The following morning, Lene and I prepared to leave the ducal estate, seen off by my parents and the entire household staff.
A long line of people stretched across the cobblestones in front of the entrance. Every single face was familiar: the head butler, the gardener, the head maid, the chef, and even the young boys and girls working as menial laborers.
It was a full turnout; every member of the estate's staff had gathered to say goodbye.
"It is only natural, Young Master," the head butler said with a soft, practiced smile. "The son of House Arcbelk is departing his home, if only for a time. Seeing you off is... the duty of us servants."
"Old man..."
He was an elderly, dignified man, and his voice remained calm, but his eyes were bloodshot and swollen. He’d clearly been weeping until the very second we stepped outside. I knew we were on good terms, but this level of devotion was unexpected.
"Young Master...! Lene...!"
Unlike the butler, the head maid made no effort to hide her grief. She was wailing. Usually a woman of stoic composure, she was now a sobbing mess. Her face was a ruin of tears and snot, her usually refined features distorted by raw emotion.
Lene offered a sympathetic, wry smile and tried to dab the woman’s eyes with a handkerchief, but the deluge was unstoppable. If anything, the gesture only made the head maid cry harder.
"Please, there’s no need for all this..." I started.
"She’s right, Head Maid! It’s not like we’re saying goodbye forever!" Lene added.
"B-but, Young Master... Lene...! This is just too much... To be named as The Chosen... oh, heavens..."
"Mother... I know how you feel, but try to pull yourself together."
Standing beside the sobbing woman was a young male servant, similarly dabbing at his eyes. He was three years older than us and the head maid’s only son.
When we were children, the three of us—Lene included—had been a trio of troublemakers, ignoring the boundaries of master and servant. I’d lost count of how many times we’d snuck sweets in the middle of the night behind my parents' backs. We’d been caught and scolded together just as often. He was a true childhood friend, a partner-in-crime in every sense.
Now, even he was shedding tears as he struggled with the farewell.
"Rai-sama. If it ever gets to be too much, please just come home. To hell with your duties—even if you just run away and come straight back here, I’ll be waiting to welcome you with a smile."
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Lene, don't push yourself too hard, okay? If anything happens, rely on Rai-sama immediately. And if he tries to do too much, you make sure to stop him. Promise me?"
"I will! Leave it to me!"
One by one, the staff offered their farewells. Many of their words carried a weight of finality, as if they never expected to see us again. It was a grim sentiment, but I couldn't blame them.
In the world of CHOICE // MAZE, the students known as "The Chosen" were technically honored individuals. In reality, they were sacrifices.
The Primal Labyrinth was an ultra-high-difficulty dungeon that had existed for over a millennium. It usually lay dormant, but it followed a hundred-year cycle of activity where it would suddenly lash out at humanity. It would spawn hordes of monsters and expand its physical boundaries, threatening to swallow the world.
The ultimate objective of the game was to clear the labyrinth and end the threat.
However, there was a catch.
Only teenagers between the ages of fifteen and eighteen could enter the Primal Labyrinth. For reasons unknown, adults were physically barred from entry, even though they could explore any other dungeon without issue.
Consequently, the kingdom maintained a policy of conscripting every adolescent who showed sufficient mana capacity and labyrinth aptitude. They were "drafted" under the prestigious title of The Chosen, but everyone knew the truth.
They were sent to live in dormitories for a year with no guarantee of survival. Even those who did return were often broken—shattered by trauma or magical exhaustion, living out their days as husks who could never hold a sword or cast a spell again.
Knowing that, it was no wonder the servants were in such a state.
"It’s all right. I’ll come back safely," I told them. "You all know how strong I am."
"I'll return alive too!" Lene chirped. "Right alongside Rai-sama!"
Our attempts at reassurance only caused the collective dam to break further. The servants dissolved into a fresh wave of tears. I thought they were overreacting slightly until my mother stepped forward.
She was the kind of woman who always stood quietly beside my father with a gentle smile. Soft-spoken and graceful, she was known throughout the estate as the Kind Madam. She had raised me with boundless affection and treated Lene with that same motherly love.
"Rai, Lene..."
Her voice was thin and trembling. She pulled us both into a sudden, tight embrace. For such a slender woman, her grip was surprisingly firm—a physical manifestation of her silent plea for us to stay.
"...Mother."
"Madam...?"
"You two..." Mother squeezed us tighter. "I don't care about achievements. I don't care about glory. Just... just come back to me."
Her voice was a hoarse whisper, strained as if she were barely holding back a scream. I felt a warm drop hit my shoulder and realized she was weeping just as hard as the servants.
That was the breaking point. Seeing someone who was always the pillar of gentle smiles reduced to such desperate grief was heart-wrenching. My chest tightened, and both Lene and I instinctively returned the embrace.
I might have regained the memories of a past life and a more mature perspective, but there was no armor strong enough to protect me against a mother’s tears.
As I struggled with my own emotions, my father stepped forward.
His expression remained stoic, his posture as rigid as a blade. I pulled away from Mother’s embrace to face him.
"Rai."
"Yes, Father."
"Are you prepared?"
"I am."
It was a brief, clipped exchange, hardly what one would expect from a father and son. But that was our way.
Father had always been an awkward man. He wore a perpetual scowl and never allowed himself to show weakness, which had terrified me when I was younger. I used to go out of my way to avoid him.
Yet, in his own clumsy way, he had shown me love. He had been the first to praise my talent for magic, and he had personally overseen my swordsmanship training. Aside from Mother, he was the most important person in my life.
I looked down and noticed his fist was trembling.
"Rai..."
"Yes?"
"...Come back alive."
He bit his lip, his voice sounding just as pained as Mother's had. It wasn't a command from a Duke, nor a lesson from a teacher. It was a simple, desperate plea from a father.
"I will," I replied firmly.
Father understood the implications of being one of The Chosen better than anyone. He knew the statistical probability of me not coming back. And yet, the laws of this world forced him to send his son into the meat grinder.
I wanted to give him even a shred of peace, so I forced a smile.
"I’m your son, aren't I? I promise I’m coming back to this house."
Even if I had to crawl through the mud, even if I was branded a coward, I would return. I saw Father’s expression soften, just for a fleeting second, at my words.
"Well then... we’re leaving."
Lene and I climbed into the carriage. As we pulled away, the sight of the manor and my family gathered at the gates began to shrink in the distance. A fierce heat began to rise in my chest.
It was a raw, defiant instinct: I don't want to die. I refuse to die. It was a rebellion against the fate written for me.
"Lene."
"...Yes?"
"We're coming home. Both of us. No matter what."
Lene fought back her tears and gave a sharp, determined nod. "Yes! We will!"
We were heading toward a hell that opened only once a century. I was heading toward a destiny already mapped out by the "original story."
But so what?
In every story I’d ever read, the villain who regains his memories always succeeds in flipping the script. Destiny is only fixed if you let it be.
Just you wait, Labyrinth, I thought, staring straight ahead. I'm going to be the one to give this story its perfect ending.