Pain.
Not the kind that came in waves or faded with time.
This pain was constant—heavy and suffocating, as if it had seeped into her existence itself. It clung to her bones, wrapped around her thoughts, pressed into the space between heartbeats. Even breathing felt like an act she hadn't earned.
It wasn't just pain.
It was judgment.
As if the world had crushed her once, put her back together without care, then crushed her again—only to check whether anything useful might fall out this time.
"Ew."
The single syllable cut through everything.
Sharper than a blade. Colder than death.
"Ophelia," a woman's voice said, sharp and unfiltered, "tell me this is a mistake."
The contempt was immediate. Casual. Absolute.
"You didn't seriously summon this thing, did you?"
Misaki's fingers twitched weakly against the floor.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
White light slammed into her vision, stabbing deep into her skull. For a moment she thought she'd gone blind. Then shapes slowly bled into focus.
She was lying flat on a vast floor of pale stone, smooth and icy beneath her skin. Glowing runes were carved deep into its surface, pulsing rhythmically like a living circuit. The symbols shifted subtly as she breathed, reacting to her presence.
No—
Suppressing it.
She tried to move her arm.
Nothing happened.
She tried to curl her fingers.
Her body didn't respond.
It wasn't paralysis. She could feel everything—the cold, the ache, the broken places screaming inside her.
This was worse.
It was as if the world itself had decided she no longer had permission to act.
At the far end of the chamber rose a throne.
Crystal and gold intertwined in impossible geometry, floating slightly above the ground as if gravity had been politely dismissed. Every surface reflected light at unnatural angles, making it hard to look at directly.
Upon it sat a woman.
She was tall. Voluptuous. Unnaturally flawless.
Every curve was perfect, every line deliberate, as if reality itself had taken its time sculpting her. Long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, glowing faintly like it carried stored sunlight. Power rolled off her in dense, invisible waves, pressing down on Misaki's lungs until each breath felt borrowed.
But her face—
Misaki couldn't see it.
A smooth white blur obscured her features, like a censor bar imposed by reality itself. Every time Misaki tried to focus, her vision slid away, her thoughts skidding off as if touching something forbidden.
Her mind recoiled instinctively.
Floating beside the throne was a much smaller figure.
She was… cute.
Petite body. Soft, round face. Big green eyes brimming with anxiety. Short brown hair tied into a tiny side ponytail that bobbed as she hovered unsteadily in the air. A pair of fluffy white wings fluttered behind her, glowing faintly at the edges like decorative ornaments.
She clutched a floating tablet with both hands.
Her knuckles were white.
And she was shaking.
"Y-Your Highness," the winged girl said, voice trembling as her eyes flicked between the tablet and Misaki, "I-I've confirmed the data. I ran multiple scans. This entity matches the baseline conditions for a World Repair Candidate."
The woman laughed.
It wasn't amused.
It was offended.
"A candidate?" she repeated slowly. "That burned scrap on my floor?"
Her gaze dropped.
Misaki felt it crawl over her skin—slow, invasive, clinical. Like a butcher inspecting spoiled meat.
"Half-rendered face," the woman continued coolly. "Corrupted emotional structure. Fragmented sanity values leaking into the surface layer."
She tilted her head.
"She looks like a failed asset that should've been auto-deleted."
Misaki swallowed.
Her throat burned raw.
"…What is this place…?" she whispered. "Who… are you…?"
The woman stood.
The moment she rose from the throne, the pressure in the chamber doubled.
No—tripled.
Misaki's chest crushed inward as if gravity itself had turned hostile. Her vision swam violently. Blood roared in her ears. The air felt thick, resistant, like she was breathing through water.
The winged girl—Ophelia—yelped softly and hurried after her, wings fluttering frantically, terrified of lagging behind even for a second.
The woman stopped directly in front of Misaki.
She looked down.
"Oh," she said softly. "It speaks."
Her foot lifted.
Time seemed to slow.
Then—
CRACK.
The impact shattered Misaki's ribs instantly.
Pain exploded outward as her body was launched across the chamber like discarded refuse. She smashed into the wall hard enough to fracture the glowing stone, runes flickering violently on impact.
She slid down slowly, coughing uncontrollably.
Blood poured from her mouth, splattering onto the pristine floor in dark, ugly stains.
"Don't look at me," the woman snapped. "Your existence is already offensive. Don't add eye contact."
She turned away, flicking her foot slightly as if shaking something off.
"Ophelia," she said coldly, "remove this contamination from my chambers. The atmosphere is ruined."
Contamination.
The word sank deep.
Misaki's fingers trembled as she reached up, brushing the burned half of her face. The skin there felt wrong—too tight, too damaged, like it didn't belong.
"…I died," she whispered hoarsely. "That world… it was destroyed."
"Yes," the woman replied instantly. "I deleted it."
Misaki froze.
Her heart stuttered.
"That world lost its Main Characters," the woman continued, irritation threading through her calm tone. "The protagonists died prematurely. The narrative collapsed."
She clicked her tongue.
"No tension. No payoff. Just meaningless data spiraling into redundancy."
She glanced back over her shoulder.
"NPCs like you exist to decorate the story. To scream when slaughtered. To die so the heroes can grow."
Her lips curled.
"When the story ends, you're supposed to disappear."
Misaki laughed.
At first it was quiet. Almost uncertain.
Then it cracked.
"So that's it…" she murmured. "We're nothing?"
Her laughter thinned, sharp and broken.
"Just stepping stones?"
She stared blankly at the ceiling.
"Worthless background trash?"
The woman's posture stiffened.
"Don't elevate yourself," she snapped.
Her foot came down again.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each strike landed with mechanical precision. Efficient. Controlled. There was no rage in it.
Only disgust.
"You're not even scenery," she hissed. "You're a defect. A blemish. A stain that slipped past deletion."
Ophelia flinched violently.
"Y-Your Highness—!" she cried, tears spilling freely now. "P-Please restrain yourself!"
The woman turned sharply.
Ophelia froze midair, wings locking stiffly. Her tablet flickered wildly, red warning symbols flashing across the surface.
"I-I'm sorry!" Ophelia blurted out. "I didn't mean to overstep—!"
Misaki's laughter faded completely.
"…Your Highness…?" she whispered weakly.
Ophelia swallowed hard. Her voice shook.
"Y-Your Highness Irene—"
The name landed like a verdict.
Misaki's heart skipped.
"Irene…?"
The woman straightened slowly.
"Yes," she said coldly. "Irene. Goddess of Creation. Architect of Worlds."
She crouched, bringing her blurred face closer to Misaki's.
"I design worlds of beauty and purity," Irene continued calmly. "Balanced narratives. Perfect structures."
Her tone sharpened.
"And then you crawl out of deletion. Scarred. Unstable. Ugly."
She leaned closer.
"You disgust me."
Her voice dropped.
"You offend my aesthetic.
Ophelia hovered helplessly, fingers clenched so tightly around her tablet they trembled.
"B-But, Your Highness," she forced out, voice breaking, "we can't erase her. The number of World Repair Candidates is critically low. Multiple worlds are destabilizing."
"I don't care," Irene said.
"But—even a defective variable—"
"Is still trash."
Silence.
Then—
"…Fine."
Golden runes ignited beneath Misaki.
System text burned into the air.
[TRANSFER AUTHORIZED]
[INITIAL RANK: F]
[DIVINE BLESSING: NONE]
[STATUS: UNWANTED VARIABLE]
Misaki stared at it.
Her expression didn't change.
"So even now…" she murmured, voice empty,
"I'm surplus data."
Irene turned away.
"Struggle. Die. Crawl," she said indifferently.
"Just don't come back."
The floor split open.
Darkness swallowed Misaki whole.