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The second day of the second loop dawned with an uncomfortable truth: the body could get used to work, but the mind did not get used to pretending.
Subaru Natsuki discovered that the moment he opened his eyes. The room was still the same one he had been assigned after accepting work in the mansion, orderly, silent, with clean light entering through the window as if the world had committed no cruelty. For a second, that awakening could almost seem normal. Almost. Then he remembered that this was not his first second morning in the Roswaal mansion, that he had already washed those hallways, folded those fabrics, received corrections from Ram, and seen Emilia smile on days that now existed only inside his head. The memory tightened his chest with a dry force, without blood or screams, but just as real.
He sat on the bed for several minutes, staring at his hands. They were clean, without accumulated marks from work, without the puppy bite that in the previous loop had seemed like nonsense and had now become a dark clue. The night before, he had bathed as Link suggested. Not once. Twice. The first time to wash off the sweat from work. The second because, after hearing that the strange smell had increased, his skin had felt foreign to him. He had scrubbed his arms until they were red, washed his hair, his hands, his neck, the area of the nonexistent bite, everything. And yet, when he came out, Link had smelled him from the hallway door and had not said the smell was gone. He had only grimaced, as if he did not want to frighten him further.
That was worse than a direct answer.
"Great," Subaru muttered, running a hand over his face. "Now not even a bath can save my aromatic reputation."
On the other side of the mansion, Link was already awake.
Not because he had slept better. In fact, he had slept badly, though not as badly as the night before his death. Since the loop reset, sleep had teeth. Closing his eyes meant surrendering himself to a world where he could wake up again in a bed that did not belong to him, or not wake up at all. Besides, every time the silence became too deep, he remembered the dark gallery, the faint light of his horns, and Rem holding him before the world went out. His body was whole, but memory did not know how to obey the rules of flesh.
Even so, he got up. He dressed in the exterior work clothes Rem had left prepared, tied his boots, checked by habit the area of his back where the kagune slept beneath his skin, and looked at himself for a moment in the dark reflection of the window. There were no horns, no black eyes, nothing that screamed monster. Only a tired young man, with somewhat messy hair, faint dark circles under his eyes, and an expression that seemed to have aged several years in a handful of days no one else remembered.
On the small table in his room, there was a pitcher of water. He smelled it before drinking. It was an automatic gesture, new, almost animal. Clean water. Ceramic. Wood. Cloth. Rem's faint trace, because she had probably left it there herself or had checked the room at some point.
Link closed his eyes for a second.
"Don't start," he said quietly to himself. "It's work. Just work."
It did not sound convincing even to him.
Breakfast was more sober than the day before. No horn revelation, no identity crisis served beside the bread, no Beatrice observing him as if she wanted to open him up on a magical dissection table. Roswaal did not speak much, though every time his eyes settled on Link, he seemed to remember perfectly what had happened the previous morning. Emilia asked whether both of them had slept well. Subaru answered with enthusiasm so false that even Puck opened one eye from Emilia's shoulder, curious. Link said yes with a short answer, which was less suspicious than lying with a spectacle.
Ram and Rem served with the same precision as always. Or as before. Or as again.
That was the problem. To the twins, it was only the second day of those new workers. To Subaru and Link, every gesture came loaded with memory. Ram placing a cup one centimeter farther to the right. Rem checking whether Link's plate had enough food after observing his appetite. The way both of them moved without bumping into each other, without speaking, without needing instructions. All of that was already familiar, but it still was not supposed to be.
"Subaru," Ram said when breakfast ended, "today you will continue with interior tasks. Rem and Ram will alternate supervision throughout the day. Link will continue with exterior work under Rem's supervision, and later Ram will inspect the state of the garden."
Subaru nodded with a seriousness that almost seemed professional.
"Understood."
Ram looked at him for a second.
"Subaru responds with too much docility for someone who yesterday seemed prepared to argue with a tray."
"Personal growth."
"Ram suspects it is exhaustion."
"That too."
Link took the last bite of bread and stood.
"Do we start with the exterior storage room?"
Rem, who was removing a pitcher, stopped slightly.
"Yes. How did you know?"
Subaru closed his eyes tightly for half a second.
Link cursed internally.
He had gotten ahead again.
"I guessed," he said, trying to sound casual. "Yesterday we started with tools. It makes sense to repeat from there if I'm going to work outside."
Rem observed him calmly.
"That is correct."
She said nothing else, but Link noticed the small mark of attention in her gaze. Rem stored details. Always. And this loop was giving her too many.
The day began divided like the previous one. Subaru was sent to a service room to practice domestic duties with Ram. Link went outside with Rem, walking along a path he knew far too well. The fresh air helped him breathe better. Inside, the mansion was a labyrinth of silences, suspicions, and memories, but outside, the garden had a physical honesty that felt more bearable to him. The earth was there. The tools were there. Plants could be complicated, temperamental, and, according to him, passive-aggressive, but they did not pretend to remember something they did not remember.
Rem opened the exterior storage room and handed him a short list of tasks.
"Today, the secondary cultivation area will be checked, several sacks of soil will be moved, the edge of the west path will be cleaned, and the dry branches accumulated behind the greenhouse will be removed. Afterward, if there is time, you will practice basic pruning."
"Sounds manageable."
"You must also control your strength. Yesterday, you did not break any important tools, but that does not mean you can be careless."
"Yes, Rem."
The answer came out too quickly.
Rem looked at him.
Link coughed lightly and took a shovel.
"I mean, understood."
"You may call me Rem. That is my name."
The phrase struck him absurdly.
It was not flirtatious. It was not special. It was a simple correction. But Link had to concentrate so he would not stare at her like an idiot.
"I know," he said, and immediately regretted it.
Rem tilted her head.
"You know?"
"Because you said it yesterday," he fixed quickly. "At breakfast. And in the hallway. I have a good memory for names."
Rem accepted the explanation, at least outwardly.
"Then, Link, we will begin with the soil."
His name again.
God.
The first part of the morning was pure physical work, and Link forced himself to be grateful for it. Rem indicated where to move soil and which area had to be leveled. He worked carefully, letting his body find the rhythm. Shovel into the earth, lift, turn, drop. Do not sink too deep. Do not squeeze the handle until marking it. Do not move so quickly that it seemed impossible for a normal worker. In the previous loop, he had learned all of that through small blows, damaged tools, and corrective looks from Rem. Now he pretended to learn it again, but his body already had memory.
That was dangerous.
Rem noticed after half an hour.
"Your movements are better than yesterday."
Link left the shovel planted in the soil.
"I guess I sleep through lessons well."
"You said you did not sleep well."
Shit.
"Then I digest them while I'm not sleeping."
Rem looked at him in silence.
Link ran a hand through his hair, uncomfortable.
"I'm not good at explaining myself."
"It seems so."
The phrase would have been a dry blow if it had come from Ram. From Rem, it sounded like a sincere observation, and for that reason, it hurt in a different way. Link went back to work, this time allowing himself small mistakes. He dropped soil outside the pile, left one area uneven, held the shovel wrong once so Rem would correct him. But even failing on purpose, he could not completely erase the progress. Rem did not seem alarmed, but she was attentive. Very attentive.
Then came the edge of the west path. Small stones had been displaced by rain or use. Rem explained that they had to be replaced without altering the design. Link already knew the principle: do not yank them at once, loosen them first, do not fight with stones because Rem insisted stones did not start conflicts. Remembering it almost drew a smile from him.
"Something amusing?" Rem asked.
"I was thinking stones are less troublesome when I don't treat them like enemies."
Rem blinked.
"Stones are not enemies."
"That's what you say."
"Because it is true."
Link looked at her from the corner of his eye.
It was the same conversation, but it was not. This Rem did not remember telling him that. And yet the phrase appeared again because Rem was Rem in any line. That continuity gave him a small kind of relief, like a seam still holding together the torn fabric of the world.
"Then I'll try to keep peace with the mineral kingdom," Link said.
Rem lowered her gaze toward the stones.
"That would be advisable."
Meanwhile, Subaru was fighting a quieter war against domestic tasks.
Ram had him clean a guest room. Subaru remembered the room. He remembered the proper order: open curtains, check dust, clean high surfaces before low ones, do not shake things as if fighting a swarm, fold bedding carefully, check corners, do not comment on every step. The problem was that remembering did not prevent emotional exhaustion. Every object felt repeated, every instruction from Ram carried the echo of another Ram who had already humiliated him, corrected him, and, in some strange way, accepted him as part of the routine.
"Subaru cleans with less clumsiness than yesterday," Ram said.
Subaru tightened his grip on the cloth.
"Thank you."
"That does not mean you do it well."
"There it is. I was worried for a second."
"Ram does not wish to cause false hopes."
"Your commitment to hopelessness is admirable."
Ram observed him as he cleaned a shelf.
"Subaru acts as if he has already received these corrections."
Subaru almost dropped the cloth.
"I have a natural talent for being scolded."
"That does seem true."
"I was born to disappoint competent people and then improve out of fear."
"A curiously accurate description."
Subaru smiled with effort and continued cleaning. His body moved better than it had in the first loop, but his mind was far away. He thought about the smell. About the bath that had not erased it. About Rem looking at him with that caution that was not yet hatred, but could become it. About Link saying that perhaps he could not smell his own trail either. About the puppy bite. About the invisible death. About the fourth day waiting for them like a trap already marked on the calendar.
He did not see the corner of the table.
He struck his hip against it.
"Ow!"
Ram sighed.
"Subaru improves in cleaning and worsens in spatial existence."
"My mind was busy."
"That rarely benefits your body."
"I'm discovering that."
Mid-morning, Rem took Link behind the greenhouse, where dry branches had accumulated. The task was simple: remove them, separate them by size, and take them to the maintenance clearing. That was where Link decided it was time to try something new.
He could not keep postponing it. In the previous loop, he had practiced the kagune in a clearing, had ended up wrapped like sushi, and had survived the mockery of Subaru, Puck, Ram, and even Rem's almost-smile. That training had been erased for everyone except him and Subaru, but the need remained. If the kagune was part of his body, he needed to use it in a controlled way, not only when fear or rage pushed him. And if he was going to practice, dry branches were a safer target than a real fight.
Rem pointed to the pile.
"The large branches go to the left. The small ones, to the right. Those that can be used as firewood are tied in bundles."
"Understood."
Link placed the rope on the ground, looked at the branches, and then took a deep breath.
"Rem."
She turned toward him.
"Yes?"
"I want to try something. With supervision."
Rem became very still.
"Related to the red ability Beatrice-sama mentioned?"
"Yes."
Rem's hand lowered slightly toward her side. She did not take any visible weapon, but Link noticed the change in her posture. He did not take offense. It was fair. He would not fully trust someone who could pull red limbs out of his back and lose control either.
"I'm not going to use it to attack," he said. "I want to try using it as... extra arms. To move branches. Slowly. If you see my eyes change, if I seem to lose control, if it moves toward you, I stop."
"Can you stop?"
The question was direct.
Link did not lie.
"I don't know. That's why I'm telling you beforehand."
Rem looked at him in silence.
The wind moved some leaves near the greenhouse. In the distance, there was the sound of a tool strike, perhaps another worker, perhaps a door. The mansion remained there, beautiful and still, unaware that in its garden, a boy was asking permission to bring out a monstrous part of himself in front of a maid who, in another loop, had held him dead.
"Rem will inform Ram if this causes danger," she finally said.
"That's fine."
"And if you cannot control it, Rem will stop you."
Link swallowed.
"I know."
He did not ask how. There was no need. Something in Rem said she could.
They moved a little away from the more delicate area. Link chose a patch of earth, far from pots and fragile tools. He took off his work jacket so he would not tear it immediately, remaining in a simpler shirt underneath. Rem watched him with professional attention, though there was a tension in her gaze he did not know whether to attribute to danger or something deeper. Maybe the horns. Maybe the word Oni. Maybe the smell he could not perceive on himself.
He closed his eyes.
He did not seek the horns. He did not seek the heat of mana in his forehead. He lowered his attention toward his back, toward the rear area of his waist, that point where the kagune slept like a muscle that should not exist. He thought of arms. Not weapons. Not whips. Not tentacles. Arms. Limbs. Part of his body. Pressure appeared little by little, damp and unpleasant, but less terrifying than the first time. He felt the skin tighten, the fabric of his shirt lift, and then a red mass slowly emerged from his back.
Rem did not step back.
Link opened his eyes.
The kagune rose behind him, trembling, dark red, with an organic surface he still found difficult to accept. It was not as large as during the battle with Elsa. Nor as firm. It looked like a limb waking from illness. It moved to one side, too quickly, and Link clenched his teeth.
"Slowly," Rem said.
The same word she used with the tools.
That helped him.
Link breathed and reduced the tension. The kagune lowered a little, stopped vibrating so strongly, and remained suspended one meter above the ground.
"Good," Rem said.
Not "very good." Not praise. Just good.
Enough.
Link tried moving it toward a small branch. The kagune half-obeyed. First, it went too far left, then corrected sharply and struck the ground, raising dust. Rem said nothing, but her gaze pressed him harder than any scolding.
"That wasn't elegant," Link admitted.
"No."
"Thanks for the honesty."
"The branch is still in its place."
"Yes. The branch won this round."
"Branches are not enemies either."
Link let out a brief laugh, and the kagune trembled with him.
"I'm going to need a list of things that aren't my enemies."
"It would be long."
"That worries me."
He tried again. This time, the kagune curved around a small branch, but squeezed too hard and broke it into three pieces. Link closed his eyes in frustration. Rem stepped closer, not too much.
"Less force."
"This too."
"Yes."
"My entire life is less force."
"Then you must learn it well."
The third attempt went better. He wrapped around a medium branch without crushing it, lifted it only a few centimeters, and dropped it into the correct pile. The movement was clumsy, slow, and clearly inferior to using a normal hand, but it worked.
Link stared at the branch as if he had crossed a border.
"I did it."
Rem looked at the pile.
"Yes."
"I didn't break anything important."
"Only two branches."
"They were dry branches. Their destiny was to be broken eventually."
"Do not use that as an excuse to break more."
"Understood."
The kagune moved again, more stable. Link picked up another branch, then another. The slowness was maddening, but each movement taught him something. If he pushed from his back, the limb tensed too much. If he thought of the tip like a hand, he could close with more precision. If he got distracted looking at Rem, the kagune drifted. That last one happened twice. Rem noticed.
"You must keep your attention on the task."
Link felt heat rise to his face.
"Yes."
"Looking at Rem does not help move branches."
The branch fell.
Link went completely still.
So did Rem.
For one second, the whole world seemed to hold its breath.
"I..." Link opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "I was checking whether you were in a safe position."
"Rem was in the same position as before."
"Visual confirmation."
"Unnecessary."
Link wished the kagune would wrap him up like sushi again just so he could escape the conversation.
"Understood."
Rem lowered her gaze toward the fallen branch.
"Pick up the branch."
"Yes."
The kagune obeyed with humiliated docility.
By noon, Link had managed to move a modest number of branches using the kagune, tie them with help from his hands, and carry some bundles to the maintenance clearing. It was not efficient yet. In reality, he would have finished much faster using only his normal arms. But that was not the point. The point was that he had used the kagune for almost half an hour without losing consciousness, without attacking Rem, without bringing out his horns, without his eyes changing, and without ending up wrapped like food.
When he retracted it, the sensation was unpleasant but controlled. The kagune sank beneath his skin with an internal pull that left his back sensitive. Link leaned on a fence for a moment, breathing heavily.
Rem approached.
"Pain?"
"Discomfort. Exhaustion. Like I used a muscle I never trained."
"Then you should not continue for now."
"I wasn't planning to."
"That is sensible."
Link looked at her.
"I'm full of surprises."
"Rem would not say that many."
"One surprise."
"That is more likely."
He smiled, tired.
And this time, Rem did not immediately look away.
It was not a smile from her. Not exactly. But the silence became less hard.
When they returned toward the mansion for the break, Subaru found them near the side entrance. He was carrying an empty bucket and a cloth, with the expression of someone who had survived another correction from Ram through sheer stubbornness. Seeing Link without his jacket, with his shirt slightly torn at the back and a face exhausted but satisfied, he raised both eyebrows.
"You practiced?"
Link looked toward Rem.
Subaru understood and lowered his voice.
"The red thing?"
"Yes."
"Sushi?"
"No."
Subaru's eyes widened with genuine emotion.
"Monumental progress!"
Rem tilted her head.
"Sushi?"
Link stepped on Subaru's foot before he could answer.
Subaru made a choked sound.
"Nothing. A metaphor from our homeland. Very complex. Not suitable for working hours."
Rem looked at both of them.
"Subaru seems to be hiding a joke."
"Subaru always seems like that," Link said.
"That is true," Rem admitted.
Subaru, still in pain from his foot, pointed at Link.
"I'm glad to see my suffering brings people together."
Ram appeared from the hallway.
"Subaru, the bucket is empty because you were supposed to bring water, not because you were meant to bring air in the form of unfinished work."
Subaru looked at the bucket.
Then at Ram.
"Ah."
Link closed his eyes.
"Impressive."
"My mind was busy celebrating your monstrous progress."
"Don't say monstrous in front of everyone."
Rem observed Link from the corner of her eye. She said nothing, but he felt the word remain between them. Monstrous. Oni. Kagune. Strange smell. All those pieces surrounded him, even when he tried to turn them into jokes.
The break was brief. They ate something simple in a service room, and Link devoured his portion with less savagery than in the first loop, though still enough for Ram to comment that the garden seemed to awaken his appetite in an "exaggeratedly faithful" way. Subaru tried to steal a piece of bread from him; Link detected it by the smell of his approaching hand and gave him a light tap on the knuckles. Subaru called it abuse of enhanced senses. Rem said Subaru should not steal another person's food. Subaru said it was fraternal redistribution. Ram replied that first he had to produce value before redistributing anything.
In the afternoon, the work continued with the same tension disguised as routine.
Subaru moved on to practicing tea service with Rem for a stretch, while Ram went to check the exterior with Link. That exchange, though canon in the structure of training, was a test for both of them. Subaru tried not to look at Rem too much, because now every time she approached, he remembered the Witch's smell clinging to him, the puppy bite, the possibility that she could perceive something he did not understand. Rem taught him with professional patience: cup, teapot, position, amount, angle. Subaru did better than before, but forced himself to fail once, spilling only a few drops.
"Subaru seems to know the movement, but his hands hesitate," Rem said.
"My body is a disorganized committee."
"You must give it clear instructions."
"I try. The committee votes badly."
Rem looked at him.
"I do not understand the comparison."
"Better. It means I didn't say anything too compromising."
"I do not understand that either."
"That is worrying."
In the garden, Ram checked the pile of branches Link had moved and the marks on the ground where the kagune had struck. He did not explain it immediately. Ram deduced it with unpleasant speed.
"Link used his red ability."
"Rem supervised."
"Ram did not ask whether Rem supervised. Ram would ask why Link decided to use a dangerous part of his body during garden work, but the answer will likely be a mixture of recklessness and necessity."
"That is... pretty accurate."
Ram looked at the branches.
"Did it work?"
Link fell silent.
"A little."
"Did it cause damage?"
"Two dry branches died ahead of schedule."
"Dry branches do not count as victims."
"Thank you. I needed to hear that."
Ram observed him.
"Do not use that ability near Emilia-sama, Roswaal-sama, or the inside of the mansion without authorization. Nor near Rem if you cannot guarantee control."
The phrase fell with more weight at the end.
Link held Ram's gaze.
"I wouldn't hurt her."
"That is not what Ram said."
"I know."
"Wanting not to hurt someone is not enough."
Link lowered his gaze toward his hands.
"I know that too."
Ram's face did not soften, but her voice lost a fraction of its edge.
"Then learn before your intention and your body contradict each other again."
Link nodded.
"That's what I'm trying to do."
Ram accepted the answer with silence.
And coming from her, that was almost permission.
When the day ended, Subaru and Link met again beside a window overlooking the garden. It was not the same one from the night Link died, but it was enough to leave both of them silent for a few seconds. Outside, the afternoon was turning orange. Rem crossed the path with a basket, Ram waited for her near the side entrance, and the mansion looked like a calm painting, unaware of the traps hidden by time.
"Second day," Subaru said.
"Yes."
"Nobody died."
"Yet."
Subaru made a face.
"I don't like that 'yet.'"
"Neither do I."
"How did the kagune thing go?"
Link looked at his reflection in the glass.
"Better. Slow. Clumsy. Useful only if the branch has patience."
"Branches don't have patience."
"Rem would say branches don't have anything."
"Rem would say that."
The name remained between them.
Subaru looked at him with a mixture of soft mockery and sadness.
"Was it hard being with her?"
Link took a while to answer.
"Yes."
"Because of the night?"
"Because of everything. She talks to me as if she's starting from zero. And she is. But I'm not."
Subaru rested his forehead against the glass.
"Same with Emilia. Today I almost mentioned something about our promise. The one that doesn't exist. I bit my tongue so hard I think I deserve compensation."
"Ask not to clean bathrooms."
"Ram would laugh at me without moving her mouth."
"Probably."
A short silence.
Subaru lowered his voice.
"Link, the smell... is it still there?"
Link did not answer immediately. Subaru had already bathed. He had worked all day. He had sweated, of course, but the strange smell was still there. Worse than sweat. Beneath it. Clinging. Dark, as if it were not on the skin but somewhere water could not reach.
"Yes," he finally said.
Subaru closed his eyes.
"Damn it."
"But I don't know what it means."
"Rem maybe does."
Link looked toward the garden, where Rem was disappearing through the side entrance.
"Maybe."
"And if that's what kills us?"
"Then we have to discover it before the right night arrives."
Subaru stepped away from the glass.
"Third day tomorrow."
"Yes."
"That's where your chance starts to make Rem call you like before again."
Link snorted.
"You worry about not bowing to salt in front of Emilia."
Subaru looked hurt.
"That happened in another life. Literally."
"And I'll remember it in all of them."
Subaru smiled a little.
It was a tired smile, but real.
"Tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow."
As they separated to finish their final tasks, the mansion continued breathing with its false calm. Ram corrected Subaru one last time before allowing him to retire. Rem gave Link an instruction to check the exterior storage room early the next day. Beatrice did not appear, though Subaru swore he felt a door judging him from afar. Emilia wished them good night with a kindness that almost broke Subaru's mask. Roswaal said nothing important, but his eyes remained far too attentive.
And when Link reached his room, he took off his shirt carefully and checked his back in the dark reflection of the window. There were no wounds. Only a faint sensitivity beneath the skin, where the kagune had come out and gone back in. He raised a hand, flexed his fingers, and then looked toward the moon beginning to appear.
He did not bring out the horns.
Not that night.
He sat on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath, and let the silence surround him without walking through the hallways. Outside, somewhere in the mansion, Subaru was not asleep yet either. Both of them waited for the third day with the feeling that every repeated day was bringing them closer not to an answer, but to an open mouth in the darkness.
But at least that day, Link had moved branches with a monstrous part of his body without losing himself.
It was little.
It was enormous.
And in that mansion where everything seemed to be erased, that small progress was something death had not yet managed to take from him.