Chapter 5 …
During my final playthrough of this game, I had only one goal.
No matter what, stop the apocalypse.
In an otome game set in a world devoid of dreams or hope, what’s left if you remove romance?
The answer was right in front of my eyes.
To prevent the end of the world, I invested everything solely into the protagonist Yulia’s abilities. It wasn’t as if I did anything particularly extraordinary.
I merely told the naïve Yulia a few truths about the world she had chosen to ignore.
As a result, Yulia grew stronger—but she lost her faith in God.
Unable to accept that loss, she instead clung to her faith even more fanatically.
Of course, even that wasn’t enough to stop Azel.
In any case, if I had known I’d end up reincarnating into this so-called “Inquisitor Route” that I’d only ever played once, I would never have made those choices.
But what was done was done, and no amount of regret would change anything.
Then I need to figure out how to survive.
If I let Yulia rampage unchecked like this, it was obvious she’d provoke Azel again and bring everything crashing down like before.
If that was the case, then it would be better to redirect Yulia’s attention toward me instead.
“What did you just say? That I lost my faith? Me?”
The way she asked in that chilling voice was straight out of a horror movie.
“You just want to defeat Azel—the one the world has branded as evil—to prove that your faith was never shaken.”
“Shut. Your. Mouth.”
“You already know it too, don’t you? That no matter what you do, nothing is going to change.”
“Didn’t you hear me telling you to shut up?”
Sorry, but I made my living with this mouth.
Telling someone like me to shut up—that’s just cruel.
And I haven’t even started yet.
Out of what little affection remained, I was still choosing my words carefully, sticking to the pretty ones.
Even so, Yulia already seemed to be reaching the limit of her patience.
“To slander me with such insolent words… Why is it that you don’t understand there is no heavier sin than one committed with a deceitful tongue?”
With eyes slightly unhinged, Yulia twisted her lips into a warped smile. She no longer looked anything like a heroine.
Even the male leads, who had been standing around like background props, watched her with uneasy expressions. And that was when I finally prepared to deliver my last counter.
“Yulia—”
No, I was about to.
“Enough.”
If only Azel hadn’t interrupted.
With a strangely unreadable expression, he stepped in front of me, blocking my path.
“Let’s stop wasting time. Our conversation isn’t over yet.”
“Azel.”
I stiffened slightly, a troubled look crossing my face, but Yulia didn’t seem inclined to back down.
“Don’t interfere.”
“Are you asking because you genuinely don’t know who interfered first?”
But Yulia didn’t get what she wanted.
“Seymour.”
At Azel’s call, his subordinate—who had been quietly observing the situation—moved.
A man dressed in black, who had melted into the shadows, answered with a smile completely unsuited to the situation.
“You called for me?”
“Take them.”
Seymour Cleor.
Since Seymour, Azel’s right-hand man, had stepped in personally, it was obvious the disturbance would be quelled in no time.
“As you command.”
But there was one thing I hadn’t anticipated.
“This might sting a little. Just think of it as taking a nice nap.”
The place he headed toward—
Was me.
…Huh?
“W-wait a second!”
“Haha!”
I was the one getting caught.
You damn bastard!
And then—darkness.
“Azel! Why on earth would you do something like this?! You’d have to be insane to—!”
“I’ve repeated this dozens of times already, Yulia. How could someone like me not be insane, don’t you think?”
Blink.
Was it a dream?
It seemed I’d fallen asleep while unconscious.
“Ow! You son of a—”
I instinctively sat up, only for the back of my neck—where I’d been struck—to throb painfully.
Where am I now?
The bedroom, steeped in an old-fashioned elegance, was unfamiliar, but after a moment of thought, I had a pretty good idea.
This was Azel’s mansion.
“I thought you’d throw me into a dungeon or a torture chamber.”
“Even so, you are a guest we haven’t had in quite some time. We couldn’t very well do that.”
A voice came from beside me.
“You’re awake, I see?”
I whipped my head around and found a familiar face.
Seymour.
The very bastard who’d knocked me out and delivered me here. And yet, his expression looked oddly… lecherous.
“By the way, were you perhaps referring to me when you said ‘that bastard’?”
It seemed he’d heard everything.
“…….”
“…….”
As a dreadful silence fell between us, I desperately searched for something—anything—to say.
“…I was having a nightmare.”
“Oh dear.”
Despite the words, his flat tone suggested he wasn’t the least bit sympathetic, and Seymour tugged the corner of his lips upward.
Haha… Is there no restart option?
In the game, when you go down Azel’s route, there’s someone you encounter even more often than Azel himself—Seymour.
That’s why players knew him well.
This guy was, quite simply—
A lunatic.
A lunatic, though in a different way from Azel.
– That psycho killed someone for dropping cookie crumbs after he’d just finished cleaning the carpet.
– Wow, that’s a perfectly reasonable reason. I died once because the sky looked ominously red.
– But I wasn’t even the one who ate the cookie?
– ……???
What were the odds of surviving after cursing someone like that in your sleep?
Mom, I’m going.
Once I accepted it, my mind grew strangely calm.
As I silently prepared for my next life, staring down the two characters spelling death in my mind, Seymour suddenly flashed a bright smile.
So the last face I see before dying is that handsome-but-perverted freak’s… What a tragic ending.
But, unexpectedly, instead of killing me, Seymour took a step back.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Seymour Cleor, my master’s loyal servant.”
“Nice to meet you… Seymour.”
Not long after, I understood why.
“My master is waiting for you.”
Azel had spared my life.
“How long has it been since I lost consciousness?”
“Just long enough for a pleasant nap.”
“So… about half a day, then.”
The guy who knocked me out kept going on about naps—it was infuriating.
Still, I’d gained some crucial information. If half a day had passed, it was safe to assume they’d already dug up everything there was to know about me.
“What about Yulia and the others—no, what happened in the plaza?”
“Everything was taken care of cleanly, so there’s no need to worry.”
It seemed Yulia’s group was still alive.
…Well, probably.
I felt a flicker of unease, but there was no way to confirm it.
“…Let’s go.”
“Very well. This way, please.”
With the urgent matters more or less settled, it was time to meet the final boss.
They weren’t the type to give me time to steady myself, so I stood up immediately.
“Ah.”
When the door opened, the corridor beyond looked like a scene straight out of a masterpiece painting.
Bathed in the tranquil afternoon sunlight, the pure white hallway gleamed brilliantly. Golden ornaments and finely crafted portraits lined the walls.
Seeing a place I’d only ever viewed through a monitor now spread out before my eyes felt strangely unreal.
“Guest?”
Seymour’s puzzled voice snapped me out of my daze.
Idiot.
As I started walking, only the soft click of my low heels echoed through the hallway. Seymour’s steps made no sound at all—befitting a former assassin.
“He’s in the room at the very end of the third floor, isn’t he?”
I deliberately asked with a hint of hesitation, and the smile tugging at Seymour’s lips deepened.
“Yes. He is waiting for you there.”
That question was intentional.
Whenever Azel’s thoughts grew tangled, he would retreat to the room at the end of the third floor—a habit known only to a select few confidants, including Seymour.
The reason I said it out loud was to hint that I knew even such intimate details about him.
Every little thing like this will become a precious piece of foreshadowing.
And all of it would reach Azel’s ears through Seymour.
They were suspicious of me.
Honestly, it would be stranger if they weren’t.
So from this moment on, I had to prove the existence of “me” at every turn.
“How did you know my master favors the room at the end of the third floor?”
“That’s not true.”
Fortunately—
“He doesn’t like that room.”
“…….”
“How could anyone like a place that feels like a grave?”
That wasn’t difficult for me at all.
A man stood with his back to a wide window, his silhouette pitch-black against the light.
As though submerged in melancholy, as though trapped in ennui.
He stood there motionless, silent—like a corpse lying in a coffin.
“Have you been waiting?”
Waiting for me alone.
