"Come back and play soon!" the children shouted, waving enthusiastically as Ayanokoji and Rem began the trek back to the Roswaal manor.
"I didn't expect the children to take such a liking to you," Rem said softly. The jagged edge of her voice had smoothed significantly. "You're... different than I thought."
"I just played with them," Ayanokoji replied flatly. He noted the drop in her guard. Every interaction with the children had been a calculated investment in "social capital" to neutralize Rem as a threat.
"Why 'unexpected'?" he asked, pushing the conversation to probe her bias.
"Because you seem like the type who is cold to everyone. I assumed you had no friends," Rem said with brutal honesty. "I didn't think you'd be popular with the little ones."
"A harsh assessment," Ayanokoji noted. To him, "friends" didn't exist; there were only tools with high utility and trash with none. Still, the rapport was building. He sensed that if he could just clear the final hurdle of her suspicion, she would become a fiercely loyal asset.
"Rem," he said, deciding to be direct. "Do you still distrust me?"
Rem blinked, startled by his bluntness. "Yes."
"Because of my unknown origins?"
"That," Rem nodded, "and because you have a scent."
"A scent?" Ayanokoji's brow twitched. He was meticulous about hygiene; a foul odor was a social liability he wouldn't permit. He subtly sniffed his sleeve. Is it a pheromone? A magical marker? "What kind of scent?"
"The stench of the Witch," Rem replied. The warmth that had briefly flickered between them vanished, replaced by a killing intent so cold it felt like a physical weight. "You are a guest, Lord Kiyotaka. But if you make one suspicious move, I will kill you myself."
"A very direct threat," Ayanokoji said, his face an unreadable mask. He didn't push further.
Back at the manor, Rem headed to the kitchen while Ayanokoji sought out Beatrice.
"Is Beatrice's room now a public thoroughfare, I wonder?" the librarian snapped as Ayanokoji pushed open the door. She looked more annoyed than usual. How does he keep finding the Crossing Door? Is it luck, or is he tracking the mana ripples?
"I was looking for the washroom. I ended up here," Ayanokoji lied. He needed Beatrice's perspective. She wasn't bound by the same loyalty to Roswaal as the twins; she was an independent variable.
"Then leave!" Beatrice raised her hand to eject him.
"Wait. I have a question. What is the 'Scent of the Witch'?"
Beatrice froze. Her expression turned grave. "It is the Witch's Afterglow. A lingering miasma. It clings to you like a rot, I suppose. It's making my library smell like a stagnant tomb."
The Afterglow... Ayanokoji processed this. It wasn't environmental; it was internal. He thought back to his arrival. He hadn't touched anything unusual. If the scent was there from the start, it was a property of his very existence in this world.
"Who is this Witch?"
Beatrice looked at him as if he were an idiot. "In this world, 'The Witch' refers to only one: Satella, the Witch of Envy."
Ayanokoji narrowed his eyes. The name Emilia gave me in the first loop. Beatrice gave him a brief, begrudging history lesson on the Witch and her cult. "Why do you carry her scent? Are you with the Witch Cult?"
"I don't know what that is."
"Fine. Beatrice's patience is at its end! Out!" A gust of wind sent Ayanokoji tumbling into the hallway, and the door slammed shut.
He stood up and brushed off the dust. Royal Selection. Assassins. The Witch's Scent. The Cult. The puzzle was growing more complex.
The Next Morning
A violent pounding at his door woke him. Emilia burst in, her eyes red-rimmed and her face pale. She looked devastated.
"Kiyotaka... please, come with me..." her voice broke.
Ayanokoji noticed the twins weren't there to wake him. He followed Emilia, already forming a hypothesis based on her distress. Ram or Rem. High probability of death.
As they approached a guest room, he heard it—a raw, gut-wrenching wail. It was Ram.
Ram is alive. Therefore, the victim is Rem.
He stepped into the room. Ram was on her knees by the bed, sobbing uncontrollably, her voice raspy from screaming. Roswaal and Beatrice stood nearby, their faces grim. Felt and Old Man Rom stood by the wall, silent and uncomfortable.
On the bed lay Rem. Her skin was the color of marble. She wasn't breathing.
Ayanokoji walked toward the bed. He didn't feel the weight of the tragedy; he felt the need for a Forensic Inspection. He needed to know the cause of death—poison, curse, or internal trauma—to calculate the next threat.
He reached out to check her carotid artery.
"GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF HER!" Ram shrieked, slapping his hand away with a strength born of fury. Her eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated hatred. To her, the man with the "Witch's Scent" was the only possible culprit. "Don't touch Rem! Don't you dare touch my sister!"
"I only wish to verify her condition," Ayanokoji said, his voice as flat and cold as the corpse on the bed. "The data might be important."