Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The ballroom spun around them in a blur of warm hues and gentle light, the swelling strains of the orchestral melody wrapping the moment in an almost suffocating sense of peace. On screen, Subaru and Emilia moved in rhythm, their laughter soft and genuine—a sharp contrast to the endless ocean of blood and despair that had preceded it.

Then, the picture dissolved. The screen faded into darkness, holding the quiet residue of a long-awaited victory.

For a brief breath, the theater remained dead silent. And then, the room erupted.

Applause swept through the rows like a sudden gale.

Whistles echoed off the high, dark walls as the tension that had gripped every knight, maid, and royal candidate finally fractured.

The weight of Arc 4

The grueling loops, the horrific deaths, and the agonizing sacrifices of Natsuki Subaru seemed to lift just enough for the audience to catch their breath.

At the center of the commotion sat the young man himself, slumped motionless in his seat, deeply unconscious.

Emilia, her eyes still shimmering with unspilled tears, gently reached out and rested her hand over his.

Beside her, Beatrice placed her tiny palm atop Emilia’s, her small shoulders trembling slightly under her voluminous dress.

Rem, sitting on his other side, silently layered her own hand over theirs, her blue hair falling forward as she leaned in close, guarding his quiet breathing.

For the three of them, the relief was so profound it felt heavy, a tender anchor after a relentless storm.

"I-I'm not crying, you s-stupid Brotto!" Garfiel barked, aggressively wiping his face with the back of his sleeve as he glared at Otto.

His fangs were bare, but the violent trembling of his jaw completely betrayed him.

"The damn dust in this place is just... it's just gettin' in my eyes, alright?!"

"Of course, Garfiel, of course," Otto replied, a soft, tired smile tugging at his lips despite the redness rimming his own eyes.

 He gave his friend’s shoulder a supportive pat. "The sudden dust in a sealed, magical theater is truly merciless."

"Garf! Garf!" Mimi squealed, leaping into the air in a desperate attempt to tackle the beast-boy into a hug.

 "If ya wanna cry, here, do it on Mimi's chest"

Before she could land, a large, clawed hand grabbed the collar of her cloak, hoisting her mid-air.

Ricardo let out a booming laugh that vibrated through the entire chamber, shaking his head as he set the squirming girl down.

"Easy there, hellcat! Give the kid some breathing room! Though I gotta admit, seeing the mini-boss pull through... man, it hits you right in the gut!"

A few rows over, Petra buried her face directly into Frederica’s apron, her small hands clutching the crisp white fabric as if holding onto a lifeline.

"I'm so... hic... glad," Petra sobbed out, her voice muffled against the maid outfit. "Subaru-sama made it safely! I was so scared for him, I... I... waaaaah!"

Frederica smiled with immense tenderness, gently stroking the orange-haired girl's back as her own golden eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

 "You did remarkably well, Petra. You stayed brave until the end. I expected no less from my finest pupil."

Further back, Wilhelm van Astrea stared fixedly at the black, inactive screen. His weathered face remained stoic, but his icy blue eyes wavered.

A sudden, burning heat welled up behind his eyelids—a hot, wet sensation that he hadn't allowed himself to feel since the fall of the White Whale.

Crusch Karsten, sitting adjacent to the Sword Demon, observed the quiet fracture in her butler's composure.

Without a word, she reached into her sleeve, pulled out a crisp silk handkerchief, and extended it across the armrest.

Wilhelm blinked, momentarily startled, before accepting the cloth with a deep, respectful nod.

"I offer my sincerest apologies, Crusch-sama. For this old man to let his composure waver so utterly before his liege..."

"Nonsense, Wilhelm-dono," Crusch interrupted softly, though her own voice cracked slightly.

 Hot tears streamed freely down her cheeks, contrasting with the firm, proud smile on her face.

 "As your liege, it appears I have failed at that very same task. There is no shame in shedding tears for a friend and an ally."

The quiet warmth spread through the rows, a collective exhalation of a group of people who had witnessed the impossible.

"Ya know, I'm happy for Big Bro and all," Felt voiced suddenly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms behind her head with a loud groan.

"I really am. The guy's a total nutjob, but he pulled it off. But... now what? We saw the end, right? Are we just gonna sit here forever?"

Her words cut through the emotional atmosphere like a cold wind.

The cast paused. They looked around at the imposing, dark structure of the theater, the sealed exits, the static screen, and finally back to Subaru's still-unconscious form.

Before anyone could offer a theory, the massive theater screen flickered violently.

A blinding, stark white light exploded from the center of the display, washing over the darkened rows and forcing several people to shield their eyes.

 The soft music vanished entirely, replaced by a low, hummed vibration that vibrated through the floorboards.

When the glare faded, the screen had turned pitch black once more, save for stark, bold white text etched across its center:

[GREETINGS, MY VIEWERS.]

In an instant, the fragile peace shattered.

Weapons weren't present, but combat stances were taken immediately.

Garfiel stepped in front of Otto, Frederica and Petra, his eyes narrowing into slits.

 Ricardo placed a hand over his hip, positioning himself between the screen and his lady.

Julius instantly shifted his weight, eyes scanning the high ceilings for the source of the voice, while Ferris reflexively moved to cover Crusch.

Reinhard van Astrea stepped smoothly into the center aisle, his posture immaculate, shielding the entire cast behind his broad shoulders.

His blue eyes locked onto the screen with calm, absolute intensity.

"Who are you?" Reinhard’s voice rang out, clear, resonant, and demanding.

"The previous entity that brought us here made its presence known. State your identity and your intentions. What is happening to us?"

The text on the screen dissolved, replaced instantly by new, fluid lines of smooth typography:

[I AM YOUR NEW WARDEN. I HAVE COME TO MAKE A DEAL WITH YOU ALL. TO PUT IT SIMPLY... YOU HAVE BEEN ABANDONED BY YOUR PREVIOUS WARDEN.]

A wave of loud, ragged gasps erupted across the theater.

"Abandoned?!" Anastasia gasped, her fur scarf slipping slightly from her fingers as her sharp mind raced through the implications. "What does that mean?!"

"Abandoned...?" Emilia whispered, her heart dropping into her stomach.

Beside her, Rem and Beatrice instantly snapped their gazes to Subaru.

Emilia seized his hand tighter, searching his pale, sleeping face for any sign of distress, any shift in his breathing, any indication that whatever authority was holding them here had suddenly snapped.

But Subaru remained entirely unchanged, caught in a deep, supernatural slumber.

"What do you mean abandoned, in fact?!" Beatrice demanded, her voice shrill and laced with rising panic.

She pointed a tiny, trembling finger at the screen, her pigtails swaying angrily.

"Where is the previous Warden?! And more importantly, how do we wake Betty's contractor and leave this dreadful place?!"

The screen pulsed once, the text shifting swiftly to address the spirit's fury:

[THERE IS A WAY TO WAKE THE SAGE. HOWEVER, UNLIKE YOUR PREVIOUS HOST, I DO NOT POSSESS ABSOLUTE AUTHORITY OVER THIS ISOLATED REALM. IF I WERE TO FORCEFULLY TAMPER WITH THE MECHANICS OF THIS SPACE OR ATTEMPT TO FORCE WAKE HIM, THE REALM WOULD COLLAPSE.]

[THE RESULT WOULD BE IMMEDIATE: YOU WOULD ALL BE RETURNED TO YOUR ORIGINAL REALITY, TO THE EXACT MOMENT IN TIME YOU WERE SUMMONED. BUT IN DOING SO, ALL MEMORIES OF THIS THEATER, OF NATSUKI SUBARU'S STRUGGLES, AND OF HIS RETURN BY DEATH... WOULD BE PERMANENTLY ERASED FROM YOUR MINDS.]

A suffocating silence fell upon the room, heavier than any physical weight.

The cast was thoroughly, utterly distraught.

Every single person in the room had desperately longed to return home—to fix their kingdom, to tend to their duties, to escape the unnatural walls of this prison.

But to go back like that?

To return to a world where they looked at Natsuki Subaru as a mere foolish, lucky boy? To forget the dozen of brutal deaths he had suffered in silence for their sake?

To forget his screams, his tears, his horrific sacrifices, and simply live their lives in sweet, ignorant bliss while he carried the crushing weight of the world entirely alone?

"No..." Emilia breathed, her voice barely a whisper, tears brimming in her eyes once more. "No... we can't... I can't forget... I won't..."

"To forget his anguish just so we can go back and smile?" Julius murmured, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned stark white.

"To live in comfortable ignorance while he bleeds in the shadows? That is an insult no knight could ever endure."

"Damn it all!" Garfiel growled, slamming his fist onto the armrest, splintering the wood.

"There's no hellish way we're forgettin' what the Cap'n went through for us!"

While the front rows drowned in conflicted agony, a soft, dry chuckle echoed from the very back of the theater.

In the shadows of the highest row, beaten, heavily bruised, and tied up in steel chains, sat Roswaal L. Mathers.

The Margrave tilted his head back, his mismatched yellow and blue eyes glittering with a bizarre, calculating light.

Slowly, deliberately, Roswaal flexed his fingers.

"Goa"

"Shiha"

A faint, low spark of red fire mana flared around his fingertips—and with a quiet snap, the metallic restraints binding him melted while his body was shielded from the burning iron with water magic.

He stretched his long arms lazily, a wide, eerie smile spreading across his painted face.

"My, my, what a peculiar proposition~," Roswaal drawled, his theatrical, sing-song voice cutting through the heavy grief of the room.

He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he looked down at the screen.

"You speak of deals and limitations, dear Warden-sama... yet you possess enough control to hold us here, do you not~? Pray tell, what manner of 'deal' are you offering to little old us~?"

Instantly, several cast members whipped around.

"Roswaal!" Rem barked, her eyes flashing with instant hostility.

"How did he break those chains?!" Ferris hissed, stepping back to guard Crusch as his cat ears flattened against his head.

"We shouldn't be able to channel mana in this theatre!"

Felix flexed his hand and put it on his chest, he instantly felt the effects of healing magic coursing through his body.

"I see, so that means everybody got their magical abilities back" he glared at Roswaal.

"You back-stabbing clown," Felt spat, glaring up at the back row.

"You've got a lot of nerve talking like you're part of this!"

Before anyone could draw magic or physically confront the Margrave, the massive screen flashed brightly, drawing every eye back to the front.

The bold text altered, ignoring the sudden tension in the room entirely:

[HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF THE OBSERVERS?]

The single question hung in the air.

Roswaal raised a single, thin eyebrow, his smirk faltering slightly as interest replaced his amused detachment.

Down in her luxurious seating area, Priscilla Barielle scoffed softly, fanning herself with a slow, contemptuous motion.

Her crimson eyes flicked to the screen with utter disdain.

"A collection of insignificant, squirming bugs," Priscilla declared, her voice dripping with venomous haughtiness.

"Mindless entities that attempt to weave their pathetic wills into the fabric of this world by whispering through those tragic little creatures... the Stargazers. They are nothing more than background noise to those born to rule."

"Though Priscilla-sama paints a colorful picture, her core point is not far off," Julius chimed in, his expression turning deeply analytical.

He crossed his arms, stepping slightly closer to the front, ever the history buff he began.

"In the southern Sacred Vollachian Empire, the influence of these 'Observers' is a well-documented phenomenon. They are mysterious existences that claim to see the world's grand destiny, guiding certain individuals through cryptic mandates. But they have always been treated as abstract, almost legendary forces."

The text on the screen shifted immediately, as if nodding to their dynamic understanding:

[CORRECT.]

[AND SO, HERE IS MY DEAL: SINCE WE CANNOT WAKE NATSUKI SUBARU JUST YET WITHOUT DESTROYING THIS SPACE, I AM OFFERING YOU A CHANCE TO VIEW A RARE OCCURRENCE. A CONVERSATION... OR PERHAPS, A QUESTIONNAIRE.]

[YOU WILL BE PERMITTED TO OBSERVE A DIRECT EXCHANGE BETWEEN THESE VERY OBSERVERS... AND OD LAGUNA ITSELF.]

A sudden, sharp stillness descended upon the theater.

The name echoed in the minds of everyone present, carrying a profound, ancient weight. Od Laguna—the source of all mana, the origin of all blessings, the fundamental soul of the world itself.

In an instant, the tone of the room shifted entirely.

The intellectual and politically minded figures in the room perked up dramatically. Anastasia Hoshin leaned forward, her emerald eyes sharp and gleaming with unbridled curiosity, already calculating the incomprehensible value of such knowledge.

Julius stared at the screen, his breath catching in his throat at the sheer impossibility of witnessing the World Mechanism speak.

Even Roswaal’s calculated facade broke away, his eyes widening slightly as he leaned over the balcony, entirely spellbound by the Warden's proposition.

Before anyone could utter a single word to digest the Warden's massive revelation, the screen flickered aggressively once more.

The bold text vanished, replaced by a final, blunt message that stretched across the dark glass:

[FOR NOW, REST. WE SHALL RESUME TOMORROW MORNING.]

A collective shout of indignation erupted across the rows.

"Hey! Hold on a minute!" Felt yelled, jumping onto her chair and shaking her fist at the screen.

"You can't just drop a bomb like that and tell us to go to sleep! Wake up and explain yourself!"

"Wait! Warden-sama!" Emilia called out, taking a step toward the stage with her hands clasped tightly against her chest.

"Please! Is there really no other way to help Subaru right now?!"

"Answer us, in fact!" Beatrice shrieked, her mana flaring around her small frame in miniature violet sparks.

Their shouts, demands, and pleas fell on absolute deaf ears.

The white text on the screen dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind a dull, blank black surface.

The humming vibration in the air settled back down into complete, heavy silence.

No matter how much they yelled, the new Warden gave no further response.

As the cast grumbled, vented their frustration, and debated what to do next, an eerie, agonizingly familiar sing-song voice cut smoothly through the noisy atmosphere.

"What a shaaaaaaaame~," Roswaal drawled from the back row, his head tilted back with a slow, exaggerated pout.

"And here I was, so very eager to glimpse into the inner workings of our world's divine soul~."

The atmosphere in the room instantly snapped from frustration to pure hostility.

A terrifying crack echoed through the theater as a white horn sprouted from Rem’s forehead. Brilliant crimson lightning crackled around her form, her blue eyes devoid of all warmth as she locked onto her master.

Beside her, Garfiel didn't bother speaking—his body expanded in a flash, sharp golden fur ripping through his clothes, his fangs elongating as his claws dug deep gouges into the wooden floorboards.

With a roar of pure hatred, both of them lunged up the stairs toward the injured Margrave.

CLANG!

A blinding flash of silver intercepted them in mid-air.

Reinhard van Astrea stood on the stairs between the attackers and Roswaal, his hand outstretched.

He didn't draw a blade, but the sheer, impenetrable pressure of his stance brought both Rem and Garfiel to a dead halt.

The wind generated from his movement blew back Rem's hair and forced Garfiel to plant his claws into the carpet to anchor himself.

"Stand down, both of you," Reinhard said softly, though his tone left zero room for argument.

"Get out of the way, Sword Saint!" Garfiel snarled, blood dripping from his bared fangs.

 "That bastard is the sole reason the Cap'n's in pain! I'm gonna tear his throat out!"

"Roswaal's sins are unforgivable," Rem spat, her horn glowing brighter.

"He must answer for what he did to Subaru-kun! And Nee-Sama!"

Reinhard maintained his posture, his calm blue eyes shifting slowly up toward the high row where Roswaal stood watching them with an amused smile.

"Roswaal," Reinhard addressed the Margrave, his voice dropping into a cool, warning register.

"If you would perhaps stop provoking us. I strongly advise you to take your seat. Just because the previous Warden's magic restrictions have ceased their effects does not mean you have gained an upper hand here."

The theatrical smile on the Margrave's face didn't falter, but as his eyes met the Sword Saint's, the playful facade cracked slightly, revealing a cold, calculating glint in his mismatched eyes.

He knew as well as anyone that even without magical seals, against Reinhard van Astrea, his survival odds were zero.

"My, my, how terribly fierce~," Roswaal murmured smoothly.

"Very well. If the audience is so thoroughly hostile, fine... I shall take my leave to my room~."

He turned on his heel to exit toward the private quarters.

As he made his way to the exit, his gaze flicked downward, landing briefly on Ram.

The pink-haired maid stood completely still.

Her hands were folded neatly in front of her apron, her face an unreadable mask.

She deliberately stared straight down at her feet, refusing to meet his eyes, refusing to acknowledge his presence by even a fraction of an inch.

Roswaal's step faltered for a fraction of a second.

"Hah..."

He let out a long, heavy sigh that held none of his usual theatrical rhythm.

Without another word, he walked out of the theater room, his heavy boots echoing down the quiet corridor.

With the immediate threat defused, the heavy tension slowly ebbed away.

Rem's horn retracted into her forehead, and Garfiel shrank back into his human form, rubbing his bruised shoulder with a low mutter.

One by one, the rest of the cast followed suit, filing out of the main theater hall toward the residential wing to process the overwhelming revelations of the day.

In the quiet hallway, Emilia and Rem carried the unconscious Subaru between them, guiding him gently toward his designated room.

Beatrice walked right alongside them, her small hand tightly grasping the sleeve of Subaru's tracksuit.

When they reached the doorway, Beatrice stepped inside first, turned around on her heels, and grabbed the heavy wooden door frame.

"This is where you two stop, in fact," Beatrice declared, puffing out her chest and looking up at the two girls.

Emilia blinked, surprised.

"Wait, Beatrice... shouldn't we help you get him settled in bed? Rem and I can stay and watch over him—"

"Absolutely not, I suppose!" Beatrice interrupted, shaking her blonde twin-drills furiously.

"Subaru has had far too many people crowding around him today! He needs rest, and Betty needs to recharge her Skinship meter! It's Betty and Subaru's alone time, in fact!"

Rem looked down at the spirit, a soft, mischievous glint entering her blue eyes despite her exhaustion.

"Are you sure, Beatrice-sama? Subaru-kun's head is quite heavy... are you sure your small lap can support him all night?"

"My lap is more than sufficient, girl!" Beatrice huffed, her cheeks flushing a bright pink.

"Now begone! Leave us be!"

She slammed the heavy door shut right in their faces.

CLICK.

The sound of the lock turning echoed through the hall.

Outside, Emilia and Rem stood in silence for a moment.

Then, Emilia let out a soft, melodious giggle, covering her mouth with her hand. Rem couldn't help but smile either, a gentle, quiet chuckle escaping her lips.

"She really loves him, doesn't she?" Emilia murmured, her eyes warm as she looked at the closed door.

"She does," Rem agreed softly, stepping back. "And he loves her just as much. He will be safe with her, Emilia-sama."

"Mhm. Let's get some sleep too, Rem. Tomorrow... we're going to learn a looooot of things."

Further down the corridor, in the private suite assigned to the Karsten and Hoshin camps, Anastasia sat at a low tea table, a warm cup of herbal tea resting between her delicate, hands.

Across from her sat Julius and Ricardo, while Mimi guarded the entryway.

Anastasia took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the steam warm her face before setting the porcelain cup down with a soft click.

"So," Anastasia began, her Kansai dialect smooth and sharp.

"Let's lay out the cards on the table. What do we make of this new Warden and his little deal?"

"It is... unprecedented, Lady Anastasia," Julius answered carefully, adjusting his bangs.

"To view a direct dialogue involving Od Laguna is something scholars, mages, and kings have dreamed of since the dawn of history. If the Warden speaks the truth, the knowledge contained in that questionnaire could reshape our understanding of mana, blessings, and the world itself."

"Aye, but nothing in this world is free, kid," Ricardo grunted, crossing his massive arms over his chest.

"That Warden didn't just offer us a present out of the goodness of its heart. It's keeping us trapped here until it gets what it wants."

"Precisely," Anastasia said, a sly, brilliant smile stretching across her face.

"The pros as Natsuki-kun says, are enormous. The information alone could give the Hoshin Company an edge that lasts a hundred years. But the cons... well, the cons are looking right at us."

She leaned back in her chair, her blue eyes shimmering with a rare, genuine softness as she glanced toward the wall sharing the hallway with Emilia Camp's rooms.

"I'm a greedy woman, Julius. Everyone knows that. I want money, I want power, and I want information," Anastasia said softly, her voice dropping its usual playful edge.

"But I'm not stupid. And I'm certainly not blind. We just watched Natsuki-kun die horrible deaths to keep everyone in this building breathing. If I throw away his sacrifices just to snag a few secrets from Od Laguna, I wouldn't be a shrewd businesswoman... I'd just be a monster."

Julius smiled warmly, bowing his head slightly. "Your wisdom does you credit, My Lady."

"Don't get too sentimental on me, Julius," Anastasia chuckled, picking up her tea again.

"We take the deal, we get the information, and then we figure out how to get that brave little hero awake and back on his feet. That's the Hoshin way."

Meanwhile, in one of the camp lounges, a very different kind of meeting was taking place.

The room smelled faintly of spilled beer and heavy exhaustion.

Otto Suwen sat slumped on a wooden stool, a half-empty mug sloshing in his trembling hand. His green hat was crooked, his hair was a mess, and his cheeks were flushed a deep, violent red.

"It's just... it's just not fair!" Otto wailed, slamming his free fist onto the table with a weak thup.

"That magical floating square has no respect for personal boundaries! None at all! It showed my private life! It showed Natsuki-san's private life! It showed everyone's dark, painful secrets to the entire world!"

Beside him, Garfiel looking significantly less angry than he had on the stairs, though still brooding, sighed deeply as he picked up a pitcher and refilled Otto's mug.

"Drink up, pal," Garfiel muttered, slapping Otto's back so hard the merchant nearly face-planted into the table.

"You're ramble-talkin' again. But... yeah. You ain't wrong. Seein' all that shit... it felt like someone was cuttin' us open with a blunt knife."

Frederica stood nearby, a warm cloth in her hands as she gently wiped down the counter, eyeing the two young men with a motherly, worried expression.

"Otto-sama, perhaps you should slow down," Frederica warned gently. "Drinking your troubles away won't change the reality of tomorrow's viewing. You need your mind sharp."

"I know that, Frederica-san!" Otto hiccupped, waving a hand wildly in the air, a strangely sly, creepily calculating grin suddenly spreading across his drunken face.

He leaned in close to Garfiel, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

"But... but think about it, Garfiel! Think about it! The Warden said we're watching Od Laguna answer questions!"

"Yeah? So what?" Garfiel grunted.

"So..." Otto's grin widened, his eyes narrowing into two sharp, creepy slits that looked entirely unnatural on his meek face.

"If the screen is showing universal truths... maybe it'll leak secrets about the other Royal Candidates! Imagine the leverage! Imagine the dirt we could get on the Crusch Camp or the Barielle Camp! We could secure Natsuki-san's position and Lady Emilia's throne in one single morning!"

Garfiel blinked once. Then twice. He turned his head slowly to look at his sister.

Frederica was staring at Otto with a look of profound, horrified amusement, her hand pressed against her cheek.

"Man..." Garfiel drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips, showing his sharp teeth.

"Ottobro... right now, with that look on your ugly mug and that creepy-ass tone? Ya do realize you sound exactly like that creepy clown right now, right?"

Otto froze.

Frederica, despite herself, brings a hand to her mouth to stifle a small laugh. "He's right, Otto-sama. That sing-song delight over another's misfortune, it's rather reminiscent of Roswaal-sama, isn't it?

The smile instantly vanished from his face. The color drained from his flushed cheeks, leaving him looking ghost-white. The haze of alcohol vanished from his brain in a single, terrifying instant of utter clarity.

He slowly set the mug down on the table. He stood up straight, adjusted his green hat with immaculate precision, and smoothed down his wrinkled coat.

"I am going to bed," Otto said with absolute, stone-cold sobriety. "Goodnight, Garfiel. Goodnight, Frederica-san. Please never speak those words to me ever again."

Without waiting for a response, the merchant turned on his heel and marched briskly out of the room toward his quarters, leaving Garfiel and Frederica bursting into quiet, echoing laughter behind him.

Down in the central storage wing of the sleeping quarters, the stone hallways were bathed in the dim, flickering amber of distant wall sconces.

The quiet hum of the artificial night was broken only by the drag of cheap sandals and the rhythmic clack of high-heeled footwear.

"Man, talk about a brutal shift," Al muttered to himself, scratching at the back of his neck under his dark helmet.

"You'd think after all that emotional theater drama, the princess could just go to sleep. But noooooo—‘Aldebaran, fetch me the most vintage bottles of wine, and do not dare make me wait!’ Sheesh."

As he rounded the corner toward the lower pantry cellars, he nearly collided with a slender figure hurrying from the opposite direction.

"Woah, sorry 'bout that, didn't see ya there cat-boy!" Al yelped, leaning his weight back just in time to avoid clashing against the frail demi-human.

"Nyah, you should watch where you're walking, Al-san!" Felix Argyle gasped, clutching an ornate wooden bucket filled with ice to his chest.

His cat ears twitched erratically as he huffed, puffing out his cheeks. "Ferri-chan is on a delicate mission of utmost importance, nyan!"

"Yeah, yeah, keep your fur on," Al snorted, his helmet tilting as he caught sight of the empty glass cups inside the bucket.

"Let me guess: royal duty called?"

"If by 'royal duty' you mean retrieving the finest aged wine in this bizarre place, then yes!" Felix hummed, his playful demeanor returning as a bright, fond smile crossed his face.

 "Crusch-sama requested a drink to help settle her thoughts after... well, everything we saw today. It’s our usual nightly drinking routine, you know! Just the two of us winding down."

"Heh, sounds like heaven compared to my assignment," Al grunted.

"The princess is in a mood so foul you could use it to cut glass, she threw the empty glass at my head when I didn't move fast enough. Ever since that screen dropped the word 'Observers,' Priscilla's been radiating an aura that could wither a whole field of sun-tomatoes. I'm just trying to get some top-shelf liquor into her hands before she decides to test if my head comes off."

"Is that where you two are headed as well?"

A polite, smooth voice resonated from the shadows behind them.

Both men turned as Reinhard stepped into the light.

His posture was effortless, his smile gentle despite the exhaustion visibly lingering around his blue eyes.

"Woah! Sword Saint," Al raised his single arm in a lazy gesture of greeting. "You on a booze run too?"

"In a manner of speaking," Reinhard chuckled softly, walking up to join them.

"Felt-sama was... remarkably restless. Seeing Subaru's journey end like that took a heavy toll on her, even if she tries to hide it behind shouting. She demanded something to help her unwind."

"A noble knight to the end," Al chuckled.

"Well, since we're all bound for the wine cabinets, might as well walk together. Strength in numbers and all that."

The three men fell into step down the long staircase leading to the central cellars.

The ambient quiet of the hallways invited a heavy silence, one that quickly turned their minds back to the terrifyingly grand deal offered by the new Warden.

"So," Felix broke the silence, his tone shifting from lighthearted to deeply contemplative, his cat ears drooping slightly.

"Tomorrow... Od Laguna. Can you two even wrap your heads around that? Answering questions directly from those creepy Observers?"

"It's bizarre, that's for sure," Al replied, his hand resting lazily over his Dao hilt.

"Though, usually, when ancient cosmic entities start chatting, it just means headache-inducing nonsense for regular guys like me."

"I can't help but hope, nyan..." Felix murmured softly, his yellow eyes gazing down at his reflection in the glass cups.

"Crusch-sama... she got her memories back thanks to this place. I keep praying that maybe... just maybe, this viewing will reveal a secret. A way to permanently mend her memories back. A way to make sure that if we do return to our reality, I won't ever lose her again."

Reinhard listened quietly, his blue eyes softening with deep empathy.

"That is a noble wish, Ferris. And one I hope the world grants you it."

"What about you, Reinhard?" Felix asked, tilting his head up at the taller knight.

"Surely the invincible Sword Saint has something he wishes to ask the world's origin?"

Reinhard paused mid-step, his boot resting silently on the stone stairs before he resumed walking. A faint, painful shadow flickered across his immaculate features.

"I... I would be lying if I said a part of me didn't hold a foolish wish," Reinhard admitted in a hushed, vulnerable voice.

"My mother... Louanna. If Od Laguna... if the source of all mana holds the secret to her awakening..." He closed his eyes briefly, breathing out a quiet, heavy breath.

"...perhaps it could finally relieve my father from the agonizing burden he has carried for so many years. Perhaps my family could finally..."

He let the sentence hang, unfinished, yet heavy with years of unspoken grief.

Al listened silently from inside his steel helmet.

He let out a long, sharp blow of air through his teeth.

"Look, guys," Al spoke up, his voice dropping its usual lighthearted facade, replaced by a grounded, almost weary cynicism.

"I hate to be the wet blanket here, but you're setting yourselves up for a massive faceplant."

Felix blinked, pouting. "What's that supposed to mean, Al?!"

"I mean, keep your expectations strictly in the gutter," Al said firmly, waving his hand.

"You're dreaming about getting answers to your personal tragedies. But remember who's asking the questions here: The Observers. Those things aren't human. They don't think like us, they don't care about our tragedies, and they definitely don't give a damn about our personal lives."

Reinhard looked at Al, his brow furrowing slightly. "You seem remarkably knowledgeable about them, Al."

"Not me, brother—the Stargazers," Al corrected quickly, shaking his head.

"Back in Vollachia, in the Gladiator island, you hear stories. The Observers are forces of destiny, cosmic watchers, whatever you want to call 'em. Only those crazy Stargazers can even interpret their ramblings, and half the time it sounds like complete gibberish or ominous foreboding. Expecting them to ask Od Laguna 'Hey, how do we fix Ferris's mistress?' or 'How do we wake up Reinhard's mom?' is pure fantasy. They're going to ask about the world's blueprint, grand fate, or weird structural nonsense. So do yourselves a favor: keep your expectations low, or tomorrow's viewing is gonna break your hearts all over again."

Felix huffed, turning his face away, though he couldn't deny the cold logic in Al's words.

Reinhard simply gave a solemn, respectful nod.

"Your caution is wise, Al," Reinhard acknowledged quietly.

"It is easy to let hope blind us to reality."

Felix's tail flicks, ears drooping just slightly before he forces a small, wry smile back onto his face.

"Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine, Al-san."

Al laughs, a short, rough sound.

"Hey, somebody's gotta keep the two of you from gettin' your hopes dashed tomorrow. Better I say it now than you two end up disappointed when the screen shows somethin' about crop rotations in Vollachia instead."

That, at least, draws a genuine chuckle out of both of them, some of the tension in the hallway easing as they reached the grand wooden doors of the wine vault.

Without another word, each man gathered his respective bottles, exchanged a silent, weary nod of camaraderie, and parted ways into the dark corridors.

As Al walked back toward the Barielle camp's quarters, humming some half-remembered tune under his breath, when a thought resurfaces, one that's been nagging quietly at the back of his skull ever since that screen first flared to life.

Beneath his dark iron helmet, his eyes narrowed in deep, anxious thought.

'Man... nobody in that room even blinked at it' Al thought, his brow sweating under the leather wrappings.

'The Warden... when it was laying down the rules, it didn't call him 'Sage Candidate' like before. It straight-up called him 'The Sage'. 'There's a way to wake the Sage'...'

Al bit his lower lip, a cold chill running down his spine.

'How the hell did he leap from being a Candidate to just straight-up 'The Sage'? What happened out there in the world while we were locked in this theater? Or... what is he destined to become?'

Unbeknownst to Al, he was far from the only one haunted by those exact words.

Sitting silently by Subaru’s bedside, Beatrice stroked her contractor’s raven hair, her butterfly eyes wide and brimming with quiet, terrified realization.

'Sage... the screen called him the Sage, in fact. Not a candidate... Shaula... did Subaru take his place? What happened at the Pleiades Watchtower...?'

In his isolated room, Roswaal swirled a glass of crimson wine, staring at the wooden door with a terrifying, vacant smirk.

'The Sage..." he whispered, his sing-song accent gone completely dropped.

'Could my dear teacher's ultimate design have already shifted into motion without my knowledge?'

And in her private quarters, Crusch sat by her desk, staring at her trembling hands. "The Sage..." she murmured to herself.

'A title reserved for the legendary figure who sealed the Witch. If Subaru-sama bears that title now... what incomprehensible burden has he been forced to carry in secret?'

Reinhard sits by his bed in thoughtful silence, turning the word over and over. 

The heavy weight of the title lingered over the quiet theater like a dark cloud.

Meanwhile, in a quiet, softly lit room next to Emilia's room, a very different kind of heavy silence reigned.

Rem sat cross-legged on a low velvet couch. Rested gently across her lap was the pale, exhausted face of her older twin, Ram.

The pink-haired maid lay motionless, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, completely drained of her usual sharp, arrogant composure.

The revelations of Arc 4, Roswaal’s cold manipulation, his willingness to sacrifice the mansion, the villagers, and Ram herself just to fulfill his Gospel's plan had completely shattered her heart.

Rem’s soft, blue-haired figure leaned over her sister, her fingers gently weaving through Ram’s pink locks, massaging her scalp with unreserved warmth and tender care.

"It is alright, Nee-sama," Rem whispered softly, her voice melodic and soothing in the quiet room.

"You can rest now. Rem is right here."

A single, silent tear leaked from the corner of Ram’s eye, tracing a path down her pale cheek before soaking into the fabric of Rem’s skirt.

"Rem..." Ram’s voice was barely an audible raspy thread.

"I... I knew..."

"I know you did, Nee-sama," Rem interrupted gently, her smile somber yet full of unconditional love.

When the screens had laid bare Roswaal’s dark schemes, Rem’s initial reaction had been a mixture of explosive fury and agonizing betrayal—not just at Roswaal, but at the realization that Ram had known about his willingness to burn everything to the ground, yet had kept her completely in the dark for years.

Rem had felt discarded, untrusted by the very person she loved above all else.

"Rem was angry," the blue-haired maid admitted softly, her hand pausing briefly in Ram's hair before resuming its gentle stroke.

"Rem felt hurt that Nee-sama did not trust her enough to share such a heavy burden. I felt as though... as though my sister did not view me as someone who could stand beside her."

Ram’s breath hitched, a faint, choked sob escaping her chest.

"But," Rem continued, leaning down to press a soft, loving kiss onto her sister's forehead, "Rem understands now. Nee-sama was trying to protect me in her own way. You took all that pain, all that terrible knowledge onto your own shoulders so that Rem could live peacefully."

Rem's blue eyes flashed with a fierce, uncompromising resolve a quiet, terrifying strength that only an Oni possessed.

"I forgive you, Nee-sama. Fully and completely," Rem stated, her tone turning unshakeable.

"But hear me clearly: Rem will never allow you to return to Roswaal's side under those conditions. I will not let you throw your life away for a man who treats your devotion as a pawn in his book."

Ram slowly closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath.

The guilt that had been crushing her chest felt a fraction lighter under her sister’s absolute forgiveness.

Yet, deep within her shattered heart, a small, stubborn ember refused to die out.

Ram remembered the way Roswaal had looked when his Gospel burned, the utter emptiness, the lost, broken child hidden beneath centuries of theatrical madness.

And more than that, she remembered Subaru. She remembered how a powerless, foolish boy had reached into the darkest depths of her and Rem's despair, tearing them away from the path of becoming heartless, vengeful monsters.

'Subaru saved us...' Ram thought, her hand reaching up to weakly clasp Rem’s fingers resting on her forehead.

'He saved Rem from her guilt, and he saved me from my hatred. If a foolish boy like him could pull two broken Oni sisters from the abyss... then I cannot give up on Roswaal-sama.'

Ram gave a faint, barely perceptible nod against Rem's lap.

She didn't argue.

She didn't defend the Margrave.

But silently, in the quiet depths of her soul, Ram swore a solemn vow: she would find a way to break Roswaal’s curse. She would drag him back into the light, even if she had to burn herself to ashes to do it.

"Thank you, Rem..." Ram whispered, her eyes finally fluttering shut as the bone-deep exhaustion took over.

"I am... so sorry..."

"Sleep, Nee-sama," Rem hummed softly, resting her chin over her sister's head.

"Tomorrow will come soon enough."

The quiet hours of the night slipped away, consumed by the heavy, restless sleep of a cast burdened with too many truths and far too many unanswered questions.

When the light of the artificial morning finally bloomed through the theater corridors, the heavy double doors of the main viewing hall swung open once more.

One by one, the cast filed back into the grand room.

The atmosphere was wildly different from the tearful, triumphant celebration of the previous evening. A tense, electric stillness hung over the rows.

Emilia took her seat at the front, her eyes red-rimmed but her jaw set in a firm line of absolute resolve.

Beside her, Beatrice sat on Subaru's lap, her small hand tightly gripping his jacket sleeve.

 Rem and Ram sat together, their shoulders touching in silent solidarity.

Garfiel, Otto, and Petra sat tightly packed together, Otto feverishly clutching a notepad and a pencil he had managed to snag from his quarters, his sobered eyes staring intently at the screen.

Across the aisle, Crusch sat perfectly erect, flanked by Wilhelm and Ferris, her gaze fixed forward.

Anastasia leaned back in her chair, her fur scarf wrapped snugly around her, her sharp emerald eyes scanning every inch of the stage alongside Julius.

Priscilla sat high in her central throne-like chair, fanning herself with slow, majestic swoops, her expression an unreadable mask of cold disdain, while Al slouched beside her with his arm tinkering with his helmet.

Even Roswaal sat in the very back row, his heterochromatic eyes shining in the dim light, his expression stoic and unreadable.

Every single soul was present.

Every heart was hammering against ribs in a collective, breathless anticipation.

The massive, pitch-black screen in front of them hummed to life.

The dark glass rippled like a liquid before a single, brilliant pulse of stark white light flashed across the display, cutting through the shadows of the room and casting a sharp glow over every eager, terrified face in the audience.

They waited with bated breath, hoping, praying that the screen would finally reveal the deepest, most elusive secrets of their world: the truth behind the Witch of Envy, the nature of Return by Death, what truly happened 400 years ago, or perhaps a way to save the broken boy lying unconscious in their midst.

Instead, glowing text materialized across the obsidian expanse.

Observer: Please name your five favorite male characters in order.

The room went silent.

A collective blink rippled through the audience.

"This is the first thing they ask?!" Otto burst out, his voice cracking slightly as he gestured wildly at the screen.

"With all the mysteries of the universe laid bare, they want a list?!"

"‘Characters,’ huh..." Reinhard van Astrea murmured, his tone unusually distant.

His blue eyes reflected the bright text, though his mind seemed miles away.

"It appears as though they view this world as some sort of grand stage... and we are merely its actors."

The statement made several cast members visibly uneasy.

The thought that their lives, their tragedies, and their deepest agonies were nothing more than entertainment for unseen entities brought a chill to the room.

Reinhard’s gaze drifted down to his own hands, the image of a certain flamboyant, dual-wielding swordsman flashing in his mind.

'Referring to yourself as the 'main actor' wasn't in jest, was it, Cecilus?'

"'Characters,'" Priscilla repeated.

The single word left her lips laced with enough contempt to curdle fresh milk.

"This 'Observer' would do well to remember precisely whose world he presumes to describe."

Al, sensing the coming storm, edged half a step away from his mistress, his single hand nervously touching his helmet.

"Princess, maybe don't pick a fight with a literal God—"

"Silence." She did not so much as glance at him.

"As if the sun rises each morning at the whim of some scribbling hand rather than because I have decreed it worth rising for."

She pressed a crimson-gloved hand to her chest, her chin lifted high, every inch of her radiating the absolute conviction that the universe had been assembled specifically to flatter her existence.

"I am no ink-stain on parchment, conjured to dance for the amusement of some 'Observer.' I am Priscilla Barielle, and the world turns in mine favor because it is fortunate enough to turn around me."

The silence that followed was, notably, the kind of silence that suggested no one dared to argue with her—mostly out of self-preservation.

"For the first time, you actually made me agree with ya," Felt snorted, crossing her arms from her seat next to her knight.

"Except for all that 'divine self' bullshit—"

"Felt-sama, language," Reinhard gently chided, though a faint, relieved smile tugged at his lips.

A ripple of low laughter filled the theater, easing the suffocating tension.

Confident, self-assured grins and fond expressions painted the faces of the cast as they braced for whatever celestial answer would follow.

They expected a divine decree.

They expected Od Laguna to bestow favor upon the legendary figures of history—the Great Sage Shaula, the First Sword Saint Reid van Astrea, or perhaps the revered First Dragon King, Farsale Lugunica.

Eyes subtly darted toward Reinhard and the royal candidates, anticipating a tribute to ancient legends and heroes.

Then, the response materialized.

Od Laguna: You know, I don’t think a creator usually ranks people they made themselves.

But here: Not in order, Subaru, Otto, Wilhelm, Garf, and Julius

The words hung in the air, shockingly casual.

Most of the cast blinked in absolute astonishment.

The voice of Od Laguna—the very source of Mana, the architect of their souls sounded shockingly, almost painfully 'human'.

There was no grand majesty, no thunderous divine judgment.

Just a lighthearted, almost offhanded reply.

But as the actual contents of the answer sank in, the theater plunged into a different kind of shock.

"Huh?"

Otto pointed a trembling finger at his own chest, his jaw slack, his blue eyes wide with utter bewilderment. "H-Huh?! 'Me?!'"

Next to him, Garfiel snapped out of his initial shock, his fangs flashing in a roaring, full-bodied grin.

"Gahahahaha! Ya see that, Brotto?! The world's soul itself knows what's up! My Amazing self is so damn awesome even Od Laguna can't help but favor me! That's what I'm talkin' about!"

Ram crossed her arms, letting out a sharp, disdainful huff.

"To put Barusu and his two buffoons on the same pedestal as esteemed gentlemen only proves this 'Od Laguna' possesses atrocious taste."

Yet, despite her scathing words, her eyes remained fixed on Subaru's pale face, her grip on her skirts tightening ever so slightly.

Across the room, Julius felt his eyes widen in genuine disbelief.

The Finest of Knights quickly caught himself, closing his eyes to compose his posture.

He took a slow breath and gave a respectful, graceful nod toward the screen in quiet gratitude.

Beside him, Anastasia Hoshin leaned over, playfully nudging his side with her elbow.

"My, my, Julius," she teased, a mischievous glint in her fox-like eyes.

"Look at you, holdin' the favor of the world itself. Should I be payin' you a higher salary now?"

Julius lowered his head slightly, a soft, gentle smile breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.

"Please, Anastasia-sama, spare me the jest."

A few seats down, the legendary Sword Demon, Wilhelm van Astrea, sat frozen.

The veteran warrior was remembering his past achievements and how close they brought him to death's door.

But a single memory of his forced duel against his wife Theresia made him grateful to recive such a favor.

Slowly he brought a gloved hand to his mouth, coughing lightly in a clear, desperate attempt to shake away the faint dust of red that had planted itself on his weathered, aged cheeks.

He didn't escape the notice of his camp.

Next to him, Felix was snickering silently into his sleeve, his cat ears twitching with glee as he pointed at the old man's blush.

Crusch Karsten, sitting tall and regal, looked at her butler with an expression of immense pride and confidence, giving him an approving nod.

Knowing when to yield gracefully, Wilhelm stood alongside Julius.

The young knight and the old swordsman placed their hands over their hearts and bowed deeply toward the screen in silent, dignified gratitude.

Below them, Garfiel was still bellowing with laughter, brutally slamming his heavy palm onto the back of the still-petrified, muttering Otto, nearly knocking the poor merchant out of his chair.

"A pathetic list assembled by an uninspired mind," Priscilla declared, her fan snapping shut with a sharp clack.

"To rank a half-wit merchant, an unrefined beast-boy, an aged servant, and a broken boy above true nobility... Od Laguna's judgment is as flawed as the bugs that worship it."

Reinhard watched the chaotic delight of his friends, a genuine, warm smile gracing his features.

But deep down, a profound sense of relief washed over the Sword Saint.

As a man who had been revered, burdened, and cursed his entire life with being "the most loved by the world," Reinhard felt a heavy knot in his chest loosen.

He wasn't on the list. For once, the world's favor had bypassed him—and he had never been happier.

In the seats nearest to the screen, three pairs of eyes softened as they turned away from the screen to look down at the quiet, unconscious figure of Subaru resting in his chair.

Beatrice puffed out her small chest, her drill-like pigtails bouncing as she folded her arms proudly.

"Hmph! As expected of Betty's contractor, in fact! The world itself has no choice but to recognize his greatness!"

Rem placed a soft hand over her chest, feeling the rapid, fluttering beat of her heart beneath her fingertips.

A tender, radiant smile lit up her face.

"As expected of Rem's hero..."

Emilia gently took Subaru's limp, calloused hand into her own, squeezing it softly. Her eyes were warm, shimmering with affection as she looked at his sleeping face.

"As expected of my dunderhead knight."

For a fleeting moment, warmth and joy filled the theater. It was a rare, beautiful respite.

Until a single, dark thought crossed through the room.

"Is this some fucking joke?"

The voice slashed through the warm atmosphere like a rusted blade.

It was laced with an uncharacteristic, righteous fury—a raw, venomous hostility that made several people flinch.

Ricardo spun his massive head around, his jaw dropping in shock.

The giant wolfman had never heard his usually nonchalant, aloof, and lazy new friend sound like this.

Priscilla's crimson eyes widened, turning her sharp gaze toward her jester.

Al stood trembling, his single scarred hand clenched into a fist so tight the blood seaped under the strain.

Beneath his steel helmet, his breathing was heavy, ragged, and hot.

"Al...?" Ricardo started, reaching a massive hand out.

"Hey, man, calm down—"

"Calm down?!" Al snapped, his voice echoing off the dark walls of the theater.

He swept his arm out, pointing furiously toward the screen, then down at Subaru's unconscious form.

"You're telling me this 'Od Laguna'—this god, this creator, whatever the hell it is 'favors' him?! That bro, that Natsuki Subaru is one of its 'favorites'?!"

No one answered.

The theater was dead silent.

"It's a sick joke!" Al barked, a bitter, tragic laugh escaping his throat.

"It's a twisted, fucked-up irony! We've been sitting in these seats for days! We watched him get eaten alive by the great rabbit! We watched him freeze to death! We watched him get his throat ripped out, his mind shattered, his body broken until he was screaming for a savior who isn't even in this world!"

Al took a heavy step forward, his shoulders shaking. The relaxed, foolish persona he wore like armor was entirely stripped away, leaving behind a scarred veteran furious at the heavens.

"If this is how Od Laguna treats its 'favorite'..." Al whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying mixture of wrath and grief, "...then Natsuki Subaru isn't the most loved man in the world. He's the most hated."

The words struck the room like a physical blow.

The warmth that had filled Beatrice, Emilia, and Rem vanished instantly, replaced by a sickening, icy dread.

Emilia's grip on Subaru's hand tightened until her knuckles turned white.

Beatrice bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood if she were a being of flesh, her blue butterfly eyes trembling as she stared at the screen with newfound horror.

Garfiel's boastful grin completely disintegrated.

His green eyes darted from the screen to Subaru, his hands curling into trembling claws as the memories of Subaru's agonizing deaths flashed through his mind.

Otto stared at his own hands, the honor of being named on that list suddenly feeling like a heavy, suffocating weight.

'If being favored by the creator means suffering like Subaru... what does this world actually want from us?'

Julius lowered his head, his gentle expression replaced by a somber, brooding darkness.

Wilhelm’s hand dropped from his mouth, his gaze hardening into that of the Sword Demon, staring at the screen not with gratitude anymore, but with profound suspicion.

Before the chilling, heavy quiet cast by Al’s words could completely settle over the audience, the giant obsidian screen pulsed once more.

The bold text of the first question and its devastating answer dissolved into mist, making way for a second query from the unseen entities.

Observer: Other than the Emilia camp, with which camp does Subaru seem to work best?

A collective shudder rippled through the front rows of the Emilia camp.

The dread from earlier was entirely gone, replaced now by a sharp, defensive instinct.

Otto hand froze mid-air, his face going pale as his eyes darted nervously across the aisle.

Below him, Rem’s blue eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, her posture steeled, while Ram’s gaze turned cold as ice.

None of them were blind.

Throughout their time in this theater, watching Subaru’s agonizing journey, they had seen the way the leaders of the other camps looked at him.

They had seen the intense, calculating glances from Anastasia Hoshin, the solemn respect from Crusch Karsten, the intense interest from Priscilla Barielle, and the blatant favoritism from Felt.

And now, with the hideous truth of Roswaal’s crimes exposed to the entire world, the Emilia camp was on remarkably thin ice.

The Margrave was a disgraced traitor, and without his status, the Emilia camp’s political survival was in total jeopardy.

There was no guarantee they could even remain standing in the Royal Selection—meaning Subaru’s position as Emilia’s knight was suddenly fragile.

Yet, despite the mounting political dread, every single member of the Emilia camp shared one unshakeable, fierce consensus: No one was taking Subaru away from them.

"Hmph! What a foolish question to even ask, in fact!" Beatrice’s voice rang out, sharp and haughty, breaking the heavy tension in their row.

She tightened her small arms around Subaru’s resting hand her butterfly-patterned eyes glaring at the screen with absolute disdain.

"It doesn't matter what some strange text says, or which camp Subaru is forced into by political nonsense. As long as Betty is by his side, nothing else matters in the slightest, I suppose!"

The declaration was fiercely loyal, born from a spirit who had waited four hundred years just to hold his hand.

But the absolute detachment in her words, suggesting that the rest of the camp was ultimately secondary to her bond with Subaru, struck a quiet, sharp chord.

Emilia’s shoulders flinched slightly.

A soft, wounded look flickered in her amethyst eyes, her hand tightening over Subaru’s limp fingers. Behind her, little Petra lowered her head, her lips trembling as her small hands clutched her apron tightly.

Beatrice caught the subtle shift in the air.

Seeing the quiet hurt on Emilia’s face and the tearful sniffle from the orange-haired girl, the great spirit’s pigtails drooped slightly.

A faint flush of shame touched her cheeks.

"I-I mean..." Beatrice stammered, looking away awkwardly and crossing her arms with a huff.

"...Betty supposes that... the rest of you aren't completely terrible to have around, in fact. I... I apologize for speaking so callously, I suppose."

Emilia offered a soft, bittersweet smile, reaching over to gently pat Beatrice’s head.

"It's okay, Beatrice. We know how much he means to you."

"Subaru-sama wouldn't leave us anyway," Petra whimpered, wiping a small tear from her eye.

She clenched her tiny fists with fierce determination.

"I'll work twice as hard! I'll clean the whole mansion by myself, I'll learn how to cook like Rem-san, and I'll make sure Subaru-sama never feels like he has to carry everything alone or go somewhere else!"

Frederica placed a hand on Petra's shoulder, giving her a supportive, proud smile, though her green eyes remained fixed nervously on the other camps.

In the back row, sitting in heavy isolation, Roswaal tilted his head back, a dry, mocking hum echoing from his throat.

"How desperate you all appear~," Roswaal drawled aloud, his sing-song voice cutting through the hall with clear provocation. "To squabble over a boy who belongs to Emilia-sama... possessiveness does not become a pretty on such distinguished ladies."

Rem didn't even turn her head, but her voice cut back sharp and biting. "Roswaal, you would do well to keep your mouth shut. Considering your authority as a sponsor is currently reduced to ash."

Roswaal merely gave a faint, unbothered smirk, though his eyes remained dark.

He knew better than anyone: if Subaru was severed from the Emilia camp, the entire trajectory of the world's salvation—or destruction—would shatter beyond recognition.

Across the room, the other factions weren't paying attention to the clown's commentary.

The question burning on the screen had ignited a sudden, electric wave of ambition across the remaining royal candidates.

Ever since the viewing of the White Whale campaign and the fall of the Slothful Archbishop in Arc 3, every single camp leader had secretly—or openly—vowed to find a way to recruit Natsuki Subaru.

A boy who possessed no grand magical talent or martial prowess, yet somehow managed to manipulate the grand chessboard of fate, command armies, and conquer legendary beasts through sheer willpower and otherworldly tactical brilliance.

He was a miracle worker.

And in a war for the throne of Lugunica, he was the ultimate prize.

Down in her throne-like seat, Priscilla Barielle snapped her crimson fan shut with a loud, echoey clack.

A cruel, intoxicating smirk spread across her porcelain face as she cast a triumphant, condescending look toward the Emilia camp.

"A predictable question from the Observers," Priscilla drawled, her voice dripping with supreme arrogance.

"It is blindingly obvious to anyone with functional eyes that the commoner would thrive under my glorious guidance. Look at the tragic state of your pathetic little faction—a disgraced clown for a sponsor, a half-devil with no backbone, and a horde of broken and incompetent fools."

"Watch your tongue, Lady Priscilla!" Ram barked, her glaring coldly as she stood up, pointing an accusatory finger. "You are speaking to the leader of our camp!"

Priscilla didn't even bother looking at the maid, sweeping her fan through the air dismissively.

"Silence, insect. I am merely stating absolute truth. Under my supreme radiance, Natsuki Subaru's chaotic talents would finally be given proper form. He would make the most exquisite, effective servant this world has ever seen, spared from the miserable deaths your utter incompetence continually subjects him to."

"Like hell he'd ever serve a haughty tyrant like you!" Garfiel snarled from his seat, his fangs bared, his claws digging into the armrests until the wood groaned.

"The Cap'n ain't no damn servant to nobody!"

Beside Priscilla, Al leaned back, rubbing the back of his steel helmet with a heavy, awkward sigh. "Ah, Princess... maybe let's not push the bear—or the beast-boy—too hard. Besides, between you and me, if bro actually had to work for you full-time, his head would probably explode within three days. The guy's got a heart of glass; your 'radiance' would scorch him to a crisp."

Priscilla shot Al a cold, lethal glare.

"Did I request the input of my jester? Know your place, Aldebaran. The commoner possesses a rare, stubborn resilience. He would bend to my will, or he would break—and he has proven remarkably difficult to break."

Over in the Felt camp's section, a sudden whack echoed through the air, followed by a loud, frustrated groan.

Felt had leapt out of her chair and swung her arm in a vicious chop straight at the back of her knight's head.

However, Reinhard van Astrea’s automatic divine protections kicked in instantly; without even looking, the Sword Saint smoothly tilted his head half an inch to the left, causing Felt’s fist to strike empty air with an embarrassing whoosh.

"Gah! Stop dodging, ya damn red-headed cheat!" Felt yelled, rubbing her sore wrist and glaring up at her knight.

"My deepest apologies, Felt-sama," Reinhard said quickly, bowing his head in instinctual remorse.

"My body moves on its own to defend against sudden impacts—"

"I don't care about your stupid protections!" Felt stomped her foot, pointing aggressively at the screen, then over at Subaru.

"Look at that! If you had just been a bit greedier in that loothouse on our first day, or if you'd just dragged Big Bro along with us when you brought me to your estate, he'd be our strategist right now! We could've avoided all this crazy murder-theater stuff entirely!"

Reinhard’s blue eyes filled with a quiet, genuine guilt. He looked toward Subaru’s resting figure, offering another low, formal bow to his lady.

"If my past hesitation caused Subaru-sama unnecessary suffering, then I am deeply, profoundly sorry, Felt-sama. You are correct—had I acted with more foresight, things might have been very different."

"Argh! Don't actually apologize so seriously! It makes me look like the bad guy!" Felt huffed loudly, dropping back into her plush seat with her arms crossed, grumbling under her breath.

"I just mean... Big Bro belongs with people who actually get him. We're both slum dwellers at heart. He'd fit right in with us!"

Meanwhile, sitting tall and stoic in the Crusch camp’s section, Crusch remained in deep, silent conflict.

Her amber eyes drifted from the text on the screen to the pale, sleeping face of the boy who had saved her life and her pride.

Part of her noble soul recoiled at the thought of preying upon a rival candidate’s vulnerability, especially Emilia, whom Crusch respected deeply.

Stealing another candidate's knight felt dishonorable.

Yet, as the leader of House Karsten and a contender for the throne, Crusch could not afford to be naive.

She remembered the words her faithful butler, Wilhelm, had spoken to her in private after the White Whale battle: “Natsuki Subaru is a man who weaves miracles out of despair. Whosoever possesses his loyalty holds the future of this kingdom.”

And now, with Roswaal Mathers exposed as a maniacal schemer who had put his own camp through hell for a centuries-old obsession, Crusch knew the Emilia camp was on the verge of total collapse.

When they returned to reality, Roswaal would face trial, execution, or imprisonment.

Emilia would be left defenseless, surrounded by enemies.

'If their camp fractures...' Crusch thought, her hand tightening over the armrest until her knuckles turned white, '...leaving Subaru-sama in the wreckage would be a tragedy. If it means preserving his life and giving him a place where his light can truly shine without being used as a pawn... I must be prepared to offer him sanctuary in the Karsten Duchy.'

Beside her, Wilhelm van Astrea observed his liege's rigid posture.

He closed his eyes, speaking in a low, quiet tone that only Crusch could hear.

"Crusch-sama," Wilhelm murmured respectfully. "While I understand the strategic wisdom of your thoughts... I must humbly advise caution. Subaru-dono is a man driven entirely by the bonds of his heart. Force him into a grand scheme, and he will wither. He chose Lady Emilia not out of political expediency, but out of pure, unadulterated devotion. To pull him from her side... might shatter the very spirit that makes him capable of miracles."

Crusch closed her eyes, letting out a soft, heavy breath. "I know, Wilhelm-dono. I know. But seeing him bleed for a camp that was rigged to fail him from the start... it tears at my honor."

Felix snorted quietly from her other side, his cat ears drooping.

"Well, Ferri-chan thinks Subaru-kyun is way too reckless anyway! But... if he came to our camp, at least I could keep a proper eye on his broken body and stop him from throwing his life away every five minutes, nyan!"

Next to them, Anastasia Hoshin leaned back in her soft leather chair, a slow, sharp smile playing on her lips as she adjusted her plush fox fur scarf.

Her bright blue green eyes glinted with the unmistakable fire of an ambitious merchant who had spotted the ultimate investment.

"My, my," Anastasia purred softly, her Kansai accent wrapping around her words like velvet over steel.

"Look at everyone gettin' all worked up over a hypothetical question."

Julius turned his head slightly toward his lady, his expression composed yet thoughtful. "Anastasia-sama? You seem remarkably confident."

"Confident? Julius, my heart's racin' like a runaway wagon!" Anastasia chuckled, her eyes sparkling with unbridled greed—a greed not for gold, but for sheer, unadulterated potential.

 "I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Natsuki-kun is an absolute goldmine. His mind works in ways nobody in this world can fathom. The tactics he used against the Whale and the Rabbit, the way he outsmarted the Witch Cult and even the court mage... that isn't just luck. That's otherworldly genius."

Julius lowered his gaze, his hand resting gracefully on his sword's hilt. "He is indeed a man of extraordinary capability. My respect for him as a fellow knight is immense. However... Natsuki Subaru's loyalty to Lady Emilia is the core of his strength. A knight without a core is no knight at all."

"I ain't askin' him to give up his heart, Julius," Anastasia countered smoothly, tapping her chin with her finger.

"I'm a merchant. I know how to make trades where everyone wins. If the Emilia camp falls apart after we get out of here—and let's be honest, with that clown of a Margrave in chains, it's almost a guarantee—I am not gonna let a talent like him go to waste. The Hoshin Trading Company, the Iron Fang,... we'd give him a kingdom of resources to play with. I'd make damn sure Natsuki Subaru becomes the brain of the merchant world."

Ricardo's booming laugh cut through their conversation. "Gahahah! Imagine the mini-boss runnin' logistics for the Iron Fang! We'd be unstoppable! But man, Ana-bo, you gotta admit, the kid'd probably complain about the paperwork every single day!"

"Let him complain!" Anastasia smirked.

"I'll pay him enough to buy his own country!"

The heavy declarations from the rival camps hung thick in the air, creating a suffocating pressure that pressed down on the front row.

Otto sat down heavily, his mind frantically running through economic and political calculations.

He pulled out his small notepad, his pencil tapping rhythmically against his knee as cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

'This is bad... this is disastrously bad!' Otto panicked internally, his eyes scanning the surrounding camps.

'If Roswaal is executed or stripped of his lands, the Emilia camp loses its financial backing, its territory, and its legal standing. Crusch-sama offers military and noble protection. Anastasia-sama offers infinite capital and commercial immunity. Priscilla-sama... well, she offers sheer terrifying power. If Subaru wakes up to a collapsed camp, the pressure on him to accept an offer from another faction will be astronomical!'

Otto gripped his pencil tighter, his teeth gritting together.

'No! I won't let it happen!' Otto swore to himself, a sudden surge of fiery loyalty burning through his mercantile anxiety.

'I am the internal affairs officer of the Emilia camp! It's my job to handle the finances, the treaties, and the political landmines! Even if I have to rewrite every trade agreement in Lugunica, even if I have to beg, borrow, and deal with every shady merchant from here to Kararagi... I will rebuild our camp's foundation with my own two hands! We are NOT losing Natsuki-san!'

Emilia squeezed Subaru’s hand even tighter, her chest heaving as she glared across the room at Priscilla, Anastasia, and Crusch.

For a girl who had spent her whole life feeling worthless, isolated, and reliant on others, hearing the entire kingdom's elite openly fight over her knight sparked a fierce, protective fire deep within her heart.

She stood up slightly from her chair, her white and purple robes swaying, her amethyst eyes blazing with an intensity no one in the room had ever seen from her before.

"Subaru is my knight!" Emilia declared, her voice ringing clear, loud, and unyielding across the massive theater.

"He chose me. He saved me, he cried for me, and he held my hand when no one else would! I know I'm still clumsy, and I know I have a long way to go... but I am NOT letting anyone take him away! Not now! Not ever!"

The sheer force of her declaration stunned the room into a brief, sudden silence.

Rem looked up at Emilia, her blue eyes shimmering with deep admiration, before she placed her hand directly over Emilia's on Subaru's chest.

"Rem stands with Emilia-sama. Hero or not, knight or not... Subaru-kun belongs with those who love him."

Beatrice puffed out her chest, her drill pigtails bouncing fiercely.

"Hmph! Anyone who tries to kidnap Betty's contractor will be blasted into the next dimension with a Minya, in fact!"

Garfiel slammed his fists together, a ferocious grin spreading across his face.

"Yeah! You heard the princess! You want the Cap'n? You gotta go through my amazin' self first!"

The Emilia camp stood united—a fragile, battered faction, yet bound together by a bond forged in the fires of hell itself.

The rival candidates looked on, some with amused smirks, others with solemn respect, and a few with quiet curiosity.

The political tension had reached an absolute boiling point, the atmosphere taut like a drawn bowstring.

And in the center of the hall, the massive black screen flickered once more, ready to reveal Od Laguna's divine answer to which party truly suited Natsuki Subaru best.

The heavy, electric tension hanging over the theater was suddenly pierced as the giant obsidian screen flashed with brilliant, celestial light. The text dissolved once more, replaced by lines of shimmering silver script.

Simultaneously, that same bizarre, strangely human voice echoed through the air—a voice that lacked the grand, booming divinity one would expect from the world’s cradle, sounding instead like a weary, matter-of-fact scholar reading from a ledger.

Od Laguna: I think he’ll do relatively well with any of the camps. But only Priscilla’s camp seems to be in trouble. It will be hard whether Al is there or not, so he’ll probably be blown away before he can gain Priscilla’s favor.

I think the order of compatibility is:

[Crusch camp > Anastasia camp ≧ Felt camp >>> (deep chasm that cannot be crossed) >>> Priscilla camp]

Once again, hearing Od Laguna’s normal, almost casual tone sent a bizarre, disjointed feeling through the chests of everyone present.

It was unnatural—the absolute pillar of world mana speaking like a neighbor passing along gossip.

But as the full weight of the answer settled into their minds, the theater erupted into a storm of drastically mixed emotions.

Emilia hesitated at first.

Her heart was beating frantically against her ribs, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the back of the plush seat in front of her.

She was terrified of what the screen might say.

What if Od Laguna declared that Subaru belonged somewhere else? What if it proved that she was holding him back?

Taking a deep, trembling breath, Emilia gathered her courage and looked up to witness the screen's verdict.

She blinked.

Then, her lips formed a soft, surprisingly childish pout.

"Mmm..." Emilia grumbled softly, puffing out her cheeks as she stared at the top of the ranking.

"It... it actually makes a lot of sense that Crusch-san is at the top..."

Beside her, Rem tilted her head, looking at her candidate with a soft, inquiring gaze. "Emilia-sama?"

Emilia sighed, a faintly annoyed yet resigned expression crossing her delicate face as she looked down at Subaru's peaceful, sleeping face.

"I mean... back after the White Whale hunt, you remember when Subaru and Crusch-san were talking... Subaru actually admitted it out loud. He said that Crusch-san was so amazing, noble, and cool that she almost captured his heart."

"He... did say that, yes" Rem’s eyes widened slightly, her aura flaring for a fraction of a second before she smoothed down her maid apron, looking over toward the Karsten section with a complicated mixture of respect and intense jealousy.

A few seats behind them, in the Karsten camp’s row, the effect of Emilia's overheard words—and the screen's declaration—was instantaneous.

Crusch Karsten, the fiercely proud and stoic warrior duchess who had stared down the White Whale without flinching, suddenly froze.

A faint, rosy blush bloomed across her high cheekbones, spreading rapidly down to the tips of her ears.

She quickly raised a gloved hand to clear her throat, posture stiffening as she stared intently at the floorboards, completely unnerved by the divine entity's ranking.

"I... I see," Crusch murmured, her voice carrying a rare, subtle tremor.

"To think... the world's cradle holds my leadership in such high regard regarding Subaru-sama's potential..."

Beside her, Felix Argyle’s cat ears twitched violently.

He leaned in close, his golden eyes wide as he poked Crusch’s glowing cheek with a smirk. "My, my~ Look at Crusch-sama! A total red apple! Ferri-chan didn't know you had such an effect on our little knight-sama, nyan!"

"Silence, Ferris," Crusch snapped, though there was no real bite to her voice, her face only turning a deeper shade of crimson.

Wilhelm, sitting on her other side, offered a warm, gentle smile.

The old Sword Demon stroked his gray beard, his blue eyes softening with deep nostalgia and satisfaction. "It is no surprise, Crusch-sama. Subaru-dono is a man who thrives under clarity, honor, and absolute trust—virtues you possess in abundance. Had fate aligned differently, he would have served you with absolute devotion."

In the row next to them, Anastasia let out a long, dramatic sigh of relief, slumping back into her soft leather seat and pressing a hand to her chest.

"Whew... boy, oh boy," Anastasia exhaled, sweeping a stray lock of light purple hair from her face.

"I gotta admit, my heart was up in my throat there for a second."

Julius turned to his lady, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement.

"You expected a worse evaluation, Lady Anastasia?"

"Well, yeah!" Anastasia tapped her fan against her chin, a rueful chuckle escaping her lips.

"I was half-expecting Od Laguna to throw me straight into the gutter thanks to your 'disciplinary duel' and that failed loop back in the capital. You remember, the one where I played Natsuki-kun like a cheap fiddle, swindled him out of all his information regarding Crusch Karsten, and sent him marchin' back to Mathers domain empty-handed."

She glanced over at Subaru, her emerald eyes softening with a rare trace of genuine humility.

"I was a ruthless merchant to him back then," Anastasia admitted softly.

"But... thanks to the new budding friendship between Natsuki-kun and you, Julius, plus his ridiculously forgiving nature... I guess my placement managed to stay pretty high. 'A' for effort, 'A' for recovery, right?"

Julius bowed his head gracefully, a soft, fond smile gracing his refined features.

"Subaru is not a man to hold grudges when genuine allies are made. He sees the heart of a person, Anastasia-sama. He knew your actions stemmed from a desire to protect your own, even if your methods were harsh."

"He's a good kid," Anastasia murmured, her lips curling into a genuine, warm smile.

"A real good kid."

Meanwhile, in the seats directly adjacent to the Emilia camp, Felt sat in total, stunned silence.

Her red eyes were glued to the screen, staring intently at the text: [Anastasia camp ≧ Felt camp].

A bizarre, heavy mix of feelings swirled violently in her chest—a knot of intense unfairness tangled with a sharp, stinging prickle of guilt.

'Third place...?' Felt thought, her teeth gritting together as her fists clenched tightly in her lap.

'Below the greedy fox lady, and way below the noble duchess?'

It felt incredibly unfair.

She was the one who had known Subaru first! On that very first day in the slums, when he didn't have a single copper coin to his name and didn't know up from down, he had stood in that loot house and tried to save her life. They were both gutter trash who didn't fit into the high-and-mighty noble world. He belonged with her camp!

But as the sting of unfairness faded, the heavy weight of guilt took its place.

Felt looked over at Subaru's motionless form, remembering the horrific loops they had watched.

If Reinhard had taken Subaru with them back then, or if she had dragged him along... would he have been dragged into her anti-royalty crusade? Would her chaotic, lawless faction have just given him more reasons to suffer? She didn't have a grand army like Crusch, nor infinite riches like Anastasia.

'Damn it...' Felt bit her lip, swallowing the lump in her throat. 'I really couldn't have offered him anything better, could I? I'm just a kid playin' rebel..'

Reinhard noticed the sudden slump in his lady's shoulders.

Kneeling quietly beside her chair, the Sword Saint placed a gentle, reassuring hand near her seat.

"Felt-sama... third place among all the factions in the kingdom, according to Od Laguna itself, is a testament to the genuine warmth and freedom Subaru-sama feels around you."

Felt blinked, looking down at Reinhard, then huffed loudly, turning her head away to hide her reddening cheeks. "Shut up, Rein! I didn't ask for your comfort!"

If the top half of the ranking brought sweet blushes, thoughtful relief, and quiet guilt, the final line of Od Laguna's evaluation blew the heavy, suffocating mood of the theater completely wide open.

The entire theater seemed to pause as everyone re-read the final part of the text:

[>>> (deep chasm that cannot be crossed) >>> Priscilla camp]

For a second, there was total silence.

Then, a sharp, wheezing laugh snorted out from the Emilia camp.

"GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Garfiel slammed his fist down onto his armrest with such violent force that the reinforced wood cracked, shattered, and splintered into a dozen pieces. He threw his head back, his loud, roaring laughter echoing off the high ceilings of the theater.

"A DEEP CHASM THAT CAN'T BE CROSSED! Y'HEAR THAT, BROTTO?! AHAHAHAHAHA! A CHASM!" Garfiel howled, tears of pure hilarity brimming in his sharp eyes as he slapped his knee.

"CAN'T EVEN CROSS IT WITH A BRIDGE! AHAHAHA!"

Beside him, Otto Suwen was clutching his stomach, his entire body trembling violently.

He bit his lower lip so hard it almost bled, his hands clapping over his mouth as he desperately tried to suppress the explosive laughter threatening to burst from his lungs.

"Pfft—! Mmmph! Hahaha—no, wait, Garfiel, stop, it's—pfft!" Otto wheezed, his face turning bright red as he suffocated on his own giggles.

It was simply too absurd.

The compatibility between Natsuki Subaru and the Priscilla camp was so catastrophically, biblically horrendous that even the ancient cradle of the world considered it an unbridgeable abyss! The fact that Od Laguna specifically noted that only Al could slightly salvage the situation—and even then, Subaru would still be "blown away" before he could even gain her favor—was the absolute peak of cosmic comedy.

The infectious hilarity spread like wildfire.

Felt’s previous guilt vanished in an instant, replaced by pure, unadulterated mischievous delight.

She burst out laughing, jumping completely up onto the cushion of her plush chair!

Standing tall on her seat, Felt pointed a sharp, accusing finger straight across the aisle at the fiery princess, her face split in a wide, mocking grin.

"BAHAHAHA! Hey! Hey, 'Glorious Radiance'!" Felt taunted loudly, her voice dripping with triumphant mockery.

"What happened to 'he would make the most exquisite servant under my supreme guidance'?! Even the WORLD ITSELF says he'd rather jump off a cliff than deal with your crazy ass! A deep chasm! You got ranked worse than a literal canyon! AHAHAHA!"

Al slumped down so low in his seat that his iron helmet almost touched his knees, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "Man... I knew the Princess was tough to work for, but getting roasted by Od Laguna itself? That's... that's brutal, man. That's real brutal."

Every eye in the theater turned toward Priscilla Barielle, fully expecting an absolute tempest of bloodthirsty fury.

Garfiel raised his fists, Felt stood ready to duck behind Reinhard, and Otto quickly tried to compose his face before the Sun Princess summoned her Yang Sword to incinerate them all into ash.

However... the explosive anger they expected was nowhere to be found.

Priscilla sat motionless in her throne-like chair.

Her crimson eyes were not flashing with unhinged rage, but were instead narrowed into cool, sharp, and terrifyingly calculated slits.

Slowly, deliberately, Priscilla brought her crimson fan up to her chin, snapping it shut with a quiet, menacing click.

She didn't even look at Felt's mocking finger.

Instead, her glowing gaze bypassed the gutter rat entirely, locking onto the shimmering dark screen in front.

"Warden," Priscilla's voice carried no screaming rage, but rather a chilling, absolute authority that instantly quieted the theater. "Answer me a singular question."

A soft chime echoed from the screen as new text appeared beneath the rankings.

[STATE YOUR QUERY, CANDIDATE BARIELLE].

Priscilla tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharp enough to pierce steel.

"These 'Observers' who crafted these sniveling evaluations... do they possess knowledge of our current presence in this viewing hall? Are their answers derived from the events unfolding in this very moment?"

The theater waited in tense breath. The screen flickered momentarily before writing out its reply.

[NO. THE OBSERVERS EVALUATE BASED SOLELY ON THE RECORDS OF THE WORLD UP TO THE POINT OF YOUR ABDUCTION. THEY HAVE NO KMOWLEDGE OF THIS THEATER, NOR THE REVELATIONS WITNESSED BY THE CAST].

A slow, terrifying, and triumphant smile began to spread across Priscilla’s porcelain face.

She let out a soft, melodious scoff—a sound of supreme condescension that completely dismissed Od Laguna's divine text as nothing more than a child's scribble.

Priscilla turned her head, her fiery gaze sweeping across the theater, finally landing on the standing, grinning Felt.

"As you have heard, gutter rat," Priscilla drawled smoothly, her voice rich with absolute, unshakeable confidence.

"These pathetic answers are based on a reality where my divine self does not yet know Natsuki Subaru's true, final worth."

Felt’s grin faltered slightly. "Huh...?"

Priscilla rose gracefully from her seat, her voluminous red dress cascading around her like flames. She fanned herself slowly, looking down at the entire room as if they were insects residing in her garden.

"Prior to this viewing, the commoner was merely a noisy, unsightly pest scrambling in the dirt, not even worth remembering" Priscilla stated coldly, her eyes drifting for a fraction of a second toward Subaru's sleeping face.

"In that ignorant past, I would indeed have incinerated him for his insolence long before he could prove his utility. Thus, a 'chasm' existed."

She snapped her fan shut, pointing the tip directly toward the screen.

"However... information has been updated," Priscilla declared, her voice ringing out like a royal decree.

"I have witnessed the intricate, bloody gears of his mind. I have seen the miracle of his persistence. Had this divine assessment been conducted with the knowledge I possess now... there would be no chasm. There would be no competition."

She turned her head, casting a lethal, intoxicating glare at Emilia, Crusch, and Anastasia.

"Mine divine self would have bypassed his foolish protests, stripped him of his worthless ties, and placed him directly at my side," Priscilla sneered, a dark, victorious smirk gracing her lips.

"And in that updated world... I would take my rightful place at the absolute top of that list. For what is destined to be mine, always falls into my hands."

Silence fell over the room once more.

The mockery had vanished.

The joke was over.

Priscilla Barielle had not been humbled by Od Laguna—she had simply re-evaluated the board, rewritten the rules in her own mind, and claimed the ultimate prize for herself.

Emilia stood her ground, her amethyst eyes flashing with newfound defiance as she stared back at the Sun Princess.

"He is NOT a prize to be updated and claimed, Priscilla! He is a person! And he chose ME!"

Priscilla merely chuckled, a dark, aristocratic sound, as she smoothly sank back into her throne. "We shall see, half-wit. We shall see."

And as the air thrummed with the renewed, fierce rivalry of the five camps, the obsidian screen pulsed once more, preparing for the next question.

The lingering tension from Priscilla’s fierce declaration was still crackling in the air like static electricity when the giant black screen gave a sudden, violet spasm.

The serious silver script of the divine ranking dissolved into a cascade of frantic, glitching light.

For a brief moment, the cast held their breath, expecting a profound query regarding the Witch Factors, the Observers' ultimate purpose, or perhaps the truth behind Return by Death.

Instead, the screen chimed with a lighthearted, almost cheery melody, and bold, golden text flashed across the pitch-black surface.

Observer: Can you give us the boob rankings of all the female characters from Arc 1 to Arc 4?

Silence. Complete, total, suffocating silence gripped the theater.

For the third time since the beginning of this surreal viewing, the entire cast was left thoroughly shocked, utterly appalled, and deeply disgusted by what they had just read.

The sheer contrast between the life-or-death existential horror of Subaru's loops and this utterly shameless, degenerate inquiry was enough to give the noble candidates severe whiplash.

Ram was the first to shatter the silence.

She crossed her arms, her pink eyes narrowing into slits of absolute disdain as she spat toward the screen.

"Hah! To think Barusu’s pervertedness has managed to infect even an otherworldly being... truly despicable. The rot of his mind has breached divine boundaries."

Beside her, Frederica’s face flushed a bright, furious red.

With lightning-fast reflexes, the tall maid slammed both of her hands over the eyes and ears of her junior, shielding the young girl from the corruption.

"W-What is wrong with their complete lack of manners?!" Frederica squeaked out, her sharp fangs peeking out in sheer embarrassment.

"Frederica-nee-sama?" Petra muffled out, her voice tiny and thoroughly confused beneath Frederica’s massive hands. "What does it say? Why are you squeezing my head?"

"Nothing, dear!" Frederica squeaked higher, her blushing face practically steaming. "J-Just adult, grown-up stuff! Absolutely nothing for a sweet girl like you to worry about!"

In the front row, Rem’s face had turned as red as a ripe tomato.

Her aura was flickering violently, not out of malice, but out of absolute, unadulterated embarrassment. Next to her, Emilia was staring at the screen with a wide, innocent, and thoroughly clueless expression.

"E-emilia-sama, please, you mustn't, it's terribly improper for anyone to ask such a thing of a lady, let alone an entire theater of them, I-I don't even know where to begin explaining why this is-"

Emilia just blinks at her, head tilting with the particular innocent confusion that has caused no small number of catastrophes throughout her life.

"But Rem, I don't understand what's improper about it. Isn't he just asking about... measurements? Like for a dress?" 

"E-Emilia-sama! Please, no!" Rem frantically waved her hands, her face burning hotter as she desperately tried to explain to her naive liege why it was profoundly improper for a lady to even ponder such questions. "It's—it's not about clothing at all! It's... it's a deeply vulgar, shameless assessment of a lady's... female attributes! Please do not repeat those words out loud, I beg of you!"

Emilia blinked, her cheeks suddenly bursting into a bright, adorable crimson as the realization finally clicked. "W-WHAT?! That's... that's super ultra inappropriate!"

A few seats down, Felt visibly shivered, a look of profound disgust crossing her features as she conjured up the mental image of whoever was asking such a question. It instantly reminded her of the greasy, creepy old men who used to hang around the dark alleys of the slums, targeting the night workers.

"Gross! Absolute scumbag!" Felt yelled, her voice echoing in the theater as she prepared to hurl a magnificent stream of slum profanities straight at the obsidian glass.

"You degenerate, peeping-tom bastards! I'll take my blade and shove it up your—"

Pop.

Before she could finish her sentence, her mouth was smoothly covered by a pale, gloved hand. Reinhard leaned down, looking thoroughly apologetic as he gently restrained his lady.

"Please excuse her language, everyone," Reinhard said smoothly, though a rare, deeply awkward flush colored the tips of his own ears. He looked up at the screen with a stern, protective gaze.

"Felt-sama, I entirely understand where your anger is coming from. Such a question is a severe breach of propriety. But please, rest assured—surely Od Laguna itself will dismiss such a baseless, improper inquiry."

A few rows back, the Crusch camp was in a state of synchronized revulsion.

Crusch’s refined face scrunched up in unadulterated disgust, her posture stiffening as if she had just been offered a bowl of rot.

Beside her, Felix’s cat ears pinned back against his head, his tail bristling violently with anger and pure feline rage.

"Nyan! What kind of sick, perverted creep asks something like that?! Ferri-chan is ready to scratch someone's eyes out!"

Wilhelm van Astrea merely closed his eyes, shaking his head in mild, heavy annoyance.

"Forgive them, Crusch-sama. It seems even entities beyond our world are not immune to juvenile foolishness."

Over in the Hoshin section, Anastasia let out a long, deeply disappointed sigh, glaring at the screen as if it were a bad trade deal.

"Unbelievable. And here I thought these 'Observers' were grand, mysterious beings. Turns out they're just a bunch of rowdy teenage boys with too much power."

Julius straightened his back, his expression cold and majestic as he condemned the display.

"Such a complete lack of chivalry and unsightly behavior from so-called superior beings is truly disgraceful," Julius declared, placing a hand over his heart to reassure his liege.

"Take comfort, Anastasia-sama. Od Laguna is the source of all mana and order in our world. It will undoubtedly reject this foolishness."

Meanwhile, sitting in the row directly next to them, Ricardo was a second too slow in covering little Mimi’s eyes and ears.

Mimi giggled innocently, peering between her captain's large fur-covered fingers with wide, curious eyes.

"What's the big deal? Why is everyone so grossed out?" she chirped out loudly, before leaning over to whisper silently in a voice that was not silent at all to herself: "I wonder if Garf likes them small?"

Ricardo chokes

Garfiel, who was sitting close enough to hear, nearly choked on his own spit, his face flushing a bright, roaring red as he vigorously rubbed the back of his neck and stared intently at the ceiling, pretending he hadn't heard a single word.

Back in the elevated seats of the Barielle camp, Priscilla snapped her crimson fan open, letting out a loud, condescending scoff.

"Hmph. Such a trivial, base inquiry is precisely what I expected from these low-born Observers," Priscilla stated smoothly, her voice carrying its usual unbearable arrogance.

She paused for a beat, letting the fan wave lazily in front of her face, before adding with absolute certainty: "Though, it goes without saying... mine divine self shall obviously reside at the very top of such a list."

Felt let out a loud, theatrical sigh of supreme annoyance, rolling her eyes so hard it physically hurt.

"Of course you'd be proud of that, ya big-chested narcissist!"

While the reactions of the female viewers ranged from burning embarrassment to fiery rage, a very different, very quiet phenomenon was taking place among the male cast members.

With the sole exceptions of Reinhard, Felix, Julius, and Wilhelm, who all maintained their knightly standards of honor and disgust, a single, synchronized, and deeply shameful thought bloomed simultaneously in the minds of every single male in the room:

...Damn. I kinda actually wanna know.

A comically serious, intensely focused expression etched itself onto their violently blushing faces.

Even in the very back row, sitting in dark, heavy isolation, Roswaal L. Mathers stroked his chin, his single visible blue eye narrowing into a terrifyingly analytical stare.

'...Does Teacher rank higher than Barielle? Surely she must.'

A single bead of sweat trails down his temple as he maintains an expression of absolutely comical, deeply unconvincing seriousness, the picture of a man doing his level best to look like he isn't thinking exactly what he's thinking.

Right beside Priscilla, Al took the commitment to a whole new level.

The one-armed knight leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows firmly on the armrests and crossing his fingers right in front of his iron helmet.

To heighten the dramatic weight of the moment, Al quietly used his earth magic to construct a temporary, crude stone arm, using the fake hand to clasp his real one in an epic, anime-villain pose.

His single visible eye behind the helmet slit glowed with intense, red anticipation.

"Warden..." Al intoned, his voice deep, gravelly, and brimming with ridiculous, unearned dramatic aura. "Proceed."

CRACK!

Before the stone fingers could even settle, Priscilla’s crimson fan slammed down onto the side of Al’s helmet with the force of a falling meteor.

The impact shattered the makeshift stone arm into a shower of harmless gravel and sent Al tumbling out of his chair, crashing face-first onto the wooden floor.

"Enough of your foolishness, Aldebaran," Priscilla snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously as she fanned herself with cold disdain.

"Next time, it will be your actual flesh that breaks."

Al lay flat on his face for a second, slowly pushing himself up from the ground with his single real arm, groaning in pain.

A few feet away, Ricardo leaned down over his armrest, whispering to the fallen knight with a wide grin.

"Bro... did you seriously construct a whole stone arm just for the laughs?"

Al sat up, dusting off his shoulder, and shot Ricardo a thumbs-up. "Aura farming, my dear Watson. It's called aura farming. You gotta lock in when the divine secrets of the world are being revealed."

Ricardo sighed, shaking his wolf head in amused resignation.

"It's 'Welkin', but whatever, man."

They both turned their eyes back to the giant obsidian screen, along with the rest of the theater.

The female cast members glared with burning fury, the noble knights stood in stoic judgment, the young girls were blissfully shielded, and the rest of the men held their breath in profound, shameful anticipation.

The screen chimed once more, ready to deliver Od Laguna's divine, shameless verdict.

A sharp, electronic chime rang out from the obsidian monitor, and the golden text dissolved into a stark, neatly formatted list that shone with absolute, unapologetic clarity.

Od Laguna: Sure, here is the bust size ranking from biggest to smallest:

[Priscilla Barielle > Minerva > Elsa Granhiert > Sekhmet > Crusch Karsten > Frederica Baumann > Carmilla > Emilia = Satella > Rem > Echidna > Anastasia Hoshin > Ram > Daphne > Felt > Mimi > Beatrice > Typhon > Ryuzu > Petra Leyte > Felix Argyle]

"HUH?!?!?"

A deafening, unanimous gasp echoed through the entire theater.

The absolute, ruthless precision of the list left every single viewer in a state of sheer, unadulterated shock.

Crimson blushes erupted across both male and female faces alike, a collective, searing flush born from witnessing such an absurdly clear invasion of personal privacy and consent.

It was an exhaustive, divine audit of something that should never, under any circumstances, be displayed on a public screen.

Down in her throne-like seat, Priscilla snapped her fan open with a soft, triumphant clack.

Her surprisingly non-flushed face remained a picture of supreme, unshakeable satisfaction.

"Hah! As I foretold," Priscilla declared smoothly, her rich voice carrying across the quiet room as she fanned herself lazily.

"Mine divine self is in her rightful place at the absolute summit. The world merely confirms what is already glaringly obvious to those blessed with sight."

"SHUT UP, PRISCILLA!" Felt shrieked, her face burning like a fiery torch.

Felt whirled around and glared aggressively at her knight, Reinhard, who had been a second too slow in covering his own eyes.

Knowing him and his absurd array of divine blessings, his Divine Protection of Perfect Recollection had already captured the entire text, permanently archiving the shameless ranking inside his mind for eternity.

Beyond the overwhelming embarrassment of having her own physical data broadcast to the an entire room filled with her rivals, Felt felt a sharp, bitter prickle of jealousy at her own painfully low placement on the board.

She crossed her arms tightly over her flat chest, stomping her foot on the floorboards with a frustrated growl.

Directly behind them, Frederica let out a mortified squeak.

In her sheer, overwhelming shame at seeing her own name ranked so ridiculously high, her hands flew up to cover her burning face, completely forgetting that she had been shielding her junior’s eyes and ears.

Deprived of her guardian's hands, little Petra blinked and looked directly at the giant glowing screen.

Because Petra had been diligently studying tailoring and training to become a famous seamstress, the term bust size was not at all unfamiliar to her.

She used it every day when measuring fabrics! But processing the word within this specific context sent every drop of blood in her small body rushing straight to her head.

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers as her gaze tracked down the list, finally locking onto her own full name near the very bottom.

'P-Petra Leyte...?!'

A visible cloud of steam began rising from the top of her head.

Bright, fat tears of pure, overwhelming embarrassment welled up in the corners of her eyes as her face turned the color of a ripe tomato.

"W-W-What...?! Why?!" Petra wailed softly, her voice cracking as she hid her face in her apron. "Why is the screen showing us something like this?! It's so mean!"

Frederica instantly snapped back to reality, gasping as she pulled the sobbing, steaming girl into a tight, protective hug.

"I-I am so sorry, Petra! Look away, just look away!"

Down in the very front row, the trio of Emilia, Rem, and Beatrice stared wide-eyed at the screen, completely frozen.

Reinhard and Julius had been entirely, fundamentally wrong.

Od Laguna had not dismissed the shameless question.

It had not shown knightly restraint or divine dignity.

It had answered with supreme confidence, total bravado, and zero shame.

Beatrice’s small shoulders trembled violently. She glared at the shimmering golden text with a look of pure, concentrated malice, her butterfly-patterned eyes burning with dark hatred.

"B-Betty will make sure that that filthy 'Observer' pays dearly for s-such utter vulgarity, in fact!" Beatrice stuttered, her voice shaking with embarrassment as she turned away from the screen.

She buried her face deeply into Subaru’s cold chest, wrapping her small arms around his ribs as if trying to hide from the entire world.

"To write such things about a lady... unforgivable, I suppose!"

Beside her, both Rem and Emilia pressed themselves against Subaru’s shoulders, desperately seeking shelter from the horrifying glow of the monitor.

Rem’s face was pressed tightly into the fabric of Subaru’s track jacket, her blue hair fanning out over his arm as she tried to erase the image of her own name sitting in the middle of the ranking.

Meanwhile, Emilia stared blankly at the exact line where her name was written.

Her amethyst eyes narrowed as her gaze drifted to the name typed right next to hers, separated by a single, mocking equal sign: [Emilia = Satella (Envy)].

A chilling, icy atmosphere bled from Emilia's body, momentarily overpowering her blush.

"Must that Witch steal everything from me... and about me?" Emilia murmured coldly, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper that sent a shiver down the spine of everyone nearby.

She gripped Subaru's sleeve tighter, her knuckles turning bone-white.

Behind her, Ram’s face had grown as furiously red as her own vibrant pink hair.

She clicked her tongue with a sharp, lethal tch, violently turning her head away from the screen.

The fact that she was ranked significantly smaller than that miserable Witch of greed whom her master so foolishly worshipped irritated her to her very core.

She glared daggers at the floorboards, her chest heaving with silent, terrifying rage.

A few rows back, the Hoshin camp was far from exempt from the ludicrous aftermath.

Anastasia pursed her lips into a tight, thin line, her emerald eyes flashing with irritation as she tapped her foot angrily against the floorboards in a rapid, rhythmic drumbeat.

Beside her, Julius stood with his gloved hand firmly covering his eyes, his entire worldview currently undergoing a quiet, existential crisis.

'Why...?' Julius questioned silently, his stoic face twitching in profound distress. 'Why would the cradle of our world, the very origin of mana and order, allow such crass, uncouth, and utterly disgraceful behavior...?'

Right next to Julius, however, little Mimi was leaning forward, studying the glowing screen with the solemn intensity of a scholar reading a holy gospel.

Her feline ears twitched as her eyes darted back and forth between the names.

"Mimi sees!" the catgirl chirped out suddenly, a bright, dangerous realization dawning on her face.

"Since Garf defeated that scary Elsa lady, that means he hates big ones! And since he said he likes the pink maid... heh heh! Mimi has a chance! I just need to grow a little bit more like my lady, and the deal is set!"

"MIMI!!!"

Anastasia whirled around, her face bursting into a crimson flush of pure shock and exasperation.

She reached out and grabbed Mimi’s soft feline ear, pulling on it with a sharp, scolding tug!

"Ouch, ouch, ouch! My Lady, that hurts!" Mimi squealed, flailing her small arms.

"What in the world are you blabbering about, you silly girl?!" Anastasia yelled, her Kansai accent coming out thick and sharp as she hid her own blushing cheeks behind her fur scarf.

"Quiet down this instant! Have you no shame?!"

In the row right in front of them, Garfiel Tinsel and Otto Suwen were sitting with their mouths hanging wide open, staring at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Otto, his face burning red, kept sneaking tiny, horribly guilty glances back toward Frederica, his brain completely overwhelmed by the data the screen had just provided.

Meanwhile, Garfiel was gawking openly at Ram, his jaw practically resting on his knees.

SWISH!

A sharp blade of wind cut through the air with zero warning, grazing Garfiel’s cheek.

Blood dripped onto his shirt as Ram turned her head, shooting him a glare so utterly freezing it could have halted a blizzard.

"Keep staring, Garf, and the next wind blade goes through your neck," Ram hissed venomously.

Garfiel snapped his head forward, swallowing hard as he vigorously wiped the blood from his cheek.

But before he could even catch his breath, Mimi's loud, bold declaration from the row behind came crashing into his ears.

The tiger-boy’s face instantly flushed a violent, luminous red, steam pouring from his nostrils as he began coughing hysterically into his fist, completely flustered and utterly unable to look anyone in the eye.

Directly adjacent to the Anastasia section, Crusch Karsten had completely curled up in on herself.

The proud, noble candidate was practically doubled over in her seat, burying her face in her gloved hands as the screen laid bare something so incredibly promiscuous and private.

Wilhelm, acting as the absolute gentleman he was, kept his eyes strictly closed.

He reached over, offering solid, reassuring pats to his liege's trembling back, his expression entirely composed and solemn. "Control your breathing, Crusch-sama. It is merely nonsensical noise from beyond."

Beside them, Felix was boiling over with pure, unbridled fury.

His feline tail bristled so hard it looked like a bottle brush, his sharp claws digging into his skirt as he glared murderously at the screen.

"Nyan! Ferri-chan is going to use his magic to boil the blood of those Observers from the inside out!" Felix snarled, his voice pitched high with rage.

Then, a sudden, deeply confused expression crossed his face as he re-read the very bottom of the list.

"Wait... WHY AM I EVEN ON THAT LIST?! Ferri-chan is a boy! That makes no sense at all, nyan!"

While the rest of the theater descended into chaos, horror, and embarrassment, Ricardo Welkin and Al were sitting in their row, casually discussing the divine answer like a pair of seasoned sports announcers covering a championship match.

"Well, just like she said," Ricardo grunted, leaning back and resting his large hands on his knees.

"Lady Priscilla really is sittin' right at the top."

"I concur, bro," Al replied, leaning back in his chair with his single arm folded over his chest.

"As someone who's had the privilege to look at those things on a daily basis, I expected nothing less from the Princess. Absolute dominant performance."

Ricardo stroked his furry chin thoughtfully.

"But we do got a bit of surprises here, don't we? I definitely didn't expect Lassy Lust—that Carmilla gal—to be ranked that high up."

"A brutal 'sleeper build,' if I do say so myself," Al noted sagely, nodding his iron helmet.

"Underestimating her would be a fatal mistake. But honestly, what surprised me the most is the cat-femboy being sitting dead last at the absolute bottom."

Ricardo chuckled, a rumbled sound in his broad chest.

"I mean, he's a guy, so that checks out, doesn't it?"

"Correct," Al agreed, tapping his steel helmet.

"He's got no hair on his chest, which is a given, but having no muscle or fat on it whatsoever is no good. The fact that he's ranked smaller than literal pre-pubescent children is honestly quite concerning for his overall health, That ain't a build, that's a medical condition."

"Anyhow," Ricardo grinned, leaning closer to the helmeted knight.

"What do you think is the absolute most surprising ranking of the whole group?"

Al tilted his head back, resting his chin on his gloved hand.

"I gotta say, Beako really surprised me with her performance up there. Didn't expect her to—"

FWIP-FWIP-FWIP-FWIP!

Before Al could even finish his sentence, four massive, razor-sharp shards of purple crystalline mana materialized out of thin air and embedded themselves deep into the wooden wall mere millimeters from Al's helmet, buzzing with lethal, unstable energy.

"If you value your life, do not continue, I suppose," Beatrice’s cold, terrifying voice echoed from the front row.

She didn't even turn around, her face still buried in Subaru's chest.

"And only Subaru is allowed to call Betty 'Beako,' in fact."

Al froze, a single cold drop of sweat rolling down his neck behind his visor. "Duly... noted..."

BANG!

A heavy, fist descended straight onto the top of Al’s helmet, delivering a brutal, vertical spike that dented the steel plate with a loud CRUNCH and sent the one-armed knight slumping uselessly to the floorboards once again.

"Foolish jester," Priscilla purred coldly, withdrawing her fan.

At the exact same time, Ricardo yelped like an injured puppy as a small, delicate hand reached over his chair and brutally plucked a clump of fur straight out of his ear!

"AOWWW! Ana-bo! That really hurts!" Ricardo whined, clutching his head and tearfully looking back.

"Owwww, Princess you dented my helmet, how am I going to fix it-"

"SILENCE!"

Both Anastasia and Priscilla shouted in unison, their voices ringing across the hall with absolute, terrifying authority as they punished their respective subordinates.

Al lay flat on the floor, his helmet heavily dented, while Ricardo sat huddled in his seat, rubbing his freshly plucked ear.

The rest of the theater slowly began to settle down, the collective wave of mortification gradually making way for a heavy, exhausted quiet.

The golden text on the giant obsidian screen began to shimmer, slowly fading into the dark background, leaving the cast to ponder the utter absurdity of the trial they were being subjected to.