"Here, have a taste. This red wine is from a bottle I personally cellared five hundred years ago."
Michael took the glass from Otto, swirling it gently. The blood-red liquid coated the crystal, leaving faint legs on the side.
He brought it to his nose and inhaled, his eyes instinctively narrowing.
"Otto, this wine of yours… I don't think I dare drink it."
Otto sat on his golden, glittering Overseer's throne, one hand stroking the velvet cushion, the other bringing the glass to his lips for a small sip.
"Ah—to think that the mightiest warrior of the Previous Era, the First Herrscher, would know fear. How surprising. I thought heroes like you were incapable of such an emotion."
"Hmph."
Michael relaxed his stiff posture, leaning back into his chair just as deeply as Otto. Before speaking, he glanced at the holographic projection to his right. It displayed a classroom of Valkyries taking an exam.
Unsurprisingly, the center of the frame was occupied by Kiana… no, by the test subject designated K-423.
Watching her scratch her head in frustration at the blank exam paper, Michael chuckled softly. He then turned to look at Rita, who was standing ramrod straight a short distance away, facing sideways. He seemed to be gauging whether she could overhear their conversation.
After a full thirty seconds, he finally responded to Otto's earlier remark.
"As long as one is human, it's impossible to be completely devoid of fear."
"But you're different, Michael. Are you truly human? Leaving aside everything else, you've lived for over fifty thousand years. What are 'humans' in your eyes? Are we any different to you than mayflies that know not day or night, or cicadas that know not spring or autumn? Is the 'humanity' that we ephemeral beings have defined truly applicable to you?"
Michael shook his head, but Otto knew he didn't mean 'it's not applicable.'
"Hua is as old as I am, but I only woke her up five thousand years ago, so let's say she's five thousand. And you, Otto, you're nearly six hundred years old, are you not?"
Otto didn't reply. He sipped his wine, his eyes subtly flicking towards Theresa, who was sitting primly behind her 'Principal' nameplate further away, anxiously glancing in their direction every so often.
"Otto, you should know that when numbers reach a certain magnitude, they lose their meaning. Is there really such a great difference between fifty thousand years, five thousand years, and five hundred years?" Michael said softly, then drained the wine in his glass.
Otto hadn't been lying. This wine was indeed buried under Kolosten five hundred years ago. On the day he led his rebel army back to Kolosten, on the day he avenged Kallen, on the day he became the Overseer, he buried this bottle, from which Kallen had drunk a single glass, at the entrance of the Great Cathedral of Schicksal.
The wine was thicker than normal on the tongue, and colder. If not for the tartness, the acidity, and the faint, lingering fruitiness, the texture alone reminded Michael of a glass of fresh blood that had been chilled in a cellar for five hundred years.
And in a way, that's exactly what it was.
Otto had buried wine, but it was also never just wine.
It was the bitter fruit of everything that had transpired five hundred years ago.
It was brewed from the tragedy of his and Kallen's characters, and the fate that Michael had meddled with.
"How is it? Tastes good, doesn't it?"
Michael's eyelids were heavy. He only lifted them slightly at the sound of Otto's voice.
"It's alright." His tone was as flat as water. "I have wine that's been cellared for fifty thousand years. Care for a taste?"
A smile spread across Otto's face. Of course, the wine wasn't just wine. But he was more than happy to listen to a story from fifty thousand years ago.
For one, he was bored. So bored that, apart from that one matter, there was little else in the world that could capture his interest.
For another, his current understanding of the Previous Era's history was mostly pieced together from fragmented information from the Void Archives. Not to mention that this information was incomplete… In short, just like this man's comrades, he, Otto Apocalypse, couldn't understand him either.
No, it wasn't that he couldn't understand.
"You said before that what you want to do is the same as me?"
Michael nodded, then shook his head. "The same, but also a little different."
Otto stared at Michael's trembling eyelashes, not pressing the matter further.
In those few short sentences, the two men had struck another deal, though not a single word they spoke was related to its contents.
But for this grandfather and grandson duo, such cryptic exchanges were a form of sparring. This was just right.
To lay everything out plainly and honestly would be unnecessary. That was something you only needed to do for idiots like Kevin.
However…
"That idiot Kevin… it's been five hundred years. He should have figured it out by now, right?"
Thinking of this Kaslana ancestor, Michael's gaze naturally drifted back to Kiana on the monitor.
The neat braids Mei had meticulously done for her that morning were now a complete mess. She tugged helplessly at her exam paper, which, compared to its initial blankness, now had a few scattered black dots.
It was to be expected. Tutoring wasn't like paying to win a game; it required long-term commitment to be effective. After two days of cramming before the exam, Michael estimated it would, at most, help Kiana leave two fewer blank spaces on her paper, saving her from a grade that looked like two fried dough sticks and an egg—a big fat "0" with two underlines.
"Teriri—Teriri, Teriri! Teriri—Teriri, Teriri!"
"Gah! *Cough, cough, cough!*"
Otto had just taken a sip of wine. Before he could swallow, he nearly spat it all over Michael.
He clamped a hand over his mouth, his neck straining as he finally forced the mouthful down. When he turned to look at Theresa, his granddaughter was frantically pulling her hair forward, as if that could shield her from everyone's gazes.
The bell to start the exam had been normal. Why had the bell to end it turned into this?
Theresa wanted to crawl under her chair. It was only the thought that her grandfather was there and everyone was watching that she managed to endure the humiliation.
As for who was responsible… Theresa didn't even need to think about it—it had to be Kiana!
"*Ahem!*"
"Tsk! I never thought I'd see you lose your composure like this."
Michael clicked his tongue in disgust. On the monitor, the exam papers were being collected. Kiana had completely given up, even provocatively propping her feet up on the desk.
"Ahem! Hehe, my granddaughter is a bit mischievous. I never expected her to use that as the bell. My apologies… ah, no need, I can manage."
The wine had irritated his throat. Rita, standing in the distance, heard the Overseer's coughing and immediately turned to walk over, her steps swift but not so hasty as to seem flustered.
But Otto just shook his head and handed the unfinished glass to Rita. A faint smile touched Rita's lips, her crimson eyes sweeping over Michael for a fraction of a second before she silently turned and left.
"The Overseer's maid is quite sensible."
Michael commented, feigning ignorance.
Otto squinted at him for a moment. He didn't believe for a second that Michael knew nothing about Rita, but if he insisted on playing dumb, Otto didn't mind playing along.
"No, no, you're mistaken. This is not my maid. Allow me to introduce you—Schicksal's S-rank Valkyrie, Rita."
Rita, who had already taken several steps, immediately turned and bowed respectfully to Michael again. She was just as curious about Michael. In the two years since she had become an S-rank Valkyrie, she had spent most of her time—outside of missions and leave—by Overseer Otto's side as his maid. This was the first time she had ever seen the Overseer speak so much to another person.
Of course, she hadn't actually heard anything. She could feel that a thin layer of Honkai Energy had been blocking the sound around them during their conversation. She didn't know what kind of technique it was; at least, she had never seen it before.
But that didn't matter. From the corner of her eye, she had a clear view of their expressions. The excitement and resonance hidden beneath their calm demeanors were something she had never seen on the Overseer's face before—at least, not from her perspective.
It wasn't that Overseer Otto never spoke to people, but it usually felt more like he was talking to himself.
Because no one understood his words.
But after introducing Rita, Otto fell silent, showing no intention of introducing Michael.
Michael understood his meaning. How could he be introduced? The First Herrscher of the Previous Era? That identity was far too terrifying. But to say he was just an ordinary teacher at St. Freya…
Schicksal's Overseer sharing a drink and a laugh with an ordinary, unremarkable teacher from St. Freya, the notoriously arrogant Overseer even treating him with courtesy… Well, that last part was debatable. Michael was certain that if he were powerless right now, Otto would blow his head off without a second thought. After all, he was one of the main culprits behind Kallen's death, a part of the revenge Otto had yet to exact. And even without him, Otto's plan could proceed just fine.
The only reason the two could coexist peacefully now, even treating each other with a semblance of respect, wasn't due to some inner resonance. Their blood relation was even more of a joke. It was simply that Michael's plan still needed Otto, while Otto's plan didn't need Michael. He couldn't care less if Michael lived or died. In fact, he was probably one of the people in the world who wanted him dead the most. But he couldn't kill him.
The battle at Kolosten, the giant cross that had appeared over the moon—even after five hundred years, the memory was still fresh in Otto's mind. Not to mention Schicksal's lunar probe decades ago, which had sent back images of the battle scars on the far side of the moon…
Getting off track. In short, introducing Michael as an ordinary teacher wasn't out of the question, but… would Rita believe it?
It was better for them to both say nothing, leaving plenty of room for Rita's imagination to fill in the blanks about Michael's identity.
"Alright, Rita. Go with Theresa and set up the spectator seats for this afternoon's practical combat assessment. Remember to prepare two cups of coffee for me beforehand. I'll have the usual. And you, my old friend?"
"The same as you will be fine."
Michael sometimes thought he was ridiculous. When he was with Hua, he was always like Otto, talking to himself, chattering endlessly as if to make up for fifty thousand years of silence. But when he opened his mouth, it was all just meaningless nonsense.
But when he was with Otto, he became silent again. So silent that his words were few and precious, his tone as flat as water, as cold as ice.
Rita left, full of questions, but she seemed to have forgotten to take the glass from Michael's hand.
"The girl was traumatized as a child, so she's very dedicated to her role as a maid. Just think of it as her personal quirk."
"Her service as a maid is impeccable. I just wonder if her combat skills live up to the title of S-rank Valkyrie."
Michael tossed the crystal wine glass into the air and caught it deftly with his index finger, his tone laced with a hint of mockery.
"I won't object if you want to fight her. Just remember to hold back. Schicksal only has two S-rank Valkyries."
"Forget it. I'm not interested in second best. I'd much rather face Durandal."
Michael and Otto exchanged a smile. They had just completed another round of invisible sparring.
Otto would have loved for Michael and Rita to fight. He wouldn't have cared even if Michael didn't hold back and killed Rita.
After the battle at Kolosten and on the moon five hundred years ago, Michael had been in hiding for a long time. Even after reappearing in the last decade, there was no recent data on him in a serious fight.
Otto needed a comprehensive, quantitative assessment of Michael's combat capabilities based on a real battle, in order to formulate countermeasures should he interfere with his plans. Although Michael had repeatedly stated, both explicitly and implicitly, that he would not interfere, he couldn't be ruled out as an enemy—that's right, in this world, everyone except Otto himself was on his list of enemies.
Besides, he held onto a very simple, wishful thought—what if Michael had been seriously injured in the battle five hundred years ago and, even now, hadn't recovered a fraction of his combat strength, making him no match for an S-rank Valkyrie?
Michael, of course, wasn't about to give him another free combat demonstration. Nor would he show any weakness that might lead to troublesome misunderstandings. So his answer was simple: he could fight Rita, but there was no need. An opponent like Durandal, however, was worth considering.
So Otto could only laugh dryly. Durandal was not Rita. This wasn't about the difference in their combat strength. It was about the fact that, in his future plans, there were many possibilities where Bianka's existence was indispensable. Unless he had no other choice, or the plan progressed to a point where Durandal was no longer needed, he couldn't risk letting her fight Michael.
This was rather cruel to Rita. To reach the level of an S-rank Valkyrie as a true ordinary person was an incredible achievement. But an ordinary person was still an ordinary person. Because she was so ordinary, she was also disposable. Even as an S-rank Valkyrie, it was the same. After all, while it seemed there were only two S-rank Valkyries in the world, there was no shortage of combatants at that level.
"Speaking of which, Otto. Have you ever had someone in your life… a senior whom you felt you had long surpassed, but you still found yourself unconsciously imitating their behavior at times?"
It was a strange question. Otto frowned, then shook his head.
Michael chuckled awkwardly. Right, people were all different, after all.
So what if others had? So what if they hadn't?
Why ask such a stupid question? Was he looking for a negative answer to prove his own uniqueness, or a positive one to deny his own loneliness?
Michael himself had no idea.
"But… hmm, if we relax the conditions a bit, perhaps Kallen counts."
"?"
Michael slowly typed out a question mark in his mind. He didn't know how Otto's mind worked, but no matter how he looked at it, the current Otto bore very little resemblance to Kallen… right?
"You wouldn't understand. The Apocalypse family is a proud one. The approachable attitude I show in public, the concern I show some of my subordinates—it's all just a mask. But I can't tell if the purpose of this mask is because what I want to do forces me to be this way, or if… I'm just imitating her, just catering to her preferences."
"Why are you telling me this? Is our relationship at a point where we can open up to each other?"
"Weren't you the one who asked first?"
Otto suddenly extended his hand. Michael paused for a moment, then, realizing, gently shook it.
"A pleasure doing business with you."
Withdrawing his hand, Otto stood up from his seat.
"I'll take my leave then, my old friend. Don't be absent for this afternoon's practical combat assessment, alright?"
"I thought a busy yet lazy person like you would find an excuse to head straight back to Schicksal HQ after our talk."
"Ah, yes, yes!" Otto nodded vigorously, his smile growing increasingly strange. "But, my old friend, didn't you prepare a gift for me at some point in the near future? It would be quite rude of me not to stay and accept it, wouldn't it?"
He left on his own. Michael sat alone at the small table. The projection to his side now showed an empty exam hall. With a soft click, the image and sound vanished.
Theresa had left at some point too. Only a few staff members remained at the long table in the distance, organizing documents.
Michael gently placed the crystal glass on the table. But no matter how gentle the action, it was impossible not to make a sound, wasn't it?
Just like how, though he had clearly come so far, though he had clearly surpassed them, though he was clearly stronger than them, though he could accomplish what they all dreamed of with just a little hesitation, a change of mind, a snap of his fingers.
Though he knew his true past, he wasn't someone who had grown up with this story, just a consciousness created by a lucky random quantum entanglement. He no longer needed to revere them, to look up to them…
On the moon, at Kolosten, in Nagazora City… he was always the one looking down.
But he still imitated them. Imitated their tone, their actions.
He imitated Elysia's optimism, Kevin's determination, Eden's composure, Aponia's gentleness, Sakura's decisiveness, Hua's calmness… He would also imitate Otto's eccentricity, his gloominess, his indifference, and the melancholy, weariness, and sorrow hidden beneath it all… and the madness that he could only suppress with all his strength.
But it was all fake. It wasn't Michael's own personality… or maybe it was.
"Elysia… what kind of person… am I, really?"
Michael tilted his head back and sighed, but his fingers familiarly opened his phone and sent a single number—4—to an account with only a green avatar and no ID.
He thought for a moment, then typed another line:
"Sorry, the plan's moving up a bit. Should be fine, right?"
A moment later, the phone vibrated gently.
"Hehe!"
Imagining Mobius sulking but powerless to do anything about it, Michael's shoulders shook with quiet laughter.
Five minutes later, the school's alarm blared:
"Teri—Teri—"
"Teri—Teri—"
"Teri—Teri—"
The alarm was shrill, bizarre, and it sounded three times in a row.