"—There doesn't seem to be any deep injuries. Physically, at least. Most of the damage appears to be mental—"
The voice reached him through a thick haze, muffled and distant, as if it were coming from the bottom of a well.
Soren stirred.
His eyelids fluttered, the light seeping through them sharp enough to sting.
He frowned and turned his head slightly, instinctively trying to escape it, then stopped.
His head throbbed.
Not a dull ache, this was sharp, insistent, like someone had driven a wedge straight through his skull and left it there.
His stomach cramped next, a deep, nauseating twist that made his breath hitch.
It wasn't hunger.
It was something worse, something sour and unsettled, as if his body itself hadn't yet decided whether it wanted to keep functioning.
He was tired.
Exhausted in a way that sleep alone couldn't fix.
"…It seems he's woken up," the voice continued, closer now. "But I'm not sure how lucid he'll be."
Soren grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut again.
Not yet.
He didn't want to deal with this.
With people.
With questions.
If he stayed still long enough, maybe they would assume he was still unconscious and leave him alone.
Unfortunately, that hope lasted all of three seconds.
"Soren?"
That one was familiar.
He sighed quietly and opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was white stone, faintly cracked with age.
The scent of herbs and clean cloth lingered in the air, too clean, almost sterile, trying unsuccessfully to mask the underlying smell of blood and medicine.
To his right stood Felix.
To his left was the priestess he had been hearing this whole time, her robes neat, expression professional but not unkind.
Felix looked… wrong.
Not injured, not dishevelled, just wrong.
The easy grin he always wore was gone, replaced by something stiff and restrained; his shoulders were tense, his gaze fixed on Soren in a way that made it clear he hadn't looked away once.
Guilt.
The realisation came to Soren immediately, unbidden.
'Ah.'
'So that's why.'
"Are you feeling alright, Student Soren?" the priestess asked gently.
"I'm fine."
The words came out flat, automatic.
He didn't bother checking whether it was true.
Felix flinched.
It was subtle, just a tightening around the eyes, but Soren noticed it anyway.
He always noticed things like that.
He understood why Felix was looking at him that way.
Anyone would, after what had happened.
But right now, he didn't have the energy to unpack that.
He turned his head slightly toward Felix.
"Felix, what happened to the money?"
The silence that followed was immediate and heavy.
The priestess blinked.
Felix stared at him as if he hadn't heard correctly.
"…That's what you're worried about?" Felix asked slowly.
"Yes."
Soren's throat felt dry.
The reaction was exactly what he expected.
Shock.
Disbelief.
Probably concern, layered atop confusion.
Normally, he might have cared.
Right now, he didn't.
All that mattered was the pouch.
If that was gone, if everything he had done today ended with nothing to show for it, then he wasn't sure how he would even begin to justify it to himself.
Felix exhaled and ran a hand through his hair.
"…It's fine," he said after a moment. "We got it all back. The guards also paid us a reward since those guys were wanted. Here."
He tossed something toward the bed.
Soren caught it reflexively.
The familiar weight settled into his palm, grounding in a way nothing else had managed since he had woken up.
He opened the pouch and tipped the contents slightly, eyes flicking over the coins.
'One… two… seven gold. And… ten silver?'
More than expected.
He paused, fingers tightening around the pouch's drawstring.
For a brief moment, something almost like relief passed through him.
Then it was gone.
"Thanks."
Felix's mouth opened, like he wanted to say something else, then closed again.
Soren tied the pouch shut and looked toward the priestess.
"So when can I leave?"
Her brows knit together.
"Well… physically, you're mostly fine. The stab wound wasn't deep enough to cause lasting damage, and the healing spell worked as intended. You'll be sore for a few days, but nothing serious."
She hesitated.
"However—"
That was enough.
Soren swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.
Pain lanced through his abdomen immediately.
"—ah."
His knees buckled for half a second before he steadied himself, teeth clenched; he pressed a hand against his stomach, right over where the blade had gone in.
'So much for "mostly fine."'
Felix took a step forward.
"Soren, you should—"
"I'll be careful."
He straightened slowly and forced himself upright.
"If I'm allowed to leave, then I'm leaving."
The priestess opened her mouth again, likely to warn him about rest, mental strain, or whatever else healers said in situations like this.
He didn't wait to hear it.
Soren looked at Felix one last time.
"…Thanks for today."
The words felt inadequate, but they were all he had.
Then he turned and walked out of the infirmary, ignoring the way both of their gazes followed him all the way to the door.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
The door to his dorm room clicked shut behind him.
Silence.
Soren crossed the room on autopilot, pulled out the chair by his desk, and dropped into it.
Thud.
The sound felt louder than it should have.
He set the coin pouch down in front of him.
It landed with a dull, solid weight.
He stared at it.
"Seven gold. Ten silver."
The numbers echoed in his head.
'Seven gold. Ten silver.'
He leaned back slightly, eyes unfocused.
'…Was it worth it?'
The question lingered, unanswered.
A quiet, hollow laugh escaped his throat.
"Ha."
It didn't sound like amusement.
"I guess this really is a fantasy world."
Earlier, before he had passed out, his thoughts had been frantic, spiralling wildly from one fear to the next.
'What if I get arrested?'
'What if they expel me?'
'What if killing someone changes everything?'
Now?
Now, it all felt distant, almost ridiculous.
'Nobody even cared.'
Not the guards.
Not the priestess.
Not even Felix, not really.
Kill someone in Ivansia and, as long as they deserved it, you got paid, rewarded even.
It was a realisation that sat heavily in his chest.
Here, murder wasn't a line you crossed; it was a task.
Another problem to solve.
Another obstacle to remove.
'What a barbaric world.'
He knew the thieves had been trying to kill him.
He wasn't stupid enough to believe they would have let him walk away once they had taken the money.
Logically, he understood that.
Emotionally?
That was a different story.
His hands trembled slightly as memories surfaced uninvited.
The resistance of flesh giving way.
The wet warmth splattering across his skin.
The metallic stench that filled his nose, thick enough to taste.
The scream: high, broken, cut off too suddenly.
"Hahh… fuck."
Just thinking about it again made him want to vomit.
He pushed back from the desk and stood abruptly, one hand gripping the edge to keep himself steady.
Just remembering it made bile rise in his throat.
He dragged a hand down his face and turned toward the window, staring out at the dark campus grounds.
'I need a change of pace.'
Staying here, alone, with nothing but his thoughts, felt like a bad idea.
He stripped off his ruined clothes and changed quickly, his movements rough and impatient.
His hair was tied back with little care, his appearance far messier than usual.
He didn't care.
Grabbing the pouch, Soren left the room.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
[Den of Ina]
The sign creaked softly as he looked up at it.
A bar.
Without giving himself time to second-guess it, Soren pushed the door open.
Warm air rushed over him, thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat.
Laughter and low conversation filled the space, blending together into a constant hum.
Normally, he would have turned around immediately.
Today, he walked in.
Back on Earth, he had only ever drunk socially, at celebrations, birthdays, nights out with friends.
He had never liked drinking alone.
Drinking alone only held bad memories.
But today wasn't normal.
He sat at a table near the bar and ordered the cheapest thing on the menu.
The mug was set before him soon after.
"Thanks."
He took a sip.
"Cough—!"
It burned.
His face twisted as the harsh liquid slid down his throat.
'Still tastes like shit.'
No matter the world, alcohol apparently tasted awful.
He forced himself to keep drinking anyway.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
By the time the alcohol really hit him, Soren had lost track of how many mugs he'd had.
Six?
Seven?
More than he should have.
Surprisingly, he was still conscious.
'I should leave soon.'
The thought drifted lazily through his mind.
Getting blackout drunk with a pocket full of money sounded like a great way to wake up robbed, or worse.
He finished another mug and ordered one more, telling himself it would be the last.
When it arrived, his gaze lingered on the surface of the drink.
The memories came back anyway.
Not because he wanted them to.
Because he couldn't stop them.
Thanks to his skill, every second of the fight replayed with perfect clarity.
Every sound.
Every movement.
Every mistake.
'So this is the downside.'
He swallowed.
"It makes things hard," he muttered.
Resting his chin in his hand, he stared at nothing.
From the moment he had been transmigrated, some part of him had known this would happen eventually.
A medieval fantasy world.
An academy that trained fighters.
It would have been stranger if killing had never crossed his mind.
He just… hadn't thought about it deeply.
He had kept pushing it away, telling himself he would deal with it later.
Sip.
'Honestly, I don't feel guilty about killing them.'
If he hadn't acted, he would be dead.
That much was clear.
What haunted him wasn't the choice.
It was the reality.
The screams.
The blood.
The way nobody cared.
…and Felix's eyes.
Sip.
Felix had always been a joke character in TKS, a playboy, loud and shallow.
Even here, that image had mainly held up.
Until today.
The moment danger appeared, Felix had changed.
Cold.
Efficient.
When Soren was stabbed, Felix hadn't panicked.
When he had realised he had to kill, Felix hadn't hesitated.
And when Felix killed them himself…
His expression never shifted.
'What if that was the real him?'
The thought made Soren uneasy.
He knew it was unfair.
Felix had saved his life.
Still.
Characters could change between game and reality.
He had already seen that.
'What if Alex is like that too?'
He sighed and drained the mug.
"What am I even thinking?"
The clock on the wall caught his eye.
'3:19 am.'
A wry smile tugged at his lips; he was glad that it was a weekend.
"Another one," he said quietly.
He wasn't ready to go back yet.
————「❤︎」————