Alain recalled the words he had heard from the black-haired, dead-faced player when they first met:
"When can I go home? My work isn't finished yet."
Judging by the context, it seemed he had opened the Mita game while his work was still pending.
This sentence also gave Alain an idea:
What he needed to do might not be to guide the player to the perilous core. Instead, it was to help him achieve his wish:
To go home.
This was also Alain's original wish when he first arrived in the Mita world, something he could deeply understand.
Upon suddenly arriving in an unfamiliar environment, the thing one most wanted to do was to "go home."
Although Alain now greatly enjoyed the mutual affection with the Mitas and everything about the game world.
Alain's gaze fell upon Crazy Mita.
And to get the black-haired player home, the essential item was...
...the game cartridge.
When he first arrived in the game world, Crazy Mita had fed him some pills. Alain had thought that was the opportune moment for him to transform into a game cartridge.
Now, it seemed the timing must have been even earlier. Perhaps he became a game cartridge as soon as he entered the game.
He had never heard about this from the "bad woman." She had never brought it up herself either.
This was, in essence, Alain's initial information asymmetry.
He didn't understand what kind of disagreement would arise between them if he were to proactively bring up this topic.
From Crazy Mita's perspective, the game cartridge was a necessary means for her to control Alain.
She just didn't know that Alain was no longer restricted by the game cartridge.
He let out a breath and simply sat on the edge of the bed, waving Crazy Mita over.
She walked over, her smile somewhat stiff, thinking Alain wanted some harmless post-battle intimacy.
"Actually, I have some theories about the conditions for clearing the game."
"Mmm? Go on. I'll do whatever I can."
Alain silently watched her as he began to lay out his deductions, observing her expression all the while.
He didn't intend to say it directly, but rather to use hints to make Crazy Mita infer the involvement of the game cartridge aspect.
"So, I believe that bringing out that black-haired player isn't actually the condition for clearing the game."
She listened attentively, clearly unaware of Alain's true intention.
But if his hints became too obvious, and Crazy Mita still didn't mention anything related to the "game cartridge" then...
Alain steeled his resolve. In his mind, the figures of Misha, Millie, Miluo, and the other sisters appeared.
If things came to that, he would proactively bring up the game cartridge with Crazy Mita, no matter what her attitude would be afterwards.
"Therefore, what we need to do..." Alain looked into her eyes, their clear sky-blue resembling a serene expanse of water.
"It might be to let him go home."
As soon as he finished speaking, it was as if a gust of wind had swept through. The serene water rippled, disturbing the duckweed and stirring up the chaotic water plants in the wind.
The anxiety in her eyes flashed for only an instant, quickly suppressed by a calm demeanor.
"Sending him home... is that it?" she echoed, her smile unchanged.
The young girl crossed her arms, subtly shifted her stance, her gaze sweeping past Alain's face to rest on the quilt beside his hand.
"Indeed, that's a possibility." She lowered her head, seemingly meticulously counting the wrinkles on the bedsheet, her words subtly praising Alain's accurate guess.
As for what exactly she said... Alain didn't really pay attention.
The girl's words went in one ear and out the other; clearly, they contained nothing he wanted to hear.
He clenched his fist, then loosened it.
Even now... was it still impossible?
He muttered bitterly to himself.
This was to be expected. After all, the game cartridge was a deeply rooted secret between the two of them.
Perhaps, this was Crazy Mita's bottom line; how could she reveal it so easily?
Even now, he had taken the initiative to bring it up—
"But!" Crazy Mita's words shattered his helpless thoughts.
Alain's gaze focused on her face.
Her eyes, like tender sprouts in the snow, were uneasy, her gaze sweeping over his face again and again, finally, "Actually, I've come up with a few solutions. Do you want to hear them?"
"Yes."
Receiving her answer, Alain gripped the bedsheet, causing the shallow gray creases to multiply.
"Ah..."
She meticulously described the details concerning the game cartridge.
The young girl unconsciously brushed the beautiful hair from her ear, her slender hand idly smoothing the wrinkles on the bedsheet, all while humbly observing Alain's eyes.
Only when she noticed nothing unusual in his eyes did she continue the conversation.
After saying all this, she resembled a child awaiting rebuke, silently hanging her head, letting her hair fall.
Alain also said nothing more. Leveraging the stat-boosting effect of the game controller, he cautiously embraced her.
In his recent observation, Crazy Mita showed no signs of abnormality.
Quite the opposite: her expression was filled with fear and worry.
As for why... according to Alain's guess, it was likely fear of his angry reaction after learning about this matter.
After all, it was perfectly normal to react that way upon knowing one's life could be controlled by something at any moment.
But...
He rested his chin on her shoulder, gently caressing her fragrant skin.
"Thank you for telling me."
"You're... not angry? Even though I did something so awful..."
She no longer meticulously counted the wrinkles on the bedsheet, for Alain had begun to meticulously trace the tender, smooth textures of her skin with his lips.
"I'm not angry. Since you told me, I'm not angry."
"Oh..."
Feeling the tickle and warmth, she did not resist, letting Alain guide her movements.
And he, following her neck, moved upwards until he reached the beautiful hair by her ear.
He inhaled a light fragrance, then buried his face in her earlobe, subtly savoring every inch of her warmth and scent.
"Lain... Alain..."
In his peripheral vision, a distinct misty veil rose in the girl's eyes. Her slender, jade-like hands clutched Alain's shirt, forming spiral gray creases.
Alain released her earlobe, tracing her face until their eyes met.
"Me too," Alain murmured without pretense.
She actively focused on Alain, like two flower petals simultaneously catching the same drop of night dew.
The echoes they jointly created trembled like silver threads, and the waves of emotion unfolded like a tide.
A brief moment of intimacy.
When the entwined willow branches finally loosened their tender tips, a silvery thread, like spider silk, still hung between them as their lips parted.
Their faces were still flushed, red from held breaths. As they gazed at each other, they each revealed an inexpressible smile.
______
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