Respawn.
The word still floated in Izuma's mind like it had been branded into the core of his skull.
His hands trembled.
His breath shortened.
His knees gave out.
Before he could crash to the cold stone below, an arm slid beneath his shoulders and caught him with surprising gentleness. Rinji.
"Izuma," Rinji's voice rang out, sharper than usual. Not cold. Not harsh. But immediate. Urgent.
Izuma didn't respond. He couldn't. He wasn't even sure he was breathing. The chamber they'd exited moments ago—the Veilforge, with its haunting glow—felt like it was still staring at him. Watching.
The word pulsed in his mind like it was alive. Like it meant something far more than a simple name.
Respawn.
What did it mean?
Did it mean he couldn't die?
Did it mean he can come back? like a game?
Or worse—that he would die again? Repeatedly?
The thought clawed its way into his skull, spiraling like a broken record. He shook in Rinji's grasp.
I don't understand. This isn't a game. This is real. People bleed here. People suffer. There's no controller, no pause screen.
"Izuma!"Rinji said again, voice closer now. Calm, but strained. "Breathe."
He couldn't.
Or—he was breathing. He had to be. His lungs moved. Air went in. Air went out. But nothing felt right. Everything felt off.
Rinji guided him gently out the room, resting him against the hallway wall just outside the Veilforge chamber. The air in this corridor felt heavier than before. More present. Like even the atmosphere knew something had changed.
Izuma's lips moved. Soundless.
He was spiraling.
I can't be the only one. Others must've had this. Right? Right?
But there were no records. No whispers. Nothing he'd overheard from Adia or Lira. No strange stories about people who couldn't die.
Just him.
Just that word.
RESPAWN.
Rinji crouched beside him, expression unreadable beneath the smooth mask.
"Tell me what you saw," Rinji asked, not demanding. Not pushing. Just… asking.
Izuma wanted to tell the truth. He really did.
But something deep in his gut recoiled. Screamed.
If I tell him the truth, he might turn on me. He might try to use me. Or sell me. Or worse—kill me just to test it.
His mouth opened.
And he lied.
"It said… Perception."
The silence that followed was thin. Fragile. Tense.
"Perception?" Rinji repeated. Just the word. No emotion.
"Y-Yeah. It… that's what popped up. Just that."
His voice sounded like someone else's. Breathless. Hollow. Far too quick.
Rinji didn't move. He didn't react. But the pause between words stretched a little longer than it should have.
"What did the bio say?"
Izuma's eyes darted.
Shit. It had a bio?
Izuma was so star struck at the sight he had seen, That he didn't even notice the 'about section' under it.
He scrambled. Thoughts flying.
"It… didn't have one. Maybe it's a passive ability? Or it glitched? I don't know. It just… said the word. Nothing else."
He forced a laugh.
It came out cracked.
Rinji stared at him for what felt like a century. Then, finally, he stood.
"Come on. You need rest."
He offered a hand.
Izuma hesitated, then took it.
They walked in silence.
The hallways grew dimmer the farther they walked from the Veilforge.
The walls here were lined with old tapestries and dull orange sconces that flickered with soft mana flame. There were no voices. Just the occasional creak of old wood beams and the faint echo of their footsteps.
Izuma didn't look up. He couldn't. He was still processing. Still drowning.
Does Respawn mean I come back? How many times? Can I choose it, like a checkpoint?, Is there pain?, Is it instant?, Is it like a dream?, How does it work?, i–is it a common talent?, Just how did did i have this?, Was this what brought me here?
Am I the same when I return?, or do i...
his thought process froze, Then continued.
...lose my humanity.
He wanted to scream.
But what came out was a whispered,
"fuck..".
They reached a side corridor that narrowed into a short hallway ending in a steel-plated door. Rinji pushed it open without knocking.
The room beyond was simple but well-furnished. Smooth stone walls. A soft single bed. A reading chair and table. Shelves with a few old books. A basin of water. A candle holder on the far wall, softly glowing.
Rinji guided him in and helped him sit on the edge of the bed.
Izuma sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.
Everything inside him was screaming.
His heart thundered.
His brain buzzed.
His soul—if it even was a soul anymore—felt like it was fraying.
What am I?
Why did it give me that?
Did I die in Japan? Was that real? Or am I still dying now?
Is this punishment?
God why?...
His body slumped sideways without meaning to. He fell against the mattress.
And finally, finally, his mind let go.
But it didn't give him peace.
The ceiling above him was blank.
He didn't remember lying down. He didn't remember taking off his shoes. How did he get here?, Was he carried?, Is this even his room?.
But none of that mattered, Especially not now.
The walls were silent. Too silent.
He stared upward.
The word glowed behind his eyes.
Respawn.
Like a checkpoint? A save file?
But there are no menus here. No HUD, Am i in a game?
No.
This isn't a game. This is my life, well at least from now on.
And yet—he knew what Respawn meant. Not with his brain. But with some part deeper. Primitive. Ancestral Knowledge.
It wasn't just an ability. It was a verdict.
You will die again.
And again.
And again.
And you will come back.
But not whole.
Never whole.
His fists clenched around the sheets.
"God why..." He whispered, digging his face deeper into the soft, pillow—like cushion beneath his head, "why me...?".
A sob built in his throat. He swallowed it.
The door creaked.
Rinji stood in the doorway.
Watching.
Quiet.
Then, just as he turned to leave, he said in a low voice:
"Remember... I can read your mind, not your soul. And your ability is tied to your soul."
He walked out, closing the door behind him.
Izuma was left with nothing but the sound of his heartbeat and the echo of that word, but as the night went one. He gradually became more and more sleepy, until he had finally reached his last blink, before his mind can drift away into Sweet bliss, As in dreams from his homeland, A final word erupted into his thought process.
Respawn.