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"Yes."
Their voices overlapped.
Allen stared intently at Sylphiette and Isolte, waiting for them to elaborate on their dreams—or at least explain what kind of nightmare had jolted them awake.
But.
No explanation came.
Both of them fell silent at the same time.
The air grew heavy.
A stabbing pain—like needles in his throat.
A dull ache—his mind flooded with fragmented memories of the original story's Bad End route, the one where Old Rudeus met his tragic fate due to Hitogami's schemes.
The hallway was dark. Allen's pupils trembled.
His mind replayed the scene from the stables—piles of mutilated corpses.
Had Isolte and Sylphiette both dreamed before waking?
Was that why they had been startled awake? Why they had gone for a moonlit walk? Why they were standing here now?
It made sense.
Was dreaming normal?
Of course.
But!
Allen could almost hear the grinding of his own teeth.
Tonight's plan had been for him to deal with the assassins alone—precisely to shield them from this bloody spectacle.
Could there have been variables in that plan?
Yes. Many.
What were the bandits' exact movements? How many were there? What was their strength? Were there other traps set up in the inn? Could the commotion be contained? Could he redirect the battlefield smoothly?
All of these were potential disruptions. If even one went wrong, his plan would've fallen apart.
And yet, this supposedly unpredictable ambush and counterattack—
Had gone exactly as he'd envisioned.
Of course, Allen was confident. He had accounted for everything. His keen senses and precise timing had allowed him to stay alert for nearly two hours, monitoring the only lit buildings in town—the inn and the tavern. He'd analyzed every scrap of intel gathered since their arrival, piecing together the enemy's setup.
Then came the final move—just before the guard could deliver the second round of messages to the inn.
Allen acted swiftly. He "persuaded" the receptionist, broke their resistance, and killed them in an instant.
He stepped outside, used the pressure he'd already built on the guard, and forced them to talk.
Cross-referencing their words—the ambush plot, meticulously arranged by the Northern King himself—was laid bare before him. And before making his final move, Allen had even circled the inn once more, ensuring he hadn't overlooked anything.
Nothing.
So, he crushed the scheme with overwhelming force.
Every step had gone exactly as planned. No surprises.
It all made sense.
But this "perfection" was built on one foundation: his own overwhelming strength.
So, what if an even greater force—one he couldn't oppose—decided to interfere at this critical moment? Would his plan still hold?
And worse—what if that force was Future Sight, something he couldn't brute-force his way through? As Hitogami's apostle, his every move was already known in advance.
Would his plan still be foolproof?
Would those variables suddenly explode in his face?
If Hitogami had influenced even one small detail tonight—the receptionist's thoughts, the guard's hesitation—things wouldn't have gone so smoothly.
But nothing had happened.
The counter-ambush had proceeded without a hitch.
Aside from the sudden system prompt about the Northern King's ascension, there had been no interference.
Everything had been eerily calm.
His gaze flickered to Sylphiette—her arms were still intact.
At least for now.
After their synchronized "Yeah," the two girls exchanged glances and lowered their heads.
For a moment, Isolte and Sylphiette stood in silence.
Sylphiette twisted her fingers together, staring at the ground, lost in thought.
Beside her, Isolte's fingers fidgeted against the scabbard at her chest, her eyes fixed on Sylphiette's hands.
Two words flashed through Allen's mind:
—Variable.
Just as he'd let his guard down, just as he'd thought everything was settled, just as his exhausted nerves finally relaxed—
The variable had arrived.
Quiet. Unassuming. Almost imperceptible.
Isolte and Sylphiette hadn't stayed asleep as he'd planned. They'd woken up one after another, meeting him under the moonlight.
They'd stumbled upon the aftermath of the ambush.
And yet, he hadn't sensed anything wrong.
Because it had felt… warm. Even strangely comical.
It hadn't stood out at all.
But this tiny deviation—this seemingly insignificant coincidence that defied his expectations—
Was exactly like the original story's "unlocked basement door" in the Shirone mansion.
A trivial detail, just part of daily life.
And in the future—
What kind of ending would it lead to?
Allen's pupils constricted, then dilated. Images seared into his mind like hot iron.
Would it lead to—
Escaped demon rats. The source of the Demon Eye plague. Leftover food in the kitchen. A certain blue-haired teacher with a sweet tooth. (Old Rudeus Bad End)
What kind of—
The Asura capital. Crows circling. A white-haired guard missing an arm, his face slashed beyond recognition, hanging from the gallows. (Old Rudeus Bad End)
Ending?
Crystalline demon stones crawling over a body with blue braids. Empty eyes. A face drained of life. (Old Rudeus Bad End)
A minor incident snowballing into catastrophe.
Hitogami's signature method—a future that couldn't be predicted in advance.
The warmth he felt right now—
In Hitogami's hands, what kind of—
Reality
Would it become?
——
Gulp.
Sylphiette swallowed hard.
The hallway was pitch black, but under Allen's "burning" gaze, her heart pounded nervously.
Her fingers twisted together so tightly it hurt.
Why the sudden silence?
Because it was too embarrassing!
The dream was still fresh in her mind.
She'd been in a spacious room, dimly lit like this hallway, but just bright enough to see.
She'd been lying on a bed.
Allen knelt before her, his bare upper body bathed in faint light, muscles defined, his broad back turned to her as his hands—his hands gently caressed—
Her legs.
Up and down. Down and up.
A mischievous smirk played on his lips, ignoring her pleas.
Then, he leaned in closer—
Crack. Sylphiette's knuckles popped from how hard she was squeezing them. She glanced sideways at Isolte.
Her brain felt like it was melting! The dream's subsequent scenes rushed back—
Just as she'd covered her face, moved by Allen's swordplay, another pair of hands had gently pulled hers away.
Isolte's face hovered above her, gaze tender.
In reality, there was distance between them—but in the dream, for some reason, she'd only felt shyness and trust.
She'd let Isolte stroke her cheeks, play with her long ears, trace her jawline—
Then tilt her chin up.
As her pupils shook, shadows swallowed her vision.
Suffocation.
Even though Isolte's thighs were firm, she'd felt utterly smothered.
And then—she'd woken up.
Dreams could affect reality.
It had felt so real—like she'd actually been unable to breathe.
Th-this—this—this—!!!
How could she possibly explain a dream like that?! And what even was that?!
Sylphiette's face scrunched up. Her eyes darted to Isolte's waist, then lower.
Right. Her thighs were toned, but nothing like in the dream—nothing like—
Aaaaaah!!!
Dreams and reality were nothing alike!
What nonsense!
But for some reason…
Maybe because of the dream? She felt an odd closeness to Isolte now.
And also—
Sylphiette blinked, touching her cheek.
The dampness from when she'd woken up had already dried.
But she'd left out part of the reason she'd rushed out to find Allen.
The moisture on her face—the same, yet different from the dream.
Sylphiette had cried many times in her life. She knew.
Salty. Bitter.
Tears.
Had Isolte been crying?
The last thing she'd said before bed—
"I envy you, Isolte… getting to grow up with Allen at the dojo."
Sylphiette peeked at Isolte again. Her eyes were hidden in the darkness.
Unreadable.
But.
Sylphiette was a girl who understood emotions.
——
Isolte felt dazed.
After entering the inn, the realization that she had to face tomorrow—face reality—had left her unsettled.
Especially when Allen asked if she'd dreamed.
The feeling only grew stronger.
So she stayed silent.
Because in her dream—
A god had spoken to her.
And its words were something the other two could never accept.
Her feelings for Allen had existed for years. The desire to chase his shadow had persisted just as long.
But he'd already made his choice, hadn't he?
Even if he'd shown concern for her under the moonlight, even if he'd said in the hallway that he had no interest in power or continuing the family line—even if she became Water God, it might work out—
But.
That would just be her own wishful thinking.
Because the necklace hung around Sylphiette's neck.
Had she gotten carried away earlier?
Her interactions with Sylphiette, her conversations with Allen—she'd wanted to cross that line, to lay her heart bare.
Though she'd had… other thoughts too.
But Sylphiette's reactions had been adorable. Her expressions, her movements—all so endearing.
If she'd initially seen her as a rival, that feeling had vanished as they talked.
She understood Sylphiette's love for Allen.
Because it was what she wanted too.
In fact, their conversation had resonated with her.
So she'd let her guard down, stopped overthinking, and simply enjoyed their exchange.
With Allen standing right beside them.
It had been too perfect.
Isolte focused on the cold floor beneath her feet.
Her thoughts continued.
Yes. Too perfect.
Which was why thinking about tomorrow—about the future—
Felt like such a letdown compared to that moonlit walk.
That had just been… a fleeting illusion.
The god had called her a coward.
It was right.
But even if she followed its teachings, even if she wasn't a coward—what then?
If she bared her heart to Allen, what would it change?
Would Sylphiette cease to exist? And even if she did, what about Roxy, so far away?
Would she disappear too?
These were real, living people. Even if she wasn't a coward, even if she confessed, even if Allen accepted her—what good would it do?
Allen wasn't a typical Asuran noble. Neither Sylphiette nor Roxy fit their preferences.
But that only proved how serious he was.
After all, he hadn't even spared Princess Ariel a second glance.
He wasn't like those nobles in the capital who toyed with commoners' hearts, then turned around and married for political gain.
The divine revelation—
"If you're not a coward—"
Not a coward.
Sylphiette. Roxy.
No.
If she was a coward—
The cold touch of her scabbard brought her back.
Isolte felt lost.
——
Emotions swirled between the three of them. Allen could barely keep his thoughts in check.
So he forced himself to stop speculating about Hitogami's schemes.
He studied Isolte and Sylphiette, both still staring at the ground. After a long pause, he licked his lips.
He turned stiffly, took a step forward.
"I-I see… So that's why you woke up. Bad dreams, huh…?"
Still no response.
Just the sound of footsteps following him.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Finally, they reached their doors.
Allen gripped the handle, his face twitching. He couldn't take it anymore.
If Hitogami had set something in motion tonight, if he stayed silent to avoid exposing himself—he'd regret it.
He had to know. Now.
Even if Hitogami adjusted his plans later, at least he'd have room to react. Even if the enemy lurked in the shadows.
If he stayed quiet and let things unfold, the variable would strike—and he'd never forgive himself.
His hand slammed against the door. He spun around, locking eyes with Sylphiette and Isolte.
Dead serious, he spoke slowly, deliberately.
"Sylphiette. Isolte. Listen to me."
Both girls looked up, startled.
In the darkness, Allen's eyes burned like fire.
"This might be rude, but I need to know what you dreamed about tonight. Please. Tell me."
Silence.
Then—
"A-AHHH!!! I CAN'T TELL ALLEN!!! TOO—TOO EMBARRASSING!!! P-P-P-P-PERVERTED!!!"
Before he could finish, Sylphiette—spurred by the memory of Allen's touch—screamed, leaped back, and slammed her door shut behind her.
A loud thud echoed from inside—probably her collapsing.
…
…Huh?
Allen's urgency evaporated. He gaped at the door, stunned.
His brain short-circuited.
Then it hit him—her damp skirt earlier.
His mouth fell open.
Did I misread this? Was her dream actually… a normal one? Well, not normal. But… not Hitogami-related?
If some faceless monster had appeared, she wouldn't be acting like this…
His legs almost gave out in relief.
Had he been overthinking it?
"I dreamed of a god."
Allen's pupils shrank. He whipped his head toward Isolte.
Her voice was distant. Unsure.
It slithered into his ears.
"But… I'm sorry, Allen. I can't tell you about it."
In the darkness, her eyes met his.
Her gaze—
Was lonelier than the night itself.
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