Wait. I replied in my mind as irritation cut through the fog in my head. Didn’t you recommend earlier that plotting was not a good coping mechanism?
<
God damn this Retort-o-core.
I opened my eyes with effort, a dull ache blooming behind them as I drew in a long, shuddering breath. The last thing I clearly remembered was that horrible, soul-crushing revelation—and then nothing. Just a hard cut to black.
Now, the world had returned. Stone ceiling. Semi familiar arches. The lecture room. Someone had moved me.
“Perfect,” I muttered under my breath, voice hoarse and laced with venom. “Not only am I trapped in a world that wants to kill me, but now I can’t even have chocolate. Fan-fucking-tastic.”
“Oh hey,” Arthur’s voice chimed in from my left, far too cheerful for my liking. “He’s awake again.”
I pushed myself and sat upright, joints protesting slightly as my vision cleared. Arthur was there, arms crossed, so was my brother who stood beside him. Trayn and Taka hovered nearby, Reika and Shizuku lingered just behind them, their expressions ranging from amused to mildly concerned. At the front of the room, Celestia had already resumed her place, pretending very hard not to look guilty.
“Arthur and Trayn carried you here,” Taka said, nodding toward them.
“Yeah,” Arthur added with a grin that needed to be punched at least once. “Your dad said we should just leave you there for being dramatic. But you weren’t really doing much for the décor, so—”
He pointed down, indicating to the seat I was currently occupying.
“You’re lighter than you look,” Trayn remarked, genuinely surprised. “No offense.”
<
No, I hissed in my mind. Don’t scan me, damn it.
<
Fuck.
<
High muscle density detected. Elevated bone density detected.
Conclusion: Subject possesses well-built, athletic physique concealed beneath visual distortion.
Error: Root cause unknown. Further analysis blocked by unidentified field.>>
I stared straight ahead, jaw tight.
Well. At least my holo-hypnotic field still worked—even on a sentient system that wouldn’t shut up.
“This world can burn,” I muttered flatly, the words carrying the weight of someone who had just lost something sacred.
“Bruv, come on,” my brother said, exasperation creeping into his voice. “Really? We just found out magic is real. We’re not even a quarter of the way into this whole adventure, and you’re already throwing in the towel?”
I exhaled slowly, leaning back against the bench, eyes drifting toward the high windows where light filtered in. For a moment, I didn’t answer.
“I didn’t say I was giving up,” I said quietly, my voice low and even. “I said this world can burn. There’s a difference.”
<
I closed my eyes again, letting my head rest against the back of the bench. The ache in my chest dulled into something manageable—less despair, more simmering irritation. My lips twitched despite myself. This Retort-o-Unit just told me to have sex. The choice was a no brainer.
“…Spite it is,” I murmured.
Thwack.
Something hit my right knee. I jolted and looked down.
The little princess was crouched in front of me, her small hand still hovering mid-swing like she was deciding whether to hit me again. Her brows were knit together in exaggerated concern, lips puffed out in a tiny frown.
“Hey, weirdo,” she said bluntly. “Why are you being weird?”
I stared at her for a second as the four idiots beside me snickered. I exhaled deeply, the fight draining out of me all at once.
“Because your world doesn’t have chocolate,” I replied, exhausted.
She tilted her head. “What’s chocolate?”
I didn’t answer. Words felt unnecessary. Instead, I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing against something precious, and pulled out another small cube. I held it out to her, palm open, stopping just short of her mouth.
She eyed it suspiciously for a heartbeat.
Then—without hesitation—she popped it into her mouth in a single bite.
The reaction was instant. Her posture straightened as if struck by divine inspiration. Her eyes widened. Then she broke into a grin so bright it felt borderline dangerous, cheeks lifting, teeth flashing. She jabbed both index fingers toward her mouth, bouncing slightly on her heels like she had just discovered fire.
I nodded absently, already knowing.
Without another word, she spun around and sprinted back toward the front row, enthusiasm radiating off her in waves. I could hear her excited babbling even as she reached her parents, hands flailing as she tried to explain what she’d just experienced.
I slumped back against the bench again, suddenly very tired.
<
“…Yeah,” I muttered. “I know.”
I looked around. Everyone was either staring at me like I’d suddenly sprouted feathers and started dancing, or were already deep in their own conversations, the moment having moved on without me.
“Why haven’t we started yet?” I asked.
“Lady Celestia said we need the arcane evaluator again,” Arthur replied. “We’re just waiting for the people who went to get it to come back.”
“So… what were you all doing while I was out?”
“Before you woke up?” Arthur said. “Mostly talking about what kind of subclasses would be good.”
“You’re welcome to join us if you want,” Trayn offered, glancing over. “We could use the input.”
I waved a lazy hand. “No need. You people are going to pick magic anyway.”
“Yeah, well, that was going to be the first one,” Arthur said, sounding faintly defensive. “We like have four more.”
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I chuckled under my breath.
Magic. Of course it was magic.
I remembered the first time I’d learned about it—back when it was just a concept, a fantasy, something exciting and distant. Back when the idea of power was clean and uncomplicated. Compared to that, my current worries were painfully mundane. I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t frontline material. I was, by most definitions here, combat-adjacent at best.
My biggest problem wasn’t demons or destiny.
It was chocolate.
Ah.
What exactly was I supposed to do with this ache in my chest?
Before Arthur could turn away, before I could second-guess myself, the words slipped out. Uninvited. Unfiltered.
“I just want to—,” I sang, the words stretching into a slow, mournful tune—my own twisted rendition of an old love song. A melody I hadn’t thought about in years, clawing its way up from some dusty corner of my memory. The kind of song you only sing when you’re exhausted, when irony is the last armor you have left.
<
For once, I agreed with it.
“—see the world on fireeeee.
I don’t need heaven or a higher flame.
I just need chocolate to my name.”
<
Conversations around me began to die mid-sentence, like candles snuffed out by an unseen hand. Chairs creaked. Bodies shuffled. Heads turned.
“I’ve lost all ambition, no fanfare or fame.
Just a slow-burning wish I can’t explain,” I continued, voice steady in spite of myself. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I need to get this out.
“I’m not asking a world of desireeeee.
Here’s my admission, I let it unwind.
Dark thoughts are rising, just filling my mind.
If it ends tonight, I’ll sleep just the same—
With chocolate in hand, while setting the match aflame.”
Silence. Not the awkward kind. The total kind. Everyone was staring now.
I kept singing—softly, bitterly, and just loud enough for the world to hear.
“Trust me, I will set the world on fireeeee,
So, the world should do its part
To find the chocolate I looong iiiin myyyy heeeeeart.”
I finished.
Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta. Small hands clapped enthusiastically. The little princess was on her feet, applauding like she’d just witnessed the greatest performance of her short life.
<
Wait.
Did you just sigh at me?
Before I could process that retort, the room finally remembered how to breathe.
“…What. The. Fuck.” Arthur said slowly, carefully, “Was that?”
Trayn was doubled over, torn between laughing and calling a priest.
“That,” Taka said after a pause, rubbing his chin, “might be the most unhinged thing I’ve ever heard.”
He was close to laughing, the other boys were the same. The queen kept a polite smirk while the king was ready to join Trayn. Crazy mage Celestia, for her part, stared at me with wide, sparkling eyes—less fear, more awe.
Wait. What?
“That,” she said reverently, “was oddly poetic.”
“No,” Shizuku snapped, pointing at me. “That was a villain monologue with a backing track.”
The princess ran back over and tugged on my sleeve.
“When you burn the world,” she asked brightly, “can I help?”
I looked down at her. “…We’ll talk about it,” I replied.
<
“You ready to join the Disney villain league or something?” my brother said, squinting at me like he was reassessing several childhood memories all at once. “I don’t think they have an opening.”
Arthur laughed, rubbing his face. “God dammit, Vi. You’re really gonna start your villain arc because you didn’t have chocolate?” He shook his head, equal parts disbelief and resignation. “This isn’t how I imagined it’d be.”
Shun tilted his head a wide smile on his face. “Wills, your brother’s weirdly talented in the weirdest of areas.”
Hanzo nodded along. “Yeah. Singing and, I think people call that kind of singing improv?”
“The lyrics though,” Yuu shrugged. “It’s a bit much.”
“Yeah,” my brother replied with a wry smile. “He needs to work on that.”
“Vi-kun, Vi-kun, Vi-kun,” Suzu cut in cheerfully, bouncing just a little on her heels. “Suzu thinks that having an addiction to chocolate is a bad thing.” She paused, then smiled brightly. “But Suzu is impressed that you can sing well.”
That… did not help. Or make me feel any better.
Needless to say, my parents were not thrilled.
My mother pinched the bridge of her nose, a slow, practiced motion that spoke of long experience. Her head tilted downward, the overhead light reflecting off her glasses and hiding her eyes completely—which only made it worse. I didn’t need to see them to know they were furrowed with a lethal mix of rage, concern, and deep parental disappointment.
My father didn’t bother with subtlety.
“Can’t you be normal for one day!?” he nearly shouted.
Fortunately—mercifully—we were in the presence of royalty, so it came out more like an aggressively loud stage whisper than a full yell. Still echoed, though.
“I am normal,” I muttered. “Normal people like chocolate.”
<
Celestia cleared her throat delicately from the front of the room, trying—and failing—to look authoritative while still clearly processing everything that had just happened.
The arcane evaluator chose that moment to arrive. Carried by four people again.
“Well,” she said after a beat, “that was… unexpected. But I have to agree with lady Suzu. Lord Vi, you have a beautiful singing voice.”
I slumped back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as the people in front finished setting up the machine. This world had magic. It had demons. It had summoning rituals and legendary heroes.
But it didn’t have chocolate.
And somehow, against all odds, that felt like the real tragedy.
<
As the others set up the machine, I let the noise fade into the background and accelerated my thoughts again—this time inward.
My view changed as I dove inward.
The lecture hall dissolved, replaced by my domain of space and starlight. The Mitsudomoe still hung above, brighter and gentler than the moon, its threefold glow casting reflections across an endless expanse of crystalline water. No ripples formed as I walked across.
Ahead of me hovered a small glowing sphere, no bigger than a marble.
“So,” I said quietly, stopping a short distance away. “This is what you look like.”
<
I didn’t flinch. Instead, I observed it.
The sphere trembled. Not violently—just enough to notice. A subtle, uneven quiver in its light.
It was afraid.
That realization settled in slowly, heavily.
This wasn’t part of the system. This wasn’t supposed to be here. That explained much. Why it slipped past the evaluator, why it didn’t announce itself properly, why it behaved less like a rigid function and more like… something improvising. Something reacting.
Because it was—something else.
“Relax,” I said, keeping my voice calm and even. “I just accelerated my thoughts. You’re here because I’m here. This is my domain, my inner world. It is both part and representation of my soul.”
I took a step back, then bowed. A deliberate gesture. Controlled. Respectful.
“I bid you welcome.”
The effect was immediate.
The trembling eased. The glow steadied, its light smoothing out, as if my voice—no, my intent—had reassured it that it wasn’t in danger. That I wasn’t here to dissect or dominate it. Yet.
Interesting.
I thought back to earlier, when I had said, I am normal, normal people like chocolate, it hadn’t understood the nuance. No sarcasm. No emotional parsing beyond the surface meaning.
This meant it couldn’t probe as deeply as I had thought. Which was good.
Still…
“Earlier,” I continued, lifting my head, “you sighed. Care to explain that?”
The sphere flickered once. Was that, curiosity? I felt a bit mischievous.
“I barely have you for a few days and you’re already tired of me,” I teased. “Ha. I win.”
There was no verbal response. Instead, I felt something. Not a voice. Not data.
A thread.
It brushed against my soul so lightly I almost missed it—an impression more and less than an emotion. Hesitation. Uncertainty.
Which was… deeply unsettling. Because this thing was supposed to be a skill. Skills didn’t hesitate. They didn’t feel. They didn’t react like this.
Then something else surfaced.
Not fear. Not confusion.
Embarrassment. Outrage. The sphere flared—just a fraction brighter—and the thread tightened, carrying a sharp, unfamiliar intensity with it.
“…Oh,” I murmured. I then sat down crossed legged and observed it more.
So, it could feel indignation. That was new.
Then, I felt another presence behind me.
This one was impossible to miss—fire and ash, old heat and authority. A familiar weight settled lightly atop my head, warm but not oppressive, like a blessing given without ceremony.
“So,” Nana baa?san said as she stepped to my side, her voice carrying that same calm that had steadied me my whole life. “This is what you’ve been talking to.”
She regarded the trembling sphere with discerning eyes. “What is it?”
<
Looks like it couldn’t detect her until our domains overlapped—until both our domains became one.
“Don’t know,” I replied, not bothering to turn toward her. My eyes stayed on the sphere. “This is the one I mentioned the other day. The one that didn’t show up in their evaluator.”
Slowly, carefully, I extended a hand over the quivering light.
I didn’t speak.
Instead, I sent the smallest possible trace of my power—not force, not command. Just intent. Calm. Reassurance. A promise that it wasn’t about to be harmed. That it was safe.
The sphere responded instantly.
Its trembling lessened, its glow evening out, like a tiny thing realizing that the water around it wasn’t about to boil. It reminded me of something fragile dropped into a vast ocean—too small to make ripples, too aware of how easily it could be snuffed out.
“It’s not a soul, is it?” Nana baa?san asked after a moment, leaning in slightly, her gaze piercing deeper than sight.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted.
I extended my hand slowly, gently around the light—or rather, below it. The tiny sphere drifted down on its own, settling into my open palm as if that was where it had always intended to be.
Warm.
Not hot. Not cold.
Aware.
Like a little heartbeat.
“I think,” I continued slowly, watching it pulse faintly, “I might have to name it.”
Nana baa?san raised an eyebrow. Despite herself, she was smiling.
“The weirdest things attach themselves to you,” she said, amused. “Always at the weirdest moments, don’t they.”
I nodded absently. But my attention was already elsewhere—weighing names, meanings, implications. Names carried weight. Power. Responsibility.
And whatever this thing was—
It appears to have chosen me.