Morning arrived.
Unfortunately.
I became aware of consciousness the same way one becomes aware of a tax audit.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
And with immediate regret.
Pain greeted me before my eyes even opened.
My left arm felt frozen solid.
My right leg felt like someone had attempted to feed it through a woodchipper.
My head hurt.
My chest hurt.
My Gate hurt.
I wasn't even entirely sure a Gate was supposed to hurt.
Yet here we were.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.
"...Alive."
A pause.
"...Still."
That honestly felt optional at this point.
Carefully, I pushed myself upright.
Immediate mistake.
A spike of icy agony shot up my left arm.
Another burst erupted from my calf.
The room spun.
My stomach threatened mutiny.
Wonderful.
I looked down at myself.
My left arm looked like a map someone had drawn using black lightning.
Jagged veins stretched from my hand all the way toward my shoulder.
The dormant curse remained frozen in place.
Inactive.
Alive.
Waiting.
The world's least comforting insurance policy.
My right calf was heavily bandaged.
Beneath the wrappings, I could still feel the Wolgarm bite.
A second curse.
A second layer of magical malware.
Both apparently deciding to coexist inside my bloodstream.
I had become a hosting service.
Fantastic.
Then there was my Gate.
That one was harder to describe.
The best comparison was trying to imagine someone scraping sandpaper across your veins.
Every attempt to circulate mana produced resistance.
Pressure.
Pain.
Like my internal pathways had been lined with broken glass.
A metallic taste lingered in my mouth.
The result of ruptured blood vessels from my little Shamak stunt.
Apparently forcing magic through a damaged Gate had consequences.
Who knew.
A knock interrupted my misery.
The door opened.
Rem entered carrying fresh bandages.
Immediately, her expression softened.
Which somehow scared me more than when she hated me.
"Subaru-kun."
There it was again.
That look.
The look people gave heroes.
A look I absolutely did not deserve.
"Morning."
Rem approached the bed.
"You should not be standing."
"I wasn't."
"You were attempting to."
"Details."
She ignored me.
Professionally.
Efficiently.
Carefully.
Her hands moved with surprising gentleness as she checked the bandages around my calf.
The room remained quiet for several moments.
Then she spoke.
"You saved everyone."
Oh no.
We're doing this again.
I stared at the ceiling.
"I panicked."
"You acted."
"I screamed."
"You warned us."
"I almost died."
"You accepted that risk."
Every sentence somehow made me sound cooler.
This was becoming a problem.
Rem adjusted the bandages.
Her voice softened.
"The children are alive because of you."
I had absolutely no defense against genuine gratitude.
So I did what any socially competent person would do.
I stared awkwardly at a wall.
Fortunately, another person entered before things became any more emotionally dangerous.
Ram.
Carrying a wooden cane.
My cane.
The Symbol Of Failure. (Slowed+Reverb)
She handed it over.
"Congratulations."
"On what?"
"You can walk again."
I looked at the cane.
Then at my leg.
Then back at the cane.
"...That's a generous definition of walking."
Ram shrugged.
"Bipedal movement remains theoretically possible."
Cruel.
Accurate.
But cruel.
With considerable effort, I pushed myself upright and accepted the cane.
The weight settled into my hand.
Heavy.
Solid.
Real.
A permanent reminder that surviving wasn't the same thing as winning.
For a brief moment, silence settled over the room.
Then I made a mistake.
A very small mistake.
The kind of mistake that destroys lives.
I sighed.
"You know, if Roswaal had shown up five minutes earlier—"
Ram moved.
Not visibly.
Not dramatically.
One moment she was standing beside the bed.
The next moment she was leaning close enough for me to see my own reflection in her eyes.
The room suddenly felt colder.
Her smile vanished.
"If you finish that sentence."
Her voice was soft.
Gentle.
Terrifying.
"I will cut out your tongue."
I froze.
Ram continued smiling.
The smile somehow made it worse.
"Roswaal-sama is never wrong."
The words weren't defensive.
They were absolute.
A statement of faith.
A law of nature.
The atmosphere lingered for several seconds.
Then Ram stepped back.
The pleasant expression returned.
Just like that.
As though nothing had happened.
My blood ran cold.
Because I finally understood something.
Ram knew.
Not everything.
But enough.
Enough to see Roswaal's flaws.
Enough to recognize his manipulations.
Enough to understand the danger.
And she loved him anyway.
That realization was somehow more terrifying than the Wolgarms.
The mansion wasn't united.
Not even close.
It was divided straight down the middle.
Rem would follow me into hell.
Ram would drag me there herself if Roswaal asked.
And I was standing directly between them.
Wonderful.
A few hours later, a summons arrived.
Roswaal wanted to see me.
Every survival instinct immediately objected.
Unfortunately, none of them outranked social obligations.
So I limped toward his office.
Each step sent pain through my leg.
The cane clicked against polished floors.
The mansion seemed quieter than usual.
Like the entire building was holding its breath.
Eventually I reached the office door.
And entered.
Roswaal sat behind his desk.
No theatrical pose.
No exaggerated gestures.
No dramatic laughter.
Just silence.
Ram stood nearby with a tea set.
As composed as ever.
As dangerous as ever.
Roswaal's gaze settled on me.
Not on my face.
Not immediately.
His eyes lingered on the cane.
The bandages.
The faint blood vessels visible beneath my skin.
Taking inventory.
Calculating.
Then his attention returned to my eyes.
Silence stretched.
Finally—
"Subaru-kuuuun."
The way he said my name felt surgical.
I sat down carefully.
The chair creaked.
Nobody spoke.
Roswaal folded his hands together.
"Your predictions continue to produce remarkable results."
Danger.
Danger.
DANGER.
I smiled weakly.
"Pure luck."
"Oho?"
His expression didn't change.
"Then you are perhaps the luckiest man in Lugunica."
The room fell silent again.
The conversation sounded harmless.
It wasn't.
Every word felt like a probe.
A test.
Roswaal wasn't asking questions.
He was measuring reactions.
Trying to determine what I knew.
Trying to determine how much of a threat I represented.
I adjusted my grip on the cane.
"My predictions aren't perfect."
"No?"
"No."
That much was true.
Painfully true.
Roswaal tilted his head slightly.
The clown mannerism looked wrong without the smile behind it.
"Yet they arrive at precisely the right moments."
There it was.
Not an accusation.
Not even suspicion.
Just an observation.
One delivered with enough precision to make my pulse spike.
I forced myself not to react.
Across the room, Ram poured tea.
The soft sound of liquid hitting porcelain seemed unnaturally loud.
Roswaal accepted the cup.
His gaze never left me.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Roswaal smiled.
A small smile.
Controlled.
Measured.
The smile of a man who had decided not to pull a trigger.
At least not today.
"Ohohoho..."
The familiar laugh returned.
But now I could hear the machinery underneath it.
The calculations.
The patience.
The centuries of experience hiding behind painted eccentricity.
For the first time since meeting him, I understood something terrifying.
Roswaal wasn't confused.
He was adapting.
Then a knock interrupted the room.
A messenger entered.
Knelt.
And delivered news that immediately changed everything.
The Royal Selection would begin soon.
Candidates were being summoned to the capital.
The room froze.
Then Roswaal smiled.
A real smile this time.
Because unlike me—
He actually wanted to go there.
Whatever plans he had been nurturing behind the scenes, the capital was where they would move forward.
And now Emilia had been called to center stage.
The messenger departed.
The Cold War ended temporarily.
Not because either side won.
But because larger problems had arrived.
That evening, Emilia visited my room.
The sunset painted the walls orange.
For a few moments, neither of us spoke.
Then she placed the royal summons on the table.
"I'd like you to come with me."
There it was.
The request.
The trust.
The expectation.
Emilia smiled gently.
"My strategist."
I nearly choked.
Strategist?
ME?
The man whose primary combat tactic was screaming?!
But I smiled anyway.
"Of course."
Relief crossed her face.
Then she thanked me and left.
The moment the door closed—
My smile vanished.
I stood slowly.
Grabbed the cane.
Walked toward the window.
And stared outside.
The illusion was over.
I was dying.
Not immediately.
Not dramatically.
But steadily.
The two dormant curses were interfering with my mana.
My Gate was fractured.
My body was running on stubbornness and narrative momentum.
If I traveled to the capital in this condition—
The White Whale wouldn't kill me.
Petelgeuse wouldn't kill me.
My own body would.
I tightened my grip on the cane.
Think.
Think.
Think.
Roswaal wouldn't help.
Not anymore.
Maybe never again.
Emilia lacked the necessary expertise.
Rem would try.
Ram would threaten me.
Neither could fix this.
That left exactly one option.
A tiny blonde librarian with the personality of an angry cat.
Beatrice.
The Forbidden Library.
Yin magic.
The greatest healer available inside the mansion.
I stared into the darkening forest.
One day.
I had one spare day before departure.
One chance.
One opportunity.
One extremely annoying door puzzle.
My shoulders slumped.
Because unlike everything else I'd survived—
This next challenge required talking to Beatrice.
Repeatedly.
Voluntarily.
Which somehow felt more dangerous than fighting Wolgarms.
I looked toward the mansion halls.
Toward the countless doors hiding the Forbidden Library.
And began planning.
Tomorrow.
I would breach the library.
Or die trying.