Inside the Royal Castle infirmary, the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant hung heavy in the silence. Celestia began to speak, her voice unnervingly flat.
"Your Highness... does that headache get worse whenever you think about Claude?"
Irene’s eyes snapped wide. The observation was too precise.
"It’s the same for me," Celestia continued. "Whenever my thoughts turn to him, the pain becomes unbearable. It’s as if someone is physically holding me back, whispering, 'Don’t go there,' or 'Don’t think about things you don't need to know'..."
Irene pressed her fingers hard against her temples.
Whenever she tried to conclude that Claude was a villain, the pressure subsided. But the moment she felt even a flicker of doubt—the moment she considered he might actually be an ally—an agonizing heat surged through her brain, as if her mind were being cauterized from the inside.
"I went looking for the source of this unnatural pain," Celestia said.
"And... did you find anything?"
"Threads."
Celestia looked at her with hollow eyes.
"They were threads. Invisible strands extending from people's heads, reaching up into the sky... higher than the eye can see."
"Wait, just a minute. I don't follow. What are you talking about?"
Irene was reeling, her confusion mounting. But Celestia was no longer in a state to offer calm explanations. Her face had turned a ghastly shade of white, and beads of cold sweat rolled down her forehead. She was clearly enduring a level of pain that would have caused anyone else to black out.
Despite the agony, Celestia didn't stop. To her, this pain was the only compass she had left; it proved she was finally moving toward the truth.
"There is a possibility that our very thoughts are being manipulated by those threads. My Secret Rank Magic, Lost, can sever them, but they reconnect in an instant. I need your help, Your Highness. Use your Elysion to amplify my magic."
Irene hesitated, unsettled by her childhood friend's desperate state. But she knew Celestia better than anyone—she knew how intelligent and unshakable the girl truly was.
"I don't fully understand what's happening... but if this can stop the headache, I'll do it."
"Thank you..." Celestia bowed her head, sweat dripping onto the floor. "The number of threads is different for everyone. I have eight... Your Highness has seven. Reiji... he had an uncountable number."
Her breathing became shallow and erratic.
"And Claude... he didn't have a single one."
"He didn't? That's... suspicious."
"Yes. Which means Claude... he might be the only one who actually knows what these threads are."
Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed.
Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed. Her head throbbed.
Yet, Irene did not shy away from the pain. She had learned that pain came in many forms, and some could be a blessing.
She reflexively traced her hand over her stomach. It still felt warm, a phantom sensation from the time he had struck her. She realized with a jolt of horror that she had somehow forgotten that sensation over the last few days—she, who had vowed never to forget it for a single second.
"Tia... do it. We have a duty to find out what this pain really is."
Celestia nodded weakly. The two girls clasped hands, their mana swirling and intertwining.
First, Celestia channeled her Secret Rank Magic.
"Lost."
A sound like shattering glass echoed through the room.
In that instant, Irene lost her breath.
"It's... it's exactly like you said."
Stretching from every head in sight were thin, shimmering strands. They grew from Celestia, from Irene’s own reflection in the window, and even from the knights walking through the courtyard outside.
Irene followed the strands with her eyes. They ascended into the clouds, reaching toward a height far beyond the physical world.
No—they weren't just stretching upward.
They were connected to something. Or someone.
Anger flared in Irene's chest. Someone was pulling the strings. Someone was controlling them like puppets.
"I'm going to find out who you are... and I'm going to drag you into the light!"
Irene squeezed Celestia’s hand, her royal pride burning in her eyes.
"Elysion!"
A brilliant golden light erupted, enveloping them both. They wouldn't just cut the threads; they would use them as a path to find their master.
Reinforced by Elysion, the power of Lost surged up the strands. Silver and gold mana spiraled upward, piercing the veil of the world.
At the peak of the agonizing pressure, they saw it.
It was a presence that defied description—a mass of infinite threads. It was something ancient, mysterious, and divine, a being that commanded an instinctive sense of awe.
A Humanoid Loom.
The thought occurred to both of them simultaneously. And then, the Loom turned its gaze toward them.
In that heartbeat, a tidal wave of information crashed into their minds.
They saw the World as It Should Be—the original path of history.
They saw the story of the hero, Reiji Wolf, destined to save the world.
And they saw the truth of Claude von Einhart—the man forced to be a stepping stone for that hero.
"A-Ah... Aaaaaaah!"
Both girls screamed in unison. In the corner of their blurred vision, the threads extending from their heads snapped one by one with the sound of breaking bone.
The floodgates opened. Everything they had lacked, everything they had been made to forget, came rushing back.
The man with the deep indigo hair. Claude von Einhart, the heir of House Einhart.
In the original design of the world, he was meant to be a villain—a cruel, depraved noble who would serve as the hero's first great obstacle.
But he had changed. He had found a conscience.
And yet, if he didn't play his part, the hero would never grow strong enough to save the world. Knowing this, Claude had made a choice. He chose to play the villain the world demanded.
He broke his engagement with Celestia to push her away. When she was kidnapped, he risked his life to save her from the shadows. But as the "stepping stone," he couldn't allow her to love or trust him. So he acted like a monster. He forced her to hate him.
He did it all to save the world.
He insulted Irene to provoke her growth. He allowed her to despise him, even as he saved her life twice. He never corrected her misunderstandings. Even when his status was stripped and he was sentenced to a noble's death, he faced it with a smile.
He did it all to save her.
"Gasp... huff... ah..."
Celestia choked, her survival instinct finally forcing her to draw breath. She was drenched in a cold sweat, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Everything was clear now. Every piece of the puzzle fit.
Why he had suddenly ended their engagement. Why he had spat such cruel, venomous words at her.
"No... no, please..."
She had called him a despicable coward. She had truly believed he was evil.
But the reality was the opposite. He had been her guardian. He had fought the Order with his life on the line to rescue her. He had twisted the very fabric of fate to save a life that was supposed to end.
And to him... her savior...
What had she said?
"You are the worst!"
"Noooooo! No, no, no!"
Worst. Worst. Worst. Worst. Worst. Worst. Worst. Worst. Worst.
"I'm the one who's the worst!"
Claude was the true hero. Even as he was broken, even as he was cursed and spat upon, he had kept smiling. He was willing to drag himself through the mud if it meant the people he cared about could stay in the light. He was sacrificing his body, his very lifespan, fighting a lonely war that no one would ever thank him for.
And she had hated him for it.
"Ugh... uwaaaaah!"
She felt a physical revulsion toward herself. She remembered laughing with her classmates, listening to them call Claude "trash" and "scum," and she had added her own insults to the pile.
She had stabbed him with her words over and over again.
While he was bleeding out in the dark to protect her, she was sharpening the knife.
With the very life he had saved. With the dignity he had preserved for her. With the happiness he had died to give her. She had used those gifts to tear him down.
She retched onto the floor, her body physically rejecting the weight of her own sin. It was a pathetic, disgraceful display for a lady of her standing. But it didn't matter. No amount of shame could ever equal the agony he had endured in silence.
Through the information flood, she had felt a flicker of his emotions.
He had chosen this path, yes. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
He was lonely. He was in despair. It broke his heart to be hated by the people he loved. When Celestia—the girl he had nearly died to rescue—had slapped him across the face...
He had stood there all alone, looking like he wanted to cry.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... Lord Claude..."
Celestia wailed, her face smeared with tears and bile.
She saw his back again in her mind—covered in scars. She saw the cracks spiderwebbing across his skin. He was carrying the weight of the entire world's pain on his shoulders, knowing he would never be rewarded, knowing he would never be understood.
It was hell. His entire existence was a living hell.
And she was one of the demons stoking the flames.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
The apologies were hollow. They felt like a pathetic attempt at self-comfort.
What could she even do? How could she possibly atone for this?
He didn't want her atonement. His only wish was to keep her far away from his struggle. He didn't want her to help, and he didn't want her to suffer with him. He had forbidden her from even standing by his side.
Celestia slumped against the floor, her eyes vacant as the tears continued to fall.
She had lost the most precious thing in her life, and she had been the one to throw it away.
Suddenly—
A blur of motion caught her eye.
Irene had bolted from the infirmary. Her face was as pale as a ghost's, her eyes wide with a frantic, haunted light.
Celestia didn't have the strength to call after her. She didn't need to. She knew exactly what Irene was feeling.
They had both done something utterly irretrievable.