Chapter 145 Angel Call
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Light bloomed beyond the opened door, spilling across a chamber where a great trunk rose from the floor like a pillar of life. Its branches glimmered with jewels, each gem pulsing in rhythm with the mana that coursed through it. The colossal tree flickered between brilliance and dimness, alive and unstable. I triggered an Appraisal at once.
It was a Fairy Tree—known as the Jewel Tree. Its stats flashed before my eyes: high defense, dense mana reserves, and enhanced elemental magic. Annoying. Anything with over a hundred points in both defenses meant the fight would take effort. Still, it wasn’t hopeless; the only real risk lay in its fairy magic breaking through my magic defense.
I tightened my grip on the hammer, its surface glowing with fire mana. Time to end this. With a breath, I invoked Combo Attack, layering in Ambush for good measure. The strike connected—numbers surged in my head, the rhythm of calculation, speed, and power. Fire blossomed, wood cracked, and the Jewel Tree screamed like a living thing before collapsing into shards of light.
So fragile. So unsatisfying. I almost wished I’d fought that damned boss again instead.
The treasure chest materialized with a chime. I kicked it open and found a staff crafted from the tree’s branch, faintly pulsing with inner light. It would sell well—maybe to Mia or the catgirl merchant.
”…So, it’s over then,” someone murmured behind me.
”Too easy. Kind of dull, honestly,” I answered without turning.
Maybe it was time to perform a Sublimation of Existence and dive deeper—seventy floors, perhaps. That would clear my head.
”Are we going back to the surface?” another voice asked.
”I’m thinking of sublimating and descending instead. I need the tension. The thrill.”
I opened my status window. The words ‘Sublimation of Existence Possible’ glowed bright. Without hesitation, I pressed it. Mana surged outward from within, flooding every vein. It felt as if something vast was unfolding inside me. Bliss, power, freedom—the sensations were almost addictive.
A new menu appeared: skill selection. One slot already showed ‘Early Bloom I.’ I tapped it, ranking it up to ‘Early Bloom II.’ Then another slot opened. Strange—before, it was always one at a time. Maybe reality had its perks. I chose ‘Limit Break I,’ a skill that raised the maximum cap of all stats. At its highest level, it could increase limits by a full hundred points. With enough growth, even someone like me might stand beside Dahlia.
Five slots appeared once more. I chose my carryover skills carefully: GolemCrafting IV, Concealment II, Archaeology V, Mobility Boost II, and Stealth Step II. Concealment and Stealth Step would grow just by moving, easy to train. GolemCrafting was insurance, Archaeology—well, I couldn’t bring myself to drop it.
Though my stats had reset, I could still kill from behind with a critical strike. With enough repetition, my stealth would evolve fast. This was the best route.
I finished preparing and started toward the stairs.
”Wait! Wait, Tatara!”
I froze. Right—the others had no way to return. From my inventory, I drew a Teleportation Crystal and tossed it back without looking. I sensed someone tall catching it. Then I continued forward. Alone, I could level faster, and rare monsters were less likely to find me. I swapped my equipment back to the Earth Mother Series—good balance for solo runs.
It had been a while since I’d explored alone. Maybe it was time to enjoy it again.
Arms wrapped around me from behind—thin, trembling. I knew at once who it was; the one who’d been with me longest.
”Please, Tatara… don’t leave me behind.”
”Sorry. You’d only get in the way.”
A soft sob pressed against my back. I ignored it, stepping down the stairs.
I pretended not to notice the regret swelling in my chest.
The sixty-first floor opened before me—holy light spilling through tall arches, the air humming with sacred pressure. Angels dwelled here. The lowest rank, Ninth-Class Angels, moved in patrols. Their bows gleamed, their light magic weak but fast. They dropped Mana Stones and angelic arrow materials, nothing more. The stronger cores came from the Sixth Class and above; the one I’d fought on the surface, Sieve, had been Fifth.
Against my current stats, this would be an even fight. Thanks to my weapon, every attribute hovered around one hundred and thirty, barely enough to match a Ninth. Angels scaled directly with floor level—sixty for Ninth, a hundred for Sixth, and the Fourth class reached over two hundred in every stat. Humans couldn’t hope to beat that.
Even with all my optimizations, my gear, my skills—it would take reaching level seventy just to compete.
Still, I advanced, tracing the wall, watching every shadow. At the next corner, I peeked around and saw an open chamber ahead—several Ninth-Class Angels gliding through shafts of light.
I smiled faintly. Time to hunt.
The first one I saw had long, golden hair that shimmered like sunlight on water. A pair of white wings—broad, sharp-edged like a raptor’s—spread from her back. Her body, wrapped in a sheer fabric, was full and graceful, not erotic but comforting in a way that felt almost divine. She was the kind of being people imagined when they heard the word ‘Angel.’ Not some bound, blindfolded parody—just pure, serene beauty.
In theory, the Angel race possessed true Flight as a standard ability. But the lower rank, the Ninth-Class Angels, carried a flaw: they couldn’t truly fly. Their wings gave only levitation, shallow hovering at best. For me, that meant they could still be reached. If I could close in from behind, a single strike would finish the job.
I used Appraisal on the nearest one.
Name: Ninth-Class Angel. Health and mana both neat at a hundred. Modest power, modest defense. Light attribute. Equipment: an angelic bow and a novice’s robe. Nothing unusual. A perfect target.
I circled around, moving slow and silent. When the distance felt right, I lifted the hammer and struck.
The blow connected cleanly. The angel shattered, her feathers scattering like drifting snow. For a moment, it was beautiful—a cruel kind of beauty—but the level-up chime that followed ruined the mood. The difference between us was too wide; even a single kill was enough to push me higher.
I didn’t stop. Using the shadows and corners, I repeated the process: approach, strike, dissolve. Each fall of my hammer sent light scattering through the air, and each kill drew another small surge of satisfaction. The remaining angels began to sense something wrong, searching for their vanished sisters. It didn’t matter. I was already behind them.
When the seventh fell, I paused to check my progress. My level had risen by nine—no surprise, considering Early Bloom II boosted experience gain by forty percent. Every three kills, I gained four levels. Efficiency beyond reason.
At level ten, a new skill slot opened. I filled it immediately with Ambush III and resumed the hunt. As Stealth Step and Concealment grew sharper, my movements became effortless, my presence a fading blur. The angels never saw me coming.
Luck favored me. Only Ninth-Class Angels appeared; not a single higher rank showed up. Maybe fortune had decided to humor me tonight.
By the time I’d slain twenty, then thirty, my level climbed to forty-four. I could face them head-on now, crush them without stealth—but I kept to the shadows anyway. The rhythm had become addictive. With every new skill slot, I learned something sharper—Ambush, Surprise Attack, Skill Power Boost—and grew stronger still.
Eventually, the floor fell silent. Every angel gone. Before the stairway leading down, my stomach growled for the first time that day. I didn’t know how long I’d been here. Time blurred underground.
With a sigh, I pulled a magic device from my inventory: the Returner, given to me by Dahlia. Powered by a mid-grade Mana Stone, it unfolded like a lotus blooming, delicate and mechanical at once. At its center shimmered a ring-shaped receiver. I slid it onto my right index finger; it fit perfectly.
Then, using Crafting, I made another Teleportation Crystal on the spot—my way home.
Once the spell circle glowed steady, I activated the Returner. Light folded inward, and the world inverted. When I opened my eyes, I stood on the surface again.
Tomorrow, I could resume from exactly where I’d left off. The Returner was brilliant—single-use, yes, but more than worth it. Dahlia’s touch in its design made me oddly proud.
The walk home was quiet. The guild staff looked stunned when I returned alone. I told them not to worry; the crystal I’d handed over meant the others could still teleport out safely. I’d assumed they’d left before me—but apparently not.
Under a yellow moon, I walked through streets alive with faint laughter and the clatter of dishes being washed. The sounds of life. It felt… distant.
At some point, my feet drifted off the familiar path. I didn’t realize until I found myself in an old neighborhood, at a small square that had been there for as long as I could remember. A patch of open ground no one ever built over.
Someone stood there.
”…What are you doing out here, Archangel?” I called softly.
She turned, her back adorned with thirteen luminous blades forming wings, her hands clasped behind her as she gazed at the sky.
”Oh, Tatara-san,” she said with her usual bright, careless smile. “It’s been a while!”
Her cheer disarmed me. I stepped through the open gate and joined her in the quiet clearing.
”What brings you here? Did something happen?” I asked.
She tilted her head, smiling up at the moon. “It’s a beautiful full moon tonight. I just wanted to enjoy it for a bit. Look—it’s lovely, isn’t it?”
I followed her gaze. The moon hung round and golden, untouched by the twin goddesses said to veil the sky. Pure, unfiltered light.
”You’re right. It really is beautiful,” I said—and immediately wondered if I’d phrased it wrong.
She only smiled, eyes still on the sky. Clearly, she hadn’t caught the double meaning from that old literary line. Relief warmed me.
”Hehe, it looks even more beautiful now,” she said softly. “Maybe because you’re here, Tatara-san?”
”You shouldn’t say things that can be misunderstood,” I warned. “You’re defenseless enough already.”
Was she really that oblivious? In the game, lines like that always led to trouble—like in Beyond the Deep Darkness, when the poster girl’s careless warmth cost her her wings. I hoped this time, history wouldn’t repeat.
”Oh, but I only let my guard down around you,” she said with a laugh.
I sighed. “I won’t ask what that means, but please… try to fix that habit.”
She chuckled again, soft and melodic.
”By the way,” she added, “didn’t you want to ask me something?”
”Oh, right,” I said, recalling the thought. “It’s about this flower crown I found—the Blessing Wreath. It has a Growth Promotion effect, but I can’t tell what that really does.”
Her eyes brightened. “As you might guess, it’s an experience bonus. It adds exactly five points of experience to every gain.”
”I thought so,” I said, shaking my head. “Still feels a bit overpowered, doesn’t it?”
In this world, leveling up was simple math: collect a hundred experience points, gain a level. The difference between your level and the enemy’s decided how fast that bar filled. Defeat something ten levels higher, and you’d get the full hundred. Strike down something weaker by five or more, and you’d get barely one. It meant that even the weakest could grow—slowly, stubbornly—if they kept fighting. And if you added a guaranteed five points from the Growth Promotion effect… well, that was absurdly powerful.
Not that it compared to the cheat-tier boost from Early Bloom.
”But to even receive that blessing,” the Archangel said gently, “you must have earned the fairies’ recognition. That alone is proof of good fortune.”
”Yeah,” I murmured. “That sort of thing doesn’t happen by chance.”
It had taken a miracle—saving a pair of Muumin beasts locked in a territorial fight, a scene I’d stumbled upon by pure accident. Luck alone couldn’t explain it.
”Is that really all you wanted to ask me?” she asked.
Her eyes caught mine—clear green, endless, like they could see straight through me.
”I… I don’t know,” I said quietly. “What am I even doing?”
Memories flooded in—of the dungeon, of the three who were supposed to be precious to me, surrounding me, teasing, pushing the wrong buttons until I snapped. I told the Archangel everything: the way they’d mocked me, the way I’d lost control. She listened without interrupting, her silence more comforting than any words could be.
It wasn’t the teasing itself that hurt. The ‘virgin’ jokes were nothing; I’d heard worse. What burned was how they kept repeating it—how their laughter echoed that same old pain from my past life, when coworkers ganged up to shift their mistakes onto me. The anger. The helplessness. The isolation.
Back then, I’d tried to help everyone, to pick up their slack. And they’d rewarded me by voting me the villain. Democracy at its finest.
After that, I’d stopped covering for anyone. Just did my job. When the deadlines slipped, and my boss got chewed out, I didn’t feel guilt—only inevitability. He yelled at me anyway. I’d recorded it, sent it to HR, the president, the labor board. Justice through paperwork.
Since then, I’d known: help people, and they’ll eat you alive. Walk away, and they’ll still blame you. And yet, when I see someone hurting, I can’t stop myself from reaching out. Even when it ends with me getting cut again.
”Do you regret helping people?” the Archangel asked softly.
”I do. Over and over,” I said with a bitter smile. “And still, I keep doing it.”
She smiled faintly, her expression tender. “That’s the Tatara-san I like best.”
I sighed. She really was too open with that kind of thing. If she had a profile page, ‘Likes: Everyone’ would be written in bold.
”Do you remember where we are?” she asked suddenly.
I blinked. “Here?”
The question made me look around. The clearing lay just as it always had—an empty lot between old houses, a shortcut from the library to my place. A hundred meters shaved off the walk. I’d passed through it many times before.
”Wait… this is where we first met, isn’t it?”
Her face lit up. “Ah, you remember!”
I hesitated. She looked genuinely happy about that, though it had been a painful memory—a wounded angel crying under the same yellow moon.
”This is where you gave me the courage to return home,” she said softly.
Her eyes narrowed fondly, shimmering with nostalgia. So it wasn’t just pain she remembered—it was gratitude.
”Tatara-san,” she continued, “you can’t ignore people in pain. You see someone crying, and you move without thinking. That kindness is what saves people—but it also makes them forget it’s special. They start to think it’s normal. I did too.”
Her voice was calm, her smile transparent, unreadable.
”But you need to show your feelings more,” she said, placing both hands against my cheeks. “When something hurts, say so. When you’re angry, let it out. Holding it all in until you break—it’s wrong. That’s how people take advantage of you. That’s how you end up hurting those you love.”
She looked straight into me as she spoke.
”I know you didn’t want to say those things to Ethelena and the others,” she said gently. “But because you never show anger, when you finally lost control, the words came out sharper than you meant. They went too far because you never stopped them before. Tell people when it hurts, Tatara-san. Some will mock you, yes. But others will stand beside you. Ethelena and the others were supposed to be those people—because you loved them.”
Her words echoed through me like a hymn, warm and heavy. For a long moment, I couldn’t speak.
”…Yeah,” I whispered. “They mattered to me. That’s why it hurt so much. I didn’t want to hear those words—I was afraid I’d start hating them.”
Without thinking, I pulled her into my arms. “What was I supposed to do differently? How do you tell people what hurts without pushing them away? When they laughed at my rebirth, it felt like being called a liar by someone you trust. It was stupid, but… it broke something in me.”
The Archangel hugged me back, her hands rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles. It reminded me of my mother’s touch when I was a child and sick with fever. I felt tears rise.
”I hate anger,” I said hoarsely. “Hate sadness. I don’t want anyone to cry because of me.”
”I know,” she whispered. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
”It’s easier alone.”
”No,” she said firmly. “You can’t be alone, Tatara-san.”
Her conviction startled me. I remembered someone else telling me the same thing—that I wasn’t built to bear everything by myself.
”When you’re alone,” she said, voice rising, “you stop being human. You turn into a machine—producing, creating, moving without feeling. What makes you human is connection. The more people you have beside you, the more alive you become.”
Her words grew intense, almost glowing with belief.
”Your role in this world,” she said, “is that of a Creator—one who brings things into being for others.”
I froze. Creator? Who had given me that role?
And suddenly, something in her tone shifted. Her expression grew still, distant.
”When your soul entered this world,” she continued, “it was meant to receive a different role. But by your own will, you cast it aside and reached for another.”
Her eyes dulled, her voice hollowing. The warmth of the angel faded, replaced by something colder, mechanical. The divine law itself seemed to speak through her now.
”You abandoned the role you were meant to fulfill,” the voice said through the Archangel’s lips, now flat and expressionless. “Instead, you took on the role of crafting the tools meant for the one who would have inherited that destiny.”
I frowned. What did that even mean? Was this because I’d wished to live as a Crafter, to build things rather than destroy? Could that one decision really have changed the structure of fate?
”Therefore,” the voice continued, “you cannot exist alone. You must choose the one who will inherit your original role and grant them the vessel worthy of it.”
”And if I don’t?” I asked.
”Then you will lose everything.”
The words landed like cold iron. I remembered an old developer note from the original game series: that this world gave every soul a defined role—destiny, as written by its governing law. Some who touched the gods became part of that system itself. Every being, it said, existed to fulfill a purpose predetermined by the world’s design.
”You’ve already interfered with the fates of those chosen by the world,” the voice said calmly. “Whether your influence will improve or destroy it remains uncertain. But your actions could unravel reality itself.”
Her tone was gentle, but the meaning was pure condemnation.
”And what do you think you’re doing,” she went on, “bringing into existence things that were never meant to be here? Are you trying to destroy the world’s laws?”
I blinked. Wait—was that fear in her expression?
”You make fairy tales real,” she said, her tone almost exasperated. “You manifest concepts that should take eons to stabilize, as if it were nothing! Do you know what it feels like watching you do that? My heart stops every time.”
I almost laughed. “Does the world law even have a heart?”
”A figure of speech,” she said flatly. “Would you like me to stop the heart of a star instead?”
”Please don’t.”
I couldn’t tell if that was a joke or a threat. Probably both.
”The capacity of the vessels you touch has already exceeded what we predicted,” she said next, sounding weary. “Why do you have such a strong death wish, Tatara-san?”
”That’s how you see me?”
She folded her arms. “You keep testing new theories, applying your old-world logic here, building systems from scraps of memory. It’s the mindset of a suicidal genius. The greatest of creators burn out by overwriting the very laws that bind them. When their souls grow too vast, their vessels shatter.”
”So that’s what they meant by ‘the beautiful die young,’ huh.”
”Exactly. And it’s the reason you needed the Sublimation of Existence.”
I exhaled. “Yeah… that.” I’d done it once already, but the thought of doing it again unsettled me.
”Are you planning to leave the people you care for behind?” she asked.
”I don’t even understand my own heart anymore,” I said. “I hurt them, made them cry, and felt nothing.”
Ethelena’s tears, Yohira’s pain—both had left me strangely hollow. No guilt. No satisfaction. Just absence.
”Forget those three for now,” the world said through her.
My eyes narrowed. So, it could read my thoughts now.
”Remember instead the ones who still live because of you—the half-divine girl who bears your child, and the one sustained by the Soul Core you crafted.”
Ichika and Dahlia. Even without the others, the thought of them stirred something faint in my chest—something close to remorse.
”And remember also the ruler of this city, and the immortal who watches over it,” the voice continued.
Calmys. The mayor. My surrogate family. My mentors. Guilt again, deeper this time.
”Set aside those who made you angry,” the world said. “Think instead of those who would mourn if you died. Even this vessel—”
”Don’t you dare call her a thing,” I snapped.
My voice came out sharper than I intended. Rage surged, hot and immediate. The Archangel’s body stood between us, and I hated that I couldn’t strike without hurting her.
”This body merely conveys our will,” the voice began.
”I said don’t treat her like an object,” I cut in. “Push me further, and I’ll craft something that tears your order apart.”
”…Apologies,” it said quickly.
So, the world could fear, after all. And I could feel what it feared: I could sense, in some instinctive way, just how much devastation I was capable of causing with a single act of creation. A recipe or two came to mind—dangerous, world-breaking things.
”I know what you’re thinking,” the voice said. “Please don’t.”
”Oh, so you really are afraid,” I said. “Then it must be something truly catastrophic.”
”You know exactly what it is.”
Yes, I did. The opposite of the Alchemist’s Egg. A theoretical fifth element—pure concept, unanchored. A mythic material said to unify or erase existence depending on its maker’s intent.
”Just a so-called fifth element,” I said. “This world already has mana; one more shouldn’t scare you.”
”Your understanding is dangerously shallow.”
Even the world itself seemed appalled by my casual tone.
”If I had to choose between the world and the Archangel,” I said, “I’d choose her.”
”This is exactly why we call your kind ‘Tatara-ing,’” it muttered.
”…Great. Even the universe mocks me now.”
”Since you insist, I will return this body to its original owner,” it said stiffly.
”Do it fast. Otherwise, I’ll sculpt a divine idol of you just to annoy you.”
”Such malice…”
”You’re one to talk,” I said. “You’re the one who sent me those indecent angel figures.”
”I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
”Sure you don’t. You sound like a bad chatbot.”
Her—its—eyes darted away, guilty as sin. So it really had been the one sending me those bizarre goddess statues and their ‘creative’ poses. Why? Who knew.
”So why use her body this time?” I asked finally.
”Because she was about to break her rules for you,” the world admitted. “Our messages to mortals are bound by limits. She is the eldest of her kind, and her authority is broad, but even so—she was on the verge of exceeding it. For your sake.”
I rubbed my temples. “Unbelievable… what is she thinking?”
”Don’t underestimate her feelings,” it said quietly. “You are loved, even by the world itself.”
”Yeah, that’s insane,” I muttered. “Loved by the literal world? That’s way past my comprehension.”
”There is more,” it began. “Your original role—”
”Don’t tell me,” I interrupted. “If I know, it’ll become fixed. I’d rather not.”
”…You’re an infuriating human being.”
”Blame the world,” I said. “You made it unfair. I’m just surviving in it.”
”Always an answer for everything,” it sighed.
The air thickened, the world’s presence pressing closer. I could feel it—the weight of infinity leaning toward me.
”Go,” I said coldly. “Leave, or I’ll carve your image in marble and stick it in a temple.”
”…In all my existence,” it murmured, “no one has ever threatened the world itself before.”
”Guess there’s a first time for everything,” I said, half-smiling.
Maybe not the kind of first I wanted, but it would do.
Then I took a slow breath. “Hey… mind if I ask one more thing?”
”What is it?” the voice began. “If you’re asking about this vessel’s physical data, I can provide—”
”Stop! Don’t you dare start listing the Archangel’s private stats!” I barked.
…Did it almost say a hundred something? No, no, don’t think about it. If I did, I’d never be able to look at her the same way again.
”What I actually want to know,” I said, exhaling, “is why I can understand what the Archangels say. Others can hear their cries, sure, but only I can make out their words. Why?”
”That’s simple,” the world replied. “Because it’s you.”
Her answer came instantly, flat and confident.
”Because you are Tatara Julon. Because your soul is still wholly your own. That’s what lets you communicate directly with us. There have been other reincarnated souls before, but none have ever understood our language—only you.”
”Great,” I muttered. “A one-of-a-kind cosmic liability. Don’t tell me this has to do with my ‘true role,’ does it?”
”Not at all.”
That was a little too fast of an answer. Probably best not to press further anyway.
”So, since I’m supposedly a ‘Creator,’ is that why my Crafting skill doesn’t have any limits?”
”That’s just another anomaly unique to you,” the voice said, almost sounding tired. “Honestly, what are you? You keep inventing new items, reshaping reality like it’s a hobby. Even if we allocated all the resources of your original role to you, this level of distortion is absurd. Normally, lifting a skill restriction like that would mark someone as an enemy of the world.”
”Ah,” I said. “So I’ve basically been walking across a collapsing bridge this whole time.”
”Indeed. And on top of that, by breaking this child’s destiny and making her fall in love with you, you’ve made it impossible for us to categorize you as an enemy. Do you realize how insane that is? She’s a celestial being barely a decade old—stop seducing the world’s children!”
”I didn’t seduce anyone!” I groaned. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
Might as well ask. “Is that… part of some fate mechanic or something?”
”No. You simply have a natural charisma that affects certain kinds of entities. Stop blaming us for it.”
”Right. Got it.” I shut my mouth fast. The irritation in the world’s tone was palpable.
”You keep talking,” she sighed. “It’s delaying the transfer. Anyway, I’ll be taking my leave now.”
”Fine. But next time you’ve got business with me, don’t possess her body. I’ll make you your own if I have to.”
”Please don’t joke about things you could actually do,” she said quickly.
Then the Archangel’s body went limp. I caught her before she hit the ground, holding her upright as her breathing steadied. She was out cold.
”…You know,” her voice murmured faintly, “you could do something indecent right now. I wouldn’t resist.”
I blinked. “Absolutely not, idiot. If you can talk, you can stand.”
”Hmmph. I was just curious about what ‘indecent’ means to you,” she pouted as she regained her balance.
I sighed. “You okay now?”
”Yes,” she said, smiling faintly. “My superior is back in control… but I probably need to return soon.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice.
”One last thing before I go,” she said softly. “Tatara-san, reincarnators like you are each meant to bear a role in this world. You should have been given optimized skills to match that purpose.”
”In other words,” I said, “I broke the system before spawning in.”
”Yes,” she said with a sheepish laugh. “My superior panicked when that happened.”
I could imagine. Canceling out some divine plan mid-transfer probably didn’t sit well with the cosmic bureaucracy.
”As a result,” she continued, “your role was reassigned to others living in this world. You are now helping them fulfill it. That was my superior’s decision.”
”…And you’re just telling me this? Isn’t that, like, a breach of divine NDA?”
”Completely,” she said without hesitation.
”Yeah, thought so.”
Basically, she’d just committed a celestial-level confidentiality violation. If this were a company, she’d be facing disciplinary action.
”If I’m only reprimanded, I’ll consider it a mercy,” she said with a faint chuckle.
”If you get fired, come live with me,” I said. “I’ll hire you.”
She blinked. Then smiled—soft, mischievous, tender. “In that case… maybe I’ll take permanent employment.”
I didn’t answer. If that ever happened, if her mind was erased as punishment, then I already knew what I’d do: build something that could rewrite the heavens themselves.
”Tatara-san,” she said quietly, “you might not be ready to forgive Ethelena and the others yet. Maybe you won’t be for a long time. That’s fine. Sometimes it’s necessary not to forgive—at least until your heart can face it without breaking. Only then will you find an answer that feels right.”
Her smile was warm, sorrowful, radiant. I was about to reply when her hand came up suddenly, covering my eyes. Then something soft brushed my lips.
By the time my mind caught up, she was gone—vanished faster than light, leaving only the echo of warmth behind.
”…Poster girl, what the hell was that,” I muttered to the empty square.
Notes:
• Dahlia – The automaton.
• Yohira – Torakuma’s first name. Oni warrior.
• Ichika – The fox girl. Kunoichi. Virgincest⚠️, becomes pregnant immediately.
• Calmys – War God’s knight, Mayor’s guard chief, whip-master hiding as a swordswoman; sharp tongue, big-sister vibe to Tatara, grants him and Ethelena church protection.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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