Chapter 1

A sharp, metallic crash echoed through the room.

The source of the racket—a noise so jarring it triggered a reflexive urge to cover one's ears—was a man in his mid-thirties. He sported a Kaiser mustache, carried a polished black cane, and was dressed in a stiff, high-collared military uniform. With the cane gripped firmly in his right hand, he had just shattered a massive vase standing nearly a meter tall.

White petals drifted through the air as the spilled water seeped into the deep crimson carpet.

"How do you intend to take responsibility for this!?"

"I am terribly sorry! Please, I beg your forgiveness...!"

"Don't talk such nonsense, you lowly creature!"

The man’s face was twisted with rage. The phrase "the countenance of a demon" was surely coined for a man like him in this moment.

His fire-like anger showed no signs of subsiding after merely destroying a vase. He continued to hurl foul-mouthed abuse at the servant who knelt before him with her head bowed, weeping as she stammered out apologies.

Beside the man stood a woman of elegant age, draped in a glittering dress. She held a young boy close, her eyes filled with contempt as she looked down at the servant. The scene was one of a military man and a noblewoman ganging up on a single, defenseless maid.

As Kazuki Hirasawa processed the scene, he reached a startling conclusion.

(...Wait, is this a game event?)

It was a conclusion that sounded utterly insane, but he had a reason for reaching it. Kazuki recognized this person and this exact sequence of events.

The exchange unfolding before him was identical to a scene from Brave Hearts, a single-player RPG released for home consoles a few years ago.

The reason he could recall it so instantly was simple: Kazuki was a die-hard fan of the game. He had played through it so many times he had lost count of his total completions. He knew the dialogue for almost every event scene by heart; there was no room for error.

The man in the uniform and the woman in the dress were the parents of a character in the game. The servant begging for mercy was Clara, the mother of one of the main characters.

Having grasped the situation, Kazuki—who was currently being held in the woman's embrace—fell into a state of extreme shock.

Why were game characters moving? Was this reality? What was happening to him?

Questions surged one after another, his thoughts spinning in useless circles. He couldn't wrap his head around this sudden, harrowing situation, yet one thing remained terrifyingly clear.

(I can’t believe I’ve been dropped right into the middle of such a Depressing Event!)

If this scene followed the game’s script, the servant Clara’s life was now a flickering flame in a gale. As the term "Depressing Event" implied, this was the scene where the servant was murdered. Clara was destined to be killed by the hand of the couple's son: Harold.

(Where is Harold? In this scene, he’s supposed to be with his worried mother... Wait, no way.)

Then, a sickening realization hit Kazuki like a physical blow. He was standing exactly where Harold should be.

A chain reaction of discrepancies followed, starting with his height. Despite standing firmly on both feet, his perspective was alarmingly low.

This event was depicted in the game as a flashback to the past. While the exact year wasn't specified, Harold had been a boy of about ten at the time.

Every piece of the puzzle was falling into a horrific place.

(Am I... Harold?)

It was a wild, baseless thought. He had no proof.

But the moment the possibility crossed his mind, an intense chill raced down his spine.

(No, no, what am I saying? This is a dream. Obviously. That’s the only logical explanation.)

He tried to shake off the premonition by reasoning with himself. It was the most sensible, comforting answer.

Yet, no matter how hard his mind argued that this was an illusion, his five senses screamed otherwise. The warmth of the woman holding him, the spray of spit from the man's shouts—everything felt far too real. No matter how much he denied it, he couldn't convince himself this was a dream.

(Then what? If it’s not a dream, is it really the world of the game? That’s impossible... but this is so vivid... but a game world? Even so, if this is real, Clara is going to die!)

Caught in a deadlock between reason and instinct, Kazuki could only stare blankly. As his mind looped through the same impossible logic, he felt the urge to simply stop thinking altogether.

However, contrary to his inner turmoil, his body began to move of its own accord.

He pulled away from the woman’s arms and took two steady steps forward.

"Your pleas are worthless. I shall personally purge your foul blood from this house."

"Wait, Father. Leave this woman’s execution to me."

The man had reached for a sword hanging on the wall, intent on cutting the servant down then and there. From behind him, Harold’s voice called out to stop him.

The words were lines Kazuki had read on a screen a dozen times.

Lines that hadn't been voiced in the original game were now being spoken in Harold’s voice—a voice he recognized—coming out of his own mouth. His own will had absolutely no part in it.

"To you? What do you plan to do?"

"I’ve recently learned a new spell. Let me use her as a test subject. It’s a much better use for her than staining the floor with the blood of an Inferior Species, don’t you think?"

Kazuki felt the corners of his mouth curl upward. Regardless of his true feelings, he knew he was wearing a classic villain’s smirk.

He didn't have the slightest bit of mental leeway to be smiling. To be trapped in a nonsensical situation while his body moved against his will was a source of pure, unadulterated terror. Kazuki didn't have the life experience to stay composed under such circumstances; anyone who could adapt to this would have to be more than just "talented"—they would be a freak.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Kazuki was no freak.

Which meant he was powerless to stop the flow of the event.

"Oho, I suppose that would be an amusement. Men! Throw this woman into the Underground Dungeon until he is ready!"

As the military man barked the order, soldiers appeared instantly. They seized Clara by the arms and dragged her away. Kazuki could do nothing but watch her go.

"Filthy Mixed-blood. We showed her mercy by hiring her, and she can't even perform a simple task."

"She is an Inferior Species, after all. At least she'll be useful for testing Harold’s magic."

"Hmph. I suppose you're right."

Their eyes were full of naked disgust, as if they were looking at something subhuman. This couple didn't view Clara as a person at all.

Normally, Kazuki would have been repulsed.

But in his state of confusion, their words barely registered. Even if he heard them, his mind couldn't process the weight of their cruelty.

Dozens of minutes passed in a blur of shock. He had no memory of the surroundings, of who he spoke to, or how he eventually reached his destination.

When his consciousness finally cleared, Kazuki found himself sitting deep in a plush sofa in an unfamiliar room, staring into space.

"...Where am I? Is this Harold's room?"

He muttered the words in a weak, hollow voice as he looked around.

The room had never appeared in the game, so he couldn't be sure, but the sheer size of the space, the canopy bed, and the expensive furniture made it clear it was a private suite.

In one corner of the room stood a large, full-length mirror that stood taller than a grown man.

Kazuki swallowed hard, a dry click echoing in his throat.

He forced his trembling knees to lock and stood up, making his way toward the mirror with unsteady steps. He had to confirm his hypothesis—all while praying with everything he had that he was wrong.

With every step, his heart hammered harder against his ribs. His breathing became shallow and fast. Yet, he didn't stop.

Finally, he stood before the glass.

He had been looking down at his feet, but slowly, he lifted his head. He faced the mirror and forced his tightly shut eyes to open.

The reflection staring back was, without a doubt—

"You’ve got to be... kidding me..."

Ruthlessly, the mirror showed the face of Harold Stokes in his youth.