「 ✦ Shizuku Yaegashi | A Few Days Later, in the Frozen Caverns of Schnee ✦ 」
I tasted blood.
There was also the clanging of steel—somewhere close, somewhere far, I couldn't really tell. My vision was swimming and my lungs burned. Everything in me was screaming to move, to fight, to do anything but lay there, but I just couldn't.
Then everything faded, and suddenly, I was twelve years old again.
The alley behind the school was damp. Rain from earlier had left a sticky sheen over the concrete. The scent of mildew clung to the walls, just as stubborn as the girls who had me cornered. I had always hated that smell. It reminded me of being stuck. Of being cornered. Like now.
Three girls were standing in front of me, each one a little older, a little taller, a little meaner.
"Seriously, just give it up already. You're so clingy," one girl sneered, flipping her hair.
"Kouki-kun really shouldn't talk to garbage, you know," another joined in, crossing her arms.
"Look at her! She doesn't even fight back. What a loser."
I was standing with my back against the wall, gripping the straps of my bag. My fingernails dug into the fabric. I said nothing. If I stayed quiet, it would end faster. That was always the hope. The logic.
It didn't stop the sting of the words, though, or the sharp tug when one of them yanked at my hair, and the shame that curled in my stomach.
It hurts.
Just stop.
"Hey, I'm talking to you. Are you dumb or something?"
I squeezed my eyes shut. Not just because I was scared, but because I didn't want them to see the water in my eyes—or the trembling. If I couldn't cry, maybe I could pretend I wasn't breaking inside.
Then—a hand, not mine or hers. A strong, adult hand wrapped around the girl's wrist mid-swing.
"Alright, that's enough."
The voice was calm, but cold. I finally opened my eyes.
He was tall. Late twenties or early thirties, maybe. Dark hair, kind of messy. Sharp features. He didn't look angry, but he didn't look kind either.
The lead girl froze. "W-Who the hell are you? This is none of your business, old man!"
"Maybe. But from where I'm standing, it looks like bullying is your idea of fun. That's just not very ladylike, you know?"
He didn't raise his voice, didn't even frown. But the pressure in his words made them all step back. His grip didn't tighten. It just stayed there, immovable.
She wrenched her hand away, hissed something under her breath, and stormed off. The others followed her, but not without glaring at me first. I looked down and already started dreading next week. Already wondering how bad the rumors would be. How they would whisper that I needed rescuing. Again.
Then—cold.
I flinched.
A can of grape juice was pressed to my cheek.
"Hey. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. You looked like you needed something cold."
I turned, blinking at him.
He scratched his head sheepishly. "It's not poison, I promise. Here. Take it."
I did, hesitantly. He sat beside me on the curb like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we weren't total strangers.
"What's your name?"
"Shizuku."
His head turned slightly. His eyes widened, just a bit, but he didn't say anything about it.
"Nice name," he muttered. "I'm... ugh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Satoru. Satoru Mikami."
We sat there in silence for a moment.
"Bad day?" I asked quietly.
"Horrible," he muttered, giving me a weak laugh. "Boss chewed me out. Missed a deadline. The vending machine at work stole my money. I was having a real streak until I wandered into this alley."
I looked at him. He looked... tired. But even so, he smiled. I gave a small hum, unsure how to respond. But he didn't seem to need me to.
"But hey, if I didn't vent a little, I probably wouldn't sleep tonight," he said, kicking a small rock with his heel. "You know... people like that? They don't stop until you make them stop."
I frowned. "I tried once. It didn't work."
"Try again."
"Why?'
"Because you don't want to be standing in this alley forever, right?"
I didn't respond, but I knew he had a point. He stood up and stretched, dusting his pants.
"All you need," he said, turning back toward me, "is twelve seconds of insane courage, Shizuku. That's it. Twelve seconds."
He walked off, waving lazily over his shoulder.
"You'd be amazed what it can change."
Then he was gone just like that. I never saw him again.
···—–—⚜—–—···
I jolted awake.
"Huff... huff... huff..."
The breath in my lungs clawed its way out. My vision spun wildly before snapping back into place. A droplet of warm blood fell from my chin, staining the ice beneath me. My hands trembled against the hilt of my sword, slick with sweat, pain, and exhaustion.
The battle wasn't over. Not even close.
"Hah... hah... hah..."
I wiped the blood with the back of my hand, tasted copper on my lips, and looked up. There she was, standing in front of me with that obnoxiously awful grin that I recognized because it was mine.
She was what I would've looked like if I had white hair instead of black, and if every hidden ugly thought I'd ever had was given physical form. The sight of her made me grip my sword handle so hard my knuckles went white. My legs felt like they were made of wet paper, but I forced myself to stand steady.
"Still pretending?" she asked. "You're running out of lies, Shizuku."
My mouth opened, but no words came out. I could barely stand, let alone argue. The last few minutes were hazy of shame and terror and her voice cutting through every defense I'd ever built. Every time I tried to mount a real counterattack, she overwhelmed me in more ways than one. Every word she said was a blade, and I had let myself be carved hollow.
"Let's pick up where we left off. You know you never chose the sword," she said, pacing slowly to the side. "Not really. You chose to obey, be what made others proud. You became what they expected, not what you wanted. And where did that bring you?"
The pain in my chest pressed harder.
Twelve seconds.
Just twelve seconds of intense courage. That was all I needed. That was all I'd ever needed.
But even that felt impossibly far.
"You always act like you're calm. Like you're above it all." She stopped pacing and leaned in, her voice lowering. "But you're just a scared little bitch who never figured out who she was—so you became everyone else's version of you instead."
"Shut up," I whispered. My legs still trembled.
"Aw, but we're just getting to the good part. I know why you're angry. Why you're really struggling." She grinned wider. "You're in love, aren't you? With someone you shouldn't be. Someone completely, utterly wrong for you"
My throat caught.
"No—" I started.
"Yes!" she interrupted, stepping forward with a manic grin. "Say his name! Admit it! You hate that you can't not feel something every time he walks into the room. You hate that you can't tell if it's love, fear, or both. Rimuru. You want him! And it disgusts you because you know how pathetic it is!"
"SHUT UP!" I yelled, surging forward with my blade.
Steel met steel, and sparks scattered like shattered ice. But I wasn't fast enough. She sidestepped, pivoted, and drove the pommel of her sword into my stomach. I collapsed to one knee, coughing up blood.
"How does it feel to be so pathetically, desperately in love with someone who will never, ever love you back? You think that kind of feeling makes you strong? No, no, no." She looked down at me. "It makes you weak! Especially when he'll never see you the same way. He's not even someone you can understand, let alone love properly!"
My arms shook as I tried to push myself back to my feet.
Twelve seconds.
I forced myself to breathe. In and out. In and out.
It's not romantic. It's not sweet. It's not even fair.
I feel this thing in my chest every time I see him, and I hate it.
Because it makes me feel small.
Because it makes me want something I know I can't have.
Because he's not the kind of person you fall in love with.
But I did.
Or maybe I didn't. Maybe it wasn't love. Maybe it was awe. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the loneliness of watching someone walk through fire and not flinch—while I still struggled to stand in the snow.
But whether it was love or not, it was mine.
I clutched my blade.
Twelve seconds.
I stood up, and for the first time ever since entering this chamber, I didn't push the feeling away.
"You're right," I said, quietly. "I didn't choose the sword. Not at first."
Her eyes narrowed.
"I didn't want to be a warrior. I wanted to be someone who could walk into a room and laugh without thinking about something stupid like posture. I wanted ribbons in my hair and pink nail polish and sweets. I wanted to be soft."
Her expression darkened.
"But I became strong anyway. I made myself strong. And now I'm choosing what to do with that strength."
I met her gaze without hesitation.
"I don't care if my feelings for Rimuru make me weak. I don't care if they're real, or right, or unreciprocated. I don't need to understand him. I don't need him to love me back."
I stepped forward.
"All that matters is that I don't lie to myself anymore. I won't let it control me—but I won't deny it either. It is part of me, just as much as you are."
The light in the cavern changed. Crystals above reflected something warmer now. For the first time since this began, my body felt light. And so I took my stance, sword forward and heart steady.
"Your time's up," I said.
The doppelgänger shrieked—rage boiling to the surface. She lunged, eyes wild, blade aimed for my throat.
So I moved, too. Only this time, I didn't hesitate. I didn't fear what she'd say or be scared at what she represented. Because I'd already accepted her.
Steel met steel, and then, her blade shattered. Her face twisted in disbelief as cracks raced across her body—like stained glass fracturing from within.
"You think this changes anything?" she hissed desperately.
"No," I replied.
With one final swing, I brought my sword down.
Light exploded outward in a cascade of warmth and frost. The doppelgänger disintegrated into thousands of shimmering fragments, drifting upward like snow caught in sunlight.
I dropped to my knees, and I stayed there kneeling for a long time. Blood still dried on my cheek. My body still ached, but it wasn't pain I minded. Not anymore, at least.
I thought of him—of Rimuru. Of his calm, unreadable smile. Of the way he looked at people like he saw through them. Of how he made me feel that flutter in my chest when he looked at me. Of how he made me see him like he was an invincible superhero—albeit morally questionable on some parts.
I still didn't know what I felt, and I thought that was okay.
Because I only now realized that the point wasn't whether he returned my feelings or not, it was that I owned them—just like how I owned my softness, my discipline, my grace, my blade, and all the contradictions in between.
Maybe I was just another face in the crowd of people who orbit around his magnificence—a human girl who'll be dead and forgotten while he lived on for eternity. But none of that would've changed who I was or what I choose to do.
···—–—⚜—–—···
「 ✦ Freid Bagwa ✦ 」
The first thing I heard was a voice.
"How does it feel to come back from death, Freid?"
I opened my eyes.
A dull pain clung to the back of my skull. The light was wrong in my eyes, and my body felt really off—heavy in places it never used to be, light in others. I touched my chest, then my arms, then the back of my head.
My fingers paused. My hair was still long, yes, but it was white when it should've been a deep red. A shock of white strands framed my sight as I caught my reflection in one of the polished obsidian columns nearby. My skin was still dark, at least. Still recognizably mine. But everything else...
"Wha..." I muttered. Even my voice felt off. Had it always been like this?
I was kneeling. The feeling of plush red carpet beneath my knees helped ground me, just barely. My hand was still scratching the back of my neck, trying to coax sense back into my bones. I looked up, following the voice from before.
Eri Nakamura.
She was standing mid-way up the stairs leading to the throne, dressed in white silks. Her hair—also white now, just as mine—was still cut short, and her eyes burned with something manic.
She shouldn't have been here.
She was supposed to be dead.
I remembered her dying. That night, when Rimuru arrived on the battlefield, carrying the wrath of something far beyond understanding. Eri had been obliterated—I know she had.
"You look terrible," she said, smiling far too widely. "But that'll pass. It always does."
I looked down at my hands again. My skin was unblemished. There were no wounds, no blood, no ashes—only power. I could feel it coiling under my muscles, and as far as I knew, I had never been this strong. Not even close, in fact.
"What is this... what happened to me?"
"You died," she said plainly. "Then you were brought back. Simple as that."
I blinked slowly.
"You're more deranged than I remember."
"Aww, you do remember me. I'm touched."
I clicked my tongue.
"Stop fucking around. How are we alive?"
She gestured lazily behind her. "You're alive because he wanted you to be."
My eyes followed her hand—up the steps, past the columns, toward the throne. He sat on it like he'd always belonged there. The Demon Lord. My king. And yet... not who it seemed.
I had followed the Demon Lord for years. Bled for him, killed for him. But the presence sitting on that throne wasn't him.
Eri spoke again. "Alva. One of the gods. He's taken the vessel of your former king. You should be grateful, really."
Alva.
I bowed instinctively.
"We were revived," Eri continued, "by an artifact, apparently. A super-secret and super powerful treasure beyond your or mine's comprehension! We were... selected! Yippe!"
I finally stood up, though my knees still wobbled. Apostles stood in two lines down the carpet, faces blank, wings folded. I turned slightly, enough to look Eri in the eye.
"You keep talking like this is some divine gift. But this—" I raised my hand, letting it tremble. "This doesn't feel like a gift."
She tilted her head, grin widening. "That's because you're still thinking like the old Freid. That part of you will die soon enough."
The throne creaked. It wasn't loud, but everyone froze. Alva crossed his legs and his chin rested on his knuckles. Amusement shone in those eyes as he looked down on us.
"Hel left behind a truly delightful toy. A shame it had to be wasted on you lot"
My breath caught in my throat.
Hel? The Goddess of Death?
What did he mean?
What exactly had she left behind?
And what had I become?