’s solution was simple.

[Halibel: "────"]

His hand blurred, moving inside his kimono and throwing something at lightning speed. The projectile collided with the unseen attack mid-air, the spatial bite crunching harmlessly on the thrown object.

[Halibel: "It doesn’t matter if I can’t see it. My nose is extremely effective."] He took a drag from his kiseru. [ "Oh, but don’t get me wrong, okay? I’m a wolf of dogs, and that’s one of our important aspects."]

For the first time, the woman slowly turned her head, her piercing gaze finally shifting from Alcor to Halibel.

[Halibel: "Oh, so you finally look this way……"]
[???: Die.]
[Halibel: "──There."]

He deflected another attack with a thrown kunai. Annoyed, the woman redirected her full, undivided fury onto him.
[???: Die die die die die.]

Halibel simply waved his arms, a nonchalant motion that somehow demolished the wildly firing gusts of wind. He brushed off the first volley, gained momentum, and said,
[Halibel: "It seems you took interest in me, so how about I meet your expectations!"]
[???: Di──"]
[Halibel: "Hoho. ──Which me would you like to get killed by?"]
[???: ────"]

Halibel stepped forward, his body shaking with an irregular, captivating footwork. Then, his form seemed to blur and split.

[Halibel: "Now,"]
[Halibel: "Which me would you like?"]
[Halibel: "I’m the devoted type."]
[Halibel: "And I’m like a bossy husband."]

[Alcor: "──Wha!?"] Alcor gasped, staring at the four identical Halibels now standing before him.

[Halibel: "By the way, my strength isn’t divided into 4ths. I’m four people, and my strength is quadrupled."]
[Halibel: "I begged and begged my parents for siblings, and then more came."]
[Halibel: "Sorry, that was a lie."]
[Halibel: "I saw myself in the mirror and pulled them out."]
[Halibel: "Sorry, that was a lie too."]

The four Halibels crossed their arms, smoked their kiserus, and spoke in a chaotic, overlapping chorus. It was a scene from a bizarre dream, yet each clone felt tangibly, terrifyingly real.

Faced with this impossibility, the woman finally ceased her attacks. The calculus of the fight had irrevocably shifted.

[???: Die.]

[Halibel: "……Is that all you can say? Seems like you have some pretty complicated family circumstances."]

The woman bent her knees and leaped onto a nearby rooftop, cracking the tiles under her bare feet. She stood silhouetted against the moon, her beautiful, inhuman eyes still burning with hate.

The standoff stretched, a silent battle of wills between the fourfold man and the lunar assassin—until Alcor’s voice broke it.

[Alcor: "──Hal-san!"]

Halibel glanced back. Seizing the distraction, the woman tried to melt into the night sky.

[Halibel: "Sh──!"]

Three Halibels moved as one. Kunai shot from three directions. Two were repelled by gusts of wind, but the third, arcing unpredictably, slipped through her defenses and sank into the woman’s thin back.

[???: ──"]

A slight groan. The woman faltered, then fled, vanishing into the darkness.

Halibel listened intently for a moment, then sighed as his three clones dissolved into nothingness, leaving the original, lazy neighbor behind.

[Alcor: "Hal-san... do you know who that woman was?"] Alcor asked, the barrier finally dropping as his legs gave way from relief and exhaustion.

[Halibel: "I don't know. But she's been killing people for no reason lately. Just appears, tells them 'die,' and that's that."] He shrugged, as if discussing a minor nuisance.

["I see.You have to teach me that technique of yours though"]

["Hahah,i cant teach you but Don't be disappointed, Al-san. Your magic was good too. Holding your own against that kind of opponent... I think I underestimated you."] Halibel offered a genuine, approving smile.

A weary but triumphant grin spread across Alcor's face. "After all, I'm the protagonist, Hal-san. But if you hadn't come... we would have died. So, I owe you a drink"

-"Yes, you do. Anyway, I marked her scent, so I'll be going after her. Try not to get killed before I get back, Al-san."

The wolf-man didn't wait for an answer, melting into the shadows with a silence that belied his immense power, leaving Alcor and Nyx alone in the suddenly quiet street.

-"Strongest in Kararagi, huh?" Alcor murmured, a slow, impressed smile spreading across his face as he finally started walking again, his legs still a little shaky.

«We should intensify our efforts to complete the next spell,» Nyx chimed in, her purple light bobbing anxiously beside him.

-"You're correct," Alcor nodded, his expression turning serious. "Our defense is strong, but if we can't counter-attack, it's useless. A protagonist can't just be a support character, can he? That would be kinda lame."

As they walked, Nyx, whose curiosity about Alcor's homeland had been steadily growing, finally voiced a question that had been bothering her. «If your world had no magic or demi-humans... how did your people know to create stories about them? Like in your 'anime' and 'manga'?»

Alcor thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe people like me... someone who got isekai'd... actually managed to go back. And then they wrote it all down as fiction." The idea was both comforting and profoundly lonely.

| O |

They had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that the night's excitement was over. But as they approached the side entrance of their tenement house, a figure leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed in blatant contempt

The woman leaning against the side door with her arms crossed says that in a contemptuous It was a woman dressed in a kimono. She was wearing a pure white dress that was completely 
clean. She was wearing the white kimono with the right side over the left, and it looked like 
burial clothes. However, her dress’ hakama was shortened to the middle of her thighs, and he 
couldn’t find any sign of “death’s” shadow in her freely exposed long, thin legs and white 
skin.
The tips of her short, milky white hair were made into an uneven shaggy cut. Her sharp 
almond eyes were deep indigo blue. Although she had provocative facial features, they made 
an oddly beautiful face.
It was beauty created because it was unpolished and uneven. It was like an accidental 
beautiful face that was created as a result of a wild animals putting together whatever they 
thought was beautiful──it was an uncanny work of art made up of truly beautiful things 
without even being particular about beauty.
An unordinarily beautiful face that would take anyone’s breath away and make them lose 
their sense of reality. Alcor looked at that with his very own eyes, but the woman’s beauty 
wasn’t why he stiffened up.
He had a memory of the woman’s face, although vague. And it was also a very recent 
memory──of her trying to kill them

???: ──Huh? What’s up with that pathetic look? I can’t bear to look at it. Her voice was laced with pure disdain.

Alcor: "You! What are you doing here? You just tried to kill me twenty minutes ago!" He staggered back a few steps, his heart hammering.

???: "What? If I had tried to kill you, you'd be dead. Stupid." She rolled her magnificent eyes.

It was Nyx who intervened, her voice sharp with realization. «She is a spirit. A true spirit. The one who attacked us was something else... something wearing her form.»

???: "Yes, I'm a spirit. Now, give me my lightball back if you don't want to die."

Alcor: "We don't know anything about your 'lightball'! Maybe…" He trailed off, a theory forming. "You don't have anything like a twin sister, right?"

"What sort of stupid question is that? No!" she spat back.

"Weird," he said, a wary smirk on his face. "Because there's a girl who looks almost identical to you who tried to murder me twenty minutes ago. The only difference is she had red in her hair and on her clothes. Any chance that could be your culprit? Your long-lost twin sister?"

The woman—stared at him, confusion plain on her face before her eyes widened in dawning understanding. A soft, dangerous smirk crossed her lips. "Alright, I see. Last question—what’s your name?"

Alcor: "My name is Alcor, and this is Nyx." He gestured to the floating spirit. "Now, tell us yours."

Tia: "My name is……ahh, it’s Tia. Call me that for now."

Alcor: "So, you're sure that girl isn't your long-lost twin sister?"

Tia: "I'm sure. I don't have one. It might be as you said. She might be mimicking my form... using my lightball."

Alcor: "So, are you gonna leave, then?" He pointed a thumb toward the street. "Now you know I don't have your lightball, you can go."

Tia: "Hmm, no. I'm gonna stay with you."

Alcor: "I know I'm the protagonist, but wow! My charm stat must be through the roof! A beautiful girl falls in love with me at first sight?"

His flippant response earned him a swift, painful lesson. With a flick of Tia's wrist, a gust of wind magic lifted him bodily off the ground, slammed him against the ceiling, and unceremoniously dropped him to the wooden floorboards with a solid thud.

Tia: "You're an idiot! I didn't fall in love with you!" she snapped, her cheeks flushed with genuine anger and fluster. "I'm staying with you because when she comes to kill you again, I'm going to be there to take my lightball back from her!"

Alcor: "I don't own this place!" he groaned from the floor, rubbing his back. "You have to ask Hal-san! He's the owner of the tenement house!."

As they say " if you remember the wolf , wolf appears " Halibel materialized from the shadows and stepped into view in the middle of the room.

Halibel: "Al-san, I didn't know you were the type of guy to drag a girl to your room," he chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Tia: "Yeah, he is the worst," Tia added, folding her arms

Alcor finally picked himself up, dusting off his kimono. "Hey, first of all, she came here on her own! And second, she looks exactly like the woman who attacked us! This is a completely reasonable reaction!"

Halibel took a slow drag from his kiseru, the ember glowing in the dim room as his eyes, usually lazy slits, held a glint of absolute certainty. "She looks like her, but she is not her," he stated, his voice calm and factual. He gestured with his pipe towards Tia. "I marked the one who attacked you. This one doesn't have it. She's clean."

Alcor’s shoulders slumped with a mixture of relief and fresh anxiety. "What happened to that girl, then? The one with the red accents?"

"She got away," Halibel admitted with a slight shrug, as if discussing a minor pest. "Slippery, that one. But don't worry, Al-san. My nose never forgets. The moment she comes close again, I'll know. The wind will tell me."

Tia, who had been observing this exchange with growing impatience, finally snapped. "Hey! Don't talk like I'm not here! Who are you, mutt?"

Alcor couldn't help but burst out laughing, the tension of the night momentarily broken. "Hal-san! It looks like all spirits are destined to call you a mutt, huh? It's your cosmic fate!"

A wry smile touched Halibel's lips. "I am Halibel. The strongest in Kararagi," he said, not with arrogance, but with the simple, unshakeable confidence of someone stating the color of the sky. He thumbed his own chest. "And even the strongest needs a good nap. Which I was having before all this excitement."

"Anyway," Alcor interjected, running a hand through his white hair in exhaustion, "could you guys please scram? I have a big investigation to go on tomorrow. I need rest."

Halibel raised an eyebrow, the picture of mock offense. "Trying to kick me out of my own apartment building? Very rude of you, Al-san. I'm wounded."

"And as I said," Tia declared, planting herself firmly on the floor with her arms crossed, "I'm staying with you. I'm not leaving this spot until I get my lightball back."

Alcor and Halibel exchanged a long, weary look. It was a silent conversation between a tired tenant and a bemused landlord.

"Tia," Alcor began, employing his last shred of diplomacy, "can't you stay in the other room? I'm sure Hal-san would be happy to give you one. Right, Hal-san?"

Hearing Alcor's attempt to pass the problem along, Halibel let out a low chuckle. "If having her here means we can stop that homicidal copycat from turning my tenement into a battlefield, then I don't think a spare room is a problem, Al-san. Consider it a strategic investment."

"There, you see?" Alcor said, gesturing to Tia with forced cheerfulness. "Now can both of you please leave already? Tia, Hal-san is gonna show you to your room. It's settled."

Tia stood up, her indigo eyes narrowing at Alcor. "Hmph. Fine. But if you try to run away before I get my lightball back," she threatened, a small, controlled gust of wind ruffling his hair, "I will kill you."

Alcor just waved a dismissive hand, already heading towards his bedroll. ; the threats of a tsundere spirit who looked like a teenager in a mature body barely registered.

As Halibel led the grumbling spirit out of the room, Alcor finally collapsed onto his futon. The silence that descended was profound and deeply welcome.

"Goodnight, Nyx," he mumbled into the darkness, his body and soul aching with fatigue. "This day was... full of surprises."

The purple sphere pulsed once, softly, near his head, her voice a gentle whisper in his mind as he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

«Goodnight, Subaru.»

---

| O |

The dreamscape was a fragile thing, a village woven from memory and starlight where two souls could meet. An elf and her phantom sat side-by-side on a bench that hadn't existed in reality for years.

"So," Shion began, her voice a soft echo in the tranquil silence. "Do you think it was him, Lilac?"

The girl beside her, a mirror with pale skin, purple hair, and troubled amethyst eyes, did not answer immediately. She was the stillness to Shion's warmth, the sharp edge to her softness.
"Could he be the guy?"Lilac finally murmured, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Let me look. His face... it seemed familiar. It itched."

At her command, the dreamscape shuddered. The idyllic village dissolved, its cobblestones and cottages melting like watercolor in the rain. In a blink, they were standing in a vast, dark hall, the air thick with the scent of old blood and cold fear.

"The Assassins Guild?" Shion whispered, a chill running down her spine. "Wait..."

"Quiet," Lilac cut in, her usual playful demeanor utterly absent, replaced by a hunter's focus. "Watch."

The empty hall began to populate with phantoms—rows of assassins standing at stiff attention, their faces masks of terror and grim duty. Shion saw a younger version of herself among them, trying to make herself small.

"Isn't this... the day Mother died?" Shion's voice was barely a breathing
Lilac didn't need to answer. The memory was already unspooling. She guided their perspective, pulling them to thel front of the assembly just as a figure emerged to address the crowd.

"From this moment forward," the boy announced, his voice carving through the silence with a chilling, absolute authority that belied his youth. "This organization belongs to me. To the Sin Archbishop of the Witch's Cult, representing Pride—Subaru Natsuki." A cold, hollow smirk touched his lips, a predator's expression. "It's your pleasure to meet me."

The memory froze, locking on that face—the messy black hair, the sharp, weary eyes that had seen too much, the smirk that promised ruin.

"But... Pride is dead," Shion protested, her mind recoiling from the implication. "The Queen and Sword saint confirmed it. Alcor can't be him!"

"I'm not saying he is him," Lilac replied, her voice low and intense. She stepped closer to the frozen image, her phantom hand passing through it. "But look. Look past the hair color. The structure of the face. The shape of the eyes. The way he holds his mouth when he's thinking. They are the same."

She turned to Shion, her gaze piercing. "The boy we met today, and the Devil who took over the Guild, share the same face."

The dreamscape swirled again, depositing them back on their quiet bench in the illusory village. The peace was now a lie, the air heavy with revelation.

"Tomorrow," Lilac stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You will check his mind. Slip into his dreams. See what memories lie beneath the surface. Okay?"

Shion nodded slowly, the weight of the task settling on her. "Okay."

As the dreamscape stabilized around them, Shion let out a long, weary sigh and sank back onto the bench. "But our approach stays the same," she affirmed, a hard edge entering her soft voice. "If he is Pride, the architect of the Great Fire... we'll kill him. But if he's the one we loaned the words from... the one who might understand where we got our names... then we'll see."

It was a fragile, dangerous balance. They were two halves of a whole, standing at a crossroads, their next step determined by the dreams of a boy who might be a the one who they were searching , or the devil from their past.

---

Moving with a practiced silence born from weeks of paranoia, he slipped from his bedding. From the bottom of a worn-out travel pack, hidden beneath a spare kimono, he retrieved his most secret possession: the black and orange tracksuit. The fabric felt alien yet comforting against his skin, a tactile echo of a world that now felt like the dream.

Over this, he swung the enchanted grey cloak , its fabric seeming to drink the dim light, helping him blend with the shadows.

He slid the door open just enough to slip through, wincing at the faint shick of wood on wood. He took one step into the hallway—

"where do you think you're going?"

The voice was low, clear, and directly in front of him. Tia leaned against the opposite wall, her arms crossed over her pure white kimono. She wasn't sleepy; her indigo eyes were sharp and fully alert, gleaming in the darkness. She had been waiting.

Alcor’s heart jumped into his throat. He forced a casual stance, leaning against the doorframe. "Tia. What are you doing, standing in a dark hallway? Shouldn't you be asleep? Anyway, I can't take you with me. I have work to do."

"I'll go with you," she stated, not moving an inch from her position blocking the path to the exit.

"I'm not running away," he insisted, a note of exasperation creeping into his whisper. "My everything is here. Look, I'll be back before nightfall, I promise. Okay?"

Tia’s head tilted slightly. "What's 'okay'?"

"It means... 'alright,' or 'I agree,'" he explained, a faint, weary smile touching his lips. It was strange, teaching Japanese to a spirit in a pre-dawn standoff.

She processed this for a moment, then let out a "Hmph." Unfolding her arms, she took a single step closer, her presence suddenly feeling much larger. "Very well. You can go. But try not to get killed before I kill you. It would dishonor my status as a shinigami."

Alcor, now well-acquainted with the hollow nature of her threats, simply shook his head, a genuine chuckle escaping him. "Duly noted. I'll do my best to preserve your honor." He gestured back towards his room. "Just wait in there for me, alright?"

Tia gave a short nod. Then"Where's Mutt?."

"I don't know maybe sleeping in the next room"alcor pointed out

Without another word, Tia strode to the door and slid it open with a sharp clack. "WAKE UP, MUTT!"

From within the dim room, a groan emanated from a pile of blankets. Halibel’s voice was muffled by his pillow. [Tia: I gotta make money.]

[Halibel: That’s the first thing you’re gonna say in the morning?] he grumbled, not even lifting his head.

Alcor, seeing his chance to leave slipping away, leaned against the doorframe with a sigh. [Al: So your best bet is to get referred at Crane’s employment agency…….hm. By the way, are you even good at anything? And do you have any qualifications?]

Tia folded her arms, throwing out her busty chest with unshakable confidence. [Tia: My specialty is killing. I don’t feel like killing right now, though.]

[Al: There’s no way you’d find a killing job with that unmotivated attitude!] Alcor shot back, exasperated. He shot a desperate, pleading glance at Halibel, the local expert.

Halibel finally sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and reaching for his kiseru. [Halibel: Hmm, let’s see. Requests for murder aren’t posted on the employment agency bulletin board.]

[Tia: M─Makes sense.] She nodded, as if this were perfectly logical.

[Halibel: Stuff like that is hidden in the back. If he knows you, that is.] he added with a sly grin.

[Al: It’s the dark side of the town I never knew about──!] Alcor’s shoulders slumped. He felt a pang of betrayal at the thought of the apron-wearing lizardman, Crane, dealing in such shadows.

Seeing Al's genuine distress, Halibel let out a low chuckle. [Halibel: No, no, no, it’s a joke. Just a joke. You shouldn’t take it seriously.]

[Al: Huh? A joke? Oh, I see, thank goodness.] Alcor let out a relieved breath, a hand over his heart. [You really had me worried there. I don’t know how I’d face that cute apron-wearing lizard from then on.]

But Tia was already marching toward Halibel's bed, her eyes alight with purpose. [Tia: Introduce me to this guy! I don’t really know him! And then I’ll do a killing job!]

[Al: You idiot! Who in their right mind would let you do a night job like that!?] Alcor yelled, then turned to the wolf-man. [Hal-san, tell her!]

Halibel cracked his knuckles, a thoughtful look on his face. [Halibel: I kinda do classic night work as a shinobi……that said, I’m not too sure about letting you kill, so how about you try something else. Like suppression requests or bounty hunting.]

The adventurous ring of those words made Alcor’s eyes widen. [Al: Bounty hunting! Suppression requests! That sounds awesome!]

[Halibel: The main jobs are catching evildoers popping up on wanted posters, sometimes beating them up. And then there’s also the evil mabeasts that show up every now and then.]

[Tia: Basically, hunting.] A fierce, predatory light ignited in Tia's indigo eyes. [My specialty!]

In a flash, she was at his bedside. She grabbed the collar of Halibel’s yukata as he was trying to light his kiseru and hauled him to his feet. [Halibel: Hmm?]

[Tia: Now, show me the way. I have no idea what to hunt, after all.]

[Halibel: Wait! Al-san!] the wolf-man called out, being dragged towards the door with a look of comic resignation.

Seeing the two of them—the lethally enthusiastic spirit and the perpetually lazy powerhouse—about to embark on a chaotic adventure without him, a thought struck Alcor. His own investigation was dangerous, and having this kind of firepower along could mean the difference between life and death. A wry smile touched his lips.

[Al: You know what? All three of us should go together then.] He announced, stepping forward to block the doorway. [I'm heading to the employment agency too. We might as well make it a party.]

Halibel stopped resisting, a slow grin spreading across his face. Tia released his collar, looking from Alcor to Halibel with a calculating expression, seemingly not opposed to the idea.

[Halibel: Oh, come on!] he complained, though his tone was now more amused than distressed.

Shion arrived at the employment agency just as the sun crested the rooftops of Banan. She leaned against the sun-warmed wood of the building, her mind a whirlwind of the strange words she’d collected—isekai, NEET, Japan—and the boy they might belong to.

Some time later, she saw him. Alcor, in his grey traveler’s cloak, was indeed coming. But he wasn't alone. Walking beside him with a lazy, predatory grace was the wolf-man, Halibel, his kiseru already lit. And on Alcor's other side was a girl Shion had never seen—a stunning, fierce beauty with milky white hair and a piercing gaze, clad in a pure white kimono. A strange, possessive tension hung between the three of them.

Alcor spotted her and offered a small, nervous wave. "Shion! Good morning."

"Morning," she replied, her voice carefully neutral. Her eyes flickered between his companions.

"Right, introductions," Alcor said, clapping his hands together. "Shion, this is my neighbor, Halibel. And this is... Tia. She's, uh, helping us out. Guys, this is Shion. She's the one who hired me for the investigation."

Halibel gave a casual nod, his slitted eyes missing nothing. Tia, however, looked Shion up and down with an intensity that was neither friendly nor hostile, but purely analytical, like a hawk assessing a field mouse.

"We'll leave you to it, then," Halibel said, blowing a smoke ring. "We have our own business with Crane. Try not to die, you two. Bounty hunting's more fun when you're alive to spend the coin."

"Try not to burn the district down," Alcor retorted with a weak smile.

Tia simply glanced at Alcor. "Don't get killed before I can do it." With that, the two of them turned and entered the agency, leaving Alcor and Shion alone.

"Shall we?" Alcor said, gesturing eastward.

The silence between them was comfortable at first, filled with the sounds of the waking town. As they reached the forest path, Shion decided to probe.

"That word you used yesterday... 'okay'," she began. "And the others I sometimes hear in my mind. 'Isekai'. 'NEET'. 'Japan'. They feel like you. Where are they from?"

Alcor flinched, a shadow crossing his face before he forced a smile. "My homeland. It's... a place far, far away. Beyond the Great Waterfall, I guess."

"'Isekai' means... 'different world', doesn't it?" Shion pressed gently, her dual-colored eyes studying him. "Are you saying you're from another world?"

He let out a strained laugh. "Yeah. Sounds like a bad fantasy novel, right? And a 'NEET' is what I was there. Someone with No Education, Employment, or Training. A professional shut-in. Pathetic, huh?"

"Japan?" she asked, ignoring his self-deprecation.

"A country in that world. It looked a lot like Kararagi, actually. Which is... really, really weird." He shoved his hands in his pockets, clearly uneasy. "Why do you ask?"

For the next 10minutes or so they spoke about these words ,but suddenly his entire body went rigid.

"Get back!" he yelled, shoving Shion back. From the shadows of the path ahead, the evil twin emerged, her crimson-streaked hair a bloody banner. "[Die.]"

"ADB!" Alcor and Nyx chanted in unison barrier shimmered into existence around him just as a blade of wind shattered against it. He was safe, a fortress.

But Shion was not. Another gust, silent and invisible, shot past the barrier's edge. Alcor watched in horror as it cleanly severed Shion's head from her shoulders. Her body crumpled, her last expression one of startled confusion. The twin stared at Alcor, trapped in his invulnerable cage,as Alcor lost attention barrier also disappeared as he was looking into Shion's corpse he heard a voice "[Die.]"

With that Subaru Natsuki now Alcor lost his life in a Kararagi for a first time.

His eyes snapped open. They were walking, Shion was mid-sentence.

"—Japan?" she was asking.

"Shion, listen to me," he interrupted, his voice urgent. "We have to leave the path. Now. Take us on a different route. The longest one you know."

She looked at him, suspicion warring with concern. "Alcor? What's wrong? You're pale."

"Please," he begged, grabbing her arm. "There's an attacker. A woman who looks like Tia. She's waiting for us on this path. If we stay here, we die."

Seeing the sheer, unfeigned terror in his eyes, Shion nodded. "Alright. I trust you." She led him off the trail, into a treacherous ravine and through a fast-flowing stream. They climbed, their clothes snagging on thorns, their breath coming in ragged gasps. For ten minutes, they pushed forward, and Alcor began to hope.

"So? We lost her," he panted, leaning against a mossy boulder.

A voice came from directly above. "[Die.]"

He looked up. The twin was perched on the boulder. Before his mind could even process her presence, a blade of wind took his own head.

Subaru Natsuki now Alcor died

"Japan?" He heard

He was back on the path. Shion was alive. The sight of her, whole and breathing, broke him. A choked, raw sob tore from his throat, and he stumbled, collapsing to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

"Alcor!" Shion cried, kneeling beside him. "What is it? What's happening? You've been acting strangely since we left!"

"We have to go back," he wept, clutching the front of her kimono. "Please, Shion, we have to turn around. Now!"

"Why?" she insisted, her voice firm but scared. "Tell me why! What do you know?"

The compulsion to make her understand, to not die alone in this secret again, overwhelmed him. He looked into her eyes, his own wide with madness and grief.

"Because I can... I can Return by Death!" he screamed into the silent forest.

The world froze. The birdsong ceased. Shion's concerned expression was locked in place. A searing, crushing pain erupted in Alcor's own chest. It felt like an invisible, icy hand was squeezing his heart, a clear, final warning. He gritted his teeth, ignoring it. The pain was nothing compared to watching her die.

He pushed through the agony, the words tearing themselves from his lips. "I've died three times already! She's killed you twice! I can't... I can't save you!"

He thought the punishment was for him. He was wrong.

The invisible hand gripping his heart vanished. Instead, a tangible, inky black hand materialized in the air before Shion's frozen chest. It phased through her skin and robes. Alcor watched, utterly broken, as the fingers clenched inside her.

Squelch.

A trickle of blood escaped Shion's lips. Time resumed. Her eyes, still locked on his, glazed over with the shock of a pain she never had time to feel. She collapsed into his arms, a dead weight.

The invisible hand was gone. The only punishment was her lifeless body.

Alcor didn't scream. He didn't move. He simply knelt there, holding her, his tears drying on his cheeks, his mind a void of absolute despair. He had tried to defy fate, and fate had taken the only person who mattered instead.

Minutes passed. The evil twin emerged from the trees, her expression as empty as his soul.

"[Die.]"

A blade of wind ended him. He didn't even flinch.

「───」

The fourth loop began. He opened his eyes. Shion was there, alive, looking at him with mild concern. "You spaced out for a second there. Are you alright?"

Alcor looked at her, fresh tears welling in his eyes. They had ten minutes. And he was completely, utterly out of ideas.

"4th-loop"

Alcor managed to convince Shion to turn back , even after that the evil twin still managed to find them as if it could track them.

_Natsuki Subaru now Alcor lost his life _

"5-th loop"

They choose to confront her
Shion used her spell El Musa couple of times but the evil twin was able Dodge them all. She beheaded Shion first then Beheaded Alcor who broke the barrier to reset. Knowing he had the power to save somone and not using it felt like wrong and he was ready to use this cursed ability of his as much as needed.

"6-th loop"

4Natsuki Subaru now Alcor lost his life _

"7-th loop"

_Natsuki Subaru now Alcor lost his life _

"8-th loop"

_Natsuki Subaru now Alcor lost his life _

"9-th loop"

Each time the Evil twin would appear little bit faster, how? He couldn't understand it somehow him rewinding time was making him more findable to their opponent

"10-th loop"

_Natsuki Subaru now Alcor lost his life_

"11-th loop"

He was in hell, he couldn't run away, he couldn't hide, he couldn't save her, he couldn't protect her,he wanted to kill, kill that woman,but he was so weak he hated himself for that.

_Natsuki Subaru now Alcor lost his life_

"12-th loop"

"Japan?" Shion asked, trying to restart their conversation from a lifetime ago.

"This time it will be different," he muttered, his voice a dead thing. He completely ignored her, turning away. "Nyx. The Anti-Magic Barrier. The theoretical one. Can we make it bigger? To fit two people?"

«It's incomplete. The mana cost would be astronomical. We would last three minutes, at most.»

"Let's test it then. Come on, Nyx." His tone was that of a scientist conducting a fatal experiment.

"What's wrong, Al?" Shion asked, her voice laced with hurt and confusion.

He hated himself for this, for trading her life for data. But he had to know. The barrier flickered into existence, unstable and draining.

_Natsuki Subaru now Alcor lost his life_

"13-th loop"

Natsuki Subaru now Alcor lost his life

"14-th loop"

"AMB" Perfect.spell was perfect they were able to fit into it and barrier was blocking all the attacks of the evil twin, but their mana ran out before they could land a hit on her

_Natsuki Subaru now Alcor lost his life_

"15-th loop"

"—Japan?" Shion was asking, her expression one of deep concern. He had been staring into space for a full minute.

He grabbed her shoulders, his grip tight, his eyes wild with a terrifying mix of despair and manic hope. "Shion, what I'm about to say will sound insane, but I can... I can see glimpses of the future. And in a few minutes, we are going to be attacked by someone incredibly powerful. I can make a barrier that nullifies all her attacks, but we will only have three minutes." He took a shuddering breath. "Within those three minutes, can you hit her? Can you land a single, decisive blow?"

Shion searched his face. The fear was real. The desperation was real. As a Dream Arts user, she could feel the stark, unvarnished truth in his plea. "...I'll trust you for now. I can tell you're not lying about the attacker."

It was a gamble with their lives. The data from his hell was clear: retreat was death, hiding was death, a direct fight was death. Their only sliver of hope was a perfect, coordinated strike within an impossibly short window.

They ran. Not back, not to hide, but deeper into the forest, Alcor using his memorized layout from previous loops to find a small clearing. It was a trap, and they were the bait.

The twin appeared right on schedule.
"AMB!"The barrier flared to life. "Now, Shion!"

"El Musa!" A giant sphere of grey energy shot from Shion's hands. The twin dodged with preternatural speed. Again and again, Shion fired, and again and again, the twin evaded, a ghost in the wind. Alcor could feel it—the draining, the lightheadedness. His vision began to tunnel. He was failing. Again.

Just as the barrier began to sputter, a new voice, filled with ancient power and raw anguish, ripped through the forest.

"EL GOA!"

A pillar of incandescent white fire descended from the heavens, engulfing the evil twin. The scream that followed was not human. Through his fading vision, Alcor saw a new figure—a child .

"Master! Please, master! Don't leave me alone again!"

_Natsuki Subaru, now Alcor, lost his fight against the darkness, his consciousness fleeing as the world dissolved into the sound of desperate crying_

Chapter Text

---

It began as a flicker. A red orb of mana, simple and fading, adrift in the world. Its consciousness was a rudimentary thing, aware only of its own diminishing energy. To cease was its inevitable fate. Then, a boy came.

He wore strange clothes, fabrics unlike any in this world. He knelt, his presence not one of reverence, but of cold calculation. "With you, the problem should be solved," he said, his voice flat.

The spirit did not understand the words, but it felt the intent—a pull, an offer. A contract. It latched onto the lifeline he offered, drawing sustenance from his mana, and continued to exist. Its purpose, in that moment, was simply to be, because he willed it.

It did not understand the chaos that followed. There was a battle in a cave. Its contractor, the boy, moved without fear. It watched him kill a man possessed by a Ancient spirit. When that vanquished spirit tried to leap into the boy's body, their contract flared, a wall of shared will that repelled the invader. The spirit thought, in its simple way, that its purpose was fulfilled. But a new, foreign emotion emerged: it did not want to be abandoned.

As time bled on, it grew. Mana solidified into strength, and strength forged a sense of self. It could remember faces—the cruel, the fearful, the doomed. It could follow orders with chilling precision. Its contractor was a strange man, feared by all. People trembled at his approach, yet he appeared so physically weak. To the spirit, this was irrelevant. He was its anchor.

Evolving into a quasi-spirit, it learned to comprehend words and transmit emotions. It became a tool, a weapon, completing tasks with an efficiency that pleased its master. It grew stronger, its fire burning hotter.

Finally, it developed a mind of its own and the gift of communication. It understood, then, who its contractor was: the worst kind of monster in this world, the Sin Archbishop of Pride. And it found that it did not care. For it had also found a family. It had Meili, who called her "Fiery Onee-san" and played with her. It had Elsa, who teased her as her "Little Star" and took her on missions assigned by their Master.

Her Master was an enigma of unparalleled brilliance—brutal, efficient, and cold. Yet, in rare, fleeting moments, a flicker of something else would cross his face. A shred of kindness. A hint of the boy he might have been. Those moments gave her a fragile hope that their twisted family could, someday, find happiness.

She became a Great Spirit, a being of power enough to shake nations. Like all her kind, she chose a form: long crimson hair, eyes like molten gold, and the body of a girl, tall as Meili. Now she could play properly. Now she could serve her Master better. She was strong. She believed herself strong enough to protect everyone she cared for.

Years passed. Their twisted family systematically eliminated the Royal Candidates and the other Sin Archbishops. She herself defeated Lust, using a spell she and her Master devised—a simultaneous, total incineration of every part of the Archbishop's mutable form. They had created countless spells together, horrors of fire and destruction capable of setting a nation ablaze. She never thought they would use that one. Surely, her Master wasn't that evil?

In the quiet that followed, with only two candidates remaining, she dared to dream of rest. Her Master had taken control of the Assassins Guild. They could have had peace. She played with Meili all day and spent her evenings with Elsa. But her Master remained cold, calculating, his mind a theater of endless, cunning drama.

She wished for a name. He told her names were irrelevant; she only needed to obey, and all would be well. So she accepted the nameless existence, the quiet hurt. She didn't need one, she told herself.

He was a strange man. He spoke of immortality often, assuring her no one could kill him. In countless battles, she had never seen him so much as scratched. He always stood victorious. She didn't know if his immortality was like Elsa's regenerative curse, but she believed him. She was a flame that could never be extinguished, and he was the untouchable architect of their destiny.

She wished for their happiness, for a life together in Kararagi. In rare, stolen moments—playing UNO, sharing a meal, traveling—the mask of Pride would slip. For a brief instant, she would see not the Archbishop, but Subaru Natsuki. Pride did not care for them, but somewhere deep down, Subaru did.

Countless foes had expressed shock at her allegiance. They were baffled that a Great Spirit would bow to a Sin Archbishop. They did not understand. They weren't there when he saved her from fading into nothing. They weren't there when he gave her a family, a purpose, a life. They saw only the monster the world hated; they never saw the glimpses of the boy who had shown her kindness.

Before the Great Fire, everything was perfect. Her Master's goals were within reach. She truly believed their happy ending was possible.Elsa wanted to leave with Pride to Kararagi and live a happy life. But Pride was not a Natsuki Subaru who would run away from his problems with a girl.

But fate had other plans. The order came. She was not yet strong enough to burn the entire kingdom alone, so she scorched half of it, her flames turning the sky to ash. The Cultists, Roswaal, and her Master burned the rest. Her final order was to return to base and wait.

So she returned. And she waited.

She waited.

And waited.

No one came back.

The news arrived like a final, killing frost. Meili, Elsa, her Master—all dead. She had lost everything.

Her fire guttered. How? How did Elsa, the unkillable, die? How did her untouchable Master fall? How did Meili, protected by her beasts, perish?

The questions had no answers. She was trapped, a being of ultimate power, bound by a contract that forbade her from self-destruction. She had burned down the wiwes of a greed, she had turned Lust into an ash, she had burned Lugunica to the ground.But she had lost everything.

The memory of Elsa’s words became her only compass. Kararagi. A place of winding streets and strange customs, a place her elder sister had dreamed of for their twisted, impossible family. It was the only destination left in a world that had become a tomb.

So, she went.

For seven years, she did not live; she occupied space. She claimed a stretch of forest on the eastern border, a territory that became a whispered legend. The trees were scorched skeletons, the ground vitrified glass. She was a localized calamity, a grief so vast it had become a geographical feature. Any who dared approach—adventurers seeking glory, cultists drawn to her power, simple travelers who lost their way—were met with annihilation. It was not malice, but a desperate, furious defense of the only thing she had left: the sacred ground of her memories. She was a ghost tending a graveyard, ensuring the silence remained absolute.

Then, one day, everything changed.

It was a scent on the wind, a familiar poison she would recognize across continents and through centuries. Miasma. Not just any miasma, but his. The unique, cloying stench of her Master’s authority, the scent that clung to the Witch’s favor. It was impossible. Her mind recoiled, but her spirit core, the very essence bound to his by their contract, screamed the truth. The invisible threads of their pact, which had hung slack and lifeless for seven long years, were pulled taut. They thrummed with a vitality she thought forever lost.

He was close.

A hope so violent it was painful erupted within her. The scorched earth trembled as she took flight, not as a girl, but as a comet of incandescent rage and desperate need. She followed the pull, a beacon in her soul, and the scene she found shattered the last of her restraint.

There he was. Her Master. But… different. His hair was white, his clothes familiar tracksuit and cape. He looked weak, trembling, defending himself behind a flickering barrier alongside a green-haired elf. And attacking them was a girl with a milky hair.

Fury, pure and absolute, consumed her. The forest air itself began to boil.

"EL GOA!"

The words were not a chant but a declaration of war. .A pillar of incandescent white fire descended from the heavens, engulfing the enemy.

In the sudden, smoking silence, the spirit landed. Her molten gold eyes were no longer on the enemy, but fixed on the boy who had collapsed to his knees, his barrier spent. She rushed to his side, her form flickering between the powerful Great Spirit and the scared little girl she truly was inside.

He was losing consciousness, his eyes fluttering shut.

Tears, not of fire but of water and salt, streamed down her face, sizzling as they fell. She crawled the final distance, her form shrinking, the terrifying aura vanishing until she was just a crying child clutching the sleeve of his tracksuit.

"Please, Master," she begged, her voice a broken whisper, shaking his limp form. "Don't leave me alone again. Please, don't leave me..."

The words echoed in the charred clearing, a prayer offered to the only god she had ever known, as she clung to the miraculous, breathing proof that her seven years of hell had finally, mercifully, come to an end.

Chapter Text

"El Musa!" A giant sphere of grey energy shot from Shion's hands. The twin dodged with preternatural speed. Again and again, Shion fired, and again and again, the twin evaded, a ghost in the wind. Alcor could feel it—the draining, the lightheadedness. His vision began to tunnel. He was failing. Again.

Just as the barrier began to sputter, a new voice, filled with ancient power and raw anguish, ripped through the forest.

"EL GOA!"

A pillar of incandescent white fire descended from the heavens, engulfing the evil twin. The scream that followed was not human. Through his fading vision, Alcor saw a new figure—a little girl.

"Master! Please, master! Don't leave me alone again!"

_Natsuki Subaru, now Alcor, lost his fight against the darkness, his consciousness fleeing as the world dissolved into the sound of desperate crying_

| O |
Everything happening was really weird for a couple of reasons, firstly when she and Alcor were talking about the words he suddenly stopped and started speaking about an attack, any descent person would question him,but as idiot she is,she followed him, and he was right surely someone was after them, with the barrier which Alcor put on they were safe,but she couldn't hit the attacker. Then barrier started to get weaken , she thought they were going to die. But out of nowhere a little girl appeared and saved them in the last moments. As she was thinking about her situation little girl's voice jolted her back to reality.

"If he dies I'm going to kill you,so take care of him"

What could this little girl could do she didn't knew,but she didn't wanted to know it either.

"This might be our only chanse to see his mind " Lilac spoke as the fight beetwen the newly arrived spirit of fire and the evil twin raged on

-"Very well get in then,Lilac"

Lilac entered to the dreamscape of the boy named Subaru Natsuki.

As Lilac entered, she found herself in a field outside a peaceful-looking village.

The landscape began to transform around , and her own eyes went wide.

They were in a village much like the one they had been in moments prior. Only this village was empty. A star-filled night sky presided overhead.

“What… what’s this?”

“A phantom village?” Lilac questioned herself. “So we have been here before…”

Lilac began to look around. “Empty… but not destroyed. We must have cleaned this place out before leaving.”

She started walking through the dream village.

Lilac paused when she came to the town center.

Two slabs of stone were placed within the center of town, each with a message etched upon it.

Most curiously, the words were written in a language which she didn't knew but still could read it.

"It looks like I wrecked his mind before and Shion fixed it all, but why would I work this careless though?,like something I saw freaked me out"

Then she came and looked to stones.

Both stones had a short inscription on them—one from Lilac, and another from Shion.

𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘤

𝘏𝘦𝘺, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘶 𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘶 𝘕𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘪.𝘋𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘖𝘕’𝘛 𝘨𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩.𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘴!𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘳"𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦".𝘏𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯!, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘮 𝘐 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵? 𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭, 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩,𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘶𝘴. 𝘚𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥.𝘕𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 ‘𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨’ 𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦!𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦? 𝘉𝘺𝘦 𝘣𝘺𝘦

𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘰𝘯

𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥… 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘤’𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘐’𝘮 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰… 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘐𝘧 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘏𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭. 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦’𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘰𝘸𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘶 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺, 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵! 𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.𝘏𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱.𝘏𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 "𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶"𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘶, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦! 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ! 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.! 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘶!.

-"Well I guess change of plans then, huh."

| O |
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/

love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/
love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/
love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/
love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/
love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/
love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/I love you/
I love you/I love you/

The words were a ghostly echo, a faint, rhythmic chant at the very edge of his consciousness, fading as the world solidified around him.

"I recognize this ceiling" Natsuki Subaru muttered, his voicdry, dry as his eyes fluttered open. The familiar, worn wooden beams of his tenement room greeted him. He was on his bedroll, a thin blanket tangled around him.

«You’re finally awake.» Nyx’s voice was a wave of palpable relief in his mind, her purple form pulsing softly beside his head. «Are you alright? Your vitals were stable, but your mana was nearly depleted.»

"Yeah, I'm... okay," he rasped, pushing himself up on his elbows. A dull ache permeated his entire body. "What about you? Shion? What happened?" The last memory was a fractured nightmare of a failing barrier, a pillar of white fire, and the sound of a little girl's desperate crying.

«You slept for a day,The little girl intervened. She engaged the twin in a battle that... . The twin was forced to retreat. Shion is unharmed. She, Tia, and Halibel are outside, waiting for you to wake.»

Before he could process this, a small, hesitant voice came from the doorway. "Master... are you alright?"

He turned his head. There she was. The girl from his memories, with long crimson hair and eyes like molten gold, wringing her hands nervously by the door. The sheer power she had exhibited was unimaginable, but here she looked like a scared child caught in a storm.

"Thank you for saving us" Subaru spoke, his brow furrowed in confusion and admiration. He tried to sit up fully, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down, his muscles protesting with a sharp, familiar pain. "And why are you calling me master?"

A flash of pure panic crossed her face. "Master, please don't stand up! You need to rest! I'll... I'll bring you some water right now!" She scurried out before he could say another word, her small frame moving with a frantic energy.

As she returned with a wooden cup, her hands trembling slightly, Subaru fixed her with a searching look. In a low, serious voice, he asked the questions burning in his mind. "Hey. Why are you calling me master? Who are you? What's your name?"

| O |

She had been ready for his denial, his fear, even his anger. But the question, "What's your name?" struck her with the force of a physical blow. It was a question which made her loose focus.

Her master was here. The contract thrummed between them, a tangible, inviolable thread. The familiar, cursed miasma clung to him like a second skin. But his eyes held no recognition, only the wary confusion of a stranger. He looked younger, his hair a stark white instead of the black she remembered. An effect of his Authority, she reasoned desperately, clinging to the hope. It has to be.

"Are you alright?" her Master asked again, his voice laced with concern that felt both foreign and painfully familiar.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she met his gaze. "Master... I am your contracted Great Spirit of Fire. You... you never gave me a name."

| O |

Subaru took the offered cup and drank deeply, the cool water a blessing on his dry throat. He set it down, his expression a mask of profound confusion. "Thank you for saving us. I mean it. But... what do you mean, I never named you? I'm sure this is our first time meeting."

A desperate hope flickered in her golden eyes. "Master, do you remember Elsa? Or Meili?"

The names meant nothing to him. They were empty sounds. "I don't. I've never met anyone with those names."

Her shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. [It doesn't matter. We'll get your memories back. I won't lose you again.]

She took a small, hesitant step closer. "I see. One last question, Master." Her voice was barely a whisper, as if speaking a sacred and terrible secret. "Do you remember who you are?"

The air grew heavy. He knew what was coming. A cold dread pooled in his stomach. "Who do you think I am?" he asked, his own voice shaking.

The little girl closed the final distance, her small, warm hand gently covering his. She leaned in, her whisper meant for his ears alone, a confession and a verdict.

"Master," she breathed, the words laden with seven years of grief and devotion. "You are the Sin Archbishop of Pride. Natsuki Subaru."

| O |

Outside the room, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension.

"So, let me get this straight, Miss Shion," Halibel said, scratching his head, his kiseru momentarily forgotten. "You're telling us a girl who looks exactly like Tia-chan tried to turn you and Al-san into mincemeat, and then a full-blown Great Spirit drops from the sky, calls him 'Master,' and scares the copycat away?"

"Yes, that's... essentially what happened," Shion confirmed, her arms wrapped around herself as if cold.

Before she could elaborate, a voice cut through from the corner. Tia leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, a deep scowl on her face. "So the thief got away again? Hmph. I'm not leaving his side now. At this rate, I'll never get my lightball back."

| O |

Back inside, the Great Spirit's words hung in the air, suffocating and absolute.

Subaru knew that pride and he shared the same face and same name, but still he couldn't believe that he was pride! 7years ago he was just a 10years old kid.

"No!" Subaru's voice was a raw, pained yell as he ripped his hand away. "You're wrong! My name is Natsuki Subaru, but I'm not your Master! People call me Alcor now! But I'm not Pride! I've never have meet you or whoever those Elsa and Meili!"

He was pleading with her, with the universe, to undo this terrible accusation. To be isekai'd was one thing; to be isekai'd as the world's most hated devil was a cruelty.

The spirit flinched as if struck, but then her tears began to fall in earnest, silent streams carving paths down her cheeks. She reached out and grasped his hands again, her grip surprisingly strong, desperate.

"Master, you've lost your memories, that's all!" she insisted, her voice breaking. "We'll get them back, I promise! Don't worry, Master, I'll protect you! I'll do anything! Please, please don't abandon me! I can't lose you... not again. Not like I lost Elsa. Not like I lost Meili."

The raw, deep agony in her voice was too much to bear. Seeing this powerful being, this living cataclysm, reduced to a sobbing child begging not to be left alone, shattered his defenses. His anger evaporated, replaced by a heavy, aching guilt for a past he never had or a past he couldn't remember .

With a sigh that came from the depths of his soul, he reached out with his free hand and gently began to pat her head. "Please... don't cry," he said, his voice softening. "I'm not going to abandon you. We can... we can talk about the memories and... everything else later."

The spirit immediately stilled, her sobs quieting to hiccups. She nodded vigorously, then, seeking comfort, buried her face in the fabric of his tracksuit, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a dissolving world.

A long moment of silence passed before Subaru spoke again, a feeble attempt to inject normalcy into the surreal situation. "And, uh... can you stop calling me 'master'? It's kinda creepy. People might get the wrong idea and think I'm a lolimancer."

---

The fragile, quiet moment was shattered as the door slid open with a sharp clack.

"Well, well, look who's finally among the living," Halibel's lazy drawl filled the room. He leaned against the doorframe, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as his eyes flicked between Alcor and the crimson-haired girl still clinging to his chest. Shion stood just behind him, her heterochromatic eyes wide with a mixture of concern and intense curiosity, while Tia peered over Halibel's shoulder with her usual impassive stare.

Halibel’s smirk widened. "I have to say, Al-san, I didn't take you for the type. Getting a little girl to call you 'Master'? That's a... particular taste you've got there."

Alcor's face was irritated. "It's not like that, you mangy mutt! She just started—"

He was cut off as the girl's head snapped up from his chest. Her molten gold eyes, which had been swimming with tears moments before, now blazed with an indignation that made the room feel several degrees hotter. She pointed a small, accusatory finger at Halibel.

"You will not speak to my Master with such disrespect, you incompetent mutt!" she declared, her voice ringing with an authority that belied her childlike form. "Do not think that just because I have chosen this vessel, I am to be trifled with. A Spirit of my caliber can reduce this entire nation to smoldering bedrock before you could even think of lighting that filthy stick in your mouth!"

The air in the room grew thick and hot. A faint, dangerous orange glow emanated from her small body, and the wooden floorboards beneath her began to smoke slightly. The threat was not an empty boast; it was a simple, factual statement of capability.

Halibel, for his part, didn't seem frightened, but his smirk did vanish, replaced by a look of genuine, amused respect. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Whoa, easy there, little star. No offense meant. Just teasing our resident."

Tia, utterly uninterested in the posturing, pushed past Halibel and fixed her indigo eyes on Alcor. "Enough about that. The one who stole my form and my lightball is still out there. Since you seem to be a magnet for trouble, I'm sticking with you until I get it back." She then glanced at the fire spirit. "And you. If you're so powerful, you can help me retriwe my lightball ."

The fire spirit puffed out her chest, the heat in the room subsiding slightly as her focus shifted. "Any enemy of my Master is mine to destroy. If this 'thief' dares to approach him again, I will grant her the oblivion she deserves."

Shion, who had been silently observing the entire exchange, finally spoke, her voice soft but clear. "Alcor... who is she, really? And... who are you?"

Alcor sank back onto his bedroll, running a hand through his white hair in exasperation. He was surrounded by a lazy wolf-human apparently 1of the 4 strongest in the entire world , a tsundere wind spirit, a dream-walking assassin, a living natural disaster who called him 'Master,' and his own floating orb companion. His isekai story had officially jumped the rails.

"Honestly, Shion," he sighed, the weight of the world heavy on his shoulders. "I wish I knew."

Shion, ever the pragmatist, was the first to steer the conversation back to practical matters. Her dual-colored eyes studied the crimson-haired girl with a newfound, wary understanding.

"Excuse me," Shion began, her voice carefully neutral. "Are you his contracted spirit?... then are you the Great Spirit of Fire that has been residing in the eastern border forests for the last seven years. The one the investigation was about. Is that correct?"

The little girl straightened up, a flicker of pride in her molten gold eyes. She released her grip on Alcor's shirt and stood with her hands on her hips. "That is correct. I claimed that territory. It was... quiet. A not suitable place to wait for the spirit of my calibre but better than nowhere." Her gaze drifted back to Alcor, full of unspoken meaning.

Alcor's eyes widened as the pieces clicked together. "Wait, so you're the one? — Nyx, the spirit we were going to investigate... that's her?"

«It would appear the investigation concluded before it began,» Nyx replied dryly.

A genuine, relieved smile spread across Shion's face. "Well, that simplifies things immensely. If the Great Spirit is no longer residing in the eastern forest and is confirmed to be... under control," she said, choosing her words diplomatically, "then the contract is fulfilled. The reward for the successful resolution is 300 Holy Gold coins."

Alcor's financial instincts immediately overrode his existential dread. His head snapped towards Shion. "Three hundred holy gold? Is that a lot?"

The reaction was instantaneous.

Halibel let out a loud, barking laugh, nearly dropping his kiseru. "Is that a lot? Al-san, you really are a country bumpkin, aren't you?"

Tia rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they stayed in her head. "I don't know,I don't use money."

Even Nyx pulsed with amused energy. «To put it in terms you might understand, it is enough for you to continue being jobless protogonist for couple of years or so. Yes, it is a lot.»

The collective, gentle mockery was too much for the fire spirit. Her small hands balled into fists, and the temperature in the room spiked again. The wood of the walls began to creak ominously.

"How dare you mock my Master's ignorance!" she seethed, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "He has simply been... preoccupied with greater matters than your pitiful mortal currency! I could melt every single one of your 'holy gold' coins into a worthless puddle and then forge the puddle into your tombstone! Show some respect!"

This time, however, the threat was met not with fear, but with a wave of unified, weary amusement. They had seen her annihilate a landscape; a little financial arson seemed almost quaint by comparison.

Halibel just chuckled, shaking his head. "Easy there, little inferno. We're just having fun with him. It's what friends do."

Shion offered a small, conciliatory smile. "He's right. No one means any disrespect. It's just... a very large sum, that's all."

Alcor, caught between the spirit's fierce protectiveness and his friends' teasing, could only sink deeper into his bedroll with a groan. His life was a never-ending cycle of trauma. He had a feeling the 300 Holy Gold coins were not going to be the least of his problems.

The initial tension had settled into a weary, surreal calm. Seeking to normalize the situation, Shion offered a small bow. "I'll go to the inn down the street and get some food for everyone. We can all use a proper meal after... everything." She slipped out, leaving the room in a temporary lull.

Once she was gone, Alcor, propped up on his bedroll, turned his attention to the other two. "So, while we were getting chased through the woods by a homicidal wind-doppelganger, what were you two up to? You mentioned bounty hunting."

Halibel, leaning against the wall, took a lazy drag from his kiseru. "There was a good catch," he began, a hint of amusement in his voice.

At that moment, Tia, who had been quiet, decided to make her success known. She hoisted a heavy-looking pouch onto the low dining table with a solid thud, then promptly placed her feet on the table's surface, crossing her arms with a proud, smug expression.

The fire spirit, who had been watching everything with a protective, hawk-like intensity, immediately scowled. "Such behavior," she sniffed, her nose in the air. "Putting your filthy feet where people eat. You truly are a spirit for the streets. Don't come near my Master."

Tia's triumphant posture deflated instantly. "Hey! I just saved this whole stupid town! I can put my feet wherever I want!and I don't want your master,I want my lightball" she retorted, though she reluctantly pulled her legs down, looking thoroughly disheartened.

Halibel chuckled at their exchange. "As I was saying," he continued, steering the conversation back. "We picked a simple job off the board—a petty thief. But then the guy practically fell into our laps. Couldn't just ignore it. We cornered him in his room, and it was filled to the brim with magic stones. The idiot tried to use them to blow himself up."

"He was a terrorist?!" Alcor exclaimed.

"Tia-chan punched the daylights out of him before he could," Halibel said, gesturing with his pipe. "Once he was tied up, he started singing about a whole network of smugglers in town with plans to level the place. We... persuaded him to give up their locations and spent the afternoon rounding up the whole pathetic lot."

Alcor could only stare, his jaw slightly agape. "You stopped a plot to destroy the city? That's the 'feature film' incident that happened on your end today!?"

Just then, Shion returned, her arms laden with a large tray from the inn bearing several bowls of steaming soup. As she set the tray down on the dining table, her elbow accidentally knocked Tia's prized reward pouch onto the floor with a dull clatter of coins. They all settled around the low dining table, the simple meal a stark contrast to the day's events.

As they began to eat, Alcor noticed the fire spirit still standing stiffly to the side, as if unsure of her place. "Hey, come sit," he said gently, patting the space beside him. She blinked, then hurried over, sitting with perfect posture. Seeing her hesitation with the bowl, Alcor picked up a spoonful of soup and carefully blew on it to cool it before offering it to her. Her eyes widened, and she accepted it with a quiet, "Thank you, Master," her earlier ferocity completely gone.

Between slurps of his own soup, Alcor shook his head in amazement. "So, let me get this straight. We had our life-and-death struggle with a super-powered copycat, and you two were off being action heroes, single-handedly preventing urban terrorism." He glanced at Tia, who was sulkily poking at her food, her triumphant moment thoroughly overshadowed. "And now our town-saving heroine is all quiet because she got scolded for putting her feet on the table."

Halibel just grinned around his kiseru. "Just another day in Banan, Al-san. Just another day."

| 𝘖 |
---

The simple, warm meal served as a balm, smoothing the last of the day's rough edges. The clatter of spoons against bowls and the shared, comfortable silence did more to unite the strange group than any formal truce could have.

Once finished, Shion was the first to rise, gathering the empty bowls with a practiced efficiency. "I should return home," she said, her voice soft. "The formal report to the client will be submitted first thing in the morning. The reward of three hundred Holy Gold will be available for you then, Alcor." She offered a small, genuine smile. "Try to get some proper rest."

"Thank you Shion, I owe you one"He smiled back

With a polite nod to the others, she slipped out the door, leaving the tenement room feeling noticeably quieter.

Halibel stretched his arms over his head with a theatrical groan, his joints cracking. "Well, the excitement's over for today. Even the strongest man in Kararagi needs his beauty sleep." He gave a lazy wave, his eyes glinting with amusement as they swept over the remaining trio. "I'll leave you to it, Al-san. Try to keep the property damage to a minimum, yeah? And no more summoning world-ending spirits ."

"Noted, Hal-san"he nodded

And just like that, with a final puff of smoke from his kiseru, he was gone, sliding the door shut behind him.

The room was now occupied by a deeply tired Alcor, a floating purple orb, a tsundere wind spirit sulking over her scuffed reward pouch, and a fiercely devoted Great Spirit who was meticulously wiping a stray drop of soup from Alcor's chin with the sleeve of her clothe.

An overwhelming sense of exhaustion, both physical and emotional, washed over Alcor. He was now the sole guardian of this chaotic, powerful, and deeply dysfunctional makeshift family. He looked at Tia, who was pointedly examining a crack in the ceiling, and then down at the crimson-haired girl who gazed up at him as if he held all the answers in the universe.

A heavy, resigned sigh escaped him. This was his life now. A runaway isekai protagonist, accused of being a devil, playing babysitter to two walking natural disasters. There was no guidebook for this.

"Alright," he said, his voice thick with fatigue but firm. "We're all stuck with each other for the night. So let's try to... not burn the place down. Or tear it apart with wind. Or... whatever else you two can think of."

The fire spirit nodded vigorously, her expression deadly serious. "I will ensure our sanctuary remains undisturbed, Master."

Tia just let out a noncommittal "Hmph," but didn't object.

Alcor, exhausted to his bones, settled back onto his bedroll. The little fire spirit sat primly beside him, her gaze fixed on him as if he might vanish if she looked away. Tia had retreated to a corner, observing with her usual detached curiosity, though a faint, unreadable emotion flickered in her indigo eyes.

A question had been gnawing at Alcor since she first spoke their names. He took a slow breath, his voice gentle in the quiet room.

"Hey," he began softly. "Those people you mentioned... Elsa and Meili. The ones you keep talking about. Who were they ?"

The effect was immediate. The spirit's small shoulders slumped. The fierce, protective light in her molten gold eyes dimmed, replaced by a deep, ancient sorrow. She looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap, her small frame seeming to shrink. She was silent for a long time, lost in memories that were clearly painful.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to" Alcor added quickly, his heart aching at her expression.

She shook her head, a single, determined motion. When she spoke, her voice was a fragile whisper. "Elsa... was like an elder sister to me. She was an assassin. She was immortal. Meili... she was my little sister. She could command mabeasts with a divine protection." A tiny, bittersweet smile touched her lips. "You... I, Elsa, Meili, the merchant, and blue ... we all worked together. We all followed you, Master. We were... Like a family." The last word was filled with so much love and loss it was almost tangible.

Alcor simply listened, giving a slow, understanding nod. The pieces were forming a picture of a life he couldn't remember, a life that sounded both terrifying and, in a twisted way, warm. " what happened to them?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "Where are they now?"

That was the breaking point. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, then another. A quiet sob wracked her small body. Alcor didn't hesitate; he opened his arms. She practically fell into them, burying her face in his chest as seven years of solitary grief poured out.

He held her close, one hand patting her back. "Shhh, it's okay. It's okay now. I'm here."

Her words came out between heart-wrenching sobs, muffled against his tracksuit. "They're dead! Both of them! I thought you were dead too, Master! I wanted to kill myself, but our contract... it wouldn't let me! I missed you so much! I miss them so much! I missed those times when we would play together and eat... but you don't remember them, Please, Master, don't abandon me! I was so afraid! I thought you were dead!"

She clutched him tighter, her small fists gripping his shirt. "How? How is Elsa dead? She was immortal! You said you were immortal! Both of you were so! I couldn't believe it! How can immortals die? How did Meili die? She had an army of mabeasts guarding her! How, Master? Where were you for seven years? I was so afraid, so scared! Where have you been, Master? Why did you guys leave me behind? Alone?"

Her voice rose to a desperate, broken plea. "Was I a bad spirit? I followed all of your orders, Master! I did as you said, I never disobeyed you! Why, Master? Why did you leave me behind?"

Throughout this raw outburst, Alcor and Tia shared a look over the crying spirit's head. Tia's usual aloofness was gone, replaced by a rare, sober concern. This was a pain that transcended their usual bickering.

Alcor continued to hold her, letting her cry until her sobs subsided into shaky hiccups. He gently patted her head. "Listen to me," he said, his voice firm yet kind. "I don't know why you're so sure I'm your master. But I'm not him. Seven years ago, I was just a ten-year-old kid in my world. I can't be who you think I am."

He felt her tense, but he didn't let go. "But," he continued, "I can't abandon you. I won't. I don't want to leave you behind. I want you to be part of my family. It's a weird family, but it's mine. Now we have me, Nyx, Hal-san, and even Tia over there."

He leaned back slightly, just enough to look into her tear-streaked face. "And... calling you just 'you' feels wrong. So, if you want me to give you a name... will you nod for me?"

Her eyes, wide and shimmering with unshed tears, went impossibly wider. She stared at him as if he'd just offered her the stars. After a frozen second, she nodded, a quick, desperate, hopeful little motion.

A warm, genuine smile spread across Alcor's face. "Spica," he said softly. "Your name will be Spica. It's a star from my homeland. The brightest star in the constellation of Virgo. Do you like it?"

The tears started again, but this time, they were different. They were tears of release, of a profound, seven-year longing finally being answered. A wobbly, but radiant smile broke through her grief. "Thank you, Master," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She leaned her head against his chest again. "No matter what you say, no matter how much you deny it, you're my Master. I'll make you believe it. Thank you, Master, for naming me! . Even if you reject me... I could never forget you."

In the corner, Tia watched the entire exchange. She said nothing, but the harsh line of her mouth had softened just a little.

---

| O |

The memory of the fight was a jagged shard in Shion's mind: the relentless, dodging enemy, the terrifying drain on Alcor's barrier, the blinding pillar of fire, and the desperate cry of the crimson-haired girl. It was all too much, too fast. As sleep finally claimed her, she found herself in the familiar, tranquil dreamscape of her elven village. Lilac was already there, her usual composed demeanor replaced by a look of profound disquiet.

"This is worse than I thought," Lilac stated without preamble, her purple eyes wide. "When the fire spirit engaged the twin, his mental defenses wavered. I seized the chance. I entered his dreamscape."

Shion felt a chill. "What did you see?"

"It was... a village. Empty. Peaceful, under a starry sky. But it was a phantom. A construct." Lilac's voice was low, tense. "And in the center of it... were stones. Monuments. With messages carved on them."

"Messages? From whom?"

"From us, Shion."

The dreamscape around them shimmered, the idyllic village dissolving into the replica Lilac described. There, in the silent town square, stood two stone slabs. The script was foreign, a jagged, blocky language she had never seen, yet she could understand it perfectly. She stepped closer, her heart pounding as she read the inscriptions.

Lilac's message was a frantic,lot of warnings and other information

Hey, if you are reading this, then you found Subaru again. When I say Subaru yes it's the sin archbishop of pride Subaru Natsuki. Do all of us a favor and DON’T go prying deeper into his mind, unless you have a death wish. And yes he is the one who you got all the loan words from and he is the one who named us! For mine He said it means something like love or "First love". He is not a bad person!, what am I talking about? He's a literally sin archbishop, I don't even know what I'm writing but listen he's not that evil, he just needs more friends, he has suffered enough, he promised to kill Capella to free us. Sure he will not remember that, he promised to us but he will remember that he promised. No matter what don't you dare to dig deeper into his mind last time I had to basically shatter his memories in order to try and hide in here. Subaru and Shion patched things back together and we all had to forget in order to make that ‘thing’ go away. He already has suffered enough so please! maybe help him. He saved us so isn't it fair we do the same? Bye bye

Shion's own message was softer, filled with a warmth.

Well this is awkward… Lilac’s message probably explained everything so I’m just going to… skip all that. If it's me reading this, then you found Subaru again. Don't freak out!Honestly there is a lot that happened, but I guess none of it was real. I know we don’t normally like to get involved in other people’s business, but we do owe Subaru a lot. Just, make sure that he’s happy, if he isn’t then do something about it! He's not that bad person if you can get along with, just he needs to believe in himself. He can be a good person or a good friend. He just has really really low self-esteem he needs help. He named me Shion,he said it means "I will never forget you" but none of us going to remember each other after this ends.I wished we could have stayed as friends Subaru, if you're reading this thanks for being my first ever friend. Thanks for saving me! I wish I could do the same for you ! I really wanted to be your friend.! I know you don't believe in yourself but I believe in you!..

Shion stared at the stones, her own words from a forgotten past . The confirmation was absolute. Alcor was Subaru. He was Pride. And they had known him. They had owed him so much that they had carved warnings to their future selves into the very fabric of his mind to protect him.

Lilac let the phantom village fade, returning them to their own dreamscape. Her expression was grim. "It seems," she said, her voice hollow, "that in some other life, we shattered his memories to hide from some... 'thing'. And we made ourselves forget to seal the wound.

We broke him to save ourselvelves ,sure you saved him,then he saved us today again, and he still named you 'I will never forget you'."

She looked at Lilac, a new, fierce resolve solidifying within her. "Well," Shion said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions. "I guess we change the plan, then.Listen Lilac I want to help him,we owe him a lot, we'we been searching for him a 9 years or so, we got the words and our names from him, we can't just sell him out" She met Lilac's amethyst gaze. "We keep our promise. We help him. No matter who he is now, or who he was."

Chapter Text

The weight of the 300 Holy Gold coins was a solid comfort on Alcor's hip. Finally, some good luck in this damn world. But as he walked, the clinking of coins was drowned out by the sound of his… entourage.

"An izakaya, Al-san?" Halibel mused, blowing a lazy smoke ring that curled around his head. "Not a bad call. Good sake, cheap food. A fine way to celebrate not being dead. Though with your talent for trouble, we might be counting our chickens a bit early."

"Your faith in me is truly touching, Hal-san," Alcor shot back, but a grin cracked through his weary exterior. This, at least, felt normal.

Behind them, the spirits provided their usual commentary.

"The only 'cohesion' I want is my fist cohering with that thief's face," Tia muttered, her eyes scanning the rooftops.

"A brutish and simplistic goal," Spica sniffed, her small hand firmly locked onto Alcor's cloak. "A true attendant sees to her Master's holistic well-being, which includes proper sustenance and morale."

Alcor let out a long-suffering sigh. "Can we have one meal? Just one? Without it sounding like a declaration of war?" He pushed through the short, split curtain of a cozy-looking izakaya. The smell hit him like a welcome memory—grilling meat, savory broth, soy sauce. Home.

They shuffled into a corner booth. Alcor and Halibel slid in. Spica immediately claimed the spot right next to Alcor, sitting bolt upright. Tia slumped on the opposite side with a definitive "Hmph."

A cat-eared waitress approached, looking slightly overwhelmed.

"We'll take a bit of everything," Alcor announced, taking charge. "Yakitori, gyoza, karaage, agedashi tofu. Sake for me and him," he jerked a thumb at Halibel, "and amazake for the ladies."

The food came fast. The table was soon covered in a glorious, steaming feast. For a moment, there was only the sound of sizzling plates and clinking dishes.

Alcor watched Spica. She stared at a piece of fried chicken he'd given her like it was a complex artifact. She took a tiny, cautious bite. Her golden eyes went wide.

"Master! This is…!" she gasped, before devouring the rest in a very un-great-spirit-like manner.

Even Tia was reluctantly drawn in. She nibbled a gyoza, her indigo eyes flickering with surprise. "...Adequate," she conceded, before immediately taking another.

Halibel poured two cups of warm sake. "See? Food. Solves everything." He raised his cup. "To Al-san. Our lucky charm for finding the worst kind of trouble, and somehow walking away richer for it."

Alcor clinked his cup. "I'd prefer luck that doesn't involve bleeding, but I'll take it." The sake was warm and bitter, spreading through his chest.

As the sake flask emptied, Halibel's eyes, gleaming with mischief, landed on Tia's full cup of amazake.

"Hey, Tia-chan," he drawled, leaning forward with the sake flask. "This sweet stuff is for kids. The real drink's over here. Takes the edge off. Want a taste?"

The table went silent.

Tia slowly lifted her gaze. Her eyes were flat, empty. The air grew heavy.

"If I drink alcohol," she said, her voice dangerously calm, "the part of me that holds back… vanishes. And then I would kill everyone here. Probably everyone on this street.Maybe even in this city.I wouldn't even mean to."

She leaned forward slightly, her whisper cutting through the noise of the izakaya. "So, mutt. Don't. Encourage. Me."

Halibel slowly, carefully, set the flask down. "...Right. Amazake. Good choice."

Alcor finally remembered to breathe. He shared a wide-eyed look with Halibel.

The moment passed, but the shadow remained.

Later, as the plates were cleared, a comfortable silence had returned. Halibel was recounting a tale about a bounty on a stolen, prize-winning watermelon. Tia, surprisingly, muttered a compliment about the karaage's crispness.

"Hey," Alcor said, breaking the quiet. "The tempura's supposed to be good here too. Should we get another round?"

Spica's face lit up. "If it is Master's wish!"

Halibel grinned. "Your money, your call, rich man."

Tia just shrugged, which was as good as a 'yes'.

As Alcor raised his hand for the waitress, he saw Nyx's soft glow in the corner of his eye.

The cat-eared waitress returned, her pad in hand. "Is there anything else you would like to order?"

Alcor, feeling the liberating weight of the holy gold in his pouch, gave a confident wave. "Again, we'll take a bit of everything! And bring another flask of sake for me and Hal-san here."

"Right away. Please wait a moment for your order," she said with a quick bow before scurrying off, leaving the group in their secluded corner.

A comfortable silence settled for a moment before Alcor, his curiosity finally overriding his caution, turned to the white-haired spirit. The amazake seemed to have softened her edges just a fraction.

"Hey, Tia," he began, leaning his elbows on the table. "We know you're a spirit, but... what kind of spirit are you? You look, well, basically human. Aside from the whole 'murderous intent' thing you've got going on."

Tia took a slow sip of her amazake, her indigo eyes regarding him over the rim of the cup. Before she could answer, Halibel let out a low chuckle, swirling the sake in his own cup.

"Tia-chan's real name is Zarestia," he said, dropping the name like a stone into a pond. The air at the table seemed to still. "She’s said to be one of the Four Great Spirits. Usually, she's sleeping in her nest on the west side of Kararagi. And sometimes..." He gave a lazy, dangerous smile. "...she cuts up those who are foolish enough to wander into her bed. They call her the most beautiful shinigami."

Alcor's jaw went slack. He stared at Tia—Zarestia—then back at Halibel, his brain struggling to catch up. "What?! A Great Spirit? And she—you—why isn't she killing us, then?! And if you knew, why in the hell didn't you tell me?!"

Halibel held up his hands in a placating gesture, though his smirk remained. "Come on, Al-san, give me some credit. I only pieced it together myself yesterday. Putting a face to the legend is harder than you think."

Alcor's wide-eyed gaze swung back to Tia. "Tia... is he telling the truth?"

She set her cup down with a definitive clack. "Yes, he is," she confirmed, her voice flat. "But I'm not in a killing mood. I don't have my lightball anymore. It's... irritating." She said the last word with the weight of someone describing a catastrophic natural disaster.

The pieces clicked together in Alcor's mind with an almost audible snap. "Hal-san! Remember the day we were in Crane's office? There was that poster, the one he took down! 'Zarestia Bed Search'! Maybe... maybe someone from that investigation group took her lightball!"

Halibel's playful expression sobered into something more thoughtful. He took a long drag from his kiseru, exhaling the smoke slowly. "Hmm. That's a solid lead, Al-san. I'll look into it. But don't wait for something big from me; these things take finesse."

"You better hurry up, Mutt," Tia—Zarestia—grumbled, stabbing a piece of karaage with her chopstick a little too forcefully.

"Let's eat first, then we'll see," Alcor said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters. He then turned to Zarestia with a deliberately wounded expression, his bottom lip jutting out just slightly. "And hey, while we're on the subject of truths... why did you give us a fake name? Are we really that untrustworthy?"

Zarestia rolled her eyes, a flicker of genuine annoyance crossing her features. "It's not that. I didn't know who you were back then. Now we... know each other better." She gestured vaguely around the table. "And 'Alcor' isn't even your real name, so you don't have a leg to stand on here."

The sudden shift in focus made Alcor freeze mid-reach for a gyoza.

Halibel's ears practically perked up, his wolfish grin returning in full force. He leaned in, his voice a teasing singsong. "Oh? Is that so? So what is your real name, Al-san?"

Before Alcor could even form a word, Spica slammed her small hands on the table, making the dishes rattle. She glared daggers at Halibel. "My Master does not have to tell you anything, you incompetent mutt! His past is his own!"

Halibel completely ignored her, instead fixing Alcor with an exaggerated, soulful look, his head tilted and his eyes wide like a sad puppy. "Am I really that untrustworthy, Al-san? After all we've been through?"

Alcor felt a sweatdrop form on his temple. He was trapped. "It's not that, Hal-san, it's just... it's really personal." He shot a look at Zarestia. "And how did you know Alcor was a fake name, anyway?"

She gave him a look that was pure, unadulterated condescension. "I'm a Great Spirit. Did you truly think I couldn't tell the difference between a true name and a hastily chosen alias? Don't insult me."

Alcor let out a deep sigh, the fight draining out of him. He met Halibel's still-pouting gaze. "Hah... Look, Hal-san. I'll tell you one day. I promise. Just... not now."

Halibel's fake-sad expression melted away into his usual lazy smile. He reached over and clapped Alcor on the shoulder. "I trust you, Al-san. Whatever—or whoever—you're running from, as long as it's not the Sword Saint himself coming for your head, I've got your back."

"Thanks, Hal-san!" Alcor said, gratitude genuine in his voice, even as a cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck.

It's the Sword Saint who wants me dead. The thought was a ice-cold spike in his gut.

But he clung to the information Nyx had given him like a lifeline. It's not like he can cross the border.

The 'Reinhard Law'... if he sets foot in another country, it's an act of war. We're safe here. We have to be.

He forcefully shoved the panic down, grabbing a piece of tempura from the new platter the waitress had just delivered.

The crispy, golden shrimp was a welcome distraction. "Anyway," he said, his voice a little too loud as he deliberately changed the subject, "what's the actual difference between being 'a' Great Spirit and being one of the 'Four Great Spirits'? Like, you're both powerful, right, Spica?"

Spica, who had been meticulously arranging three pieces of tempura on her plate in order of size, looked up, her golden eyes brightening at being addressed by her Master.

She opened her mouth to deliver what was sure to be a fervent and detailed explanation, but

Nyx's calm, voice chimed in first, her purple sphere pulsing with a lecturer's rhythm.

«The terminology is often confused by lesser beings,» Nyx began, floating over the tempura platter. «'Great Spirit' is a power level, a rank denoting a concentration of mana capable of influencing nations.

However, 'The Four Great Spirits' is a title. It refers to the single most powerful recognized spirit in each of the four core elemental affinities: Fire, Wind, Water, and Earth. They are, for all intents and purposes, the sovereigns of their respective elements.»

Alcor's eyes widened, a piece of halfway to his mouth.

He glanced between Tia—no, Zarestia—who was picking at her food with an air of supreme boredom, and Spica, who was nodding along vigorously.

"So... that means Tia is the strongest wind user in the world? The actual, no-kidding-around Wind Queen?"

He then turned to Spica, a dawning realization on his face. "And what about you? Where do you fit in?"

Spica puffed out her small chest, a flicker of flame dancing in her pupils.

"You are correct, Master! Tia is the recognized strongest wind user, the current holder of the title." She then clenched her tiny fists, a mix of pride and frustration in her voice.

"And I... I am the strongest fire-type user! It is simply that to officially claim the title, one must defeat the current holder in a sanctioned confrontation. I fought the current Great Spirit of Fire once! I was winning! But you..." Her voice softened, laced with a confused loyalty.

"You told me to not to kill him. So I let him live, and the title remains his."

Alcor stared at her, his brow furrowed in complete bafflement. He set his chopsticks down with a sigh. "Spica... I didn't ordered you to do anything. I've already told you, at least twenty times since I woke up," he said, his voice laced with a weary frustration, "I'm. Not. Your. Master."

But he knew deep down he might be her Master. But he just couldn't accept it. Maybe if there was more undeniable truth. One truth he could accept it?

For a moment, Spica looked genuinely hurt, her lower lip trembling slightly. But the expression was gone in a flash, replaced by an unwavering, dogmatic certainty.

She reached out and clutched the sleeve of his tracksuit, her grip surprisingly strong.

"You are my Master," she insisted, her molten gold eyes burning with conviction. She placed her other small hand over her own chest.

"The contract is the proof! It is here, inside me! A thread of fire that leads back to you and only you! You can deny it with your words, but you cannot sever the truth our souls are bound by!"

The table fell silent again, the only sound the sizzle from the kitchen and Zarestia's uninterested sigh.

The weight of Spica's declaration, backed by the raw power everyone knew she possessed.

Subaru let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul.

The sheer scale of the power sitting around this rickety table was overwhelming.

"I don't know, Spica," he murmured, pushing a piece of broccoli around his plate. "We'll... we'll see about all that later." He needed to change the subject, to grasp onto something that felt more within his understanding.

He looked up at the floating purple orb.

"And what about you, Nyx? You're a full-fledged spirit, right? Not a quasi-spirit or anything."

Nyx pulsed with a soft, proud light, drifting a little higher. «Yes. I am a true Spirit of Yin,» her voice echoed in his mind, clear and confident.

«And I will ascend to the rank of Great Spirit in the near future. I am certain of it. It is merely a matter of time and accumulated mana.»

A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped Subaru's lips before he could stop it. He slumped forward, resting his chin in his hands.

"Great. Even Nyx is stronger than me. So, let's tally this up. I'm in a room with three of the most powerful beings in the entire world. A Great Spirit of Wind, a Great Spirit of Fire, and the strongest of Kararagi." He gestured vaguely at himself, his expression crumpling.

"And then there's me. I can't even cast a simple spell without a spirit's help. It really puts things in perspective, huh? Makes a guy feel real small."

"Don't you dare speak about yourself like that, Master!" Spica's voice was sharp, almost a command.

She abandoned her food and leaned into his space, her small hands gripping his arm, her golden eyes blazing with a protective fire that had nothing to do with her element.

"You are much, much stronger than you think you are! Your will is your strength, Master! It's unbreakable!"

Halibel nodded, taking a slow drag from his kiseru and blowing the smoke away from the table.

"She's not wrong, Al-san. Strength isn't just about throwing the biggest fireball. It's about surviving. If it were anyone else in your shoes, with the targets on their back and the messes they've stumbled into? I'm sure they'd be a greasy stain on the cobblestones by now. You're still here. That counts for something."

Subaru gave a half-hearted shrug, not quite meeting their eyes. "Yeah, sure. I'm the king of surviving, I guess." He then looked at Halibel, a flicker of his old, mischievous self returning.

"If you're so impressed, then how about you teach me of those shinobi techniques of yours? Like that clone thing! That was insane!"

Halibel's lazy smile didn't falter, but his eyes gained a sudden, razor-sharp glint. The friendly atmosphere chilled by a few degrees. "Sorry, Al-san," he said, his tone light but final.

"Can't do that. They're secret arts, passed down through specific bloodlines and oaths. If I were to teach them to an outsider and it was discovered..." He let the sentence hang for a moment, his gaze unwavering. "...I'd have to silence you. Permanently."

Subaru's eyes widened comically. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, leaning back. "Whoa, okay! Message received, you mangy mutt! Jeez! Fine, I don't need your fancy techniques. I'll stick with spirit arts." He then grinned, trying to recapture the lighter mood.

"So, since you're so full of secrets, are you at least the strongest shinobi? Or is there some ancient master living in a cave somewhere?"

Halibel chuckled, the dangerous tension dissipating as quickly as it had come. "Hahah! Yes, I am the strongest shinobi. And the strongest of Kararagi, for that matter." He counted off on his fingers.

"There's Olbart and Yae after me. Those two are about as strong as each other by now, always bickering like an old married couple."

Subaru blinked. "Huh. I don't know any of the names you just said."

"You live under a rock, Al-san?" Halibel teased, raising an eyebrow.

Before Subaru could retort, Spica interjected, her voice dripping with disdain as she glared at Halibel.

"My Master lives in your apartment, mutt. That hovel isn't even fit for a stray dog, let alone my Master!"

Subaru couldn't help but bark out a laugh. He shot a triumphant look at Halibel. "You heard her, Hal-san. If we consider your apartment a rock, then yes. I guess I do live under one."

| O |

The last crispy piece of tempura vanished from the platter, the final grains of rice were eaten, and the last drops of drinks were drained.

A collective, contented sigh seemed to rise from the table. The frantic energy of the meal had settled into a warm, sated glow.

For a few precious moments, the looming threats and existential dread were held at bay by the simple, powerful magic of good food.

Alcor leaned back with a satisfied groan, patting his stomach.

"Okay... I think we've officially conquered the menu." He caught the waitress's eye and gestured for the bill.

When the small wooden slate was placed before him, he didn't even blink at the total. With a sense of surreal delight, he reached into his pouch.

The heavy, musical clink of the Holy Gold coins was a sound he could get used to.

He placed three of them on the tray with a definitive clink-clink-clink.

The cat-eared waitress’s eyes bulged. Her tail puffed out to twice its size, and her ears flattened against her head in shock.

"E-Esteemed customer! This is far too much! This is... this is enough for your entire party to eat here for a week!" she stammered, bowing so deeply her nose nearly touched the table.

"Keep the change," Alcor said, waving a hand with a nonchalance he didn't fully feel. It felt good. It felt powerful.

For a kid who'd been broke and hunted since the moment he arrived in this world, it was a tiny slice of control.

Stepping out of the izakaya's humid, aromatic embrace and into the cool, quiet night was like diving into a calm lake.

Lanterns painted the cobblestones in soft gold, and the world felt hushed.

Halibel stretched like a great, lazy cat, his joints popping audibly.

"That hit the spot," he rumbled, giving a wide, fanged yawn.

He then turned to Alcor, his expression shifting to something more focused, though a smirk still played on his lips.

"Right. I've got some... business to attend to. That little lead we discussed."

His eyes flickered towards Zarestia, who was examining the moon with an air of profound boredom.

"Try to stay out of trouble, Al-san. Or at least, try to keep the trouble contained to a single district." With a final,

two-fingered salute and a puff of smoke that hung in the air after he was gone, Halibel melted into the darkness of a side alley, leaving them alone.

The four of them stood there for a moment—Alcor, the ever-present Nyx pulsing softly by his head, Spica instantly latching onto his cloak like a small, fiery barnacle, and Zarestia, a silent, pale shadow a few paces behind.

As they began the walk back to the tenement, a new sound cut through the quiet night.

It was Tia. She walked with a light, almost skipping step, her earlier irritability seemingly forgotten.

She was humming, a strange, off-key series of notes that seemed to defy any known melody.

It was arrhythmic and dissonant, yet it was unmistakably the same bizarre tune Subaru had heard her hum the day before. There was a pattern to its chaos.

Spica, her brow furrowed in concentration, tilted her head. "What song is that?"

"Hmm?" She paused her humming, looking over with a vaguely surprised expression, as if she hadn't realized she was making noise.

"A nameless song." She brought a finger to her lips, tapping them thoughtfully for a moment.

Her face then lit up with a mischievous, almost childlike glee. "It'd be the 'Die Song'!"

"PICK A BETTER NAME!!"Alcor's shout was instantaneous and reflexive, his whole body jerking with the force of his protest.

The whiplash from the peaceful evening to a song literally named after murder was too much.

Tia clicked her tongue, irritated. "What's wrong with it?"

"My Master is right. That name is terrible and unbecoming." Spica declared, her little nose in the air.

"This again…" Tia rolled her eyes dramatically. "It's not like you'd ever disagree with your master anyway, Spica."

"Yes, that's right." Spica agreed without a hint of irony, clutching Alcor's sleeve tighter.

"I pretty much agree with everything my master says, because he is always right."

"Hey! So I had this realization…" Tia stopped walking, planting her hands on her hips. "I don't think I like Alcor's bossiness! Or his little fan club!"

Overwhelmed by a feeling that was neither stress nor praise but a frustrating mixture of both,

Tia let out a grumble and stalked ahead a few steps, running her hands through her short hair in exasperation.

A small smile touched Alcor's lips. The absurdity of it all was somehow… comforting.

In the silence she left behind, he found himself trying to replicate the strange tune.

He hummed tentatively, trying to catch the disjointed melody he'd only heard twice.

"……Not quite." She glanced back over her shoulder, a slow, genuine laugh escaping her. "Haha….hahaha. That's not it at all."

"Hmm, well I didn't catch it very well." He grinned, seeing her mood lighten. "Tia, let me hear it again."

"You wanna hear it that badly? Really?" She turned to face him,

a flicker of pleased surprise in her indigo eyes. She tried to hide it with a shrug. " "Well, I guess I have no choice."

Pleased with his request, Tia fell back into step beside him and began to hum the song once more.

This time, listening with intent, Subaru could hear it—beneath the off-key notes and the lack of conventional rhythm, there was a haunting, ethereal quality to it.

Had he not known she called it the "Die Song," he might have thought it was an enchanting, if peculiar, folk melody from a distant land.

Under the Kararagi moonlight, surrounded by his strange and powerful companions, the ominous tune almost sounded like a lullaby.

Chapter Text

It had been half a month since Spica and Alcor first met.

Half a month since Alcor’s doubt had begun to turn into something heavier — the slow, painful belief that maybe it was true.

Maybe he is truly the Devil...

The thought used to terrify him. Now, it was settling deep inside him like a quiet whisper that refused to fade.

Spica was a contracted spirit of Pride

And Now

His

He knew the contract between them was real.

He could feel it, the same way he had felt it with Nyx — that strange pull in his soul, as if an invisible thread connected their hearts.

Whenever he focused, he could sense it pulsing faintly, alive and undeniable.

Yet..

He still wanted to lie himself....

And about Nyx

But ever since Spica came to live with them, Nyx had changed.

She slept through most of the days now, her light dim and her voice quiet.

It wasn’t ordinary sleep. Spirits could sense power, and they feared what was greater than them.

Even though Nyx was a full spirit, she didn’t want to be near Spica.

Something about the Great Spirit’s presence made her uneasy — maybe even afraid.

Spica wasn’t fond of Nyx either. Every time she noticed the purple sphere hovering near Alcor, her expression turned cold and distant.

Yet, she had chosen to let it be. She forgave the small spirit for its attitude because, deep down, she respected its loyalty.

Nyx had risked herself to protect her master, and that was something even Spica could understand.

Still, there was a silent tension between them — something that hung in the air whenever they were in the same room.

The contrast between their auras was so strong that Alcor could almost feel it pressing on his chest.

Spica often looked down at Nyx with her usual calm pride, once saying, “It’s not like a Spirit of my calibre would ever lose to a floating orb.”

| O |

The door slid open quietly.
A woman in a white kimono stepped in.

She was beautiful..

The kimono’s short skirt showed her long, pale legs.

Her messy, white hair framed a sharp, beautiful face.

White and Silver hair was always his favourite..

Indigo eyes glinted with a teasing smile.

“What’s up with that dumbfounded look? Could you not get charmed just because I’m cute?”

The room felt still, as if even the air was listening to her voice.

“Tia, can’t you just barge into my room? And I’m still a teenager boy! Of course I’d be struck by your beauty — after all, I’m a boy in need,” Subaru said, fumbling with the zipper of his tracksuit.

Now living in Kararagi he started wearing his track suit more often.

After all it was one of last things reminded him of his home.

Tia’s lips twitched, and a faint blush dusted her pale cheeks.

Tia didn't knew why but this Alcor guy had something which attracted trouble like a magnet , he was a trouble for magnets and friends..

“Hmpf… where’s little fiery anyway?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly, a hint of curiosity and annoyance in them.

“She just left a few minutes ago. I don’t know where she went, but I have to keep an eye on her,” Subaru replied with a shrug, stepping closer to the doorframe.

Every time he looked at Spica's eyes his heart would feel sad for her...

After all she had lost her everything and everyone mattered

Every time She was clinging to him like he is her last belonging

His tone was casual, but his posture betrayed a mix of exasperation and protectiveness.

Tia gave a soft huff, stepping aside with a swish of her white kimono and closing the door behind him.

She followed him down the corridor, her movement graceful yet deliberate.

“You know she’s a great spirit, and you treat her like a child,” Tia said, her voice low but sharp, as if mocking him.

“I know, but… she’s really cute. I just want to pat her,” Subaru said with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

It wasn't just that, but seeing how much happy Spica would be when he patted her

He made it a habit to give her as much headpats as possible

“She’s a disgrace to a spirit’s honor!” Tia snapped, raising her voice as they reached the courtyard, her hands clenched slightly at her sides.

“There you are, Spica!” Subaru called out, waving energetically to the young spirit standing near the gate.

Spica’s face looked worried as she hurried toward him.

Spica was happy but sad at the same time...

She loved her master
She was devoted to him
But her master didn't acknowleged himself as her master

Her master treated her like a child

It's not like that she didn't loved it...

“Master… I’m really sorry! Please forgive me, Master!” she said, eyes full of concern.

“I’m not mad Spica . But how many times is it already? Stop calling me Master. Just Alcor… or Al, okay?” Subaru said, trying to keep his tone patient while gesturing casually.

Getting different glares and few insults from fellow townspeople when Spica called him Master was really uncomfortable

“Can’t do that, Master,” Spica replied with a bright smile, tilting her head in defiance yet full of affection.

Then she pointed an accusatory finger toward Tia. “And you, spirit of the streets… stop trying to seduce my Master!”

Tia’s cheeks heated instantly. “Who even wants your Master?” she snapped, glaring at Spica, though a faint pink lingered on her otherwise flawless complexion.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her irritation mingled with embarrassment.

“Anyway, what were you doing out there? You know it can be dangerous for little girls like you, Spica,” Subaru said cheerfully, patting her head.

Spica’s face burned crimson. “Master… a spirit of my caliber would never get lost. Even if I were, I would burn my way back to you,” she declared, her voice resolute.

Subaru groaned. “Again with ‘Master’? Please, Spica… call me by my name. People were giving me weird looks out there on the street,” he cried out, exasperated.

“I can’t do that, Master… I’m sorry, Master,” Spica protested, a guilty smile tugging at her lips.

Tia’s laughter rang out, sharp and amused. “So unsightly! So unsightly! So low! So lame! Are you stupid?” she teased, shaking her head.

Spica’s glare was fierce, unwavering. “I am simply devoting myself to my Master. As for you, spirit of the streets… you would never understand what it’s like to have someone you would give your life for,” she said, pressing herself closer to Alcor in a protective embrace.

Alcor gently patted her head. “Enough, you two. I don’t need any devotion. I just need some food. Since none of us can cook, let’s wait at the inn until Hal-san comes back. We can buy something to eat there.”

Taking little Spica’s hand, he started walking toward the gate.

Tia shrugged, following hurriedly. “I don’t actually need food, but since you’re paying, I’ll agree to it,” she said, casting a wary glance at Spica, who glared back at her with fiery indignation.

| O |

They had arrived at an inn near Crayne’s employment agency, the place where they had agreed to meet Halibel.

Getting Tia's lightball back was their main priority

Ever since that day Spica never left his side

And

Attacker also knowing she couldn't defeat Spica didn't attacked either

It was still morning, so Subaru ordered three bowls of soup — one for each of them.

“Thank you, Master. Your choice is the best as always,” Spica said, lifting her spoon delicately to her mouth.

Tia drank her soup directly from the bowl and shrugged. “Again? You act like he’s some divine being who deserves constant praise just for existing,” she protested, glancing between the two of them with curious eyes.

Spica’s glare was sharp. “Shut up. You will never understand true devotion,” she declared, sipping her soup with the air of someone issuing a final verdict.

Subaru sighed heavily. “Can you guys stop fighting for a second? Am I supposed to babysit two nukes? Both of you could level a city with a few spells, and I’m the one keeping you from doing it — and I don’t even get paid for this,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Having to babysit powerful great spirits while he himself couldn't even beat some thugs...

Life was strange...

Tia’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Who said we need babysitting from you? Huh? I could kill you right now.”

Tia wanted to kill

Always

And

Everyone

But

When it came to him and Halibel

She felt like not killing

But

She still wants to kill

Spica rose slightly in her chair, her back straight and proud. “My Master is an immortal being. All of your attacks are useless against him,” she declared confidently.

Her master had survived the Sword Saint, sin archbishops..

And her master had told her he was immortal

She never saw her master got seriously injured

Always it only would be some bruises or he wouldn't even get scratched some times

Tia smirked, glancing at Subaru. “Is that so?”

Subaru shivered. “Tia, don’t get any ideas. Spica doesn’t know what she’s saying — I’m pretty mortal, so please spare my worthless life,” he said, giving a small bow.

His return by death was powerful

But

It didn't granted him immortality like in his dreams

Return by death was powerful

But still trauma it had brought

Because of it he was having sleeping issues but now Spica holding him while sleeping

He felt safe

Spica shrugged and returned to her seat. “Master, you should not bow to anyone. Not even one millimeter.”

Her master, the one who was called

The Prideful One

Bowing?

It was something her master would never do

But

Her master didn't had any of his memories

So...

Subaru sighed again, then laughed softly. “Hehe… I don’t know why, but you really think highly of me, huh?”

Spica opened her mouth to extol the virtues of the Sin Archbishop, but she chose to remain silent until her Master accepted his own greatness.

The quiet at their table was broken by a familiar voice.

“Long time no see, Al.”
Shion appeared beside their table, smiling warmly at Subaru.

With the sight of a familiar green-haired half-elf girl, Shion, Subaru’s attention immediately sharpened.

She wore a beautiful pink kimono that flowed gracefully around her, the color complementing her soft features.

Not as stunning as Tia, he thought, but still top-tier beauty.

“Oh, hey, Shion! Come sit with us,” Subaru called, raising his hand. “Waiter, could we have one more bowl, please?”

Shion waved her hands in protest. “No, no, no, Al. No need. I just came by to say hi,” she said, smiling.

Shion didn't came just to say hi

She wanted to talk with Al.... No with Subaru Natsuki

Alcor crossed his arms and shook his head. “Nope. I already ordered, so you’re forced to stay.”

Spica leaned forward, her gaze sharp. “When my Master wants to grant you his kindness, you dare to say no to him?”

Alcor quickly poked Spica’s cheeks. “Stop, Spica,” he said gently before turning back to Shion. “Sorry about her, Shion. Please, come sit with us.”

With Subaru’s determined expression and Spica’s words, Shion finally sat down next to him.

She noticed Tia glaring at her and felt a little uneasy.
“Tia, was it? I think we met last time… during that accident,” Shion said, trying to ease the tension.

Tia sipped her soup without looking up. “Yes. And I don’t even remember you,” she muttered, clearly uninterested.

Subaru quickly reassured Shion. “Don’t worry. Tia isn’t exactly friendly with people she barely knows.”

Shion nodded, though a hint of nervousness lingered in her eyes. “Al, could we have some alone time later? I wanted to talk to you about something,” she asked softly.

Shion was afraid of him but she had a debt to pay

Before Subaru could answer, Halibel, the wolf-man, suddenly materialized. “ahahahah! I see , Al-san. I didn’t know you were such a womanizer, sitting with two beautiful girls while making a little girl call you Master! Truly scandalous,” he laughed, clearly enjoying himself.

Spica and Tia’s faces instantly darkened, and Subaru felt his blood boil.
“Mutt!”
“Mutt!”
“You mangy mutt!”
All three shouted at once. Tia swung a wind-slice at him, but Halibel nimbly dodged.

Sitting down with a smirk, he said, “I’m sorry! Just joking! I got information about Tia’s lightball, so don’t kill me if you want to know.”

Tia paused, her claws still raised. “If you don’t have valuable information, I will kill you.”

Subaru raised his hands, trying to calm the situation. “Hal-san, I’m a virgin seventeen-year-old boy. So, if you don’t want your tenement house turned to ash, stop calling me a womanizer. While you yourself are called an eternal playboy,” he declared with exaggerated seriousness.

Spica leaned forward, glaring at Halibel. “Calling my Master a womanizer? Do you know how many women have fallen for him just by seeing him once?”

People worshipped her Master and this Mutt dared to insult her Master?

She wanted to turn him into ashe but she knew if wolf man wanted to kill her

He could do it with ease

Halibel laughed again, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’m joking. Anyway… should I start now?”

He glanced at Shion.
Shion stood up politely. “If this is a private discussion, I can leave.”

Subaru gently grabbed her hand. “No need. I already owe you my life. I trust you with some information.”
Blushing slightly, Shion returned to her seat, feeling a bit more at ease.

She didn't wanted to

Yet she did

Tia slammed her palm against the table, the sharp sound echoing through the inn.

Every head in the room turned in alarm before quickly returning to their meals.

“Enough already, mutt!” she snapped, her indigo eyes flashing.

“Speak. What did you find out?”

Halibel chuckled, brushing a hand through his fur.

“Tia-chan, patience. It’s a lot to explain.”

Spica’s expression darkened, her crimson eyes narrowing into slits.

“Then start already, mutt,” she said coldly, her aura flickering like heat rising off stone.

Halibel sighed dramatically and began, his tone shifting to something heavier.
“──It all started about a month ago. The quest for Zarestia’s Bed was the beginning. You’ve heard the name, right? A cursed place where the wind alone kills anyone who dares approach.”
The table fell silent.

Tia was proud

After all it was a legend about her

“At first, the guild dismissed the expedition request as a suicide mission for thrill-seekers,” Halibel continued. “But then—miraculously, someone came back alive. If it had just been a survivor, it would’ve been dismissed as luck. But…” He paused, his golden eyes narrowing. “…the girl who returned wasn’t just any survivor. She came back changed. She sought Zarestia’s power — out of hatred. Out of revenge for what the Witch Cult did to her.”

Shion connected the dots...
She knew why the thief was aiming at Alcor no at Subaru
Even knowing who he is
She didn't wanted to him to die

At the mention of the Witch Cult, Subaru froze. His heart sank, his hands trembling slightly under the table. A cold sweat formed on his neck.
The Witch Cult….
Pride...

He swallowed hard, forcing a shaky smile, but Spica noticed. Her hand gently brushed his sleeve, concern glinting in her eyes.

(So there’s someone who knows about Pride… and thinks it’s me?) Subaru thought, his chest tightening.

Shion, who had been listening quietly, frowned. “What does Zarestia’s Nest have to do with you guys?”

Alcor exhaled softly, scratching the back of his neck. “Shion, please don’t scream, but… Tia is Zarestia.”

The color drained from Shion’s face. “R–Really?” she stammered. “Then why isn’t she killing us right now? Isn’t she supposed to be a mindless killer spirit?”

What was she thinking?
She was in the same table as 2 great spirits, strongest person in Kararagi and with the Devil himself.

Tia crossed her arms, glaring at Halibel. “That’s because someone stole my Lightball. They’re using it to kill people. Without it… I don’t have the will to kill anyone.” Her gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. “Not right now, at least.”

Halibel tapped his claw against the table, his grin fading into something more serious. “That still doesn’t explain why that person would want to kill Al-san.”

The air grew tense. Subaru’s throat went dry.

Half of the table already knew the answer..

“I… don’t know,” he muttered quietly, his voice barely audible.

Spica’s eyes sharpened, her tone cutting. “What are you implying, mutt?”

Halibel raised his hands in defense, chuckling awkwardly.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m just saying… it’s suspicious. Please, understand me.”

Halibel was lonely...

Being strongest meant people wanted to use him to get something they wanted...

He had gotten so much offers from different people to work for them

They had promised him wealth

But Halibel wished for company and friends who did treated him as just a normal person.

He didn't wanted to loose his friends.

The wolf-man’s words hung heavy in the air.

Shion broke the silence. “Witch—or Devil—Cultists are marked by a Gospel and their miasma. Ordinary people can have traces of miasma, sure… but the Gospel confirms them as cultists.”
Halibel hummed thoughtfully, nodding. “I see… so Al-san’s in the clear then.”

Halibel had already checked Alcor's stuff on the first day

It's not like that he had much things either way

Subaru cleared his throat, forcing the scattered murmurs back into focus.

The inn’s low bustle seemed to shrink around their table, like the air itself waiting for an order.

“So—now we know about the culprit,” he said, planting both elbows on the table and folding his hands. “What should we do?”

Tia’s reply was instantaneous, violent in its simplicity.

She slammed her palm down, making the chopsticks jump in their rest. “We kill her. That’s all.”

Spica’s expression tightened, crimson eyes hard as garnet.

“Even though I don’t like her,” she said, voice flat, “I agree with the spirit for the streets. A thief who attacks my Master has no right to live.”

Halibel hummed, amusement and contempt braided together. “I agree with them— out of hatred alone you can’t kill people because of their smell.”

He tapped a claw against his chin, eyes flicking to Subaru. “But that doesn’t mean we can charge in blind.”

Subaru’s patience thinned, his fingers tightening around his bowl. “I didn’t ask for your opinions,” he snapped, then forced his tone back down.

“We need a plan if we want to get Tia’s Lightball back. Rushing in will only get someone killed—or get us blamed.”

Tia’s jaw worked. The white of her knuckles showed where she gripped the tabletop, but her voice lowered into a dangerous whisper. “Then tell me this plan, Al. If you fail, I will do the job properly.”

“Hm…” Subaru leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Considering she wants me—but ever since you guys started sticking close, she’s stopped attacking.”

Shion nodded, brow furrowed. “Right. But when it was just you and me, she came straight for us.”

Subaru’s eyes narrowed as he pieced it together. “That means… I have to stay alone. Once she sees me unprotected, she’ll attack.”

Halibel’s ears twitched. “But, Al-san, you on your own can’t defeat her. Going alone is suicide,” he said, his usual teasing tone replaced by genuine concern.

He knew it was suicide but it's not like that he would stay dead

How many times could he use his cursed power?

He didn't knew

He had to gamble

Subaru let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah… me and Nyx can probably hold out for five minutes. After that—well, you can start writing my will.”

The wolf-man scratched his chin, thinking. “The thief attacks only when you’re unguarded, right? Then how about this—you leave the city, draw her out, and when she comes for you, we ambush her.”

Spica immediately cut in, slamming her spoon onto the table. “And how exactly are we supposed to know when my Master is under attack, mutt? Think before you bark.”

Leaving her master unprotected?
Is the mutt lost his mind?

Halibel winced. “That’s… a fair point.”

Halibel didn't wanted to loose friends...

A sharp knock silenced them all.

Tia had rapped her knuckles against the table, her expression cool and unreadable.

Everyone’s eyes turned to her as she stood, the morning light glinting off her pale hair.

Without a word, she reached into her sleeve and drew out a small object.

What she held out to Subaru shimmered faintly—a bracelet woven from thin white thread.

Its texture was delicate, yet a faint trace of mana pulsed within, like the heartbeat of something ancient.

Subaru blinked. “What’s that?”

Tia looked away, pretending to study the wall. “A small gift,” she said softly, her tone edged with pride. “It’s a special binding made by me—white, not black. It’ll let me sense when you’re in danger… and find you, wherever you are.” Her gaze flicked back to him, eyes narrowing as if to smother her own embarrassment. “And don’t get the wrong idea. I’m only giving this so I can get my Lightball back. Not because I care about you.”

Subaru couldn’t help but smile. There was warmth in his chest, faint but real.

He felt comforted knowing there was people who didn't wanted him dead

He reached out and took the bracelet, its thread cool against his fingers, and slid it onto his wrist.

“Got it, Tia,” he said with a grin. “Then I’ll make sure to keep you busy.”

Tia folded her arms, a faint pink rising on her cheeks. “Hmph. Just don’t die before I kill you myself.”

Halibel smirked, tail flicking lazily. “Looks like our bait plan just got an upgrade.”

Spica huffed, crossing her arms as she glared at Tia. “Don’t think this makes you special, spirit of the streets. My Master only accepted that because it’s useful.”

“Please,” Tia said, arching an eyebrow. “I’m the one saving his life. You should thank me instead of barking.”

The two spirits locked eyes, tension sparking like static between them.

Subaru groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Great. I’m about to fight an unknown assassin and my own party’s already a warzone.”

Despite his words, there was a small smile tugging at his lips.

For all their chaos and clashing egos, there was comfort in knowing he wouldn’t face the coming storm alone.

Outside, the early light spilled across the city streets, warm and deceptively peaceful. But somewhere beyond those walls,

the one who had stolen Tia’s Lightball was waiting—watching—and soon, she would come for him again.

And this time, they’d be waiting.

Chapter Text

The morning sun streamed into the main room of Halibel's tenement house.

It was a deceptively peaceful scene, at odds with the tension crackling in the air between its occupants.

Alcor rolled up the sleeve of his tracksuit,

The white thread bracelet Tia had given him seemed absurdly delicate against his skin.

He held his wrist up, examining it with a skepticism born from brutal experience.
"This bracelet of yours better work, Tia," he said, his voice a mix of dry humor and genuine concern. "Otherwise, I'm gonna get the Gojo treatment out there, and let me tell you, getting bisected isn't on my to do list."

Tia, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, didn't even look at him,

her gaze fixed on some distant point outside the window. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips.
"It works, it works," she dismissed, her tone laced with her usual bored arrogance. "So stop your whining. You're not going to die until I kill you. Consider that a promise."

From the corner, where she sat with her hands neatly folded in her lap, Spica’s molten gold eyes narrowed. "Your assurances are as flimsy as your character, spirit for the streets. If even a single hair on my Master's head is harmed due to your failure, the consequences will be...."

Shion, wringing her hands slightly, stepped forward.

“𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 ”𝘴𝘩𝘦 thought

Her green hair seemed to glow in the sunlight, a stark contrast to her worried expression. "Do you all really have to do this now?" she implored, her gaze sweeping over the group. "You only just finished planning everything over soup an hour ago! Shouldn't we... I don't know, prepare more?"

Halibel, the picture of relaxed insolence, blew a lazy smoke ring that curled toward the ceiling.

"Haha, no need to be afraid, Shion-chan," he reassured her, though his golden eyes held a glint of sharp focus beneath their lazy droop. "Five minutes is a lifetime in a fight. More than enough for Tia-chan and me to cover the distance. We'll be there before he can even finish one of his dramatic monologues."

The attempt at lightheartedness was shattered by Spica.

She rose to her feet, her small form seeming to cast a long, menacing shadow.

The air in the room grew noticeably warmer,

"And if my Master dies," she stated, her voice dropping into a low, resonant register that vibrated in their bones, "know this, mutt. It will not be just you who pays the price."

Her golden eyes, usually so full of fiery devotion, were now flat and ancient, like cooled lava. "This entire nation will serve as his funeral pyre. I will scorch the earth from the western coast to the eastern mountains until everything is glass and silence."

A heavy, dreadful silence fell upon the room. Halibel's smirk vanished, his ears giving a slight, involuntary twitch.

Tia finally turned from the window, her indigo eyes assessing Spica with a new, wary respect for the sheer scale of the threat. Shion paled, taking a half-step back.

It was Alcor who broke the tension. He moved to Spica's side and placed a hand gently on her head, patting her crimson hair.

The gesture was so normal, so at odds with her apocalyptic declaration.

" come on now," he chided softly, a weary but genuine smile on his face.

"Please, trust me, okay? I'm an expert at surviving hopeless situations. It's my one and only real talent." He knelt down slightly to look her directly in the eyes, his expression turning serious.

"And I need you to promise me something. Even if I die, you will not destroy Kararagi. You will not hurt these people. That's an order."

Subaru knew Spica wasn't joking about destroying a nation, as she had done before

Spica's unwavering gaze met his, a storm of conflict in their depths.

Her loyalty to his word warred with the very core of her being,

which screamed that a world without her Master was a world not worth existing.

Finally, she looked down, her shoulders slumping in reluctant submission. "...We will see about that, Master," she murmured, a non-answer that promised nothing.

Standing up with a soft sigh, Alcor turned back to his would-be rescuers. "I can't even believe I actually agreed to this," he muttered, running a hand through his white hair. "I must be crazier than I thought."

Halibel stepped forward, clapping a heavy, friendly hand on Alcor's shoulder. "It's not crazy, Al-san. It's reckless. And in our line of work, that's a highly respectable quality." His grin returned, though it was softer now. "It means you trust us to have your back."

Tia pushed off the doorframe and walked over. She didn't offer a pat or a kind word.

Instead, she stopped in front of him, scrutinizing him as if checking a tool before a mission.

She reached out and, with surprising deftness, tightened the knot on the white bracelet, her fingers cool against his skin.

"Don't worry," she said, her voice quieter than usual, stripped of its usual venom.

For a fleeting moment, her indigo eyes weren't those of a deadly Great Spirit, but of someone trying to offer comfort in the only way she knew how. "I'm sure you're not going to die.My shinigami instincts tells me you will not die! "

It was the closest she would ever get to saying 'good luck'.

Alcor looked at the mismatched pair—the lazy wolf and the tsundere shinigami—and felt a strange, fragile sense of confidence.

He nodded,

"Alright then," he said, his voice steady. "Let's go catch a thief."

| O |

The "plan," as it stood, was deceptively simple.

A couple of hours after the meeting in the inn and then in the tenament house,

Alcor found himself walking a lonely path on the outskirts of Banan,

where the tidy Wafuu architecture began to fray into untamed woodland.

The air was different here—thinner, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth instead of sizzling street food and ozone.

This was it. The stage for his performance.

He was alone. Deliberately, conspicuously alone.

Nyx was a dormant pulse against his chest, conserving her energy.

Spica was back at the tenement, having been convinced to stay behind with immense difficulty—a negotiation that involved promises, headpats, and the, logical truth that her overwhelming presence would scare the target away.

Halibel was also in further back so the thief wouldn't notice him

Tia was elsewhere, waiting for the signal from the white thread bracelet coiled around Alcor's wrist.

'A special binding... It’ll let me sense when you’re in danger… and find you, wherever you are.'

He could feel it now, a faint, cool thrum against his skin, a constant reminder that he was being protected.

It was the only thing holding his fraying nerves together.

"Okay, Nyx," he muttered under his breath, his voice swallowed by the forest's silence. "Showtime. Just you and me, like the old good times."

«I am ready,» her voice was a thin, focused thread in his mind. «The moment she appears, the Absolute Defense Barrier. We will not have a second chance.»

"Right. No pressure." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his tracksuit, the familiar fabric a small comfort.

This was it. The quintessential isekai protagonist moment: walking into danger as the plucky, underpowered bait.

Except in the stories, the protagonist usually had a hidden power usually a Sharingan,

not a cursed resurrection and a couple of world-ending spirits on a leash.

His mind wandered back to Spica’s words, her unwavering certainty. "You are an immortal being." He snorted.

If only she knew. His "immortality" was a cycle of agony and trauma, a secret he had to carry alone.

The real Natsuki Subaru, the Pride she remembered, probably was immortal in some fashion.

The man who burned a nation wouldn't be felled by a simple knife.

But him? Alcor?This Subaru Natsuki? He died. He died and he remembered, and the memories were stains on his soul.

A twig snapped.

His entire body went rigid. His breath hitched. This was it. Faster than he expected.

He slowly turned, his heart hammering a frantic drum against his ribs.

The path behind him was empty. Just shifting shadows and dappled sunlight.

"Get a grip, Subaru," he to himself, using the name he’d been trying to bury.

"She's not here yet.Don't scare yourself"

He forced himself to keep walking, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The forest seemed to close in around him, the cheerful birdsong now sounding like a taunt.

Every rustle of leaves was a footstep, every creak of a branch was the whisper of a spell.

'She wants to kill me because of the Witch Cult. Because of Pride.'

He was sure about it

The thought was a cold stone in his gut.

This wasn't a random monster or a greedy bandit.

This was someone with a motive, a history, a reason.

She wasn't just a target to be eliminated; she was a person he—or the ghost he represented—had wronged.

The weight of a sin he couldn't remember pressed down on him.

He thought of Shion's hesitant trust, of Halibel's gruff camaraderie, of Tia's tsundere bracelet, of Spica's desperate, devoted love.

They were all risking themselves for him. For Alcor. But was he worth it? Or were they all just dancing on the strings of a devil's past?

Another sound. This one was different. Not a natural forest noise.

It was the soft, almost silent shiff of fabric against bark.

He stopped. He didn't need to turn around this time.

He could feel it—a presence, sharp and lethal, materializing from the shadows behind him.

The air grew cold, the ambient sounds of the forest dying away as if in respect for the predator that had entered the clearing.

«Al. She's here,» Nyx's voice was a edge of alarm. «Fifty paces behind you. She's not even hiding her presence.»

Alcor took a deep, shuddering breath. This was it. No more running. He had to make this one count.

He slowly turned to face his hunter.

There she stood, exactly as he remembered from his countless deaths.

The milky white hair, the sharp, beautiful features, the indigo eyes that were now flat and empty of everything but intent.

The crimson streaks in her hair and on her white kimono seemed to glow in the dim light, a mockery of Tia's pure form.

In her hand, she held the source of her power—a shimmering, volatile orb of condensed wind: Tia's Lightball.

"\[Die.\]"

The word was the same. A flat, emotionless decree. But this time, Alcor was ready.

"Not today," he growled, his voice low and steady despite the fear coursing through him. "ADB!"

In perfect unison with Nyx, he chanted. The air around him warped, a shimmering, translucent dome of distorted space erupting into existence just as an invisible of wind slammed into it.

The barrier held, the attack dissipating against the absolute defense with a sound like shattering glass.

The twin—the thief—didn't even flinch. Her expression remained blank, but her attacks came faster. "Die. Die. Die."

Invisible gusts hammered against the barrier, each impact sending a psychic jolt through Alcor and Nyx.

He could feel the drain immediately, a sinking sensation in his core as their shared mana reservoir began to plummet.

"Five minutes, Nyx!" he gritted out, his knees trembling from the strain.

«Yes. She is stronger than before. Her connection to the Lightball is stabilizing.»

'Alcor’s eyes darted around the forest. Where are they? Come on, Hal-san! Tia! Any time now!'

this stalemate continued for minutes,

Then the attacks simply... stopped.

The howling wind died to a whisper. The thief’s arm lowered a fraction, her head tilting in a movement that was confusion.

She wasn't looking at him anymore. She was looking past him.

A cold dread, entirely separate from the threat of the wind, trickled down Alcor’s spine.

He took a stumbling step back,

He whirled around, a gasp catching in his throat.

He was surrounded.

They emerged from the trees like ghosts, figures clad in dark, hooded robes that obscured their faces. They moved with a silent, unsettling synchronicity.

Several of them positioned themselves in a defensive semi-circle in front of him, their bodies forming a living shield against the wind-wielding thief.

Others simply stood their ground, their hidden gazes fixed on him.

They weren't looking at him with hostility, nor with friendship.

It was the blank, patient stare of soldiers awaiting a command.

'Who are they?'

Ally?

Or

Enemy?

In the background, the brief silence shattered as the thief, realizing her prey was being usurped, unleashed a furious gust of wind towards the new arrivals.

The hooded figures in front didn't flinch.All of them lunged themselves at her.

A chaotic skirmish erupted, the thief's wild, powerful winds clashing against the disciplined, combined defenses of the hooded figures.

But Alcor couldn't focus on that fight. A new presence was approaching, gliding through the ring of hooded figures as if they were mere mist.

She was a woman, floating a few inches above the forest floor.

Her hair was a disheveled mane of purple, tangled and wild. Deep, bruise-like circles hung under her eyes, which held a drowsy, unfocused quality.

Her skin was pale, almost sickly. She wore loose robes that seemed to be a bizarre hybrid of the hooded fugures' attire and sleepwear,

as if she had been roused from a deep slumber and couldn't be bothered to fully dress.

She began to circle Alcor slowly, her head lolling to the side as she studied him with a vague, academic curiosity, like a naturalist examining a strange insect.

"Won't you happen to be Lust, will you?" she asked, her voice a drowsy murmur that seemed to drain the energy from the air around them. "So troublesome ... Only the vacant seat of Lust remains among the Archbishops now..? "

Alcor staggered back, his mind reeling. His voice was a shaky, broken thing.

"Who... who are you?"

The woman stopped floating directly in front of him. Her drowsy expression cracked, splitting into a wide, maniacal grin that was utterly at odds with her lethargic demeanor.

A low chuckle escaped her lips, growing into a full-blown, unnerving laugh that echoed through the clearing.

"How slothful of me... to not introduce myself," she said, her laughter subsiding into a series of weary-sounding giggles.

She gave a theatrical, half-hearted bow while still floating in the air. "My name is Amue Sears. Sin Archbishop of the Devil's Cult, representing Sloth. It's a... pleasure to make your acquaintance, I suppose."

Chapter Text

Panic seized Alcor. She thinks I'm Lust! His mouth opened to deny it, to scream that he was no one.

«Say yes!» Nyx's voice was a sharp, desperate order in his mind. «It is the only vacant seat! It is the only claim that makes sense to her! Deny it, and you are a meaningless variable. Accept it, and you have value! You have leverage!or she might just kill you»

But I'm not—!

«LIE!»

Swallowing the lump of terror in his throat, Alcor forced his trembling body to stand straighter.

He met Amue's gaze, trying to mimic a fraction of the arrogance he imagined a Sin Archbishop would possess.

"...Yes," he said, the single word feeling like a betrayal of everything

"I am the sin archbishop of
Devil's cult representing Lust,Natsumi Schwartz."

A slow, wide smile spread across Amue Sears's face, but it didn't reach her drowsy eyes.

It was the smile of a cat that had cornered a mouse, only to find it might be a slightly more interesting insect.

"Is that so?" she drawled, floating in a lazy circle around him. "How... convenient. And so slothfully straightforward." She stopped directly in front of him again, her head tilting. "But a claim is just a claim. Empty words are such a bother."

Her grin turned razor-sharp. "If you are who you say you are... then you have it, don't you? The proof of our lady's favor. The guide to our future.Proof of our devotion"

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was far more terrifying than a shout.

"Show me. Show me your Gospel.Proof of your love"

Alcor's blood ran cold. The Gospel. The one thing he could never have.

The physical proof that would condemn him utterly.

His bluff was about to be called, and the consequences would be immediate and fatal.

What could he do?

What could he actually do?

He had nothing. He could only stand there, the silence stretching out,

It was at that exact moment of catastrophic failure that salvation came.

A 2 kunai whipped through the air, one at Amue which passed through her , other at the cultist leader maintaining the defensive barrier.

The man cried out as it sank into his shoulder, the dark wall flickering and dying.

And then, a voice laced with centuries of cold fury cut through the chaos.

"Get away from him."

Tia—Zarestia—stood at the edge of the clearing, her indigo eyes blazing, the very air around her growing still and deadly.

Beside her, Halibel, a lazy but predatory smile on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt your recruitment drive," the wolf-man drawled. "But you're bothering our tenant."

Amue Sears glanced from Alcor's terrified, frozen face to the new, powerful arrivals.

Her expression twisted into one of immense, weary annoyance.

She looked back at Alcor, her drowsy eyes now filled with a knowing, suspicious glint.

"No Gospel...?" she murmured, just for him to hear. "How How... SLOTHFUL, SLOTHFUL!" she then shrieked to the entire forest, the word a physical force that made the leaves tremble.

Amue’s lip curled. "Vermin. How… slothful."

She didn’t even look at Alcor. She simply flicked the fingers of her left hand in his direction.

It was a push.

An invisible, concussive wave of force, dense and silent, hit Alcor in the chest.

There was no pain at first, only a terrifying absence of air,

His body left the ground, flung backward like a discarded rag.

He crashed through a thicket, thorns tearing at his tracksuit and skin, before skidding to a brutal halt against the base of a pine tree, his world exploding into white-hot agony from his injured side.

He gasped, choking on nothing.

He was a non-threat now. Dismissed.

Amue was already moving. She flew, a ghostly projectile, closing the distance to the new threats with terrifying speed.

As she moved, her hand carved through the air. Not with a flourish, but with the efficient motion of a reaper’s scythe.

Three arcs of sickly, purple energy—not light, but visible blight—ripped through the space towards Halibel and Tia,

withering the foliage they passed, leaving a trail of decay.

Halibel met the charge without a word. His body seemed to stutter in place, and then there were 4 of him.

The two clones did not hesitate; they broke into a sprint, intercepting Amue’s path, their movements a mirror of lethal intent.

It was a futile dance. The first clone thrust a kunai at her heart.

The blade passed through her spectral form without resistance.

A fraction of a second of confusion was all it was granted before Amue’s own hand, shimmering with a corrosive, void-like energy, phased into its face.

There was no impact, only a silent, horrific unraveling. The clone distorted, its form

dissolving into motes of fading light that were swallowed by the purple aura, extinguished from existence.

The second clone lunged low, aiming to sweep her legs. Its attack met the same non-resistance.

Amue’s other hand shot down, her fingers plunging into the clone’s back. It convulsed once, violently, and then burst apart into nothingness.

Two lives, albeit magical constructs, snuffed out in the space of a heartbeat. They had bought a single, crucial second.

That was all Tia needed.

She had moved from her spot.Now flying.

Her arms were at her sides, but her hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists. The air around her began to whine,

It was the sound of the atmosphere being compressed, tortured, into a single, focused point before her.

"Al Fura," she whispered.

The word was not a shout. It was a death sentence.

A drill of condensed atmosphere, invisible but for the devastating path it carved, tore across the clearing.

It was a wind; The sound was a physical blow, a pressure that threatened to collapse Alcor’s lungs from a distance.

It struck the center of Amue Sears’s ghostly form.

There was no struggle. Her body, intangible to physical blows, could not withstand this fundamental violation of the air that gave it shape.

It fragmented. Not like glass, but like a reflection on disturbed water, breaking apart into a thousand shimmering pieces before being sucked into the vortex of her own spell and obliterated.

A final, distorted shriek of pure, impotent rage was the only evidence she had ever been there, cut off into absolute silence.

The roaring ceased. The sudden quiet was deafening.

On the far side of the clearing, the original Halibel stood amidst a scene of brutal efficiency.

he was simply standing, and the bodies of twenty or more cultists lay around him in a rough circle.

They hadn't been cut down in a frenzy. They had fallen to precise, single strikes—broken necks, crushed windpipes, pierced hearts.

It was not a battle; it was an execution. The few survivors were already gone, their will to fight extinguished with their master's presence.

The thief was also now long gone, retreated the moment she senses Tia's presence.

| O |

Familiar, worn wooden ceiling swam into view.

The dull, throbbing ache in his abdomen was the first thing to greet Alcor, a persistent and unwelcome anchor to reality.

He tried to shift, and a sharp twinge made him suck in a breath through his teeth.

It was then he noticed the weight on his hand. Small, warm, and clutching his fingers with a desperate tightness.

He turned his head—a slow, stiff motion—to see Spica kneeling beside his futon.

Her usual fiery pride was utterly extinguished, replaced by a pallor of fear that made her look heartbreakingly young.

Her crimson eyes were wide, glistening with unshed tears.

"Master..." she breathed, her voice a fragile thing. "You're awake? Are you okay? I should have been with you. I should never have let you go alone."

Her grip tightened, as if he might vanish if she let go.

He managed a weak smile, patting her hand with his free one. "I'm okay, Spica. Just... sore. How long was I out?"

"You've been unconscious for three hours, Al."

The voice came from the foot of the futon. Tia stood there, her arms crossed, but the usual sharpness in her indigo eyes was softened by a concern she couldn't fully hide.

Her voice was quieter than he'd ever heard it, laced with a relief she would never verbally admit.

"Al-san," a deeper voice rumbled from the doorway. Halibel leaned against the frame, taking a long drag from his kiseru.

The smoke curled lazily towards the ceiling. "How troublesome are you, exactly? We thought a homicidal thief was enough of a problem for one week. Now we have the Witch Cult's personal attention. You don't do things by halves, do you?"

The sheer, overwhelming relief of being alive, of being back in this cramped, safe room with them, washed over him.

"Thank you," Alcor said, his voice thick with genuine emotion as he looked at Tia and Halibel. "Both of you. I'm sure I'd be dead without you two."

Tia gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, a faint smile touching her lips before she looked away, as if embarrassed by the display.

Halibel waved a dismissive hand, though his eyes were serious. "You shouldn't thank just us. The firecracker here and Shion-chan are the ones who put you back together. Without their healing, you'd be as good as dead, cult or no cult."

Only then did Alcor's gaze sweep to the corner of the room. Shion was sitting there, quietly observing.

She looked up as he noticed her, her heterochromatic eyes filled with a complex mix of worry and exasperation.

She stood and moved closer, her movements graceful and calm.

"I was really worried, Al," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Can't you just stay out of trouble for one straight month? Is that too much to ask?"

There was no real anger in her chiding, only the weariness of someone who has seen too much chaos follow one person.

Alcor gave a weak, apologetic laugh. "I'm sorry. And thank you, Shion. Spica." He looked at each of them in turn. "I owe you all... more than I can say."

Halibel barked a laugh. "Of course you do, Al-san! Don't think you're free of the charge. You're buying drinks for a month after this."

A heavy sigh drew their attention back to Tia.

She was staring out the small window, her expression grim. "The thief got away yet again..." she muttered, the frustration evident in her taut posture.

"She got away?" Alcor asked, a fresh wave of guilt souring his stomach.

Halibel nodded, his expression turning businesslike. "Yes. The moment we showed up and she saw the numbers were against her, she fled. We could have given chase, but you were in a bad way. Prioritities, Al-san."

Alcor turned his gaze to Tia, his expression pained. "I'm sorry, Tia. It's my fault. The plan was a failure."

Tia looked back at him, and to his surprise, she didn't look angry. Her gaze was straightforward.

"No, it's not. We can get the Lightball back another time. But if you died," she said, her voice dropping, "we couldn't get you back. So I'm not sad. I'm actually... happy you're alive." She paused, then added with perfect, deadpan delivery, "But I still want to kill you."

The sheer absurdity of the statement, delivered with Tia's unique blend of honesty and menace, broke the tension.

A round of soft, weary laughter filled the room, even Spica cracking a small, relieved smile.

When the laughter faded, Halibel's expression grew serious again.

He took the kiseru from his mouth. "Anyway, Al-san. Your turn. Who was that girl? A Sin Archbishop, right? We've said our part. Now it's your turn to tell yours. What happened before we arrived?"

All eyes were on him. The moment of truth. Alcor took a deep breath, the memory of Amue Sears's drowsy, malevolent face flashing behind his eyes.

"The plan... was working," he began, his voice low. "The thief took the bait. But then the cultists appeared out of nowhere. They started fighting her, surrounding me. And then... she came."

He described her—the disheveled purple hair, the deep circles under her eyes, the way she floated just above the ground. "She introduced herself. Amue Sears. Sin Archbishop of the Devil's Cult, representing Sloth." He saw the recognition and dread in Halibel's eyes, the grim understanding in Tia's.

"She... she asked me if I was a Sin Archbishop. I wanted to deny it, to scream that I wasn't." He closed his eyes, remembering the icy spike of fear. "But Nyx... she screamed in my head. She said if I said no, if I was nobody, she might just kill me on the spot. So I... I role-played. I lied."

He opened his eyes, meeting their gazes, laying his vulnerability bare. "But she asked for proof. She asked if I had a Gospel." He let out a shaky breath. "I was caught. I had nothing. And then... you guys came. You know the rest."

The room was silent, the weight of his confession settling over them. He had laid all his cards on the table—his fear, his deception, his powerlessness.

He waited, in the quiet of the tenement room, for their judgment.

Spica’s small hand tightened around his, her grip shifting from desperate to defiant.

Her molten gold eyes hardened, reflecting a fire that promised utter annihilation. "There is no need to worry, Master," she declared, her voice low and resonant, losing its childlike tremor. "I will protect you from any danger. None of them can or will touch you. Not the cult, not the thief, not anyone. I will reduce them to ashes before they even dare to draw a breath in your direction."

The raw, fervent devotion in her voice was a tangible force in the small room.

It was both a comfort and a terrifying reminder of the power he nominally commanded.

Halibel let out a long, weary sigh, the smoke from his kiseru curling into a complex shape before dissipating.

"Understandable, firecracker. But it still leaves us with one question." His golden eyes, sharp and analytical, fixed on Alcor. "Why did she think you were a Sin Archbishop in the first place?"

The question hung in the air, its implications settling over the room like a cold mist.

It was something new. The Witch Cult was known for its mindless slaughter, for carving its dogma into the flesh of innocents with fanatical zeal.

For them to stop, to question someone, to investigate rather than eviscerate… it was a deviation from their known, horrific pattern. It suggested a purpose beyond mere chaos.

Alcor shifted uncomfortably under the collective gaze. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice hesitant. "Maybe... because of the miasma? Spica told me I have it. That I always have."

Halibel’s ears gave a slight twitch. He took a slow drag, exhaling thoughtfully. "Hmm. Is that so?" It was less a question and more a quiet filing away of a crucial piece of information. The miasma—the scent of the Witch—was the common thread. It was what marked him, what drew both the cult's scrutiny and Thief's murder intent.

It was Shion who broke the tense silence that followed.

Her voice was gentle but firm, a practiced healer taking control of her patient's environment. "Now, Halibel-sama, Tia-sama," she said, addressing them with a respectful formality that brooked no argument. "Could you two please go and get some warm food for our patient? He's lost blood, expended immense energy, and needs proper rest and nourishment to recover."

Halibel and Tia exchanged a look—a silent conversation passing between the wolf and the spirit.

They both understood a dismissal when they heard one. Halibel gave a slight, conceding nod. Tia’s lips thinned, but she didn't protest.

"Fine," Tia said, her tone returning to its usual brusqueness, though her eyes lingered on Alcor for a moment longer. "Take care of him, then. Remember," she added, pausing at the doorway and casting a final, pointed glance back, "I will be the one to kill him."

With that ominous yet familiar promise hanging in the air, the two powerful figures left, the room feeling suddenly larger and infinitely more fragile.

A heavy silence descended, thick and expectant.

The only sound was Subaru's own breathing and the faint rustle of fabric as Spica, seeking comfort, buried her face against his chest, her small frame trembling slightly with residual fear and fury.

He gently patted her head, his fingers tracing through her crimson hair in a soothing rhythm.

Then, Shion spoke, her voice soft but clear, cutting through the quiet like a scalpel.

"Alcor… no." She paused, her heterochromatic eyes holding his, unwavering. "Calling you Subaru Natsuki would be better… right?"

The name—his name—struck him with the force of a physical blow.

The reaction was instantaneous and violent. Spica shot up from his chest, her entire body radiating lethal intent.

Her small palm was thrust towards Shion, a tiny sun of incandescent heat coalescing in its center, ready to unleash a firestorm that would vaporize the half-elf where she sat.

The air itself shimmered with the promise of instant cremation.

"SPICA, no!" Subaru's command was sharp, desperate.

His hand darted out, not to push her arm away, but to close over her tiny, burning fist.

He didn't force it down; he simply held it, his own hand covering hers, a silent plea. "Stop."

The fire in Spica's palm flickered and died. She looked from Shion's calm, resigned face to her Master's pained expression.

The fury in her eyes warred with her obedience, and slowly, reluctantly, she lowered her hand, though her glare promised Shion a world of pain if she took one wrong step.

Subaru let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He gave Spica's fist a final, gentle squeeze before releasing it.

Then, he turned back to Shion, his shoulders slumping. The mask of 'Alcor' had been shattered completely.

All that was left was a deeply tired boy, weighed down by a past he couldn't escape.

He offered a small, sad, and utterly exhausted smile.

"When did you find out?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. He met her gaze, his own eyes filled with a tumultuous mix of fear, resignation, and a strange, burgeoning relief. "And... thank you. For not exposing me."

Chapter Text

The Slothful World's Embrace

—It was all so very slothful.

That single, all-encompassing thought was the bedrock of Amue Sears’s being, the lens through which the entirety of her wretched existence was filtered.

She had been younger. The concept of 'the Kingdom' was a distant, for those in the remote borderland villages.

News arrived late and distorted, .

The Great Fire of Pride, the fall of the Devil, the coronation of the Half-Elf Queen—these were but phantoms, stories to be half-heard and swiftly forgotten by people whose world extended only as far as the next harvest.

Until the Cult came.

They were not the main force, not the architects of the capital's fall, but

scavengers—scuttling in the wake of a greater fire, eager to set their own, smaller fires.

Her village, nestled in its ignorant peace, was a perfect kindling.

Amue remembered the scent most vividly. Not just smoke, but the specific, nauseating sweetness of burning thatch and the pungent, oily stench of searing flesh.

Her father, a man of few words and calloused hands, had died not in a heroic stand, but pointlessly, his body turned to a blackened, crackling thing while beating at flames with a soaked sack. His final act was one of futile effort.

How slothful.

The fire burned down, leaving a landscape of charcoal and ghosts.

Half the village was gone. The survivors were hollowed-out shells, their eyes reflecting the emptiness of the dark sky.

And then, the true, slow death began.

Famine. It was a patient, relentless predator.

It didn't pounce; it gnawed. It shrank bellies and swelled joints.

It turned neighbor against neighbor, friend against friend.

The communal spirit that should have been their salvation curdled into a feral, desperate selfishness.

Amue, by her very nature, found the struggle unbearable.

The sheer effort required to simply continue existing was a monumental,

slothful task..

Her family—a fever-ridden mother confined to an upstairs bed,

grandparents so ancient and brittle they seemed made of dust, and

her little brother, Todd, whose fourteenth birthday had passed uncelebrated in the gloom—was a sinking ship.

She was the one who had never learned to swim, content to simply tread water until her strength gave out.

"Sis."

Todd's voice, still clinging to a shred of its boyish lightness, was a needle in the thick fog of her apathy.

He stood holding their father's old axe, its head too heavy for his thin frame.

"We need wood. … it will be cold tonight."

Amue, seated on the floor with her back against the wall, didn't even look up. "Can't it wait until tomorrow? It's so much… work."

How slothful..

"There is no more 'tomorrow' for things like this," Todd replied, his voice hardening with a resolve that felt alien in this house of the dying. "We go now."

The forest was a skeletal hand clawing at a gray sky.

The silence was absolute, a stark contrast to the memory of its former, lively whispers.

They walked, the crunch of their footsteps on the frozen undergrowth the only sound.

Amue remembered the feel of Todd's hand in hers—cold, thin, but holding on with a desperate trust that she knew, in the slothful depths of her heart, she did not deserve.

It was the trust that shattered when the Wolgrams came.

They emerged from the tree line not with a roar, but with a low, collective growl, their ribs visible beneath mangy fur, their eyes glowing with a hungry yellow light.

There were too many. Fear, cold and sharp, finally pierced Amue's lethargy.

It was then that Todd’s hand tore from hers.

"Run, Amue!" he screamed, his voice a raw, tearing thing in the silence. He didn't look at her.

He charged toward the beasts, his small body a defiant, pathetic shield, the axe held high. "RUN HOME!"

He was leading them away. Sacrificing his momentum, his future, his very body, for her slothful, worthless life.

How slothful..

And she ran. She ran without looking back, her lungs burning, branches whipping at her face.

She ran with the single, shameful instinct of self-preservation, her brother's final, desperate cry echoing in the cavern of her soul.

How slothful..

The village was a graveyard. Her own home yawned before her, the front door hanging open on broken hinges, a windowpane shattered into a thousand glittering shards on the ground.

A premonition, cold and final, settled in her gut.

She stepped inside.

The smell hit her first—the thick, metallic tang of blood, so potent it overpowered the ever-present scent of ash.

Then, she saw them. Her grandparents. They lay in contorted positions on the floor.

Their heads were merely removed; they were gone now.

The atrocity of the sight was so immense it failed to register as horror.

It was simply a fact. A slothful, inevitable fact.

A sound from above. A rhythmic, creaking noise, punctuated by guttural grunts and a faint, wet sobbing.

Her body moved, carrying her up the stairs as if pulled by a string.

Each step was a lifetime. She pushed the door to her mother's room open.

The scene within was one of such profound, blasphemous violation that it seemed to warp the very air.

Her mother, pale as death and slick with sweat from her fever, was pinned beneath two men.

Their faces were those of neighbors—the butcher, the cobbler's son.

Their expressions were blank masks of base instinct.

A third man, Ra Pist the farmer, was standing, fastening his trousers.

His eyes, flat and soulless, found hers in the doorway.

"The strong survive in this new world, girl," he said, his voice a low rumble that held no malice, only a simple, brutal truth. "Don't worry." He took a step toward her, his shadow falling over her. "I'll be gentle with you."

When it was over, the three of them stood over her. He leaned down, his breath a foul stench against her ear. "We'll be back, Amue. You better wait for us."

Their footsteps receded down the stairs. The house fell into a silence so profound it was a physical pressure.

Amue lay on the cold floorboards, curled beside the cold, still form of her mother.

She did not move. She did not weep. She simply was. A vessel filled to the brim with a pain so absolute it had become a form of numbness.

To move was a bother. To feel was a chore. To exist was the most slothful task of all..

How slothful..

—That was when the world shifted.

There was no sound, no displacement of air.

One moment, she was alone in the crushing silence.

The next, a presence was there, kneeling beside her.

A girl. Her hair was the color of pure, untrammeled snow, her features crafted with an impossible, serene perfection that felt less like beauty and more like a fundamental error in reality.

She wore simple, pale rags, yet she seemed to radiate an aura of pristine, untouchable purity.

Her expression was one of gentle, motherly concern.

But the feeling she emanated was one of profound, universe-shattering wrongness.

Cool, soft hands cupped Amue's cheeks, tilting her face up.

The girl's eyes were bottomless pools, swallowing the dim light of the room.

"Are you Slothfull?" the girl asked. Her voice was soft, polite, and carried a terrifying, absolute detachment.

Amue Sears held her breath. In the face of the absolute annihilation of her world, this question, so simple, so absurd, was the only one that cut through the numbness.

It was the key that fit the lock of her very being.

All of it—the fire, her father's charred corpse, the gnawing hunger, Todd's sacrificed future, the headless bodies downstairs, the weight and violation, her mother's cold skin—it all crystallized into a single, undeniable answer.

Her life had been a monument to sloth. And the world had simply finally, slothfully, agreed with her.

"...Yes," Amue whispered. The word was not an admission; it was a sacrament.

The girl smiled, a expression of beatific peace. She removed her hands, and in her palm, a small, black box manifested.

It was a void given form, a pocket of absolute nothingness that seemed to drink the light, the sound, the very hope from the room.

It hummed with a spiritual menace that was both terrifying and deeply, deeply seductive.

"What... is that?" Amue rasped, her throat raw.

"Would you like revenge?" the girl inquired, her tone still as placid as a still lake. "And the power to ensure that the effort of living, of feeling, is never again demanded of you?"

Amue scrambled backward, staggering to her feet.

A spark of something—not hope, but a frantic, cornered-animal terror—ignited within her.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice a trembling thing. "What do you want from me? Why would you... help me?"

The girl stood, her movement fluid and unnervingly effortless. "I am Pandora. The Witch of Vainglory. And I am the leader of the Witch Cult." She took a silent step closer. "I am a mother. And a mother cannot simply stand by and watch little girl cry."

The insanity of the statement, the sheer, grotesque perversion of comfort, shattered the last fragile vestiges of Amue's mind.

A raw, wordless scream tore from her throat. She launched herself at Pandora, her hands closing around the Witch's slender, white neck.

She squeezed, she shook, she put all her weight, all her grief, all her rage into crushing the life from this serene, monstrous thing.

She did not resist. She did not stumble. She did not even blink.

She simply accepted the violence, her peaceful smile never faltering, her eyes holding a boundless, incomprehensible pity.

Spent, Amue released her, stumbling back. She was certain she had killed her.

She turned away, her gaze falling once more upon her mother's violated corpse, and a wave of sobs, true and broken, finally wracked her body.

She stood there, weeping, utterly and completely alone in a universe that had revealed its true, slothful, and merciless nature.

Then—

She felt it. A presence, directly behind her.

There had been no sound, no warning.

A whisper, soft as falling snow yet cold as the grave, brushed against the very core of her being, a sound that bypassed her ears and resonated directly within her soul.

"—I want to understand you."

| O |

Consciousness slammed back into Amue Sears not as a gentle awakening, but as a shockwave of re-integration.

Her true body, hidden deep within a damp, secluded cave not far from Banan, jolted within a coffin-like container carved from a single, dark stone.

The transition from her projected form was always a jarring, unpleasant process, but this time it was laced with a new, searing emotion: pure, undiluted fury.

Her eyes snapped open in the absolute darkness. For a moment, there was only the sound of her own ragged breathing echoing off the stone. Then, the dam broke.

A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat, ripping through the silence of the cave.

She slammed her fists against the stone lid of her container, the impact sending dull, painful vibrations up her arms.

"HOW SLOTHFUL! SLOTHFUL! SLOTHFUL! SLOTHFUL!"

Each word was a curse, a condemnation of the entire world and the intolerable effort it demanded.

The failure. The interference. The sheer, unmitigated bother of it all. The memory of that boy's terrified face, his pathetic lie, and then the arrival of that insufferable wind spirit and her mangy pet—it was an affront to her very existence.

It was work. It was trouble. It was everything she had accepted Pandora's gift to escape.

Her screams echoed, bouncing off the walls until they faded into a strained, heavy silence, broken only by her panting.

She lay there in the dark, the cold stone seeping into her bones, the phantom sensation of that concentrated wind spell still making her form feel unstable.

Slowly, the incoherent rage began to cool and condense, hardening into something far more focused and malignant.

The name he had given her rose to the surface of her mind, a single, shining point of blame in the vast, slothful darkness.

Her lips, chapped and pale, curled into a snarl. The words that emerged were no longer a scream, but a low, venomous vow, a promise carved into the silence of the tomb.

"I'll kill you," she whispered, the sound a dry rustle in the dark. "Natsumi Schwartz."

Chapter Text

Two Kinds of Truth

The silence in the tenement room was a fragile thing, stretched thin over the chasm of the name that had just been spoken.

Subaru Natsuki.

It hung in the air between them, a ghost given form.

Spica’s protective fury was a palpable heat, her small body still coiled like a spring, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.

But Subaru’s hand on hers was a gentle anchor, his touch a silent command for trust.

Shion watched this interplay, her heterochromatic eyes soft with a deep, weary understanding.

She did not flinch from Spica’s glare, meeting it with a calm that spoke of hard-won resilience.

"You don't have memories of being Pride, do you?" Shion asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.

Subaru’s shoulders slumped, the last of his defenses crumbling. He looked down at his own hands, as if searching for bloodstains that weren't there.

"No," he confessed, the word heavy with a profound and genuine confusion. "I don't. I have nothing. Just... a name, a face, and a world that wants me dead for sins I can't remember committing."

Shion let out a long, slow sigh. It was not a sigh of disappointment, but of relief. The final piece of the puzzle had clicked into place. "I see."

"Speak already!" Spica interjected, her voice sharp, unable to bear the tension any longer. She rose to her knees, her golden eyes blazing.

"Answer my Master's question! When did you learn of this? What is your purpose?!"

"Spica," Subaru said, his voice firm but gentle. He reached out and placed a hand on her head, his fingers gently stroking her crimson hair.

The gesture was instinctual, a calming ritual for them both. "Don't be rude. If she were an enemy, she would have exposed me , or She had countless chances to kill me or stand aside and let me die." He met Shion’s gaze, his own eyes filled with a desperate, searching hope. "I don't think she's an enemy. I think she might be a friend."

The word 'friend' seemed to hang in the air, foreign and precious. Spica, soothed by Subaru’s touch and his logic, reluctantly settled back onto her heels, though her watchful eyes never left Shion, a low, protective heat still radiating from her small form.

Shion offered a small, sad smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, which held a deep, ancient weariness. "You're right," she said, her voice soft but clear. "I'm not your enemy. And how I found out... it's a long story. So listen.I really have a lot of things to talk about you"

She took a slow breath, as if steadying herself to dive into deep waters. "I am a Dream Arts user. I can enter people's minds, walk through their memories... and sometimes, I pick up fragments they leave behind. Words, feelings, echoes.espesially loan words"

Her heterochromatic eyes—one a sunset orange, the other a deep oceanic blue—seemed to look through him, into a distant past. "That's how I know words like 'shut-in', 'NEET', 'isekai'. I picked them up from you, Subaru. About nine years ago, I think. They were just... there, in my head. A chaotic, confusing dictionary from another world."

Subaru's breath hitched. The timeline was damning. "So... you knew Pride? The me from back then?"

"Not exactly," Shion shook her head, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. "I don't remember the first meeting. Those memories... they're gone. Erased."

She wrapped her arms around herself, a subconscious gesture of protection. "From what I can piece together, when I entered your mind and found out... something... the knowledge itself was a threat. It could have killed me. So, the memory was severed. Erasing you from my mind... it's what saved me, I guess."

A cold understanding washed over Subaru. He didn't need her to spell it out.

He knew, with a certainty that chilled his bones, what that "something" must have been.

The invisible hand that had crushed Shion's heart when he screamed the truth of Return by Death into a forest. He had told her before, in a loop lost to time, and it had cost her life for knowing his secret.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice thick with a grief for a tragedy only he remembered. He reached out and placed his hand over hers where it rested on the futon.

It was a grounding touch, for both of them. "So, please... don't go deep into my mind. Not ever again. It's not safe."

A single, silent tear traced a path down Shion's cheek. She didn't ask why. She simply nodded, understanding the unspoken horror in his eyes. "Okay."

For a moment, they sat in that shared, painful silence, bound by a forgotten history of sacrifice.

Then, Shion took another breath, her expression shifting to something more vulnerable, more personal.

"And... do you know what the name 'Shion' means?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Subaru looked at her, the green-haired girl who had become such an unexpected anchor in his chaotic life.

The answer came to him not from this world's language, but from his own. "Shion," he said softly. "It's a flower. But it translates to... 'I will never forget you'."

A genuine, wobbly smile broke through Shion's sadness. "Right." She looked down at their hands, his covering hers. "As I said, I'm a Dream Arts user. In my clan, we aren't given a name at birth. We can only receive one when we master our art and reach the age of fifteen."

Her voice grew heavy with old shame. "But I wasn't lucky. I failed the final exam. I was... impure. And I was cast out, left to die in the forest."

She spoke of the slavers who found her, a nameless, broken tool. She spoke of the phantom that awoke within her—a cold, pragmatic survival instinct she now called Lilac—that saved her by imposing waking nightmares on her captors.

She told him of a life in the shadows, becoming a thief, an assassin, her unique skills drawing the attention of the very worst people.

"The Assassins Guild took me in. And then... she did. Capella. The Sin Archbishop of Lust." Shion's body gave a slight, involuntary shudder at the memory.

"I became one of her 'children'. I went on missions. And then... there was one contract. I don't remember it.

I have no memory of the target, the location, or what happened." She looked up, her dual-colored eyes locking with his, shining with a profound and desperate hope.

"I didn't have a name before that mission. But after it... after the memories were erased and I was left with nothing but a hollowed-out shell and a handful of strange, otherworldly words... I was given this name."

She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a fervent, emotional whisper. "Shion. The name you gave me, Subaru. 'I will never forget you'."

The revelation struck Subaru with the force of a physical blow. He stared at her, his mind reeling. "By... by me?"

It wasn't just that he had known her. It was that he had been the one to look at this nameless, broken weapon of Lust's arsenal and seen a person.

He had given her an identity, a promise etched into her very soul—a promise that he would remember her, even as the world, and even their own minds, conspired to make them forget.

The air in the room, once thick with the dread of exposed secrets, now seemed to shimmer with a fragile, newfound warmth.

Shion’s confession hung between them, not as a burden, but as a bridge across the chasm of forgotten years.

"…yes, that's right," Shion whispered, her voice gaining a strength that came from absolute conviction.

She looked at him, this boy who was both a stranger and the most important person she couldn't remember.

Her heterochromatic eyes, one the color of a fading sunset and the other of a deep, tranquil sea, glistened with unshed tears. "And I wanted to thank you."

She leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles white.

The words that came out were not just spoken; they were felt, a truth she had carried in the empty spaces of her erased memories.

"Thank you for being my first ever friend."

The words struck Subaru with a physical force, lodging in his heart.

He saw the raw, unvarnished sincerity in her gaze, a gratitude that had survived mind-wipes and a descent into hell.

"Thanks for saving me!" she continued, her voice trembling with emotion. "I wish I could do the same for you! I really wanted to be your friend.! I know you don't believe in yourself but I believe in you! I don't see pride in you,I see someone who needs help..."

It was too much. The weight of her faith, directed at a ghost he was supposed to be, at a person he couldn't even remember being, was overwhelming.

A hot flush crept up his neck to his cheeks. He looked away, scratching the back of his head in a flustered, familiar gesture.

"Hey, hey, Shion," he stammered, a weak, embarrassed laugh escaping him. "Thank you,i really mean it,I... I don't remember saving you. As far as I'm concerned, it's you who's been saving and healing me ever since we met,even in that forest. You're the one who trusted me when I was babbling about seeing the future. You're the one patching me up right now."

He finally managed to meet her eyes again, his own filled with a genuine, bewildered gratitude. "So, let's just... let's call it even."

Shion blinked, the unfamiliar word pulling her from her emotional torrent. "Even?"

"Yeah," Subaru said, his smile softening into something more genuine. "It means we don’t owe each other anything! So let’s be friends"

A slow, understanding smile spread across Shion's face, wiping away the last of her tears. It was a real smile this time, reaching her eyes and lighting up her features.

It was the smile of someone who had just been released from a lifelong debt she never fully understood. "We are even, then," she agreed, her voice light with relief.

A small, clear voice cut through the moment, sharp and pragmatic. Spica, who had been observing the entire exchange with the intense, analytical focus of a bodyguard, finally spoke.

Her golden eyes were narrowed, not in anger, but in strategic assessment. "So," she stated, her tone leaving no room for ambiguity. "You are not going to tell the mutt and the spirit of the streets about my Master's true identity?"

Shion turned her calm gaze to the fiery spirit. "Yes," she affirmed, her voice firm and certain. "Your secret is safe with me. I give you my word. On the name you gave me."

The final thread of tension in Subaru's shoulders unraveled. He looked at Shion—this dream-walker, this former assassin,

this keeper of his most dangerous truth—and felt a surge of something he hadn't felt since he was summoned to this world: pure, uncomplicated trust.

"Thank you, Shion," he said, the words simple but profound. He hesitated for a second, a hopeful, almost shy look crossing his face. "So... are we friends?"

Shion's smile returned, warmer and more certain than before. It was an answer that needed no grand pronouncement. She simply reached out and placed her hand over his, the gesture a silent seal on their pact.

"Friends," she confirmed, the single word holding the weight of a forgotten past and the promise of a future, fought for and chosen.

The fragile, profound atmosphere of shared secrets and newfound friendship was shattered five minutes later by the sharp shclick of the sliding door.

All eyes turned as the door panel slid open, revealing Tia. But the formidable Great Spirit of Wind, Zarestia, was not framed in a pose of majestic power.

Instead, she stood there, managing to look both utterly bored and completely focused on the task at hand: eating.

In one hand, she held a large, wrapped street food , from which she had just taken a sizable bite. In her other hand, she clutched a bag that clearly held several more of the same, the savory scent of spiced meat and fresh bread cutting through the room's lingering tension.

Subaru, whose mind had been swimming in the deep waters of erased memories and sacred promises, could only stare.

The cognitive dissonance was staggering. One moment, he was reconciling with a ghost from his past; the next, a demigod was casually munching on street food in the doorway.

Tia noticed his dumbfounded expression. She chewed slowly, swallowed, and fixed him with a flat, unimpressed look. "Hey," she said, her voice slightly muffled by her food. "Don’t get mesmerized just because I’m cute."

The sheer, ridiculous normalcy of it broke the spell. A wide, genuine grin spread across Subaru's face, the lingering weight in his chest lightening.

He fell back into his old, flippant persona like a comfortable, if slightly tattered, jacket.

"You know, Tia," he said, his tone teasing, "I really can't help my teenage heart, you know. It's not my fault you're so beautiful. It's a natural reaction."

A faint, but unmistakable, blush dusted Tia's pale cheeks. Her indigo eyes widened a fraction, and with a "Hmph!" of pure, flustered indignation, she lobbed the half-eaten food in her hand directly at his face.

Subaru yelped, but his reflexes, honed by countless loops and battles, were sharp. He fumbled for a second but managed to catch the projectile before it could splatter against his chest.

He held the warm, slightly greasy bundle, staring at it in bewilderment. "Hey! Why was that for? I was giving you a compliment!"

Tia stomped into the room, dropping the bag of food onto the low table with a thud.

She marched right up to where Subaru sat on the futon, looming over him, her face still flushed. "Forget it," she demanded, her voice a low growl. "And give it back."

"Don't you dare insult my Master, you spirit of the streets!" Spica was on her feet in an instant, a tiny, crimson-haired inferno.

A flicker of visible heat distorted the air around her small, clenched fist. "I'll turn you into ashes where you stand!"

Shion, ever the pragmatist amidst the chaos, wisely chose to address the most pressing logistical issue. "Tia-sama," she interjected, her voice calm. "Where is Halibel-sama?"

Tia completely ignored both the threat of immolation and the question, her attention locked on Subaru and her stolen food.

It was only when Subaru, holding the food just out of her reach, looked up at her with a more serious expression and asked, "Tia, seriously. Where's Hal-san?" that she finally relented.

She let out an exasperated sigh, straightening up and folding her arms. The blush was fading, replaced by her usual bored demeanor. "Huh, I don't know," she said, shrugging.

"Some messenger came running up, looking all panicked. Babbled about some kind of queen coming to Kararagi for a visit or something. Mutt muttered a curse, said he had to go meet some minister immediately, and rushed off."

She gestured vaguely with her chin. "Left me to carry the food."