Late Night Hours
The dim light huddled in the corner of the room cast long, motionless shadows across the walls. The pale crimson of sunset had long faded into black, and with it, hope seemed to darken as well—leached away like warmth from dying embers.
As the hours dragged on, loneliness settled like a thick blanket—one that didn't warm, only smothered. It pressed down on Subaru's chest with the quiet weight of dread. When everything falls silent, the loudest thing is always the voice inside your head. But sometimes, it wasn't even a voice—just an echo, looping memories, raw and shapeless.
Subaru lay on his bed, hands locked behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling. Even the uneven plaster seemed to whisper reminders to him—each crack a memory, each jagged line a wound.
He was retracing the last few days in his mind, but it felt more like stumbling through a battlefield strewn with ghosts.
Satella's arrival—
His encounter with Flugel—
The new abilities and harsh truths he'd learned— And… starting over. Again. And now, here he was. Alone. Again.
His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, but his mind was a burning projector, replaying every moment on loop. Every scene, every breath, every scream—they had carved deep grooves into his memory. Like indelible writing etched into the walls of his soul, branded into flesh that no longer healed.
For ordinary people, these might have been just a few days.
But for Subaru, it felt like an eternity wrapped in barbed wire, dragging behind him like a rusted chain.
"Time," he thought. "It's no longer a straight line. It's bent, shattered—a labyrinth piled on top of me."
Coming back had a cost—but when it would be paid, he didn't even know.
Or worse—maybe he was already paying it, second by second. Maybe he was the currency.
As the night deepened and silence thickened, he clung to a single thread of purpose. He wanted to speak with Flugel. Needed to. Answers had to come from somewhere… right?
But one question gnawed at him like teeth at the base of his skull: "How the hell do I even talk to him?"
The last time he died, he remembered speaking with Flugel. That dark void, the silence that swallowed everything… It was no longer a mystery to him—just a familiar passage.
Not punishment. Not salvation. Just… habit. Routine dressed in dread.
He took a deep breath that tasted like resignation. Moved like an old man getting up from mourning. Left the room. Went to the kitchen. Pulled a knife from the drawer beneath the counter.
When his fingers wrapped around the cold metal, a shiver ran through him. Not from fear—but from the chill of readiness. Readiness to do what had to be done. Readiness to dive again into that void. Readiness to meet the end—not for freedom, but for a conversation.
He returned to his room. Sat slowly on the edge of the bed, blade cradled in his palm like a fragile secret.,
His eyes were empty. But something still writhed inside him. Fear? Guilt? Apathy? Or just… habit? Maybe he didn't even know the difference anymore. Maybe he didn't want to.
He stared at the reflection in the blade—a distorted version of himself. Bent. Split. Stuck.
As he sat there, he pressed the blade to his throat. Not with violence. With familiarity. Like greeting an old friend you wish you'd never met.
Just as he was about to— "That won't be necessary, Natsuki Subaru."
Flugel's voice filled the room in an instant. Neither cold nor warm—simply indisputable. A truth that left no room for doubt. Like stone pressed into your lungs.
"You don't need to die for us to talk."
Subaru dropped the knife.
The blade clattered against the floor—a sharp metallic ring that echoed through the room. But it wasn't just the sound of metal. Something inside him cracked in tandem. Then came the silence.
Deep. Familiar. Cold, shadowy hands wrapped around him, pulling him down. This sensation wasn't new— But getting used to it?
No. That was impossible.
It was like being dragged into a void buried beneath his soul.
That fall… Weightless. Endless.
Time and space dissolved into pure lostness. A place where memories screamed without voices, and identity eroded like chalk in rain.
And then—
He was standing beside Flugel.
Flugel stared at him with those same empty eyes as always. Except… For some reason, he was wearing Subaru's favorite tracksuit.
Seeing his clothes on someone else sent an indescribable discomfort crawling under Subaru's skin. It was like looking at a patched-up version of himself—one he recognized instantly, but deeply resented. A puppet stitched from pieces of his reflection.
"This mine…" he thought, before biting it back. No point. No control.
"Oi. Copying my clothes is not cool."
His voice was equal parts irritated and uneasy, colored by the anxiety that came from confronting something too close to home.
But Flugel seemed to expect that reaction.
"Oh? Natsuki Subaru, these are mine. They aren't copied in any way… you know this."
There was no smugness in his voice. Just a truth presented with all the weight of inevitability. And that made it worse.
Subaru clenched his fists. The tracksuit—his tracksuit—fluttered slightly as Flugel stepped closer, the void around them pulsing in rhythm with their breaths. It was like standing in a heartbeat that wasn't his.
Answers. That's why he came.
But as always, questions were the only currency here.
And they were never cheap. "So talk," Subaru muttered. "If I'm not dying this time, at least let it mean something."
Flugel tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the demand. "Then speak carefully, Subaru. Words have more power here than blood ever will."
The void thickened. The conversation had begun.
Subaru rolled his eyes, the motion slow and deliberate. His head was pounding, each throb like a hammer striking against his skull. Arguing wasn't worth the energy. In this world, questioning things too deeply only led to more pain—and more terrifying answers.
"Whatever. I hate seeing you, but I need answers." His voice was rougher than he intended, the words scraping out.
"Hmm?" Flugel tilted his head slightly—then, with a faint, knowing smile, snapped his fingers.
The shadowy space rippled like disturbed water. The world around them faded… And reshaped into a classroom.
Chalkboards nailed to the walls. Faint light filtering through the high windows, casting long shadows. Rows of neatly arranged desks. All of it painfully familiar. And… they were both now wearing school uniforms.
Subaru exhaled sharply before he could even process it. His pulse quickened.
"Flugel might seem ruthless, but deep down, he's almost… considerate?" he thought, conflicted. Then he side-eyed the man. "Or he just enjoys messing with me in this form." The thought carried a bitter edge.
"Don't look at me like that. You wouldn't ask properly in a frightening environment. This classroom is the most suitable place for your questions." Flugel spoke with a casual tone, yet his back remained turned, as if avoiding Subaru's gaze.
Subaru raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a crooked grin.
"What are you, a tsundere?!" he blurted, half teasing, half exasperated.
"Tch. Just ask your questions, Natsuki Subaru." Flugel sighed dramatically, one hand resting on his hip.
Subaru took a deep breath, wetting his dry lips. His fingers twitched at his sides.
"Roswaal said there's a curse on me. That I reek of Witch's Miasma because of it… and that it'll kill me one day." The words felt heavier than he'd expected.
Flugel's head tilted slightly. A pensive expression flickered across his face.
"A curse? Are you asking about Return by Death?" His voice was gentle now, almost too soft.
Subaru hesitated. His thoughts tangled—then snapped straight with a breathless clarity.
"No! I mean the other curse. The one that makes me smell like a Witch."
Flugel exhaled through his nose, a long, weary sound. He crossed his arms. His gaze drifted toward the classroom's window—to a sky that didn't exist, an illusion within an illusion.
"Natsuki Subaru… Return by Death is the curse." The finality in his voice struck Subaru like a blow.
Subaru's heartbeat slowed, a deep ache blooming in his chest.
Return by Death... The power that revived him every time he died— Was it truly a curse?
"So... I really am cursed," he thought bitterly. He'd come so far, fought so hard, yet this was still his definition.
His fists clenched on his lap. Frowning, he shook his head.
"Can you explain this a bit more?" His voice was lower now, almost pleading.
Flugel rolled his eyes and exhaled sharply. Before speaking, his gaze locked onto Subaru's for a brief moment, unreadable.
The classroom's light remained steady, but the air between them grew heavier, thicker, as if it shared the weight of their conversation. A subtle hum echoed faintly, like the static before a storm.
Flugel walked to the chalkboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and began writing slowly, deliberately.
"Abilities have specific types and categories. They are divided into two: those granted and controlled by the World Spirit—Od Laguna—and those that stand in direct opposition to the world itself."
His voice echoed through the classroom. Time itself seemed frozen; only his words moved.
"Abilities bestowed by the World Spirit are called 'blessings.' Normally, it's like a game of chance—or given to those with exceptionally strong fate. Each generation, the World Spirit selects one person as its envoy, rewarding them with every conceivable blessing. These individuals are called 'the Blessed one.' Currently... that person is Reinhard van Astrea."
Subaru's eyes widened instantly, breath catching in his throat. Reinhard's poise, his sword, his superhuman reflexes— It all made sense now.
"We exist in the same world, yet we're so different..." The thought filled him with both awe and dread, twisting in his stomach. As if everything in the universe had already been chosen—and he had never been one of them.
A brief silence settled in the classroom. Subaru lowered his gaze to the desk's surface, fingers trailing over its cool wood. Flugel's voice grew weightier with each word. And that weight pressed down on Subaru's chest, a suffocating blanket of truth.
Flugel paused, observing Subaru's reaction carefully. Like a student straining to understand a lecture beyond his grasp, Subaru listened intently. His brow was furrowed, but his eyes still brimmed with questions, burning behind their tired sheen.
"Factors uncontrollable by the World Spirit are called 'curses.' Currently, humans or monsters in this world can artificially produce weak imitations using mana... But true curses—the abilities you and I possess—originate from the Witches."
These words hung in the air like sealed incantations, dense and unyielding. Subaru still couldn't believe he carried such darkness within him.
A sickening swirl of guilt and helplessness rose in his throat. His grip on the desk tightened.
He raised his hand slowly, hesitantly. His voice trembled slightly, the question weighing heavily on his heart and soul.
"Then... is the ability you gave me also a curse?" The words cracked like dry branches.
A shadow crossed Flugel's expression, deeper than before. For the first time, a hint of regret flickered in his eyes—brief, almost imperceptible, but there.
Flugel shook his head slowly, the movement deliberate—measured—as though the truth itself carried weight.
"No. The Authority I granted you—Resonance by Death—is a parasitic-type ability."
A pause. A flicker of something in his eyes—pity, perhaps, or grim acceptance.
"It activates in tandem with Return by Death."
Subaru's body tensed, his breath catching mid-inhale. He felt like he already knew this—somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, the pieces had already begun to fall into place.
But hearing it aloud... stirred something restless inside him.
A cold shiver slithered down his spine. The words echoed louder than they should have, resonating with every beat of his heart.
Parasitic. Dependent. A shadow feeding on a shadow.
Flugel continued, voice steady, calm—as though lecturing a child about the shape of the stars.
"Each Authority represents one of the sins. You may have noticed—the sins personified by the Witches here... are derived from the seven deadly sins of our original world."
Subaru's head jerked up involuntarily. The connections clicked together in rapid succession.
Pieces of a puzzle he hadn't even realized he was assembling. The Sins. The Witches. The cycle of death and rebirth.
The picture Flugel painted now resembled a prophecy—one he was helplessly trapped within.
One I was never meant to escape, Subaru thought grimly.
He forced his voice through dry lips:
"Also, the current Archbishop names... I assume they're based on constellations from our world."
Flugel gave a slow clap, the sound oddly thunderous in the classroom's charged silence.
A rare flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. His eyes gleamed with the pride of a teacher watching a student finally grasp the lesson.
"Yes. Truly so."
The words seemed to hang in the air longer than they should, heavy with unspoken meaning.
Flugel's voice softened momentarily—a fleeting tenderness beneath the steel.
Then hardened again. His words now carried the weight of prophecy.
"Regardless... Those marked by a Witch's curse, whose bodies emit miasma, are called 'the Cursed One.'"
He paused deliberately, letting the title sink in. "Right now... you're the only."
Subaru's eyes widened. The title might have sounded cool to an outsider—romanticized in stories. But its implications were far darker.
Deeper than I want to admit, Subaru thought bitterly.
Not that he was the type to care about titles. But this—this felt different.
The words wrapped around him like chains.
Flugel continued, voice like a knife slicing through the veil of illusion: "According to legend, one day, 'the Cursed One' and 'the Blessed One' will clash. It is written in their fates.
The Cursed One will become someone who threatens the world to protect what they love.
The Blessed One... will become someone who sacrifices even their loved ones to save the world."
Subaru's breath hitched. A lump formed in his throat, rising unbidden. The image was too perfect. "That... fits me perfectly."
The words spilled out almost unconsciously, the confession dragging itself from his core. "But we're talking about Reinhard. Beating him is impossible."
His voice was barely a whisper, but the emotion behind it was a scream—raw, jagged, unfiltered.
Inadequacy. Always inadequacy. It clung to him like a second skin.
He remembered every moment standing beside Reinhard—a man who seemed invincible, untouchable. A gap between them that had always been a chasm—yawning, insurmountable.
Flugel smiled. The smile of a teacher seeing their student believe for the first time.
Yet hidden within it was a tinge of sorrow—a sorrow borne of experience.
"I'm here, Natsuki Subaru. If you grow strong enough... you can defeat."
The words reverberated in Subaru's mind, louder with each passing second. The despair inside him collided with a newborn possibility.
Could it be true? For the first time... he truly felt a "chance." A small spark flickered in his eyes.
For just a moment... a single second... he believed. For the first time, the future seemed... possible.
A fragile hope, but hope nonetheless. Maybe... I really can do it, he whispered inwardly.
A whisper—but one that echoed in the dark, gaining strength with each repetition.
His heart pounded louder, no longer solely from fear—but from something else.
Determination. Subaru hesitated, gathering his courage.
Then asked: "What about you? Did you... win?"
Flugel's gaze sharpened. Harsh, yet prideful. It carried an answer heavy with the past. "If I hadn't won, I wouldn't be here, Natsuki Subaru."
The classroom fell silent. An oppressive stillness descended. Then—the walls trembled.
A crack splintered through the air, jagged and sharp. Time itself was fraying at the edges. The world could no longer sustain this conversation.
Subaru's heart raced. The end of this strange meeting was near. "Hm... Dawn approaches."
Flugel's voice carried a new urgency. "We can't prolong this discussion. But before you go—one last piece of advice."
Flugel stared at the crumbling walls—not at the past, but at the future. A future looming over Subaru like a storm. "If you seek greater strength... Find the Archbishops' Authorities. And the cursed weapons lost across this world. Those are the tools you need. Gather them... refine them... unite them... and master them." As Flugel's voice echoed, something stirred inside Subaru.
Not uncertainty this time—resolve. A steeliness began to take root in his soul. For the first time, he knew exactly where he stood... and where he must go. The darkness around him began to peel away, fragment by fragment. His vision swam—but in the center of it all, one truth remained: He would fight. He would grow. He would face the impossible. And this time—he wouldn't run.
Not anymore.
Subaru nodded.
For the first time, he willingly embraced a dark path.
It would be thorned. Bloodied. Twisted. But it was a path. A direction. A choice no longer made out of desperation, but conviction. "Even crawling forward is better than turning back," he thought, the phrase echoing like a mantra through his weary soul.
The room shuddered once more, its very walls trembling with unseen power.
The end neared, folding time upon itself like the last page of a cursed book.
Time prepared to return to reality—if such a fragile thing could still be called 'reality' after what he had just experienced.
"Ah, one more thing—" Flugel's voice, calm and ageless, broke the tension like a blade through silk.
He snapped his fingers.
Two daggers materialized before Subaru.
Their gleaming steel seemed to bleed from the shadows themselves, dancing with reflected light in the dimness.
Even the darkness appeared to bow before their lethal grace.
For a moment, Subaru forgot to breathe, transfixed by the surreal beauty that hovered before him.
Each dagger shimmered with an aura that pulsed like a heartbeat—an echo of something ancient, powerful, and hungry.
The blades were flawless—so pristine he could see his own reflection in them.
But that reflection... It was exhausted. Bruised. Changed. Wounded not just in body, but in something deeper. And now, it had to become more than just a "survivor." It had to become a fighter. A challenger. A guardian of fragile hope.
His hands trembled slightly.
These daggers... These twin weapons... They weren't mere tools. They were companions. They would bear his burdens... drink his blood... shape his destiny. He could feel the weight of that future radiating from their edges.
Flugel's voice cut through the heavy air like a tolling bell:
"Your quest reward... I've found weapons worthy of you. Take them, Natsuki Subaru."
The words felt less like a blessing and more like a sentencing.
But Subaru was accustomed to bearing weight. He carried guilt like armor. He wore shame like a cloak.
This burden, however, was different. It asked not for penance, but for action.
Flugel watched as Subaru stood transfixed. His eyes traced the daggers' razor edges—
And in his pupils flickered something weary yet resolute.
Acceptance.
"They're called 'Etherfang,'" Flugel said. His voice was low, reverent.
"High magic conductivity... You can channel Yin magic through them. Use them wisely, and they will answer."
Subaru inhaled deeply. As his palms met the cold metal, a shiver ran through him. It was as if the daggers spoke to him. Reminding him of his past, his pain, his deepest fears—
While simultaneously promising a future forged in combat and endurance.
He clutched them tight, the hilts oddly warm despite their appearance.
Memories surged. The alleyways of death. The cries of those he couldn't save. The faces he couldn't forget.
All of it wrapped around him like a noose—and yet the blades felt like liberation.
"Are these... really mine?" The thought surfaced unbidden, fragile. "After all this... for the first time, something feels like it truly belongs to me."
His own weapons. His own burden. And perhaps... his own destiny. The chains were still on him, but now, he held keys in both hands.
Flugel snapped his fingers once more.
The shadows writhed suddenly, coiling around Subaru's ankles and dragging him downward. That familiar darkness began swallowing him whole once more— But this time... it felt warmer. More welcoming. As if even the abyss had come to accept him. As if he had earned its respect.
As the shadows consumed him, Subaru's voice echoed:
"For this... thank you, Flugel. When... when can we speak again?"
Hope and sorrow intertwined in his words. This dark passage was known to him now—
Yet what lay beyond remained uncertain.
When would their next conversation come? After which death? After which heartbreak?
Flugel chuckled softly.
That strange, almost mocking tone... but now, laced with something like warmth. Like pride. "Who knows?"
The whisper lingered like the scent of old parchment and ash as Subaru vanished entirely.,
[Morning]
"Subaru-sama?... Subaru-sama!"
Subaru's eyelids fluttered open. They felt heavy—as if reluctant to lift the final veil between him and the waking world.
But that voice... that familiar, hesitant voice called to him from the depths of his mind. He turned slowly, blinking away the haze of shadows that still clung to his vision.
There she was—the blue-haired maid kneeling beside his bed.
Rem.
She still feared him—that much was clear in her tense posture— But she'd been ordered to wake him, and duty compelled her. Her expression was a mix of obligation and unease... Yet somewhere beneath, a flicker of concern. Something real.
Subaru sat up, stretching with a groan. His neck ached. His mind throbbed. Exhaustion clung to his bones like a second skin. He'd returned to the world, yet part of him still lingered in the shadows, clinging to the phantom warmth of unseen blades.
He glanced to the corner of the room, half-expecting the daggers to be waiting for him there. They weren't.
But he knew they existed now—waiting for the right moment to be drawn.
Part of him.
"Good morning, Rem. How are you?"
His voice came out hoarse, almost too soft to hear. He somehow felt like he hadn't slept at all. But the truth was, he really hadn't. Throughout the entire night, he had wandered between the shadows with Flugel, on the very edges of consciousness. He had accepted something inside himself.
Something that would never let him be the same again.
His mind still seemed to recall the scent of the wooden classroom desk.
It had been rough, splintered in places, and soaked in years of anxious sweat and scribbled frustration.
That classroom... was a hell. But a hell filled with knowledge.
Each lesson had cut like a blade, leaving marks that would never fully fade. Each test had felt like a battlefield, and every grade a moment of judgment. Yet in that relentless crucible, Subaru had learned more than equations and grammar—he had learned endurance.
Rem was surprised by the question. She blinked, slightly taken aback by the gentleness in Subaru's tone. It was not the kind of voice she was used to from someone outside the mansion's family.
She wasn't used to encountering such kindness. Subaru acting so gently both warmed her heart and made her uneasy.
The contradiction made her breath catch in her throat.
"I am fine, Subaru-sama. Thank you for asking." Her voice was still cautious, but there was a hidden warmth within it. A hesitance wrapped in courtesy, yes, but still—something flickered inside. Her heart still fluttered like a bird ready to flee at any moment,
but it was a bird who had seen the light through the bars of its cage.
Subaru, with dark circles under his eyes, looked at Rem. His gaze was not sharp, but heavy—like a man walking in fog. His eyes were bloodshot, the veins webbing the whites like cracks in porcelain. But rather than darkness, there was a tired light within them. A will that, though weathered and beaten, refused to dim.
"–I don't deserve to be called 'sama', Rem. Please don't address me like that. Also, it would be easier for both of us if you didn't feel the need to be so formal. Act like nothing happened yesterday. That's what I'm doing too."
His words were firm, but underneath, the truth was clear: Regret. Exhaustion. And the desire to start over. To build something not from the ruins, but from the seeds buried beneath them. Another loop... but this time, a little more consciously.
A little more gently.
Rem stammered. "B-but Subaru-sama, I can't do that." Her voice was almost a whisper. Barely enough to be called resistance, more like the last tremble of habit. There was a visible conflict in her eyes:
Should she obey his words, or listen to her heart? Her loyalty warred with her fear. Her memories screamed caution, yet her instincts pleaded for trust.
Subaru stood up. His steps were steady, but the voice of his heart trembled. It felt like each step carried the weight of a memory. A death. A decision. A despair. But this time, he wasn't walking bound by the chains of the past — he was guided by the thread of his will. A will stitched from mistakes, pain, and the sheer stubbornness of a soul unwilling to surrender.
He gently took Rem's hands. "You can, Rem. I arrived here five days ago, injured. I'm someone unfamiliar with this place, with no knowledge about it. I was unconscious for four days, woke up from a coma yesterday, and after speaking briefly with the mansion's owner, Roswaal, I accepted a job here. Nothing happened between us. Agreed?"
His words wove a new spell upon reality.
As if he were adding a new page to the book of fate. A child trying to erase a past he could never truly forget... Trying to overwrite it with trembling hands, because he had no other choice. Because the book of his life had no eraser—only ink, and the courage to keep writing.
Rem nodded. Silently... but obediently. Sometimes, a simple nod could be the first brick removed from a crumbling wall. The first act of belief in a world trying to convince her otherwise.
Subaru smiled. A tired but warm smile. Buried beneath it was a fragile hope. A seed trying to sprout from ashes. "Maybe this time... things can be different."
"Alright then. I'm Natsuki Subaru. Nice to meet you, Rem."
It was a simple sentence, but it carried a heavy weight. It was a sentence that meant "starting from zero." Truly, from zero. Not forgetting, but choosing to move forward.
Rem smiled in return. This time, there was a different light in her eyes. A glimmer of trust... a hint of acceptance. Something was shifting. Like the first rays of sun melting away the frost.
"I... am Rem. I've been working as a maid at the Roswaal mansion for a long time. I hope we can get along well, Subaru-kun."
Her words flowed gently. And this time, her tone held more kindness than fear.
A fragile but genuine bond was being formed. Not one forced by circumstance, but nurtured by choice.
And Ram entered the room. Her steps were firm, full of her usual discipline... But when she saw Subaru and Rem smiling at each other, she paused for a moment.
Her body tensed briefly. She had noticed something. But her expression quickly returned to its usual sternness. Noticing everything and saying nothing — that was just Ram's way. But even she could not deny the air in the room had changed. Even she could feel the faint pulse of something new beginning to bloom.
In silence, she walked past them. But for just a second, her eyes lingered. And that moment said more than any words she could have spoken.
As their attention turned to her, she cleared her throat gently but with purpose, her voice carrying a weight that subtly commanded the moment.
"Subaru-sama, Roswaal-sama invites you to breakfast. Today marks the first day of your training. Also, Emilia-sama has requested that I teach you reading and writing. Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—there is a good teacher at the mansion. That would be me."
Her words carried a formal rhythm, yet beneath them was a subtle warmth, almost as though she had started to see Subaru as more than just another outsider. It was a warmth that spoke of an unspoken acknowledgment of the trials he had faced—a quiet respect that had not existed before.
Subaru narrowed his eyes slightly, a playful spark flickering there, his mind racing through the undertones of her words.
Was that a jab at me? he wondered, the thought flitting across his consciousness like a mischievous sprite.
But a small smile appeared on his lips. It stayed hidden, like an inside joke only he could hear. It wasn't a smile born of happiness; it was a smile born of endurance. The kind of smile one wears when they've been through storms and know there will be more—but still choose to walk forward.
And in that moment, the simple act of smiling felt like an act of defiance against all that weighed on him. A soft rebellion against the crushing pressure of an uncertain fate.
"Thanks, Ram. By the way, I'd really appreciate it if you stopped calling me '-sama.' I don't deserve it. Not yet."
Subaru spoke with a smile, his voice calm but steady. His words carried both humility and a silent promise:
Not yet... but one day, I will.
As if he were whispering to a future version of himself—a version stronger, wiser, more worthy of the respect he hoped to earn. A vision of a Subaru who had endured and grown. A man who would not only survive but protect.
A contract made with his own destiny. One forged not in grand declarations, but in small, quiet decisions.
Ram shot him a knowing glance, her eyes narrowing in that way only she could manage—half condescension, half reluctant acknowledgment. There was something new in her gaze now—a flicker of something almost like... approval.
"Oh. The fact that you're aware of that is quite impressive... In that case, I'll just call you Barusu. I hope you don't mind."
There was a sharp edge to her voice, but also, strangely, a touch of approval. A hidden smile played at the corner of her lips. Perhaps, in her own way, this was how Ram offered friendship—with words as sharp as blades, but tempered by something softer beneath.
Maybe this was how Ram showed acceptance. Not with gentle words—but with words that carried their own strange kind of affection. A challenge, a dare: Show me you can live up to this.
Subaru chose to mostly ignore her teasing and started walking, feet steady on the polished floors. The morning light streamed through the tall windows of the mansion, casting long shadows across the marbled halls.
Heading toward breakfast, he moved with slow but deliberate steps. Each footfall echoed with a newfound resolve. He was not the same boy who had stumbled into this world—each loop, each death, each moment of terror had carved him into something sharper, more aware.
With each step, he drifted a little farther from who he had been—the frightened, desperate boy clinging to survival.
With each step, he became someone a little more rooted in the "now." A person who could begin to shape his own fate, rather than merely react to it.
His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, tension bleeding away like shadows chased by morning light. Yet beneath the calm, a deep, primal part of him remained alert. The scars of countless unseen battles whispered caution with every breath.
Somewhere inside him, fatigue still slumbered—deep and heavy. The exhaustion of lives lived and lost, of burdens carried alone.
But something else stirred too:
A kind of hope. Fragile, flickering—but alive.
A fragile, stubborn hope—the kind that refused to die no matter how many times he had been broken. The kind that whispered: You're still here. You can still fight. You can still change this.
Rem followed behind them with a soft smile, her gaze gentle and steady. Her presence was a balm, a reminder that he was not alone.
Maybe it really was possible to leave the past behind. To let go of the chains forged by fear and regret.
Maybe each loop didn't just carry pain... Maybe it carried a chance, too. A chance to forge a better path, to protect the people he loved, to rewrite a destiny that seemed etched in tragedy.
And maybe—just maybe—this time, he could make that chance count.
As they walked toward the dining hall, Subaru took a deep breath, steadying himself for the day ahead. Training, reading, writing—simple things on the surface, yet beneath them lay the foundation for something greater.
I'll get stronger. One step at a time. One choice at a time.
With the quiet determination of a man who had died a thousand deaths and still refused to surrender, Subaru pressed on—toward the unknown, toward the future, toward the hope that burned stubbornly in his heart.