Serena and I walked out of the palace.
The evening sky stretched above us, a reddish orange that slowly faded into purple along the far edge of the horizon. An autumn wind swept through the leaves along the stone road connecting the palace to the city, sending dried leaves spinning through the air before they landed on the ground without a sound. In the distance, the faint noise of the marketplace drifted over, merchants beginning to close up shop, pulling down their tarps, counting the day's earnings.
The world kept turning. People kept living their lives. No one knew what had just happened behind those palace walls. No one knew that a decision capable of changing the fate of millions had just been made.
Our footsteps fell in the same rhythm. Not fast. Not slow. The pace of two people who had just walked through something enormous and had not yet fully processed what happened.
"I..." Serena started. Her voice was softer than usual. More honest. Not the voice of Serena Valenrose, owner of Crescentia Group. Not the voice of the negotiator who had just won a debate. Just Serena. My friend. "I had no idea you could argue like that."
"What made you think I could not?"
Serena turned toward me. Her face was a mixture of admiration and confusion, and there was something else there that I could not immediately read. Like someone staring at a painting they had seen a thousand times, only to suddenly notice a detail that had been hiding all along.
"I mean, ever since we were kids, you were always the stiff one. The type who would tremble the moment you had to speak." She let out a small laugh. "Even when you did talk, you always stammered. Every word came out like it was being dragged, as if your mouth and your brain could never agree on what needed to be said."
She looked up at the sky, eyes drifting into the distance.
"I used to do all the talking for both of us whenever we met someone new. You just stood behind me like a shadow that did not want to be seen. If anyone asked you something, your answer was always short. Yes. No. Maybe. Those three words were your entire vocabulary for years."
She laughed again. A warm laugh. A laugh full of memories.
"And then today, in that room, you stood before the king, the queen, the prince, and over a dozen of the most powerful nobles in the kingdom. And you spoke. No stammering. No trembling. Every word landing exactly where it needed to. Every argument like an arrow shot straight to the mark."
She turned to face me.
"When did you change, Recci?"
I went quiet.
Not because I did not have an answer. But because her question set something off. Like a hand touching the surface of still water, sending ripples in every direction, waking what had been sleeping underneath.
Something inside my head stirred. An old door with rusted hinges, one I had locked shut for years in this life and years in my previous one, suddenly rattled. As though someone on the other side was pushing, knocking, trying to get out.
I fell silent to look at my past.
In my first life, I was someone who loved to talk. I had plenty of friends. The type who was always in the middle of a crowd, who always laughed the loudest, who was always the first to greet a stranger at the bus stop or in a school hallway.
I remember laughing. Laughing a lot. Laughing until my stomach hurt, until my eyes watered, until people around me started laughing just from watching me laugh.
But when did it all change?
When did I become someone who refused to let anyone in? Who shut out everyone. Who sealed every door that led outside. As if I had bolted every window and switched off every light.
Afraid to take a step. Afraid to go outside. Afraid to see anyone at all.
I only ever left the house for a part time job at a convenience store. Eight hours standing behind a cash register, scanning barcodes, accepting money, handing back change, never once looking at a customer's face. Then home. Into my room. Lock the door. Lights off.
Wake up. Work. Go home. Sleep. Wake up again.
The same cycle. Every single day. No breaks. No color. No sound except the hum of the air conditioner and the ticking of the wall clock, counting off seconds of a life that had lost all meaning.
No friends calling. No messages coming in. No one knocking at the door. Because I was the one who chose to erase it all. One by one. Number by number. Contact by contact. Until the list on my phone was empty, and that emptiness felt safer than any connection ever could.
When did I become like that?
Why?
What happened?
I tried to remember. Tried to push that door open wider. Pulled at memories buried in darkness I had long since shoved into the deepest place I could find. My mind's fingers groped along the surface of those memories, searching for a grip, searching for a crack.
And I felt it. Over there. Hidden behind the wall I had built with my own hands. A memory. Faint. Dark. But real.
I reached for it.
And the world spun.
Something surged up from the pit of my stomach. Fast. Violent. Like a hand clenching around my insides. My stomach seized. My throat burned. My vision blurred.
I threw up.
On the side of the road. In the bushes lining the stone fence of some nobleman's house. My body doubled over, both hands braced on my knees, breath coming in ragged gasps. Everything in my stomach forced its way out, as though my own body was rejecting what I had just tried to recall.
Cold sweat covered my forehead. My legs shook. The world around me swayed, the stone path and the trees and the evening sky all spinning like a painting being stirred.
"Recci?"
Serena was at my side instantly. Her hand on my back. Warm. Steady. An anchor dragging me back to reality.
"What happened? Are you all right? Recci?"
Her voice cracked. Panic she did not bother to hide. This was not Serena the businesswoman. This was the Serena who had cried when her pet cat got sick back when they were children. Serena who ran barefoot across the fields to call my parents when I fell out of a tree. Serena who was always, always there when it mattered.
I raised one hand. A gesture to say I was fine. Even though I was clearly anything but fine.
"Sorry." I drew a deep breath. Forced the words out of a throat that still burned. "Just a little tired."
A lie.
But a better lie than the truth.
Because the truth was that something existed in my past that my own body refused to remember. Something so heavy, so dark, so destructive that my brain had built a wall around it and posted guards at every corner. And every time I tried to get close, every time I tried to peek behind that wall, my body sent the loudest signal it knew how to send.
Stop. Do not dig. Do not remember. Whatever is behind there, you are not ready to see it.
Serena stared at me. Longer than usual. Her eyes searching my face for something. An answer. The truth. A clue. Anything that could explain why her friend, who had just stood with confidence before the king, was now hunched over on the side of the road throwing up into the bushes.
I did not know what she found. But after a few seconds that stretched into what felt like minutes, she let out a breath.
"Forget it." Her voice was gentler now. No pressure. No more questions. Just acceptance. "Come on. Veralyn is probably waiting for us already."
"You are right."
I straightened up. Wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Took one more deep breath, letting the evening air fill lungs that felt hollow. Then I walked.
One step. Two steps. By the third, my footing was steadier. The world stopped spinning. The door in my head was shut again, lock in place, guards back at their posts.
Safe. For now.
The two of us walked on. Slower than before. Serena glanced at me from time to time, making sure I was walking straight, making sure I was still here.
And before long, at the intersection where the road led toward the guild, a woman stood waiting.
Silver hair gleaming in the evening light like threads forged from the moon itself. Perfect posture, upright, without a single flaw. Her guild cloak hung neatly on her frame. A face as still as the surface of a lake at dawn, but eyes that shifted toward us the instant our footsteps reached her ears.
Veralyn.
Standing there. Waiting. Silent. Like someone used to waiting who never once complained about it.
Serena broke into a run immediately.
"Veracci, I missed you."
She slammed into Veralyn with enough force to knock any normal person off their feet. But Veralyn was not a normal person. She only stumbled back half a step, then stood straight again. She accepted the hug with a flat face and arms that did not move.
But I saw it. A small detail Serena probably did not catch. Veralyn's shoulders, which had been tense, loosened just a fraction. Her cold eyes softened by half a degree. And her fingers, which had been hanging limp at her sides, slowly rose and touched Serena's back. So lightly it was almost nothing. But it was something.
That was Veralyn's version of a hug. The way she expressed affection that nobody had ever taught her. Every tiny movement was worth more than a thousand words.
I walked closer and gave Serena a light tap on the head. "You two were together just this morning. How are you already missing her?"
"Haha, is there a rule against missing someone?" Serena laughed, still clinging to Veralyn. Her face was already bright again, as though what happened on the side of the road never took place.
But I knew she had not forgotten. Serena never forgets.
And without realizing it, I smiled.
Not a big smile. Not a smile anyone passing by would notice. Just a tiny pull at the corner of my mouth. A muscle movement so subtle that only someone paying very close attention could have caught it.
Serena caught it.
Of course she caught it.
She looked at me from behind Veralyn's shoulder. Her blue eyes, which had been full of panic just minutes ago, were now full of something else. Something warmer. And she whispered. Quietly. Just loud enough for my ears. Words that were not from Serena the businesswoman or Serena the negotiator, but from Serena, my oldest friend.
"You have fought so hard to get here. Well done."
My smile vanished on the spot. I corrected my face as fast as I could, pulling every muscle back to the standard flat setting.
But her words had already gotten in. Through the mask I wore. Through the walls I had built. Landing in the one place I guarded more fiercely than anywhere else.
Yes. Serena was right.
Everything I had done. Crescentia. The bank. The printing house. The shopping centers. The trade routes between kingdoms. The abolition of slavery. Public schools. Tax reform. All of it. Every decision. Every night I spent calculating and planning. It was all for one purpose.
To turn this world into a place worth living in.
And to save Veralyn.
The woman standing before me right now with a blank expression and hands that had no idea what to do because a blonde girl was attached to her body like a koala. The woman who lost everything on graduation night. The woman I saved, not because I was some hero, but because I knew that in the game's secret ending, she was the one meant to stand tallest of all.
I had come a long way to reach this point. From a small village at the edge of the forest to the king's palace. From owning nothing to possessing this kind of wealth.
But there was a shadow creeping behind all of it. A shadow I had been trying to ignore for a long time. A shadow that grew darker with each passing day. A shadow that did not care how much money I had or how many schools I had built.
The Demon King.
That shadow had been there from the very start. From the first day I was born into this world and realized where I was. Inside the world of Magic and Love. A game that was not only about romance and academy drama. A game that, once the academy arc ended, turned into a story about the survival of humanity against the forces of darkness.
What worried me was not the Demon King's existence. I had already known he would rise. It was written into the game's storyline. I had been anticipating this moment for years.
What terrified me was a question I could never answer, no matter how long I thought about it, no matter how many books I read or calculations I ran.
What difficulty level was this world set to?
Easy? Normal? Hard?
In the game, there were three difficulty settings. On Easy, the hero party won with no trouble. Monsters were weak. Bosses went down in a few attempts. A happy ending was practically guaranteed. On Normal, the challenges were tougher, but still manageable with the right strategy. A few characters might get hurt, but everyone survived.
But on Hard...
On Hard, a happy ending was not a guarantee. It was a possibility. A possibility that shrank every time you made a mistake.
And I had no idea which setting this world was on.
I did not have a status panel. No menu screen. No save point. No game over that let me try again. If the hero party fell, if Leonhart and Alicia went down on the battlefield, there was nothing I could do to turn back the clock.
If the Demon King won...
I looked at Veralyn. Her silver hair swaying gently in the evening breeze. Her face was blank, but her eyes were alive. More alive than I had ever seen in those early days when she first came to stay at my house. There was life in them now. Life that was slowly growing, like a sprout pushing through the soil after a long, harsh winter.
If the Demon King won, that life would be snuffed out.
I looked at Serena. Her smile. Her laugh. Her energy that could fill an entire room. The way she hugged Veralyn as though tomorrow might never come. The way she whispered words that could crack even the sturdiest walls.
If the Demon King won, that smile would disappear.
I thought about my parents. Back in that little village. My father still working the fields even though his back was starting to hunch. My mother still cooking every morning even though her hands were lined with wrinkles. They loved me without condition in this life, something I had never felt in my previous one.
If the Demon King won, they would all die.
Not a peaceful death. Not from old age. They would die because the world I tried to change was destroyed by a force I could not fight.
And I, with all my money, with all my plans, with all my schools and banks and trade networks, would be powerless.
Because the Demon King was not a problem that money could solve. Not a problem that could be negotiated. Not a problem that could be won with arguments in a meeting room.
The Demon King was raw power. And raw power could only be met with raw power.
And I, Raymond, did not have that kind of power.
I was not a hero. I was not a mage. I was not a warrior. I was an ordinary man armed with knowledge from another world and a lot of money. In a world where dragons soared through the skies and demons could level a city with a wave of their hand, money and knowledge could only carry you so far.
And that distance might not be far enough.
"Sir Ray?"
Veralyn's voice pulled me back.
Soft. Flat. But there was something in it that had not been there a few months ago. A small warmth hidden beneath the unchanging tone. Like a quiet flame behind a wall of stone.
I had been silent too long. Too deep inside my own head.
Ah. I drifted off again.
"Sorry. Come on, time to head home."
The three of us walked toward the carriage waiting at the side of the road. Serena climbed in first, still going on about how impressive I had been in the meeting room, about the Aldric noble's face nearly exploding, about how she almost burst out laughing when I made the entire room go silent. Veralyn followed, sitting in the corner with her flawless posture, listening to Serena's rambling with a blank face that somehow looked just a touch more relaxed than usual.
And I went last. Taking the seat by the window.
The carriage began to move. Wheels creaking over the stone road. The city slowly drifted past the window. Tall buildings gave way to simple houses, then trees, then fields stretching wide, then sky.
A sky so vast it made me feel small.
I watched it from the gently rocking carriage window. The orange had turned to purple. The purple had turned to deep blue. The first star appeared on the western horizon, all alone, blinking faintly against the growing darkness.
In Magic and Love, the hero party always wins. That is the heart of the story. That is what the game sells. Heroes collect legendary weapons. Heroes defeat the demon generals one by one. Heroes stand before the Demon King at the peak of his tower of darkness, and through the power of friendship, love, and courage, they win.
The End.
But this was not a game anymore.
This was the real world. A world where pain was real. Where blood was red. Where people who died could not be brought back. Where there was no player behind a screen who would reload a save file and try again.
In the real world, heroes do not always win.
In the real world, sometimes the darkness wins.
Serena was still talking. Her voice warm. Alive. Brimming with energy. Veralyn listened, nodding now and then, occasionally gazing out the window. The two women I cared about most in this world, sitting in the same carriage, under the same sky.
A sky that might one day no longer exist.
I closed my eyes.
If the hero party lost. If this world was truly fated to fall. If everything I had built was destined to be swallowed by darkness.
Then at the very least, I would make every remaining moment count.
Every morning with a cup of coffee in my garden. Every pointless little argument with Serena about things that did not matter. Every time Veralyn gave a quiet nod to show she was listening. Every time I went home to the village and saw my parents' smiles, unchanged even as their hair turned white.
All of it. Every last second. I would hold on to it.
The evening sky gave way to night. Stars appeared one by one, filling the darkness with tiny points of light flickering faintly. Inside the gently swaying carriage on the road home, Serena had already leaned against Veralyn's shoulder, her eyes half closed. Veralyn sat upright, looking straight ahead, but she did not pull away.
And I sat by the window. Watching the stars come out across the night sky.
For a moment, the world felt good enough.
For a moment.
But I knew that moment would not last forever. And when the time came, when darkness finally knocked on the door, I needed to be ready.
Not to fight. I did not have the strength for that.
But to protect. No matter what happened. In whatever way I could.
The carriage kept moving. Night kept falling. And somewhere at the edge of the world, at the top of a tower invisible to ordinary eyes, a darkness that had slept for thousands of years finally opened its eyes.