I woke with a start.
The ceiling above me was unfamiliar. A fan turned lazily overhead, and a cool breeze drifted in through the open windows.
Sunlight poured into the room, washing everything in a pale golden glow.
I blinked a few times to clear my vision, then pushed myself upright in the bed.
"I'm starving," I muttered.
The sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic reached me—unmistakably hospital-like. I stifled a yawn and glanced down at the soft cream-colored blanket draped over my body.
Where was I?
My thoughts were sluggish, my head still wrapped in fog. I tried to remember, and then—
Jakob.
I was Jakob.
I…
"…kob…"
A soft voice pulled me out of my own head.
I turned.
Armine was asleep beside the bed, her head resting on her folded arms, murmuring something I couldn't make out.
THUMP.
My heart skipped.
For some reason, I couldn't look away. My mind betrayed me at once, trying to pick her apart piece by piece: the pink hair spilling down her back like a waterfall, her full red lips, the softness of her face—
I stopped myself.
No. Absolutely not.
I wasn't going to disrespect my friend like that.
A quiet laugh escaped me.
Friend.
Out of everything I'd experienced so far, that still felt the most unbelievable.
Carefully, I slipped out from under the blanket without disturbing her. My body still ached—a dull soreness lingering beneath my skin, like the first days of Armine's training routine. Without overthinking it, I decided to stretch and wake myself up properly.
Arms first.
As I moved, I recognized the room. The infirmary: a long ward with black ceramic floors, rows of beds stretching into the distance, and a surprisingly pleasant atmosphere despite the setting.
Now my legs. As I stretched them out, something occurred to me.
I felt light.
I glanced down.
Right. Medical gown.
Well, I'd finish up and sit down to wait for a nurse or someone.
I was mid-stretch, fingertips brushing my toes, when I heard a door swing open behind me.
…Well.
"Shit."
"Nice ass."
I didn't recognize the voice.
I straightened up and spun around.
Back in my old world, moments like this rarely ended well—or even started well. They usually turned into a string of brutal jokes that lasted until someone found an even bigger target. That was the best-case scenario, assuming the person who caught you was a friend.
I, apparently, wasn't that lucky.
Standing in the doorway was a middle-aged woman in a wimple, a single blonde curl escaping from beneath it. Her white dress—long-sleeved, full-skirted—gave her an almost severe elegance that only became more dangerous the longer you looked at it. It followed the lines of her mature figure with effortless precision.
I wasn't proud of how long I stared.
Over the dress she wore a white apron embroidered with the King of Souls Cross of Swords in gold, outlined in black.
I knew who she was.
"Cornelia, right?"
Her emerald eyes gleamed. Deciding that direct eye contact was a strategic mistake, I fixed my gaze on the mole beneath her left eye instead.
She was beautiful.
"Yep." Her smile widened—bold, shameless, thoroughly entertained. She was enjoying every second of this.
"…I was stretching," I said flatly.
Her grin only grew. The look in her eyes told me I would never live this down.
"Please." She crossed the room in a few steps, settled onto a nearby bed, and set down the paper bag she'd been carrying. "By all means—continue."
I still wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that a gorgeous older woman was this interested in watching me stretch half-dressed.
"I'd rather get properly dressed first," I said, turning to face her squarely. "And eat something."
"Ooh, well…" The disappointment in her voice was so naked I had to remind myself, yet again, what kind of world this was.
She stood up and smiled at me more like a nurse this time.
"…That was easy," I muttered, mildly surprised it had actually worked. Then a thought surfaced. "That reminds me—a girl with orange hair and broken glasses…"
"Ah, little Primrose." There was absolutely nothing little about Primrose's body, but I let that slide.
"Were you the one who sent her here?"
I nodded.
"She looked like she needed help," I said tiredly. Cornelia gave me a warm, sympathetic look.
"I hope it wasn't any trouble."
"Not at all." Just like that, Cornelia's entire bearing shifted—less flirtatious, more clinical. "But let's set that aside for a moment. Are you aware that you nearly died? Poisoning and blood loss. You were in serious danger."
I'd already guessed as much. This wasn't a game. Actions had consequences, and I'd paid for mine. I was lucky I'd had that Rûaj candy on me, and—
"I was reckless," I said quietly. If things had gone differently… "Thank you for saving me."
At once, Cornelia's face softened into something almost maternal.
"You're a good boy, no doubt about that." Then her gaze shifted past me. "But you should really be thanking her."
I turned.
Armine was still asleep.
The sunlight fell over her so gently it made her look almost unreal—as if the morning itself had chosen her. Her beauty left me dazed for a moment.
Something warm stirred in my chest.
"…Armine." For the first time in a very long while, I could feel some of the weight I carried begin to lift. The distrust I'd been drowning in loosened its grip, just a little. Armine was— "My friend."
I said it with a smile.
When was the last time I'd had a real friend?
I laughed quietly when I realized the answer was the same for both me and the original Jakob: not often.
"Ahem." I turned. Cornelia was watching me with a knowing, thoroughly amused expression. "Do I detect the early stages of love?"
I smiled at her.
"Nah," I said easily. "Armine's way too good for me."
"You should have more confidence, boy." She tossed me a playful wink. "You're not exactly hard on the eyes."
That drew a quiet laugh out of me.
"Maybe, but…" She was someone special—unique and irreplaceable. Possibly even a Goddess. I couldn't compare myself to someone that far above me. "I'm not worthy of someone like her."
Compared to Armine, I was mud pretending to speak to gold.
"…" Cornelia blinked. "Wow. That must've sounded really incredible from your end, right?"
Then she headed toward the bed.
A bolt of panic shot through me. Shame and dread made me swallow hard.
Shit.
I turned around slowly.
Armine was awake. Her golden eyes were locked on me—wide, curious, gleaming—and her entire face was crimson.
"Did you hear what I said?" My voice cracked before I could stop it.
"Jakob…" Her voice nearly broke on my name. Then—"JAKOB!"
The half-Giant launched herself at me with both arms outstretched.
My teacher wrapped me in a fierce hug, and I went completely blank.
I didn't know what to do with any of it. My arms trembled. My eyes burned. Something in my chest pulled so tight it ached.
When was the last time someone had held me like this?
My first life. Right before my mother died.
That had been the last real hug I'd received.
Instinct took over. I wrapped my arms around Armine and held on tight.
I closed my eyes and felt tears spill down my cheeks.
"Thank you," I whispered, barely keeping my voice together.
"Thank you," she whispered back, breathless with relief. "For staying alive."
I couldn't help but smile through it.
She was quite possibly the best person I'd met in a very long time.
"You really are the best, Armine."
"Hehehe."
Damn. Even her laugh was melodic.
"Ahh… young love."
Cornelia's voice snapped me back to reality. I became suddenly, painfully aware of how we must have looked, clinging to each other like that.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said, sounding not remotely sorry, "but I think our little noble should get properly dressed."
A second later, she grabbed my right ear and tugged me away from Armine.
"Hey—was that really necessary?" I looked at Cornelia, who was wearing an expression of total professional severity.
She studied me for a moment, as if running some internal evaluation.
"Go put on something decent before you talk to your knight in shining armor," she scolded, like I was a misbehaving child.
Only then did the full horror of my outfit register. The gown. Right.
"…Where do I change?" I looked around frantically for a private room.
Armine and Cornelia both burst out laughing, and I felt my face burn hotter than it had any right to.
This was beyond embarrassment. This was total annihilation.
"Back room, honey," Cornelia said with conspiratorial cheer. "Go make yourself pretty for your heroine."
"Excuse me!" I bolted, face on fire, but even as I fled I caught the exchange behind me.
"Ahh, young love…" Cornelia's theatrical sigh floated down the hall.
"It's not like that!" Armine shouted—probably just as red as I was.
"Fufufu… so obvious." I could practically see Cornelia's smug expression without turning around.
I reached the back room and locked the door behind me.
For a moment I just stood there, both hands gripping the doorknob, feeling profoundly stupid.
What was I doing? Why was I acting like a teenager with his first crush?
…Well.
In my old life, I'd never actually experienced anything like this.
I let go of the doorknob and looked around to distract myself.
Full-length mirrors lined the walls. Small black wooden benches were scattered about, and the rest of the furniture was far more elegant than any infirmary had a right to be.
Part of me wondered whether I'd wandered into a noble's private fitting room.
I noticed the open wardrobe to my right: neatly arranged garments, and a hanger with a full uniform clearly prepared for me.
Professionals.
That was the only explanation—elegance calibrated for a place that served nobility.
Speaking of nobility…
I looked at my reflection.
"Huh?" I touched my right cheek. "What's this?"
Something was different.
This body had always felt grotesque to me—not physically ugly so much as alien. Wrong in a way I couldn't articulate. Everything about it had felt like wearing someone else's skin.
Maybe that explained the persistent sense of disconnection that had plagued me since arriving.
I could eat, talk, see, hear—but it was like piloting a mannequin. Going through the motions from behind glass.
Even my own consciousness had felt halfway absent, as if I existed in a permanent trance.
But now?
Now my flesh felt real. The warmth of my skin, the beat of my heart, even the hunger clawing at my stomach and the dryness in my throat—all of it was sharper, more vivid, more undeniably mine.
I examined my body.
My body.
Armine's training regimen had chiseled definition into my muscles and packed real strength into my frame. I didn't linger on that. Instead, I traced the evidence of what I'd survived.
My shoulder still bore the marks where something had pierced it. A faint line crossed my abdomen from the stab wound. Lighter cuts marked me here and there.
Proof.
Proof that I'd already stepped off the path the gods had laid out for Jakob.
Wait—gods?
I meant developers.
I ignored the slip and turned back to my face.
It was an improvement over what I remembered.
I laughed softly. Cornelia had been right.
I took the uniform. For some reason, my fingers moved automatically to inspect the fabric's quality. I smiled. Excellent craftsmanship.
Worthy of a school built inside the Creator God's palace.
And the colors—a blend of aesthetic refinement and military precision. I appreciated whoever had designed this.
Wait. What were these mannerisms?
I searched Jakob's memories and found it: a noble's ingrained habit of evaluating clothing.
Apparently, the original Jakob had also been something of a fashion enthusiast.
Well. That was unexpected.
With the uniform on, I studied myself in the mirrors. Not bad.
Should I dye my hair? That might be a good way to distance myself from the original Jakob.
I wished there were some way to customize my appearance the way you could in a game. That reminded me—character creation had been one of the most criticized features in [Kings Roads] back in the day.
I paused.
Actually, now that I thought about it, this room was the class-and-character selection screen for the player.
Wait. That didn't make sense.
A gentle knock on the door broke the thought.
"Jakob?" Armine's voice, slightly nervous. "Is everything okay in there?"
How sweet.
My heart gave another involuntary lurch.
"Everything's fine," I said, feeling my cheeks heat up without permission. "I just got a little distracted looking at the rest of the clothes."
What had I just said?
"Ooh." Armine didn't seem to notice anything odd. "Okay. Cornelia says if you're feeling better, we can go to the cafeteria."
My stomach answered before I could.
"Excellent idea." I pulled the door open and found Armine smiling at me. "I could eat a horse."
"Ehehehe." Her laugh left me dazed for a few too many seconds. She held out her hand. "Let's go."
I took it. Something in the contact settled me instantly, like a current of warmth flowing between us.
"Hold it right there, you two."
Cornelia materialized behind Armine with a sly grin and the paper bag in hand.
"Here—take this, tiger."
I had to let go of Armine's hand to catch the bag. I peered inside curiously.
Two metal cylinders about the size of mugs, sealed with tight lids, and a small jar of what looked like mint-green candies.
"What are these?"
Cornelia thumped her ample chest with confidence. The motion was… distracting.
"I'm a professional. You might look recovered, but—" She fixed me with a look that was pure maternal authority. "Don't think for a second you're out of danger. Those pills and ointments are for the pain and the scars."
What an interesting duality she had going on.
"Thank you." I tried to load that single word with every ounce of sincerity I had. "When I can, I'll repay you for all of this."
The nurse smiled at me with genuine tenderness.
"It's my job, kid… although…" She made an exaggerated show of reluctance. "A bit of flan is always welcome."
Armine and I laughed. Cornelia joined in a moment later.
"Understood," I said with a smile. I held the bag in one hand and extended the other toward her. "Jakob Liedschlag. At your service."
Cornelia froze.
Armine let out a small gasp.
Neither reaction surprised me. In this world, it was unheard of—borderline unthinkable—for a noble to use those words with a commoner. I'd essentially placed myself at her disposal.
Cornelia recovered quickly. She gathered the edges of her skirt, spread them to either side, dipped her posture slightly, and bowed her head.
"Cornelia Whitechapel." She raised her gaze to meet mine. "The pleasure is mine."
I nodded.
"We'll see each other again." I glanced at Armine, who seemed momentarily lost in thought. "Let's go."
"Right." Armine bowed to Cornelia one final time, and together we left the infirmary.
The hallway greeted us with its usual solemn, dignified atmosphere.
I remembered that the Castle's soundtrack had been one of my favorites in the game. I missed the background music.
With that thought lingering, I fell into step beside Armine.
"That was a kind gesture," she said after a few paces. "With Cornelia, I mean. Few nobles would show that kind of gratitude."
I was tempted to say I wasn't really a noble—but then I remembered that Jakob, for all his faults, was one.
"My mother taught me to be grateful," I said. I was talking about my mother from before—possibly the only source of light in my previous life. "Treat others the way you want to be treated."
A basic principle. And one the world seemed determined to ignore.
"She sounds like a wonderful person," Armine said.
"The best." Wherever she was now, if the merciful God she'd believed in was real, I hoped she was with Him. "But we should get moving—I'm famished."
Armine laughed at that.
"Foreigner." A quiet voice behind us—indifferent, hollow, utterly empty of warmth. "Jakob Liedschlag."
Armine reacted first. Without armor or weapon, she stepped between the voice and me.
"Adorable." The word dripped with condescension. Slow, unhurried footsteps approached. "I have business with your companion, Half-Giant. Step aside."
Zofia advanced with a languid confidence that filled the hallway. Her oversized black fur coat dragged along the floor behind her. Her blue eyes shone like distant stars, and her gold monocle caught the light.
"Jakob." Armine's voice was steady, but I could hear the tension in it. She must have recognized Zofia—but recognition didn't make the woman any less intimidating. "Is she telling the truth?"
She shot me a questioning look. I sighed and met Zofia's gaze.
Bad idea.
The gleam in those eyes was still unnervingly beautiful, still alien. Her flat, indifferent stare sent a current of irrational terror through me.
"It's fine, Armine," I said, stepping out from behind my friend. She looked at me with open doubt. I could only manage a strained smile. "Don't worry. She's just going to help me with magic."
I walked toward Zofia, who hadn't so much as blinked.
I stopped beside the mage and turned back to Armine. Her expression was tight with worry.
"Come back safe," she said, and her smile trembled at the edges.
I raised my fist in what I hoped looked like confidence. I opened my mouth to say something reassuring, but Zofia cut me off.
"Enough."
Before I could process what had happened, I was standing in a dark room lit only by a chandelier that burned with blue flame.
"Your exterminator skills are far below expectations," Zofia said, already walking away from me, "but I suppose adequate results will suffice, provided the goal is met."
She didn't wait for a response. She moved toward the only exit—a white wooden door that looked ancient.
"Are you actually going to teach me magic?" Part of me felt an unfamiliar anxiety building. The blue light overhead made me feel watched.
"Follow me." She threw the door open. A wall of light hit me, blinding for several seconds. "And try not to lose your mind."
The glare faded. I looked at the doorway and saw a veil of light shimmering across the frame—it reminded me of the entrance barriers before boss fights.
I took a breath and silently cursed the fact that I had no weapon on me.
Not that I had a choice.
I stepped through.
Before me opened a circular chamber capped by an oval glass dome. Through it, a night sky blazed with stars.
"Impossible." It had been broad daylight moments ago.
I searched for Zofia, but the room seemed designed to hijack my attention, pulling my focus in every direction but hers.
Marble walls, visibly decayed with age. A portrait of Zofia on the central wall. Beside it, a mirror so black it seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it.
Hundreds of shelves, all crammed with books bound in white leather. Candles floated freely in the center of the room, glowing gold.
Then something specific caught my eye.
Black armor trimmed in blue, with a white cape. Mounted on the wall beside it: a matching shield and bastard sword, equally dark.
I didn't recognize that set. I might have been looking at content no player had ever unlocked.
My gaze dropped to the floor. A blue carpet covered everything, and in the center of the room sat a low black wooden table where the tea set from our previous encounter waited.
The air in here felt wrong—thick and static, as if some invisible gas had concentrated and refused to disperse.
Finally, my eyes settled on the most mundane object in the entire space.
A closet.
I stared at it for a moment.
How anticlimactic.
"Are you going to check it?" A voice asked, right beside me.
"No." I shook my head. I had enough problems. "Let's not."
"Boring," the voice said.
I turned toward it.
Nobody.
"How long are you planning to toy with me?" I was speaking to empty air. "…Huh?"
Wait—
"Have you already lost your mind?"
I snapped toward the source.
Zofia was seated at the table, a steaming cup in her hands, wearing an expression of almost theatrical boredom.
"Feel free to go mad whenever you like. I'm hoping you'll be one of the dramatic ones."
I felt a spike of irritation. I crossed the room and sat across from her, brow furrowed.
"What are you playing at?" Antagonizing a being that defied my understanding wasn't smart, but I didn't enjoy being manipulated. "I thought we had a deal."
The smile she gave me only made it worse.
"You're very funny, boy." She sipped her tea and waved her right hand.
A porcelain cup materialized in front of me. Empty.
I stared at it.
The memory of what had happened the last time I'd drunk from that cup surged through me—a nauseating cocktail of revulsion and fear.
"…Help me," I whispered.
I didn't know who I was speaking to, but my mind went to that strange dream I'd had between life and death during the fight with the Rat King.
That man. The King.
"…Interesting," Zofia murmured absently. "Coffee or tea?"
I looked up from the cup and studied her face. Beautiful, terrifying, those star-like eyes burning through me.
"Coffee," I said. I needed every scrap of mental clarity I could get. "No sugar."
"Good." The cup filled itself with black coffee. No matter how deeply this place unsettled me, I had to pretend I was calm. "Do you fear what you can't understand, foreign soul?"
Of course I did. But I couldn't afford to say that honestly.
"Will I ever be able to do something like this with magic?" I picked up the cup, took a sip, and prayed the answer would ease my terror.
"No." Of course not. Nothing here was ever that easy. "Are you prepared for horrors beyond your comprehension?"
I almost laughed. Everything in my life lately had been beyond my comprehension.
"Why was I brought to this world?" If anyone had the answer, it was either her or Helal.
She toyed with the contents of her cup, indifferent as always. For a few seconds, her gaze settled on me.
"I don't know." Her tall wizard hat cast a shadow over her face. Only her blue eyes remained visible. To my horror, the two eyes became four. "Ascend to the heavens and ask the Gods yourself."
I opened my mouth to respond.
No sound came out.
….
…
..
.
Everything went dark.
Not dim—profoundly, absolutely black. No trace of light anywhere. Not even the darkest night I'd known had ever been this complete.
I tried to scream. My voice was gone. I was falling without falling. My body refused to obey.
My thoughts came apart.
My mother. My ex-girlfriend. My stream followers.
LOVE. AFFECTION. APPRECIATION. HOPE.
My father. My ex-girlfriend.
HATE. HATE. HATE. HATE.
The thoughts blurred together, bleeding into static, and I was certain this was finally it.
I was dying.
Blinding brightness.
The white Moon hung in a black sky, larger than I'd ever seen it.
I was on my knees. The grass beneath me was the color of blood. The earth was gray as ash. Directly before me stood a massive tree—white and dead.
Its branches reached skyward like a desperate hand clawing at the heavens.
I gasped for breath.
The air fought me. Something was wrong with it—like the oxygen was in a war with some other substance for the right to exist.
I couldn't stand. A crushing pressure pinned me to the ground, forcing me to my knees.
All I could move were my eyes. The tree. The Moon. Nothing else.
Something shifted.
There was nothing around me. In this infinite red field, there was nothing capable of movement.
Except the Moon.
I watched in horror as it unfolded, extended, and stretched like a creature rising from lethargy.
Vaguely, as if my mind refused but still tried to understand what was happening, I found words to describe what had awakened.
Long masses with a marble and crystal appearance extended in spirals without apparent origin; small pieces of what seemed like ice floated around and produced an ethereal glow.
Like a white halo.
There was no mouth, eyes, ears, or even anything that could mimic them.
It wasn't humanoid. The only vaguely human-like feature was a single appendage that extended outward, ending in three small protrusions that parodied fingers.
The rest was so alien that I feared even attempting to understand it would shatter my mind.
The thing didn't descend. It didn't move a single inch from its place on the horizon.
And yet, with that false arm—
It touched me.
Not just my skin.
My muscles. My nerves. My organs. I felt the contact through every layer of my physical existence.
I couldn't scream. I couldn't pull away.
Then it went deeper.
My soul. My psyche. Everything I was.
"Jakob," my mother's voice said—except using this body's name.
It wasn't my mother.
Pain.
Intense, beyond reason.
I was breaking into pieces before this thing; my body was covered by something. It was thick, dense, and starting to corrode me.
Then came the stabbing—a blade being dragged across my skin, slow and deliberate.
And then—
I was expelled.
I hit something hard—violently, like a falling star.
I was nailed to the ground. My mind and body lay in scattered pieces. I was no longer entirely sure who or what I was.
"Stand up."
I stood.
I was in the darkness of deep space. Beneath me, the white surface of the moon glowed with an ethereal pallor.
I looked forward.
A blue, green, and white sphere hung suspended in the void.
A beautiful world.
But over it, a deep darkness condensed, nearly covering it entirely—interwoven with other bright-colored auras in an endless, violent struggle.
No.
The darkness was at war with those other energies.
I noticed a shining structure near the world's surface.
The Palace of the King of Souls.
I raised my hand toward the planet—and realized I was holding a milk-white pistol.
Six chambers. I removed the cylinder and spun it absently between my fingers.
It caught the dim light of the moon, and for a moment I was mesmerized by its beauty.
"Aim."
A million and one voices in perfect unison said. My body obeyed before my mind could object, extending the weapon.
I fixed on the auras and shadows smothering the planet.
"Shoot."
I pulled the trigger.
Agony ripped through me, but I held my ground. My muscles screamed, my nerves begged me to stop, but I kept my feet beneath me.
The spectacle before me was worth enduring for.
A white light shot from the weapon, pierced the energies, and freed the world from their influence.
I didn't stop.
As if possessed, I aimed with greater precision.
I pulled the trigger six more times. Trails of white light streaked outward like falling stars, sweeping away the darkness and the other colors alike.
Seven shots.
The pain that followed hit every part of me simultaneously—and this time, it was too much.
I dropped to my knees. My muscles locked. I gritted my teeth until they nearly cracked.
"AAAAHHHH!" The scream ripped out of me before I could stop it.
Unbearable heat radiated from my body. I could feel steam forming around me.
I smiled through it.
All of this was insanity. None of it made sense.
I looked down at my hands.
My right hand was fusing with the revolver.
My right hand seemed to be fusing with the revolver. My skin and the steel seemed to be the same.
A morbid fascination crept through me as I watched.
"Enough."
A song began to play.
Before me now stood a beautiful woman.
White.
Her clothes, her hair, her skin, her eyes—every part of her was an immaculate, blinding white.
Her face… I felt as though I'd seen it somewhere before. A distant memory I couldn't quite reach.
She extended her hand and cradled my face gently.
She smiled at me—warm, affectionate, almost tender.
"Return now, heir."
She leaned in and kissed my forehead.
Then her other hand punched straight through my chest.
"Huh?"
My blood pooled beneath me on the moon's white surface. I tried to speak, but more blood was all that came out.
I watched her smile as my heartbeat flooded everything.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
TICK.
TOCK.
I was back in Zofia's room.
I could hear the steady movement of a clock's hands, and my body was whole. Unharmed.
"Here." Zofia placed a cup of coffee in front of me. "I added sugar this time."
I stared at the black surface. My reflection looked pale—much too pale.
When I tried to reach for the cup, I noticed the white revolver sitting in my left hand.
I touched my chest instinctively. My heart was still beating. No wound. No trace of anything.
Slowly, deliberately, I raised the revolver and aimed it directly at Zofia's head.
I was livid. My mind understood little to nothing of what had just happened, but I didn't care. The source of all of it was sitting there, sipping tea, acting as if nothing had occurred.
She arched one eyebrow without looking particularly impressed.
"Careful," she said, her tone flat. Not even a trace of concern at having a firearm pointed at her face. "You could hurt yourself."
I pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
Zofia's expression didn't flicker.
"Damn it!" No word in any language could capture the frustration boiling inside me.
I didn't understand what had happened. Maybe all of it was my own fault, but none of this felt right.
"Congratulations, by the way," Zofia said calmly. She took another sip of tea, then looked at me with something that almost resembled human emotion. "Few keep their sanity after an encounter like that."
Something inside me cracked.
"Shut your mouth." There was no grace in it, no tact. I grabbed the coffee and drained it in one gulp. "Let me go. I don't want to see your face for a very long time."
The venom came out harsher than I intended. Zofia's eyes—which for once looked more human than alien—seemed to register something.
Hurt.
To hell with her feelings.
"Agreed."
She snapped her fingers.
I was standing in the castle's inner forest.
Night had fallen. Everything was dark. The only light came from—
"The Moon."
I stared at it.
Its whitish glow felt dirty to me now. The beauty I'd once seen was gone.
Its light washed over me.
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Murmurs poured into my ears. Too many voices. I clamped both hands over the sides of my head.
A deafening ring bored into my brain. I clenched my teeth, dug my nails into my scalp.
"DON'T FUCK WITH ME!" I screamed at the sky. At the Moon. At the Gods. At anything that might be listening. "…Don't fuck with me."
The sound stopped.
The Moon's light still covered me.
In the deep silence that followed, I noticed it.
I looked at the hand holding the weapon. The revolver I'd received from that thing.
The more I stared at it, the more it pulled me in. My mind grew more distant the longer I looked, as if the white object was siphoning something from me.
The vision came unbidden—the White Lady, standing on the Moon's surface. Her clothes rippled in a wind that didn't exist.
Her back was to me.
She didn't acknowledge me at all, her attention fixed entirely on the world below.
The Moon.
Fear struck like a physical blow. Would it unfold again? Would it reach into me and force me to—
I looked at the revolver. The memory of my hand fusing with it made my stomach heave.
I threw the weapon as far as I could and ran.
It was the most irrational thing I could have done.
But what else was there?
Panting, I reached the nearest tree line and threw myself into the shadow of the forest, desperate to escape the moonlight.
I collapsed against a trunk and looked at my hands.
The revolver was back in my left hand.
"…Ahahahahaha."
I laughed. What a terrifying, hilarious, impossible thing.
I doubled over beside a bush and vomited everything in my stomach.
"Damn," I muttered, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
I slumped against the tree again, keeping to the shadows, staying out of the moonlight.
"What kind of idiot actually wants to get isekai'd?"
How many people were truly willing to face the horrors of a world they didn't understand?
A bitter smirk spread across my face.
What a great joke.
Was this what going insane felt like?
I dropped the revolver to the ground and buried my face in both hands.
I didn't care about achievements or fame. I didn't care about the waifus. This world was fucked in every way imaginable.
What was appealing about escaping to another world?
I thought of my mother. I thought of the dream with the man who'd called himself King.
Something moved among the trees.
Sighing, I got to my feet.
My mind cleared—sharply, suddenly—like a switch being flipped.
Something deep inside me demanded calm and blood.
"Oink."
A red boar. One of the easiest species to find for crafting materials. Its bright yellow eyes fixed on me.
It lowered its head and set its stance.
"Fucking pig," I muttered, dropping into the fighting posture Armine had drilled into me: fists raised, weight forward. "Come on. I need the distraction."
"Oink."
It charged.
I jumped the instant the boar passed through the space I'd just occupied. Midair, I channeled {Valior} to amplify my strength.
The same burning agony raced through my veins—acid-hot and furious.
My fist connected with the boar's spine. The crack of bone and the wet rupture of organs beneath my knuckles brought me a morbid satisfaction.
I landed behind the carcass, turned, and crouched to examine it.
"At the end of the day, we're the same to the gods." I searched Jakob's memories for what I knew about these animals. The boar was sellable—good money. "Simple resources. A way to pass the time."
It was the second living thing I'd killed since arriving here.
I needed to accept it: in this world, eventually, the killing would only increase.
A strange hollowness settled in my chest.
With the Rat King, I'd felt nothing but satisfaction. With this creature? Nothing at all. It had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"I suppose that applies to me too."
I wasn't fooling myself.
Out of every [Kings Roads] player in existence, I was the one who'd ended up here.
A misfortune worthy of tragedy, or a miracle I still couldn't comprehend.
Either way, it didn't matter.
"Whatever." It had been a long time since I'd felt this—this almost comical emptiness in the face of everything. "I just have to keep moving."
"But aren't you forgetting to live?"
My instincts moved faster than my brain. I was off the ground in an instant, putting distance between myself and the voice, the revolver raised and aimed before I'd even consciously decided to do so.
A figure stood in the shadows, cloaked in darkness. The only thing visible was her bright, almost predatory green eyes.
My brain caught up.
"Primrose?" I lowered the weapon, and she stepped closer. God, I felt stupid.
"…This thing isn't even loaded," I said flatly.
What a ridiculous day.
I heard her laugh.
Great. I'd just embarrassed myself in front of one of the most dangerous warriors in the world.
"You seem like you're going through something." When she was two steps away, I could make out her face in the dark. "I didn't peg you as the firearm type. Besides, aren't those prohibited for first-years?"
She was right. In the first half of the game, according to the lore, you could not use firearms (which did not matter since Aeono was given special permission and a custom-made weapon). Later in the second half, it would be more normal.
I sighed and set those thoughts aside.
I got to my feet and closed the remaining distance.
Standing this close to her, I couldn't help but reflect on how surreal it was—standing face to face with what used to be a collection of data shaped into a waifu.
What would one of her fans have felt, seeing her like this?
Maybe they'd have lost all self-control—thrown themselves at her feet, begging for something absurd. Or maybe they wouldn't have managed even that much—reduced to sweaty, stammering wrecks in the presence of their idol.
Looking into her bright green eyes in the darkness, I noticed details I'd overlooked before.
Even in the dim light, the difference was clear. I smiled, fully aware that Primrose could end my life any time she pleased.
What a comforting thought.
I had to laugh. Now I was a character in a game too.
I imagined myself standing motionless in a corner, waiting for the player to click on me.
"Like a puppet." I thought of myself, of Jakob, and how everything around me suddenly felt so hollow.
An unpleasant chill crawled up my spine.
A doubt surfaced: How free was I in this world? How much of my fate was dictated by a script?
I'd killed the Rat King, sure. But in the grand scheme of things—did it even matter?
My thoughts felt increasingly fragmented.
"Adam."
"Son."
I…
Was I really who I thought I was? Had my life before Jakob even been real?
I grabbed the left side of my face. The whole situation was painfully, unbearably insane.
"What a mess," I breathed. I was far too close to her. The only sign of a reaction from Primrose was a subtle shift of her pupils.
In the darkness, I felt her hand settle against my cheek.
"Are you okay, Jakob?" The touch sent a jolt through me. I had to remind myself—constantly—that she was a being designed to captivate as many people as possible. "Can I help you with something?"
I doubted it. Nothing here was real. Even if I tried to impose logic on this world, it would crumble.
I laughed—loud, long, and unhinged. I must have looked and sounded exactly like a madman.
I stopped after a few minutes and met her eyes.
Hey, fictional character. Can you give meaning to my life now?
In this absurd situation, what exactly was I supposed to hold on to?
My stomach growled.
"…I'm hungry," I said, calmer now, my mind a little clearer.
"Understood!" I blinked. When I opened my eyes, Primrose was gone. "I've got good food!"
Her hand found mine, and suddenly she was pulling me forward at a run.
We cut through the darkest parts of the forest—which suited me fine. Being under moonlight now made me physically ill.
Her green eyes glowed in the dark like a cat's, and they were the only light guiding me.
My mind drifted away from its earlier spiral.
Help me?
I'd just been mentally violated by a lunar entity. I had a cursed revolver that refused to leave my hand. I'd thrown up everything in my stomach.
What kind of help could she possibly offer?
"We're here!"
A wooden cabin. Cozy-looking. A lit campfire outside, and what appeared to be a clothesline.
"Now—how can I help?"
She sat me down on a cut log in front of the fire, then took the spot directly across from me.
I reached toward the flames. Their light and warmth held me together. I smiled, and for some reason, I wanted to cry.
There was something fundamentally wrong with this world.
I held back the tears and shifted my focus from the fire to Primrose's eyes.
"…No," I said finally. My voice came out rougher than I intended. "I don't think you can."
How could she help? Even with good intentions and a generous heart, this wasn't something that could be fixed.
Primrose didn't move. Her gaze stayed locked on mine. The only sounds were the crackling fire and the distant stirring of nocturnal animals.
Strange.
She was unusually quiet.
In the game, she'd been described as "socially awkward" and "too direct for her own good." But sitting here in the forest darkness, her predatory eyes unblinking, fixed on mine…
What was going through her mind? Was she free from the kinds of thoughts that tormented humanity?
Someone this extraordinary surely had deep, complicated inner workings.
"You smell like vomit," she said, completely serious.
I nearly laughed. I settled for a smile and let my shoulders drop.
"I know."
"And boar blood."
Really? I checked my hands again. Nothing visible—but she could still smell it.
"…Oh." Honestly, that was the most intelligent response I could manage.
"And something else." She sniffed the air, eyes closing for a moment before opening again. "Something I don't recognize."
A chill ran through me.
My body was giving off a strange scent?
The memory of the Moon surged forward, and I nearly screamed. Somehow, physically, remnants of that thing still clung to me.
I lowered my hand.
"Primrose." My voice wavered. My hands shook. "What do you do when nothing makes sense?"
I felt foolish asking. On the off chance she had something to say, how would it help?
"I hunt." She said it as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "When everything turns against us, we use whatever's closest to keep ourselves sane."
I looked at her—truly looked. Her eyes saw me and didn't at the same time. Her posture and profile, lit by the fire, revealed a readiness that never switched off.
Of course.
Huntress.
I'd never stopped to think about the depth of what she really was.
It was too easy to rationalize everything as "this is an eroge world" or "she's fictional." But the person sitting across from me had a soul and a history I didn't fully know.
"Does everything make sense when you hunt?"
She smiled, rose, and disappeared into the cabin.
Alone with the fire, I felt small. I looked up. Stars and Moon, both still there.
How insignificant I was.
"Here."
I blinked. Primrose was beside me again, holding out a wooden bowl with a spoon.
"Deer and bear stew." She had her own bowl. Her smile was unguarded. "Two meats that complement each other beautifully."
I took the food and looked at the broth—carrots, onions, potatoes, chunks of meat swimming in a rich liquid. The smell was incredible, layered with herbs I couldn't name.
I closed my eyes and breathed it in.
"Thank you," I said, opening my eyes.
She smiled and sat beside me.
Too close.
"Bon appétit!" With an enthusiasm I couldn't begin to match, Primrose dug in.
I stared at the stew. Brought the spoon to my mouth.
The bowl was empty before I realized I'd started.
"Ehehehe." Primrose laughed with unmistakable pride. "Good?"
I turned to her, empty bowl in hand.
"More."
She stared at me. Face blank. An unsettling gleam in her eyes.
"What?" I said after several seconds of loaded silence.
"Your eyes shine like spilled blood." Her expression was hauntingly still. "They're beautiful. They remind me of the hardest, most interesting prey."
Nothing ominous about that at all.
"And am I interesting prey?" I couldn't help asking—half joking, half genuinely nervous.
The smile she gave me was… unsettling.
"I haven't decided yet."
Right. Definitely time to change the subject.
"…I'm still too young to get married," I said, hoping to derail whatever this was becoming.
She frowned, puffing out her cheeks.
"My parents married young." A new species of fear took root in my chest. Hey, Primrose, don't you dare think what I think you're thinking. "But that's not what I mean. You reminded me of an albino wolf, or a white deer—always the hardest animals to hunt."
Albino? Given my appearance, the comparison wasn't far off.
"I don't see what's interesting about how I look." I turned back to the fire. "I'm not even a real albino."
The silence that settled between us wasn't uncomfortable.
The fire consumed the wood. The sounds of the forest at night surrounded us, and I found myself wishing for something to drink.
Primrose's expression turned expectant.
"I'm not going to ask what happened to you," she said, her eyes fixed on the darkness between the trees. "But I am going to tell you something."
I waited.
"When my mother died, my father and I spent three days in the forest. No food, no sleep." Her voice was casual—conversational—like she was describing the weather. Her green eyes reflected the firelight almost mystically. "We just hunted. We killed everything that moved. Not for food. Not out of necessity."
Her profile was calm. Almost melancholy.
For the first time, I was seeing what lay beneath the surface of the character who'd captivated so many people. It was… fascinating.
"Why, then?" I couldn't help asking.
"Because we needed to feel like we had control over something." Her green eyes met mine. "Anything."
I thought of the boar carcass lying a short distance from us.
Shit.
She'd read me like an open book.
"…Did it work?" I asked—genuinely curious.
"No." She let out a soft laugh. "But it kept us busy until we could find our way back to something resembling normal."
Normal.
Was that even possible in this world?
A sudden wave of nostalgia hit me—for my old life, so mundane it had been boring.
I laughed.
"What does that feel like?" I couldn't stop the question. Everything around me had stopped making sense a while ago. I was just running from the growing madness, minute by minute.
Part of me felt balanced on the razor's edge of insanity, needing only one small push.
She was quiet for a few seconds.
"No idea." She looked at me, unusually serious. "Apparently, I'm not normal."
…
…
"Pfff." I lost it. "Ahahaha!"
I laughed harder than I ever had in this life. I had to clutch my stomach. I toppled backward off the log, unable to stay upright, and lay on the ground for a solid few minutes.
Of course. I'd momentarily forgotten who I was talking to.
I pulled myself up, sat back down, and looked her in the eye.
"Thank you."
The word hung in the air, and I felt… calm. As if all the weight crushing me had suddenly been lifted.
Maybe it was temporary. But right now, I felt genuinely less terrified.
"Why?" Primrose looked at me as if I'd said something strange.
I smiled.
"For being you."
In the middle of all this absurdity, it was good to know people like her existed.
I caught myself.
This was the first real interaction I'd had with Primrose without actively trying to avoid her.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Great. Now I felt like an idiot.
I thought of the King's words from my vision: "Your story isn't over yet." The phantom weight of the revolver pulsed in my hand.
In moments like these, I had to cling to whatever I could.
"Jakob." Primrose's voice pulled me back. "Can I ask you something?"
"Depends."
"Why did you help me that night?"
The question caught me off guard.
That night? When I'd found her with her suitcases?
"…It was the right thing to do," I said without thinking.
"…Wow." She sounded surprised.
I blinked.
"What?"
"That's the reason?" Her gaze carried an intensity that made me feel peeled open. "I saw the way you looked at me. Like you were afraid."
Silence.
She was right.
I had been afraid.
Getting involved with her was a risk.
And yet—
"I'm sorry," I admitted. "I'd been through a lot that night."
It wasn't a lie.
Primrose's eyes softened.
"You're a strange person, Jakob Liedschlag."
I smiled at that. A real smile.
"You have no idea."
She laughed—sweet and surprised.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't mean it as an insult. You're… different. From the other nobles. From the other students. From anyone I've ever met."
Something twisted in my chest.
"You're different too," I said. "No ordinary huntress would sit next to a guy covered in vomit and pig blood in the middle of the night."
Primrose laughed.
Genuine. No performance.
"You're right," she admitted. "I guess we're both strange."
The silence returned, but this time it was comfortable.
The Moon was still in the sky. I could feel its light filtering through the canopy, searching for me.
But here, in the shadows, with Primrose beside me—
It didn't feel so terrifying.
"Hey," I said after a moment.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
She looked at me, curious.
"For what?"
"For not asking."
She smiled. A gentle smile. Almost angelic.
"You're welcome." She stood and shook out her clothes. "But you owe me one."
I smiled back. Better that way.
Nothing was free in this world.
"What do you want?"
She held out her hand.
"Come hunting with me tomorrow."
I stared.
Hunting? With her?
That was exactly what I'd been trying to avoid. Getting closer to a main heroine was—
"Deal."
—exactly what I'd just agreed to.
Damn it.
I took her hand and stood.
"But first," I said gravely, "I need more food, sleep, and possibly a therapy session."
I muttered that last part.
Primrose laughed.
"What's therapy?"
I heard her perfectly.
Of course. I sighed and straightened up.
"Nothing important."
She narrowed her eyes, skeptical, and—
We started walking back toward the castle.
The revolver reappeared in my left hand. I didn't even bother trying to drop it anymore.
I had to start getting used to this.
The Moon hung overhead. Its presence felt expectant.
And Primrose walked beside me, her steps silent as a ghost's.
I didn't know what tomorrow would bring.
I didn't know what the revolver, the Moon, or the White Lady meant.
I didn't know whether I was losing my mind or just adapting to this world.
But for now—
"I could teach you to shoot, if you want," Primrose offered.
I remembered her boss fight. She'd been one of the deadliest firearm users in the entire game.
"Really?" She nodded with a smile.
"My father taught me every type of firearm there is."
If I recalled correctly, weapons in this world were classified as Light, Medium, and Heavy.
I looked at Primrose again. Only the most powerful anime logic could explain how she wielded a minigun one-handed.
God. How terrifyingly dangerous this girl was.
And apparently, I now had a hunting date with her.
You know what? I'd already dug this hole. Might as well jump in.
"Hey, Primrose." I smiled with reckless confidence.
"Yes?"
"Train me." I said it calmly. Almost eloquently, if I do say so myself.
Of course, this was probably a mistake.
Primrose smiled at me—warmly—but her green eyes were wide and shining with excitement.
Yes. Definitely a mistake.
"Of course!"
Well. Might as well walk to the gallows smiling.
Speaking of the dead—
"Is that boar I killed any use?"
She stopped, looked at me, and seemed to think about it.
"Do you want to take it?"
Honestly, I was craving bacon.
"It'd be a waste to leave it."
Primrose studied me for several seconds with an expression I couldn't decipher.
"You're definitely weird," she said finally.
"Is that a yes?"
"That's an 'I'll carry it because you look like you're about to pass out.'"
I couldn't argue.
I watched her vanish between the trees with inhuman speed.
For a few seconds, I was alone.
The revolver glowed faintly in the moonlight.
I stared at it.
"I don't know what you are," I murmured. "I don't know what you want from me."
The weapon didn't answer. Obviously.
"But if you're going to stick to my hand, at least be useful when I need you."
Silence.
"…I'm talking to a gun." The absurdity of the situation crystallized all at once. "I definitely need sleep."
Primrose returned with the boar slung over one shoulder as if it were a sack of feathers.
"Everything okay?" The sincerity in her voice, the genuine worry on her face—for a moment, I wanted to hug her.
"No," I admitted. "But let's go anyway."
And so—covered in vomit, blood, and carrying a cosmic weapon fused to my hand—I walked back to the castle alongside a huntress who could probably kill me in under a second.
The time before Aeono's entrance was shrinking. I could feel the shadow of his arrival looming over me.
"Heh." I laughed, knowing none of it was funny. I looked up at the Moon and shuddered. "Tch."
What a shitty world.
I hated isekais.
….
…
..
.
Primrose left the boar in the kitchens—she said she'd registered it under my name as a donation, or something along those lines—before heading back to the forest. I used the time to wolf down a sandwich, then dragged myself to my room.
Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
I needed rest.
"Am I even going to be able to sleep?" It wasn't unusual for my thoughts to keep me up, but this time—
The image of that thing flashed through my mind, and I had to bite down on my lip hard enough to keep from screaming.
Everything around me disappeared.
In the middle of immense, suffocating nothingness—there I was.
The darkness was total. I could see and couldn't. I could hear but not really. I could feel without ever having felt before.
How sublime nothingness and death seemed in this moment.
My mind was hazy. I thought of my mother and smiled.
Why was I clinging so desperately to life? I wasn't Jakob. I wasn't even sure who I'd been before. And even if I had been someone—
In the face of existence's immensity, what value did a purposeless life have?
My life.
Primrose…
Of course. Give up? What nonsense. In this world, I could only move forward.
I thought—
I—
"Jakob?"
A sweet voice reached me. The light it brought pulled me back to reality.
Someone stood in my doorway. My still-foggy mind registered only a silhouette.
"Armine?" It took me a moment to process her face. Her beauty left me momentarily dazed. "What are you doing in my room?"
Her expression reminded me of my mother's whenever she'd been worried about me.
"I—" Her gaze faltered, dropping to the floor. The gold of her eyes was still magnificent. "I was worried. You didn't come back, and…"
She looked nervous. Her eyes stayed fixed downward, and for a few minutes, I felt lost.
Oh. She'd been waiting for me all this time, and I—
My body moved before my mind caught up. I took her hand.
"I'm sorry," I said.
She looked up. She studied me as if seeing someone wounded.
Her hand came up to my cheek. Tears formed in her eyes.
And beneath the tears was a storm of emotions—but the most prominent was fury.
"What did she do to you?" I didn't understand the question, or the anger behind it. "Her."
She must have seen my confusion. She was talking about Zofia.
I gave Armine a tired smile.
What was I supposed to tell her? For a brief, reckless moment, the idea of telling her everything crossed my mind.
Who I really was. Why I did everything I did. All of it.
I killed that thought immediately.
"She gave me this." I raised my left hand. The revolver was there, of course. "I had a deal with her. She might also teach me magic eventually."
Armine examined the weapon carefully, then lifted her gaze to search mine.
"…You're telling me the truth." She sounded faintly surprised. Then she stepped aside to let me through. "Come in."
It was strange to be given permission to enter my own room. But I followed my teacher's lead.
I noticed a wicker basket sitting on the study desk.
"Are you going to use firearms now?" Armine sat on my bed, arms crossed.
Hold on.
What was she doing in a guy's room at this hour?
Did she have any idea what this was doing to my heart?
Wait—I remembered that Armine—
"How did you get into my room?" I silently thanked God I'd cleaned the place that morning. I didn't want to imagine what I'd feel if Armine saw my room in a state.
The look she gave me was somewhere between playful and mildly annoyed.
"I asked first. But to answer your question—" Her expression softened. "When I told the Director about your plan to accompany me to the sewer, he gave me a copy of your key."
I was speechless.
The Director. Of course. It made sense.
…Wait.
"Why would the Director do that?" What a reckless man. Then I remembered: he was the type to throw his students headfirst into dangerous, insane situations in the name of personal growth.
"He said it was good for students to build strong bonds of friendship and companionship." I could picture him perfectly—saying it with a warm smile while handing over the key. "He said he was surprised and happy that you were opening up to others."
At least he genuinely cared about his students, I supposed.
"…Still seems deeply irresponsible," I said with a heavy sigh. I sank into the desk chair, facing her. "A lot happened today."
Armine watched me in silence.
"I can see that," she said softly. "You look… different."
Different was a kind way to put it.
Broken would have been more accurate.
"Zofia showed me some things," I said. Technically, it wasn't a lie. "Things I'd rather not have seen."
Armine's brow darkened.
"That woman…" There was venom in her voice—a barely contained rage that caught me off guard. "I should have stopped you from going with her."
"You couldn't have," I said honestly. "Besides, I needed what she had to offer."
I raised my left hand. The white revolver glowed faintly, as if mocking me.
Armine studied it with a mixture of fascination and distrust.
The intensity of her gaze surprised me.
"I think you should give it back," she said quietly.
I heard the tension threading through her voice.
Honestly, she might have been right. But—
"It's just a tool." God, I hoped it was just a tool. "I'll use it for now."
The silence between us stretched.
"I hope you know what you're doing," she said, doubt written all over her face.
Me too, Armine. Me too.
"Anything else you want to tell me?"
I could see the questions forming behind her eyes—all the things she wanted to know but didn't dare ask.
I had to tell her now.
"Armine." My voice came out heavier than I intended. "There's something…"
"What is it?" She leaned forward, hands on her knees, ready to help with whatever I needed.
What a wonderful person.
I swallowed.
"For a while… I won't be able to train with you."
The words landed like stones dropped into still water.
I watched the light in her eyes dim, slowly, like a candle burning out.
"What?" Barely a whisper.
"A firearms expert is going to train me." Each word felt like a self-inflicted wound. "I need to learn how to use this."
I raised the revolver as evidence.
Armine's face cycled through emotions in rapid succession.
Surprise. Confusion. Guarded caution.
"Do you trust this person?" As usual, Armine was asking the questions I should have been asking myself.
"I don't know." No point lying. "She's an expert—every type of firearm you can name. But honestly, she terrifies me."
I pushed the image of the game's Primrose out of my mind. Technical knowledge was worthless when everything had become real.
"I understand," Armine said at last. Her voice was professional, measured. "It's… logical."
No, you didn't understand.
And it hurt that I couldn't explain.
"It's not that I don't want to keep training with you," I said quickly, noticing her shoulders tighten. "It's just—"
"It's okay, Jakob." She cut me off with a smile that was friendly on the surface and razor-sharp underneath. "I trust your judgment."
"Armine…" I wanted to tell her everything. Who I really was. But I didn't even know if she'd believe me.
"I brought you these." She rose from the bed, picked up the basket, and set it in my lap. "You're probably starving."
She smiled—fully, this time.
"You're right." I tore into the contents at once. The hunger raging through me was strange even by my standards. "Incredible."
They were like small pizzas.
"Flammkuchen." The word came out of my mouth automatically—Jakob's memories seizing control for that one instant. "I love these."
That was something the original Jakob and I had in common.
"We eat them where I come from, too." Armine beamed as I devoured them. "I made them myself."
I stopped mid-bite.
Armine had made these? Every passing second, she became more impossibly perfect.
"They're perfect," I said between mouthfuls. She laughed—I probably looked like a child. "Thank you."
For everything.
She smiled.
"Well then…" She moved toward the door. "Don't be a stranger. When your training is done—or even if you don't need anything—you can always come talk to me."
The concept hit me with unexpected force: a genuine friendship. Something I'd assumed no longer existed anywhere.
"I will," I said with a smile. "Thanks."
How many times did I need to say that word? As many as it took.
Armine stopped halfway to the door, her back to me.
"It's late, Jakob." Her voice trembled, almost imperceptibly. "You should rest."
"Armine…" I started, then realized I didn't know how to continue. "Your training was perfect. Because of you, I survived down there. Because of you, I have the strength to keep going."
She turned. A gentle smile rested on her lips.
"That's what friends do." The word still felt faintly surreal to me. But amid all the madness of this day, it was the most comforting thing I had.
"Thank you for making me stronger," I said. "You're a great friend."
Armine smiled.
"…Will you take care of yourself?" Genuine concern. "Are you going to be okay?"
I laughed—more at the absurdity of my situation than anything else.
"I don't know," I said, strangely serene. "But that shouldn't stop me."
"It better not." She tried for her usual authoritative tone. "When you come back, I expect you to keep up with me properly."
I smiled, relieved.
"I wouldn't expect anything less from my teacher."
"Hmph." She looked away, but I caught the blush spreading across her cheeks. "Idiot."
She released my hands and walked to the door.
Before she left, she paused.
"Jakob."
"Yeah?"
"If you need help—tell me."
I blinked.
"Huh?"
"If something happens—anything, no matter how small—you can come to me." Her tone left zero room for argument. "Understood?"
I couldn't help smiling.
"Understood."
Armine nodded once, opened the door, and stepped out.
But just before it closed, I heard her murmur something.
"…He didn't even ask if I could teach him to shoot…"
The door clicked shut.
I sat alone in my room, the revolver glowing in my left hand and a tangled mess of guilt and warmth sitting heavy in my chest.
"Can you use firearms?" I asked the empty air, remembering that her class was exclusively physical strength and swordsmanship.
Silence.
Of course she could. This world wasn't just a game anymore.
I sighed and let myself collapse onto the bed.
"I'm an idiot," I muttered to the ceiling.
The revolver seemed to glow in agreement.
Great.
Even the cursed weapon was mocking me.
I closed my eyes. Amid everything surreal and terrifying happening in my life, the most insane thing of all was this:
People cared about me.
And that…
"That's not bad," I whispered, and finally let exhaustion take me.
….
…
..
.
I jolted upright.
Something was in the room. I could feel it—a presence in the darkness. Instinct took over before thought; I was off the bed and reaching for a weapon before I was fully awake.
"Your reaction time is pathetic."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. I scanned the room frantically and found the dark figure perched on my windowsill.
Green eyes glowed in the darkness. Predatory. Ready.
Dawn hadn't broken. Moonlight spilled through the window and sent a crawl of unease across my skin.
I'd slept only a few hours. The images of the thing on the Moon were still raw.
"I could've killed you at any point," Primrose said, her voice stripped of all warmth. Cold. Professional. A side of her I hadn't expected. "Get up. We're leaving soon."
"What time is it?" I knew it was a stupid question, but honestly—
"It doesn't matter." Not a shred of compromise. "Beasts don't care about our schedules."
"…You have to be kidding," I groaned, dragging myself upright.
The revolver was in my left hand.
Of course.
"Jakob." Primrose swung into the room fully. "I'm going to teach you the way my father taught me."
She closed the distance between us until she was looking directly into my eyes.
The intensity was overwhelming.
I was scared.
"My weapon isn't loaded," I tried.
Primrose raised her right arm and let something fall. It hit the floor with a metallic clink—like dropped coins.
"Pick them up," she ordered, with an authority that drove me to my knees before I'd even decided to obey.
The faint gleam of metal helped me find them in the dark. I was almost ashamed it took me so long to recognize what they were.
"Bullets."
I looked up at Primrose.
Something pressed against my forehead.
Cold steel. I could feel it distinctly—and behind it, Primrose's expressionless eyes.
"You're dead." She pulled the weapon back. "Get dressed and meet me in the forest. You have twenty minutes."
Then she jumped out the open window.
We were not on the ground floor.
I ran to the sill and looked down. Primrose was already walking away, her back to me, and before I could call out she'd accelerated beyond anything I could follow.
….
…
..
.
I settled on something practical: sturdy black trousers, leather boots, a plain white shirt, and a dark vest I found in the back of Jakob's closet.
When I caught my reflection in the mirror, I let out a small laugh.
I looked like a vampire hunter. Gun in hand and everything.
The irony.
Thank God I still had a sense of humor.
With heavy steps and a stomach full of anxiety, I headed for the inner forest.
The academic year hadn't even begun, and the security at this Academy was already laughable. No guards, no staff—nothing to stop reckless, suicidal idiots (like me) from wandering into a pitch-dark forest.
Although, now that I thought about it…
Maybe no one believed anyone would actually be insane enough to try.
The fact that I was "getting used to the lack of common sense in this world" felt both tragic and alarming.
Alarming because I was currently standing in the middle of a dark forest, thinking nonsense, waiting for a redheaded girl with large breasts and a rifle.
For some reason, that didn't sound as bad as it should have.
Okay. I needed to stop framing this as some kind of romantic rendezvous.
I took stock of my surroundings.
Mist drifted between the trees. Dew clung to every leaf. The silence was near-total, broken only by the occasional bird call or the rustle of something small moving through the underbrush.
There had been a clear flaw in my reasoning—I'd forgotten that Primrose didn't operate under the same definition of common sense as everyone else.
A shiver ran down my spine.
I started scanning for her. I wasn't late, but there was no trace of her anywhere.
Then something pressed against the back of my neck.
Again.
Before my brain could even process it, she had me exactly where she wanted.
"Dead." That same cold, professional voice. "That makes seven hundred times I could've killed you."
Seven hundred. And the cold sweat was immediate. It was remarkable how the human body could pour with sweat and produce no warmth at all.
"Between the room and getting here?" My mind was grasping for something rational to hold on to.
"No." That single word convinced me not to question Primrose's abilities. Ever. "Only since you entered the forest."
Primrose was one of the most fascinating bosses in the game. Her third phase—when she became pure predation incarnate—was legendary. She never cracked the top ten, but she was consistently ranked as one of the most satisfying fights in any playthrough.
Knowing that, I could appreciate just how lethally efficient she really was.
"…What's next?"
Her weapon left my neck and moved to my side.
She was smiling. Bright. Kind. Radiantly happy.
That smile was terrifying.
"Now you do everything I say." She seized my arm and pulled it snug against her chest. That dazzling smile did nothing to ease my dread.
Every instinct I had screamed in unison.
RUN.
It felt like having my head caught between the jaws of a predator.
I barely managed to throw myself sideways as something came crashing down from above.
A weapon embedded itself in the exact spot I'd been standing a second earlier.
"Hoh?" A long, imposing bone-white spear rested in the hands of a man kneeling where I'd just been. "Not bad."
I couldn't say I felt anything in particular seeing his face.
"Conlaoch." I wasn't quick enough to figure out what he was doing here.
The sly grin he wore made me want to hit him.
"Starting to see you're more than just her type." He shifted his weight, lowering into a fighting stance, and leveled the white spear at me. "But is there anything to you besides good reflexes?"
I shot a quick glance at Primrose. She smiled at me warmly.
Of course.
"I guess it wasn't such a bad idea…" I'd loaded the revolver before coming. Strangely, it felt noticeably lighter now. "Though I don't see how fighting you teaches me to shoot."
Conlaoch smiled.
"You need to drop the passivity." It was Primrose who answered. Despite the gentle smile and soft gaze, her words carried zero warmth. "You need to abandon your cowardice."
What?
Irritation flared—hot and immediate. What did she know about me? What right did she have to call me that?
"You don't know anything about me." The words came out harder than I intended. "You have no right to call me a coward."
Still smiling, Primrose took a single step back—and dissolved into the darkness of the forest.
I tried to follow her with my eyes. Useless.
She—
"Don't get distracted." Conlaoch was already behind me, his spear aimed at my stomach. "Lack of attention is the number one killer on a battlefield."
He thrust.
I twisted aside by centimeters. The tip grazed me, drawing a thin line of blood along my side.
No time to waste on pain.
I had to exploit the close range.
I jammed the revolver against his bicep. I still didn't know what this weapon actually did to a living body, but—
BANG.
The recoil nearly shattered my arm from the inside.
The bullet missed. He was faster. Before I could blink, he was at my flank, wearing a predator's grin.
"Bad luck."
His kick launched me several meters. I hit the ground hard and skidded.
"Magnificent," I wheezed, staring up at the Moon from my back. I couldn't catch a single break in this world. Problem after relentless problem. "One bullet wasted."
I had no idea what Primrose was actually planning, but running out of ammunition felt like a catastrophically bad idea.
My arm throbbed.
"How long are you going to lie there?"
Speak of the devil. Primrose's voice came from directly above me—her legs positioned conveniently on either side of my head.
"That's exactly the passivity I'm talking about."
From this angle, Primrose's figure did… interesting things.
White underwear today.
"Understood."
I raised the revolver and fired. The bullet traced a straight line upward, passing through her skirt and grazing her cheek.
"Better?"
I'd aimed deliberately to avoid serious harm. My arm still suffered from the recoil, but at least I'd actually hit something this time.
"…You chose not to hurt me on purpose?" Primrose sounded exasperated.
I needed to get up and put distance between us.
I didn't know this character inside and out, but in every dialogue compilation I'd ever read online, I'd never heard her speak like this.
Sweat formed on my forehead and back. This was uncharted territory.
I spotted her standing among the trees. The bullet had snapped several branches, letting moonlight filter through. Her green eyes glinted coldly.
"Primrose…" I searched for the right words.
"Don't even think about running." The next thing I felt was sharp pain in my gut. I doubled over instinctively—then something cracked against the back of my head and slammed me into the earth. "Living like this must be exhausting for you."
No time to react. A kick stole my breath.
Then she grabbed my hair and crouched low beside my ear.
"Fear is killing you." Her voice was a blend of disgust, pity, and absolute conviction. "You have two legs to stand firm and two hands to fight whatever comes—and yet!"
A barrage of blows to my face left me reeling. All I could hear was a high-pitched ringing.
I tasted iron. My vision swam.
I clenched my teeth.
"Don't fuck with me." I could barely see what was in front of me. But I didn't care. "What do you know about me?"
Her face was inches from mine. Our breaths collided.
"I know enough." Her eyes bored into me with terrifying calm. "You're afraid of every step you take. Of everything around you. Of everyone. This way of living is turning you into a beast that's just waiting to be put down."
This bitch…
I saw red.
I pressed the muzzle of the revolver under her jaw.
"All I have to do is pull the trigger." I loaded every ounce of contempt I had into the words. There was plenty to spare.
And still she looked at me as though it were nothing.
"But you won't." My heart clenched. I couldn't stop the bitter twist of my expression. "Because you're kind. And because you wouldn't be capable of it unless it was truly necessary."
I stared at her. She was right.
With a sigh, I lowered the gun and shut my eyes.
"You're right," I said. Drained—mentally and physically. "Can we please move on to the actual lessons now?"
I was so tired.
Primrose looked at me like I was an idiot.
"These are the lessons."
Oh.
"Must be really fun beating me up." Honestly, every idea I had in this world just became a new and creative way to experience pain. Though if I was being truthful, I still preferred this to the Moon. "Can we at least move on to a different lesson?"
I glanced toward the horizon. Night was giving way to blue. Internally, I thanked whatever force was responsible—being under moonlight made me more uncomfortable than I could explain.
"Not yet." Primrose's voice was flat, her body still pressed close to mine. "I need you to at least face the fear. Otherwise, we can't continue."
How convenient.
"That's why Conlaoch showed up." Speaking of whom— "Where is he, anyway?"
"Here." His voice floated down from above. I looked up to find him lounging on a tree branch, perfectly comfortable. "Didn't want to interrupt such an intimate moment."
The grin he gave us both made me groan.
"You're an asshole," I told him with complete sincerity.
He looked at me as if I were the idiot. Listen—I only accepted that look from a girl who could kill me.
He could kill me too, but he wasn't a girl, so I wasn't letting it slide.
"Mate, you've had your face centimeters from a beautiful woman for twenty-five straight minutes and you haven't made a single move." He had the audacity to settle even more comfortably on his branch and give me a look of lofty superiority. "Though I'll admit—she's right. You'll never get anywhere being afraid of everything."
Even him? Was I really that transparent?
"Is it that obvious?" I relaxed against the ground. Curiously, Primrose seemed perfectly content to remain on top of me.
Conlaoch snorted. From his perch, he looked down at me with practiced condescension.
"I've known plenty of people like you. Deep down, all you need is the right motivation." The wolfish grin he gave me only sharpened my nerves. "Don't you have anything precious in your life?"
Something precious? Honestly, only my mother—from my original life.
"I think…" Then the image of Armine's smile flashed through my mind. "Yes. There is. There's someone I care about. Someone important."
Conlaoch smiled—genuinely pleased.
"Good. That's great. Now I need you to think about this." His expression went cold and serious in an instant. "What would you do if someone hurt that person?"
The world darkened around me.
Despite my resistance, my mind paused. It took the question seriously.
Truthfully, Armine had started as nothing more than a resource. A tool to exploit. I hadn't cared whether she ended up with the bad ending on her Royal Path.
But now?
I pictured Armine—smiling, luminous Armine—falling into the madness of the Devouring Beast.
If that happened—
I would lose my mind.
I looked at the revolver. Its glow was almost hypnotic. Between the dark abyss of insanity and my remaining sanity stretched a single golden thread named Armine.
I hadn't thought about it before, but the realization was infuriating: my friend's fate depended on Aeono. On which heroine he chose as a lover. That single decision essentially determined the fate of the world.
The bitter taste in my mouth deepened.
I remembered every playthrough of [Kings Roads] where I'd killed Boss Armine. In my memory, her final words as she looked at the player, defeated and dying, were devastating.
"Thank you."
Armine was never supposed to matter this much to me. Remembering her fall hurt more than it had any right to.
This used to be just a game.
But what could I actually do?
I was just a— No. Forget that. It didn't matter what I was or what I'd been. What mattered was what I did now.
I couldn't stand by while my friend suffered because gods wanted to play games.
Maybe it was pointless. Maybe I'd burn through everything I had for nothing. But—
"I'd fight." I said it to Conlaoch. My voice came out hollow. Cold. Even I was startled by it. "I'd kill them before they even thought about hurting what matters most to me."
Conlaoch's savage grin told me he understood perfectly.
"Good." He dropped from the tree. "Remember that feeling."
The sun was already cresting the horizon. A strange epiphany struck me.
"So this is what I needed." That primal drive to move forward. "All right."
I stood.
"Hey!" Primrose complained, puffing her cheeks after losing her comfortable seat. "I was fine where I was."
My eyes locked onto hers. For a split second, her gaze turned inhuman—as if she'd recognized something new in me.
"Primrose." I turned the same intensity on Conlaoch. "Teach me."
I was an idiot. Part of me still believed this world ran on a predetermined script. I didn't know if that was true anymore—and honestly, I no longer cared.
It wasn't just my fate at stake.
At the very least, I had to try to protect Armine.
"About time," Primrose said.
Now that sunlight was spreading through the trees, I could see it clearly: slung across her back—
"Is that a rifle?" I recognized it instantly. So did roughly three-quarters of the [Kings Roads] fanbase—and we all hated it with a passion.
Primrose's eyes shone with pride.
"Family heirloom." She stroked the dark wooden stock. "Never fails."
I nearly said "I know." One shot from that thing erased half your health bar.
Also—
A Springfield 1903 in the hands of an adorable orange-haired, green-eyed girl?
This world was definitively beyond comprehension.
I glanced at Conlaoch. He was wearing a look of mild disgust directed at the rifle. I recognized the expression—he was reliving the same trauma as anyone who'd ever fought Boss Primrose.
I smiled at his suffering.
"What about you?" He gave me a puzzled look.
"What about me?"
"Your weapon." I tried not to let too much exasperation show.
"Are you blind?" He raised the white spear with evident pride. "This is my weapon."
Right.
Right.
"I'm counting on you, Primrose," I said to the walking killing machine with the rifle.
"Yes!"
"Oi." I ignored Conlaoch's offended tone. "Are you calling me useless?"
Hmm. Sometimes idiots could be surprisingly perceptive.
"Let's go!" Primrose grabbed my free hand and started pulling me along. "Time to move!"
"Are we not eating breakfast first?" My stomach answered for me.
"We'll hunt breakfast," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Of course. I really should have seen that coming.
Either way, I couldn't back out of training now. And come to think of it, I'd probably have to stay away from Armine for a while.
Sorry, my friend. But this was for your future—and mine.