Two days later.
Inside Saya's head.
---
"Alright, I hereby open another emergency session on the topic of 'How Not to Die in a World with a Tragic Ending'! First word to the Chancellor of Sanity!"
Saya, dressed in a sharp business suit, adjusted her tie with icy composure.
"Thank you, Madam Chair Saya. Regarding our situation, I can say only one thing… we're doomed!!!"
She collapsed into her chair, clutching her head in both hands. Chaos erupted: one Saya tore papers, another chewed nervously on her robe.
"Silence! Order in the court!" bellowed Judge Saya, slamming her gavel so hard the virtual walls rattled.
"There's only one solution!" cried Saya in a kimono. "Grab everything that's not nailed down and ride into the sunset with Evelyn and Elaine!"
"Ha!" snorted Military Saya. "We can't run a kilometer without wheezing, and you suggest we run away carrying baggage? No. We fight!"
"With our position?" Analyst Saya pushed up her glasses. "That's like charging a tank with bare fists."
"Then we make money, hire mercenaries, get a carriage, and leave in style!" argued Business Saya in her tailored jacket.
"Sure," Practical Saya drawled, "just like the school festival where we couldn't even scrape together a thousand yen."
The chamber exploded into another wave of yelling. Some insisted on escape, some on battle, while one Saya dragged in an imaginary barrel to hide inside until the crisis passed.
Judge Saya covered her face with a weary palm.
"…Yeah. We're screwed."
---
I blinked back to reality — only to realize there was still no solution.
Right now, I was scrubbing dishes, trying to distract myself, but my brain refused to let go.
The water was icy, the plates slippery, and my thoughts… dirtier than the pot that looked like it had been used to boil coal, tears, and tax audits all at once.
Grinding my teeth, I attacked a wooden bowl like it was the author's face.
"Who even ends a fantasy novel with mass genocide?! Where's the hero? Where's the princess? Where's the reward for all the suffering?!" I hissed.
And here I am — no happy, no end, not even a main character.
I hurled the forks into the bucket.
"Fine. The best plan is to run before the plot catches up."
"Run from what plot?" a voice asked.
I froze.
The kitchen was empty. Everyone else had bailed after realizing I'd been scrubbing the same plate for two hours straight.
Grabbing Frieda, my trusty battle-frying pan, I whirled around, ready to chuck her at the intruder.
No one.
"…Hallucinating," I muttered, putting Frieda back. "I need less local tea."
---
The last plate shone like a detergent commercial. Proudly stacking them, I suddenly found my path blocked by Su.
He materialized in the middle of the kitchen like a fluffy tax inspector. Just stood there. Staring.
"Uhh… Su? You hungry?" I asked carefully, wary of claws and not really expecting an answer.
"No. What I need is a conversation," he said.
The silence was so heavy I dropped the dishes. The crash echoed in my chest like a minute of silence for fallen porcelain.
Su didn't even blink.
"Not worried Evelyn or the dwarf will punish you for this?"
Yeah, that's my concern right now. Not the fact that the flying cat just TALKED.
With a scream, I jumped back so hard I left a cartoon outline in the wall.
"YOU. TALK?!"
"Yes. And apparently you can move fast when you want to. That's good for your situation."
"If you could talk, why didn't you say anything before?!"
"I was waiting. To see if you'd start conversing with ladles first."
Su's tone was purring, almost smug.
"…Wanted to be sure you weren't an enemy."
"Holy—!" I grabbed the nearest objects — two spoons — and crossed them like a makeshift crucifix.
Su narrowed his eyes.
"Don't insult spirits by comparing us to the filth humans parody."
"Wait… you mean… there are demons in this world?!"
"There are. Demons, ghosts, spawn of the Void."
"Fantastic," I breathed. "The empire's collapsing, demons everywhere, and now talking cats. What a tourist paradise for losers."
A perfect welcome package for isekai travelers.
Su continued to bore into me with that gaze, as if peering through skin and thought alike.
"What?" I snapped.
"You smell strange," he said finally, eyes narrowing.
"That's because yesterday they pelted me with rotten tomatoes," I muttered.
"No. Different." He tilted his head. "You smell… like someone from another world."
"Congrats, Sherlock. That revelation dropped two manga chapters ago."
"But not just that," Su's voice lowered, heavier. "There's a trace in you. Something that comes from the Creator."
I froze, like someone had dumped that same icy dishwater over my head.
"Sorry—who?" I croaked.
He fell silent. For several seconds, he just stared, weighing something unseen, then finally spoke evenly:
"Call it what you want, wanderer. I need to think. Maybe… you're just a mistake."
"You're the mistake!" I yelled after him, but he'd already leapt out the window, vanishing into thin air, leaving only a faint shimmer.
And there I was, holding spoon-crosses, standing in shards of porcelain, alone with my questions.
Perfect. Even cats are debating my fate. Where are my isekai meds?
---
Time passed, and finally my two-week punishment ended. Instead of relief, though, a restless tension gnawed at me.
Evelyn must've noticed my glazed look (I'd been staring at the ceiling so hard I could've drilled a hole through it like a carp dreaming of freedom).
She decided the cure was a "simple errand" — aka grocery shopping.
Supplies were low, she needed new books, and, in her words, "fresh air never hurts."
Sure. Especially air full of spirits and shoving mages.
Naïve me thought it was a good idea.
Spoiler: it was the beginning of the end of my peaceful days.
The Fargun estate was far from the nearest city, so they gave us a carriage. Not luxurious, but comfortable enough. I wasn't about to complain.
After an hour on the road, the city of Lloyd appeared on the horizon.
---
Stepping out of the carriage felt like walking into a medieval textbook illustration — if the page had exploded into a noisy carnival.
People in bright, bizarre clothes hurried everywhere; flags fluttered overhead while enchanted brooms zipped along the cobbles, chasing trash.
Cats with eyes sharper than mine lounged on rooftops, silently judging the crowd.
Magic filled the air like spice. One baker toasted loaves right on his stall, golden steam puffing from the bread.
Nearby, a man snapped his fingers, and a basket of apples shot up, twirling in midair like they were auditioning for a circus act.
I mentally bet on the red one — it looked rigged to win.
A little further, I spotted wagons pulled by copper-furred beasts with glowing blue eyes. After a homicidal cooking pot, I'd expected wagons with wings or at least attitude, but to my surprise, the transport was… normal.
Even the plain wooden wheels felt like a blessing in this chaos.
The marketplace was pure, glorious pandemonium.
Merchants shouted over squealing pigs, clucking chickens, magical firecrackers, and some poor soul on a lute desperately trying to play the imperial anthem but ending up with drunken folk tunes.
The crowd flowed like a living river — colorful, loud, forever colliding with itself. I squeezed through, clutching Evelyn's shopping list, marveling with every line.
Fantasy markets looked suspiciously like the ones I knew back home… except here, the vegetables could serve you themselves.
"Step right up, miss! Finest spices from the Desert Valley! Can revive even a zombie!" yelled a trader, waving a handful of glittering powder.
"I don't have zombies, just an older brother," I muttered, hurrying on.
When the shopping was nearly done, I paused to catch my breath.
And that's when I saw the beauty. Between the chaos of stalls opened a glimpse of houses draped in ivy, strings of glowing stones, colorful flags fluttering like fragments of rainbow.
The air smelled of bread, smoke, and flowers all at once.
Maybe this isn't so bad… I thought. If you ignore demons, collapsing empires, and talking cats, of course.
That's when I noticed the boy. He stood by a wall in a dark cloak, hood shadowing his face.
Too still for a market. Too quiet for a child.
His posture carried a strange tension — outward calm, inner readiness, like a manga brat who'd wandered into the wrong story arc.
Then a carriage appeared around the corner. Ornate, golden crests shining authority and… taxes.
The wheels screeched as it stopped directly before the boy.
The door swung open with theatrical slowness.
Out stepped a man in a black cloak. His bald head gleamed so brightly I half-thought it was a relic.
He walked with purpose, each step shrinking the distance between himself and the boy.
"I don't know you! Don't touch me!" the boy's voice shook, but it carried desperate resolve.
My heart clenched.
"Something's wrong here…" I muttered, instinctively stepping closer.
The crowd reacted predictably: a few glanced over, some smirked, but no one intervened.
Classic bystanders — happy to watch, never to help.
The man reached for the boy. Too fast, too sharp, like a predator snatching prey.
I couldn't take it.
"Hey, stop!" I yelled, lunging forward to stand between them.
Time slowed. The crowd hushed, dozens of eyes stabbing into me. Even the firework vendor froze, and the cabbage on a stall stopped mid-bounce.
The man stared at me. His eyes held no anger, no annoyance — only cold puzzlement. Like he'd just discovered a cockroach standing on a stool reciting sonnets.
And only then, hearing my own voice, did I realize what I'd just done.
Congratulations, Saya. Another brilliant disaster. This time, possibly with an arrest.