Once,
Rebecca had seen a photograph in Dame Layme’s quarters.
A child’s picture. Around three years old. Beside the child, Layme was smiling. On the other side, a man’s image had been torn away.
“Ah, Princess? What brings you here....”
“I just came.”
“You could have called me to come instead.”
“Why? Am I not allowed to visit Dame Layme’s room?”
“Of course not. You’re always welcome.”
Layme was a loyal assassin, a vassal, and now Rebecca’s last remaining confidant.
Sometimes a little slow, but exceptional in skill as an assassin.
“If you’re bored, shall we go for a walk? The apple blossoms are beautiful.”
“Mm....”
In front of Rebecca, Layme was endlessly kind. Always accommodating.
But when Rebecca saw traces like this photo—hints of a Layme who had a life outside her grasp—it left her with strange feelings.
“Ah, that picture...”
Layme hastily covered it.
“Why cover it?”
“It’s nothing important.”
“Your son?”
“Yes.”
Layme’s son.
“Name?”
“...Bohem. He’s with his grandmother now.”
“You don’t see his mother often, then.”
“Not often, but it’s alright. He’s still young. I’ll do better for him later.”
A story Rebecca had never heard before. She’d never cared enough to ask.
Then her eyes fell on the torn portion of the photo.
“Your husband?”
“Divorced.”
“Why?”
Layme smiled awkwardly.
“He cheated. When I finally visited home, I found red hair by the bedside.”
“Good grief... bold bastard. Cheating on an assassin wife.”
“I’ve come to understand it.”
“How?”
“My missions kept me away too long. Even in our newlywed days, we barely saw each other.”
“Still. Is that something to forgive?”
“...Whether I forgive it or not, nothing changes. Revenge won’t undo it. The assassin’s path was my choice.”
Her expression looked heavy.
There are things one can only survive by rationalizing—covering it over, just to keep living. Rebecca knew this well.
“Crazy bastard. Why would he? Where in the world would he find a better woman than you?”
“Ah, I-I’m not that—”
“I’m not okay with it. It disgusts me. If you’ve had a child together, there’s mutual responsibility. Now you’re the one suffering alone.”
“Well... that’s true... ha ha....”
“Such a man should be castrated. Tell me who he is next time. I’ll cut it off myself.”
Rebecca made a scissor motion with her index and middle fingers.
“Ah-ha-ha...”
Layme laughed awkwardly, then paused.
Because for some reason, Rebecca’s words felt... empathetic.
“...?”
That was strange. Truly strange.
Anyone could sympathize. But Rebecca? Truly empathizing here?
Rebecca, who regarded anything not her own business as insects?
“......”
Later, while attending Rebecca, Layme also came to notice—
Professor Dante often spent time with that sky-haired witch of the graveyard.
‘The female Hero, Eve, was it...?’
That day, the two sat on the garden floor, conversing in hand signs.
That was Dante’s matter, not hers. Yet what stuck with Layme was Princess Rebecca’s face as she sat on the terrace, staring at them.
She couldn’t name the expression. But she knew one thing:
In all her years at Rebecca’s side, she had never once seen such a look.
“......”
Rebecca had never made that face. Not once.
***
The Church of Life♥ was one of the wealthiest of all the Star sects.
Because it monopolized the continent’s market for erectile-dysfunction cures.
Naturally, the Shrine of Life♥ was massive.
“From here is called the Path of Life♥. To enter the shrine, a ritual is required. Please walk forward holding hands with your partner. Heh-heh....”
Like statues of gods, a man and a woman held hands and walked ahead, smiling.
I wanted to die.
“......”
“......”
I raised my hand reluctantly. Rebecca scowled, but extended hers.
And from the moment our hands touched, the mismatch was obvious.
I tried to take her hand simply. She opened her fingers to lace them.
When I spread my fingers to lace, she pulled back to hold side by side.
This repeated three times until the Grecian couple turned to look back.
“Please, come along.”
“...Yes.”
We managed to walk hand in hand.
But the path was torment. At every turn, bizarre objects popped up.
A suspiciously shaped banana!
A suspiciously shaped flower petal!
Suspiciously shaped bolts and nuts—sick bastards.
“......”
“......”
We ignored them and walked. Then a nude goddess statue appeared. My eyes darted there before I yanked them away—only to catch Rebecca staring at me like filth.
“??”
“What.”
She lifted her hand to remove her sunglasses.
I kept looking away.
“You looked?”
“At what.”
“You like it?”
“What.”
“Disgusting.”
“......”
Unbelievable.
Why the hell would they display this crap?
At last, we reached a grand building.
“This is the Hall of Life♥. Before entering, you must kiss your partner.”
Rebecca and I froze. I felt it through her fingers.
“Is this really necessary.”
“You must show your love.”
“Outside, though... isn’t that a bit much?”
“This isn’t outside.”
And the Grecian couple kissed—no, devoured each other—right in front of us.
What the hell, a deranged tongue-twisting makeout. I turned away, appalled.
“Please, do the same. You are husband and wife, are you not?”
“......”
“......”
“Or... are you a fake couple?”
“No. Nothing of the sort.”
“You are married, then.”
“We are.”
“Then kiss.”
Heavens above.
Why this trial for me...?
I glanced aside. Rebecca glanced aside. Then she jerked her gaze away and shook her head—before suddenly grabbing my tie and rising on tiptoe.
Wait—no.
But we had to deceive them. So I bent down, only for a whisper to reach my ear:
‘Pretend to kiss.’
So we did. Shielding with our backs, mouths nearly touching, close enough to feel each other’s breath. Avoiding each other’s eyes, we held there briefly.
Fortunately, it worked.
“Confirmed. Please enter! Ha-ha.”
Inside, we met the heads of the Church of Life♥—a man and a woman, of course.
We asked about using the 「Rune of Revival♥」.
“You’ve come well. First, bind your soul to the rune. This is called [Link]. I will do it for you.”
A simple [Stigma] flared, tying my soul to the rune.
< ♥ [Link] Success! >
A small mark appeared on the crimson rune—apparently my symbol.
...Why the hell was it a snowflake❆?
“When you die, the body must remain intact. The less damage after death, the higher the chance of revival.”
“Similarly, those who die of old age cannot be revived.”
“And one person may not be revived twice.”
That much I already knew.
This world wasn’t kind enough to let anyone live twice.
“Finally—when one reaches death, the soul returns briefly to the origin. Only then, after time flows again, does revival occur. In that weakened state, someone must care for them.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is such a process. I cannot say more. If this man dies, see that he is cared for afterward.”
The head turned to Rebecca. She grimaced but nodded.
“If you cannot care for him yourself...”
The woman’s eyes narrowed at Rebecca.
“...then entrust him to someone who can.”
She smiled meaningfully.
Rebecca pressed her lips shut. Said nothing.
“......”
The air turned odd.
Why?
───
Scene #1 – Once Again, Hunting the Assassin
Scene #2 – Professor Dante Hiakapo, Ranking Registration
Scene #3 – At the Shrine of Life♥
Scene #4 – Wolfgang Yussef’s Melancholy ◀
Scene #5 – The Curse of Pettiness
Scene #6 – By Chance, Fanaticism狂信
───
Lately, Kreutz’s great Illusion Studies chief professor, Wolfgang Yussef, was in a funk.
“No, seriously, are you useless? No, no. Like this—this—do it this way!”
“......”
Every time he attended the Glass Butterfly beginner’s class, Gray sneered at him.
Today was no different.
“Eh? Why are you doing whatever you want? You imagined it first, didn’t you? That’s why the butterfly shattered. Like your wrinkles, Professor.”
This little brat of an assistant professor, flashing crooked teeth, scolding him—and he had to just take it.
“Erm, well, I thought this would work better...”
“I said it won’t.”
“...Ahem. I’ve been working illusions for years, my instincts can’t be wrong—”
“Oh yeah? And how did our Professor Wolfgang do on the last quiz?”
“......”
“57th. Out of 58! Pathetic! And you still won’t listen?”
Tremble, tremble....
He’d gotten stubborn from being nagged too much, doing things his own way out of spite.
Gray clucked her tongue.
“Geez. Hopeless. Professor Wolfgang, if you won’t listen, go stand in the back with your hands up.”
“What?”
“Hands up! Now. Don’t disrupt the class.”
Laughter burst out—foreign professors chuckling at the spectacle.
“......”
Wolfgang bit his lip and stood in the back with hands raised.
But rage began boiling inside.
‘Th-this damn....’
No respect at all. Sure, they had the authority here—but ordering him to stand like a child?
‘Damn them... master and disciple, both the same, mocking me....’
Arrogant brats!
Yes, he was a little stubborn. ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) He admitted that. But someone of his stature—an Obel Prize laureate—deserved leeway!
Later, at a drinking party, Gray came to pour him a drink.
“Sorry about earlier, scolding you.”
“......”
“Are you mad? Gray’s sorry.”
“......”
“But you know... even though you’re a professor from a rival nation, I don’t dislike you. Just the fact you came to learn Glass Butterfly means a lot. I’d just like you to follow my directions a little more, that’s all....”
Wolfgang’s insides twisted.
‘...Why is she kind on top of it?’
Now he just looked petty—sulking because he hadn’t been treated like a big shot.
He hurriedly prayed to the Virgin for forgiveness.
“Ahem. Fine. But don’t dismiss others’ creative approaches too quickly.”
“Creative approaches?”
“The reason Hiaka Academy has no Obel laureates is its rigid pedagogy. Students who try different methods are treated as wrong, forced into molds. That’s why you stagnate.”
Kreutz, by contrast, had over ten Obels.
“Take this as advice.”
Spark—!
The Obel Prize medal on his chest gleamed.
“Eh. I see. Got it.”
Gray smiled brightly.
“......”
Wolfgang felt better—he’d salvaged his honor and delivered his lecture.
“Have a drink, Professor.”
“Sure.”
For all their rotten personalities, the Hiaka folk cooked well. The food was good, the liquor better.
“Professor Wolfgang, have a drink from me too.”
“Bring it.”
As long as it wasn’t Glass Butterfly class, he still felt respected.
All thanks to the Obel. His great mark on history. A feat Hiaka could never match.
His gloom began to lift—
“Ah!? N-no way!”
“What? What?”
“It’s here! Look, Professor Gray, come see!”
“Eh?”
Noise erupted down the table.
What?
Even the professors beside him jumped up, rushing over.
Soon laughter and cheers filled the room.
“Look at this! Dante’s been nominated for this year’s Obel Prize!”
“What!? Really? ...It’s true!”
“In the Illusion category—Professor Dante Hiakapo. Only thirty-one! Incredible!”
“Could this be Hiaka’s first Obel winner?”
The excitement grew. Gray squealed, “Kya-ha-ha! Drinks on me! Golden Bell!!”
“Woooo!!”
The feast roared with booze and meat.
Wolfgang sank into deeper gloom.
“......”
Unbelievable.