The next few hours until full nightfall...
Or maybe — a bit longer.
Who's counting, really, when the clock hands seem to have run away from us, dragging common sense along with them?
…we'll be trying to find the right book that will help us translate these lines.
Yeah, all we have to do is find one book among thousands.
One. Single. Necessary.
Easy, right?
If not for everything that happened — the murders, the awakenings, the witch, the library — maybe we would have already known what those symbols hide.
But... didn't I know from the very beginning that it would turn out like this?
Does she really... **not want** us to know the translation?
Does the witch have a taste for drama?
Options — plenty. Answers — zero.
I'm no fortune teller, but I'm sure: **she** was the one who wrote them. After killing Gerudo with her own hands.
And if I want to prove Enua's innocence — the first step: decoding.
Simple, right?
Almost like "finding a needle in a literary hell."
Although... if this is her move, the witch's move, then I must admit — it's elegant.
Not for show, but with intention.
And behind intention — could be a trap.
A trap for the mind. For logic. For us.
While the participants crowded around the library, waiting for the servants searching for the key, I... was thinking.
About details.
About grimoires.
About how long this search would take.
Now, of course, it's easier.
I'm the only one whose memory isn't wiped after each reset.
The rest?
They're victims.
Cyclically reborn victims who don't even know they died.
Not the most inspiring thought, is it?
While I was lost in thought, Morgana and Cheryl approached. A key in hand.
Why **now**, of all times?
— Here, we brought the key, — said Morgana with a hint of nervousness, gripping it like it wasn't metal but a secret.
And indeed — a secret.
Because, as mentioned before, one key is not enough.
The door is wrapped in magic. Somewhere between the 10th and 11th dimension.
— Alright, let me take the key. I'll open it, — said Yahweh, already reaching out.
— Wait, let me try to open the door.
Aragi's voice cut through the tension.
All eyes — on him.
What, surprised?
It felt like he had suggested not to open the door, but to slice reality itself.
— Huh? Is there really a difference who opens it?
— Of course, there's no difference. But let me do it.
Words without argument, but with subtext.
Yahweh looked at Hov. He, in turn — silent.
And everything became clear.
— Alright, go ahead.
He handed it over. Stepped back. Gave way.
Now — my turn.
I inserted the key. Turned it. Pushed.
The door — felt like it weighed a ton.
But I still opened it.
And at that moment — **I and the other me** split.
...The witch had told the truth.
The power of the vampire girl — is real.
Thank you, big boobs.
We're back in the library.
This time with Enua.
Help — at the very least.
Alibi — at most.
He won't leave the room.
That's the plan. We agreed back in the bedroom.
The others — don't believe it, but tolerate it.
Because at night — it's not truth that matters, but safety.
— And remember, not all grimoires are safe, — Morgana's voice sounded. — Some of them radiate energy...
Yeah, we remember.
Some books hiss when touched.
Some whisper.
And some — stare back at you.
The teams work separately.
I — with Enua.
Morgana — with Cheryl.
Hov and Yahweh — together.
Kamiki and Tiamut — on their own.
— Hey, I've got a question for you…
— Why did you decide to let Aragi open the door? Is there really a difference?
— Maybe there is. Maybe not. I can't give you an answer. But… I **felt** it.
Yahweh glanced — the kind of glance that speaks instead of words.
— Surprised you understood with just a look?
— It's... from those days. Where words don't work, and hands fall silent, feelings remain.
— Has a scent of the past. Not pleasant, but important.
They fell silent.
Sank into themselves, like into a deep whirlpool of memory.
— Tell me… why did you agree to take part in this game?
...
— The witch couldn't force us. Only resurrect.
— Hard to argue with someone like you, Yahweh.
And yes — that's the truth.
Each of us is here for **our own** reason.
A dream. Something lost.
— I'm here... for an answer. To save my wife.
— Guresu... passed away?
— After childbirth.
...and then — everything's clear.
Words, pain, a desperate attempt to understand the impossible.
— I didn't stop. I came here. To get what I couldn't back then.
— And you?
— You already know why I'm here.
— Then… let's promise each other we'll make it out alive!
— Of course. I'm a Hero of the past, after all! Ahahaha!
...Time — 10 PM.
Several hundred books everywhere.
Every face — tired.
Every heart — unsure.
Me? I just... want a drink.
But go out? No way.
— You okay? — Enua asked.
— I'm good.
Morgana, overhearing, immediately came over.
— Are you sure you're okay?
— Sure. Really. Almost.
...she went anyway. For water. With Cheryl.
I wanted to stop them… but didn't.
Why?
Because I believe. Because I'm dumb. Because I trust her fists.
And in the meantime — I think about all sorts of nonsense.
...this is the trait that vampire girl hates.
Still, Morgana brought the water.
I drank it.
And poured some on myself.
— Thanks.
— Don't mention it.
...her face turned red.
Maybe from gratitude.
Maybe from the water.
If someone asked me what happiness is…
I'd answer: **happiness is being surrounded by busty beauties.**
Night.
Thousands of books — still not the one.
Some are grimoires. Others — textbooks on medicine, geography, who knows what else.
But suddenly — a scream.
— Aaaah!
Yahweh.
— We found the book we need!
...and it was as if everything else — disappeared.