Before I knew it, I was sleeping in a bed somewhere indoors—consciousness returning slowly, like surfacing from deep water.
It was the kind of situation where you'd want to say dramatically, "What an unfamiliar ceiling..."—but unfortunately... well, nothing wrong with that exactly, but the ceiling looked entirely familiar. I'd stared at it enough times to have it memorized.
This was the ceiling of the Ansheinus family mansion. My room, specifically—the servant's quarters I'd occupied for years.
I slowly raised my body, testing my limits—
"~~~...!!"
Every joint in my body screamed with severe pain. Like being sanded down, abraded to raw nerve endings—each movement igniting fresh agony.
At the same time, I saw myself in a state that made me want to say, "Well, of course."
My clothes had been completely removed, replaced by—or rather, my entire body was covered in bandages. Wrapped tightly down to my fingertips, the stiff texture tickling against skin wherever it touched.
I looked like a seriously injured patient. Which made sense, because I *was* a seriously injured patient.
My body trembled in small increments—*wanawana*—beyond my control.
Even that slight motion hurt like hell, but I couldn't suppress it now. The shaking came from somewhere deeper than muscle or bone.
"...Haa."
I exhaled plenty of air that had accumulated in my lungs—a long, shuddering breath that seemed to carry weeks of tension.
And muttered as if the words would escape naturally whether I wanted them to or not:
"...I'm alive."
The fact settled into my chest, heavy and precious. *Alive.* Against all odds, against prophecy and fate and the story's cruel demands.
＊＊＊
I didn't remember what happened after that final moment—memories slipped away as if deliberately excised.
I must have fainted from the migraine caused by forcing myself to use magic, the gaping wound on my back, and various other accumulated pains conspiring to shut down consciousness.
In fact, according to those who'd rushed over when reports came that something terrible was happening, I'd been lying there as if dead. Well, anyone would think so seeing a blood-soaked, deathly pale body sprawled motionless.
But in the end, I survived. Was surviving, present tense—breathing, thinking, *existing*.
Just biting into that fact made me tremble with joy—but I'd savor that properly later. First, I needed to understand what had happened.
The aftermath of my unconsciousness had apparently been complete chaos—slapstick wouldn't even cover it.
Well, it was hardly surprising. Nearly all the children had almost died, and the guards assigned to Erica had been completely wiped out. Annihilated. Not a single survivor among them.
According to experts who'd analyzed the incident, the monster that attacked us was apparently a type of "Demon"—capitalized, specific, terrifying.
The "Demons" of this world were monsters born from the condensation of negative emotions from living beings—entities that didn't carry out normal life activities. Ghosts made manifest, feelings given teeth and claws.
And the expert opinion was that the creature we'd confronted was probably the embodiment of regret from a child who'd died in that forest. Trying to distract from the loneliness that composed its core by clinging to and rampaging against living human children.
Such entities were apparently sometimes seen in places where trial ceremonies were performed—inevitable, since not every child survived their coming-of-age test.
...However, generally speaking, "Demons" born this way were weak enough not to pose a real threat.
To put it bluntly—though the phrasing was harsh—they didn't possess much strength because they originated from children who'd lost their lives during a ceremony. The source material lacked the power to create something truly dangerous.
But the monster we'd faced... frankly speaking, it was an outrageous level. Ridiculously powerful.
It was comparable to the upper echelons of "Demons"—the kind that should never appear in a basic training forest.
In response to this discrepancy, theories emerged that it might have been an artificially enhanced individual. A large-scale investigation was conducted, but even now, no culprit had been found.
The investigation supposedly continued, but prospects seemed grim. There was no testimony from anyone involved, after all.
Because all the children who'd been there were dead, and all the adult guards were dead and voiceless. Silenced permanently.
That fact alone had caused quite a commotion—understandable, given that more than ten knights had died.
Funerals, support for bereaved families, securing replacement personnel—it caused great shock both practically and mentally for everyone involved. I'd also taken it pretty hard, having known several of the guard knights personally.
Just the mere fact that monsters existed capable of killing combat professionals like knights instilled profound anxiety in people. The illusion of safety had been shattered.
Adelbater and many others had apparently scrambled to control the impact of this incident, managing the fallout and preventing panic.
Well, it all seems to have concluded while I was sleeping—unconscious for the political aftermath.
So, well, it had been messy like that. The damage assessment: numerous serious injuries. The death count, including the child possessed by the demon, couldn't be tallied on ten fingers. Double digits, easily.
Through all this, what I felt most acutely was a sense of powerlessness. Inadequacy that cut deeper than any blade.
I'd been pathetic. Worthless when it mattered most.
*What's this about becoming the strongest?* With that kind of performance, I'd be dead before reaching anything close to peak power.
I'd actually almost died, nearly ruined everything I'd worked for. Three years of preparation rendered meaningless by a single encounter.
...This incident was almost certainly the cause of death for "Erica's childhood friend" in the main story. The prophesied tragedy, happening right on schedule.
So I'd overcome the line of death! Avoided the bad ending! Success!
...Except, no. Obviously not.
I might face a near-death crisis from something else entirely. Some other threat the story had waiting.
Would I ask Erica to help me again? Keep relying on the person I was supposed to protect?
*What kind of guardian needs guarding?* The irony was bitter, humiliating.
Moreover, there was no certainty she'd even be there next time. No guarantee she could save me again.
Well... actually, she probably would be there. But that was beside the point, a different problem entirely.
I had to become stronger. *Had* to, no alternative.
I needed power sufficient to deflect anything—to protect without needing protection in return.
This was my motivation crystallized: not just survival anymore, but genuine strength. The kind that made prophecies irrelevant, that rewrote fate through sheer overwhelming capability.
Besides, I'd just now realized something crucial: *I absolutely cannot die.*
My relationship with Erica was changing little by little—shifting into something dangerous, something I hadn't intended.
Well, the main cause was her behavior. Her dependence, her possessiveness.
I was becoming someone who must not die... whether I wanted that burden or not.
＊＊＊
It was late afternoon when the sun shone cheerfully outside—warm light promising normal, peaceful days.
But I was in a dimly lit room with only a little sunlight penetrating—curtains drawn, atmosphere deliberately intimate.
"Um, Lady Erica, could you let me go now...?"
I spoke with a feeling of internal panic, trying desperately to maintain composure.
While attempting to remain as indifferent as possible to the soft sensation pressed firmly against my left arm. Warm, yielding, utterly distracting.
"...No. If I let my attention waver, I worry you'll go somewhere far away... My heart fills with anxiety just thinking about it."
"No... yes. I'm well aware of that, and I'm grateful, or sorry, or...?"
My voice trailed off uncertainly as I looked at the black tentacles binding my hands—her Celestia made manifest, coiled around my wrists like living rope.
I could tell just by testing that no amount of pulling or magic usage would break them. The strength was absolute, unquestionable.
"But at least, um, could you remove these restraints...?"
"I don't want to. I haven't felt 'Liam' enough yet today."
She said this while puffing out her cheeks like a toddler—the gesture both endearing and deeply concerning given the context.
Seeing that expression, I couldn't bring myself to push back forcefully.
Well, I couldn't push back forcefully in the first place. The power dynamic had shifted irreversibly.
"N-no... even so..."
But I wanted to somehow escape this situation. Needed to, desperately.
It was easy to recognize this wasn't an appropriate situation between a healthy butler and his master. Boundaries had been thoroughly demolished.
And besides...
"We'll be entering the academy soon... so please restrain yourself a bit...!"
I lamented with half-teary eyes, voice plaintive and somewhat pathetic.
This was the action beat that changed everything—not a physical movement, but a temporal shift. Five years compressed into realization. The revelation that time had passed, the story's start loomed, and everything had fundamentally transformed.
—Five years had passed since that incident. Five years of recovery, training, and gradual transformation.
Erica and I would both be fifteen years old now. And that age meant... yes.
The *Celestia Kingdom* main scenario was set to begin. The game's plot would finally start moving, protagonists and antagonists taking their positions.
I'd somehow managed to survive until now—made it to the story's official start.
Considering how I'd felt five years ago, facing near-certain death, this qualified as a "hooray" result. Victory, of a sort.
Well, I'd been lucky. Incredibly, impossibly lucky.
But the price paid wasn't small. Not small at all.
There were many reasons for that. One of them involved my unique magic, my Celestia.
That power which had broken through when I'd been closest to death—its effect was to [Copy] the target's Celestia. Duplicate and replicate unique abilities.
*I can copy and use anyone's human unique abilities as much as I want!? That's super strong!*
Five-year-old me, when this magic first manifested, had thought exactly that. Imagined endless possibilities, combinations, overwhelming versatility.
But well, there's no way things would work out that conveniently. Reality rarely cooperates with childish fantasies.
This [Copy] ability had a significant drawback—a fatal flaw that balanced its incredible potential.
Namely:
*'Once you copy a magic even once, your resistance to it becomes drastically reduced.'*
Simply put: if I copied a magic that discharged 10V of electricity, and then got hit by the original magic afterward, about 1000V would course through my body instead. Amplification, not resistance.
To be honest, it was quite a critical weakness. Fatal under the wrong circumstances.
At minimum, tactics like "copy the opponent's magic during battle and surprise them!" were infinitely difficult. Suicidal, really—setting myself up for catastrophic damage.
And more importantly, specifically:
I'd copied Erica's Celestia. Her magic was truly versatile, genuinely powerful.
In terms of offensive usage, I'd probably be fine now—I could endure an attack-oriented deployment of her black tentacles without dying.
But... alternative applications presented problems.
For example, when used for restraint like now—I was essentially powerless against it.
Magic fundamentally depended on mental image, on will and visualization. The restraints carried out through her firm, unshakable image were unmatched by ordinary people. Absolute in their certainty.
Therefore, I was currently in a state where my limbs were restrained and I was almost completely incapacitated—helpless despite all my training, all my supposed growth.
If Erica were to lose her mind and point a knife at me, I probably couldn't resist. Wouldn't be able to stop her from doing anything she wanted.
Well, with her specifically, such a thing would never—
Suddenly, Erica opened her mouth, interrupting my thoughts.
"...That's exactly why, you see? We'll be spending more time apart at the academy, so I need to feel Liam now, while I can."
*Gyu*—the strength of her grip on my arm intensified, fingers digging in possessively.
The sweet smell that wafted over at that moment stirred my thoughts into confused circles—intoxicating and alarming in equal measure.
"Ah, that's right."
As if suddenly remembering something important, her tone shifted.
"If there are any troublemakers at the academy... if there are times when you can't handle them roughly yourself, please tell me, okay?"
Sharing a generous, weighted silence, she continued with words that sent ice through my veins:
"Because I won't forgive anyone who disturbs our peace. No one at all."
Perhaps there was a bouncy musical note at the end of that statement—a lightness that made the threat somehow worse.
She said it so casually, with a smile and an innocent expression that belonged on someone discussing the weather, not implying violence.
My gaze was drawn into her eyes—entirely black, containing not a single trace of white. Pupils swallowed by darkness, windows into something I didn't want to name.
Was it because of the lighting? Or was it due to emotions I couldn't begin to parse?
I didn't want to judge anymore. Didn't want to think too hard about implications.
*She hasn't already fallen into darkness... right? That's not possible yet... right?*
This was right after the start of the main story—the corruption shouldn't begin for months, maybe years.
But looking at her now—at those lightless eyes, that possessive grip, that casual threat delivered with a smile—I thought something deeply ominous.
The scenario was beginning. The pieces were moving into place.
And I couldn't shake the terrible suspicion that I'd already failed somehow. That by surviving, by accepting her help, by allowing her dependence to grow unchecked—I'd set events in motion that no amount of future effort could reverse.
The childhood friend had survived his prophesied death.
But what happened to the villainess when the tragedy that should have corrupted her was prevented?
What happened when she never lost her reason to fall into darkness—because that reason refused to die, stayed beside her, let her hold on so tightly he couldn't breathe?
I didn't know. The game had never covered this scenario, this branching path.
I was in uncharted territory now. Flying blind into a future I couldn't predict.
And somehow, that felt more terrifying than any prophesied death ever had.