It wasn't an illusion; although Jibril halo was a physical manifestation of energy, it was spinning so fast it created a literal vacuum vortex.
It was fine if Sū ěr heard it—maybe, if he was alone—but that weed could not know!
Jibril could already imagine Think mocking laughter, the way she would mockingly recite the lines back to her with that insufferable, playful smirk.
BOOM!
The mere thought felt like a bomb going off in Jibril head, accompanied by a searing heat. She wanted to die. She wanted to kill everyone. She wanted to erase this timeline.
This was the first time the Flügel had felt shame to this degree. She finally understood what Sū ěr meant by "embarrassment"—this sudden urge to destroy the world must be that "bittersweet" feeling he mentioned, right?
War. War never changes.
The conflict was sudden, absolute, and total.
And Sū ěr... felt like throwing up.
Several times, Jibril fingers came within millimeters of the stage he was clutching to his chest, but that final gap remained unbridgeable.
Sū ěr was running; Think was blocking; Think was carrying Sū ěr while teleporting and spinning. For a severely injured patient who had just woken up, this "high-intensity exercise" was brutal. His empty stomach churned, and his brain felt like it was being tossed in a frying pan.
"Ugh..."
Sū ěr dry-heaved. That single sound of distress brought the "war" to an instantaneous halt. The raging winds vanished. Aside from the wreckage of the furniture, it was as if the chaos had been a hallucination.
But it was only a temporary ceasefire. Both Think and Jibril knew that as long as the box from Tet was open, as long as it kept performing the scenes that made Jibril want to implode, it wasn't over.
Throughout the struggle, the miniature stage had remained untouched by the surrounding storm, perfectly protected in Sū ěr arms. It continued its faithful reenactment.
During the fight, the audio had been compressed and distorted by the speed of their movement. But now, in the sudden silence...
[...I just... have... a bit...]
[...of a longing for them...]
It was as if the God of Games had timed it perfectly. He was like a hunter who waited for the prey to expose its soft underbelly before pulling the trigger.
The voice coming from the prostrated figure on the stage was a cocktail of helplessness, shame, pain, and yearning. It sounded exactly like Jibril—because Tet had used her actual words.
Jibril looked like a fish out of water, her lips moving but no sound coming out. In the silent room, Sū ěr and Think could only hear a sound like popping bubbles—the sound of her soul breaking.
Jibril "spirit" had truly left her. Her hair, which usually shimmered with a beautiful pearlescent glow, turned dull. Her cute little halo stopped spinning entirely. Even her skin seemed to lose its color.
She was burnt out. Reduced to white ash.
She collapsed onto the floor, legs splayed out in a "W" shape. She tried to prop herself up with her arms, but her support was trembling. For an energy-based lifeform, her emotions directly dictated her physical state.
And right now... she wanted to die.
Even if she didn't die now, that weed would mock her to death anyway. To live the rest of her life with Think bringing this up every minute? imitating her tone? Jibril felt a sense of total despair.
The "child angel" hung her head low, her hair veiling her face. Sū ěr couldn't see her expression, but her shoulders were shaking—a tremor that was rapidly growing.
Oh boy.
Sū ěr looked at Think. Even the Great Nirvalen hadn't anticipated this level of psychological collapse.
Jibril finally looked up. She looked at Sū ěr with tear-filled eyes, sniffing loudly.
"WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"
She cried. Jibril actually started bawling.
Sū ěr panicked. The last time he saw her cry... wait, was it when she ran out of power and regressed in age? And then... uh, did he punch her until she cried?
His memory was getting clearer.
Okay, the time at the Spirit Sea didn't count because she was facing away, but he was pretty sure she cried then too. So, the last few times she'd shed tears, it was always related to him?
Guilt UP.
This situation—the tears, the wailing—made him and Think look like two bullies tormenting a toddler.
Sū ěr glanced at Think. Great. He could confirm that he was the only one feeling guilty.
Think was currently unlocking her phone, looking like she was trying to find the best lighting for a photo.
Think was the true villain here!