The door creaked open.
Not slammed.
Not kicked in.
Just… opened.
Which, somehow, was worse.
The smell hit first—iron and old wood and something sweet that absolutely did not belong in a loot house. My instincts screamed in unison:
THIS IS A BAD ROOM.
Inside, chaos was paused mid-frame like a cursed screenshot.
Felt stood near the back, eyes wide, knees bent, ready to bolt.
An old man—Rom—was frozen near the counter, gripping a club like it had personally betrayed him.
The insignia sat on a table between them, glowing faintly, innocent as a lie.
And in the shadows—
She leaned against the wall.
Relaxed.
Comfortable.
Smiling.
Elsa Granhiert.
She wasn't doing anything threatening.
No lunging.
No knife raised.
She was just… waiting.
Like the room belonged to her.
My stomach dropped through the floor and filed for divorce.
"Oh?" she said softly, eyes flicking toward us. "More guests?"
Her voice was warm. Friendly.
The kind of voice that says I bake on weekends and I will remove your organs alphabetically.
Emilia stiffened beside me.
Reinhard stepped forward immediately, calm and solid and very much between Elsa and everyone else.
"This ends here," he said.
Elsa's smile widened.
"Oh my," she purred. "The Sword Saint himself. I didn't expect you to come shopping today."
She tilted her head, gaze sliding past Reinhard—
and locking directly onto me.
My soul left my body, took a screenshot, and posted it on the afterlife forums.
"And who," she continued, "is this darling little thing?"
I did not move.
I did not breathe.
Every instinct I had screamed: DO NOT DRAW ATTENTION.
Unfortunately, attention had already RSVP'd.
Reinhard glanced back slightly. "He warned us of your presence."
Elsa blinked.
Then laughed.
Not loud.
Not manic.
Just… delighted.
"Oh?" she said. "Is that so?"
Her eyes never left mine.
My brain tried to reboot.
Say something smart.
Say something prophetic.
Say literally anything that doesn't get you filleted.
"I—uh—yeah," I said. Brilliant. "Hi."
Puck facepalmed mid-air.
Elsa pushed herself off the wall and took one slow step forward.
I felt it.
That pressure.
That wrongness.
Predators don't rush.
They approach.
"You don't smell like a knight," she said. "Or a mage. Or a merchant."
She leaned closer.
"You smell… breakable."
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Reinhard moved.
Not attacking—just shifting, subtly, decisively placing himself fully between us.
"That's enough," he said, voice still calm—but colder now. "Step away."
Elsa sighed.
"So protective," she murmured. "You heroes are always like this."
Her hand slid behind her back.
Steel whispered.
Knives appeared in her fingers like they'd always been there.
Rom roared. "GET BACK—"
Elsa vanished.
Not ran.
Vanished.
The world snapped sideways—
—and Reinhard moved.
I didn't see the clash.
I felt it.
Air exploded.
Wood splintered.
The floor buckled like it had personally offended physics.
Elsa reappeared mid-spin, blades skidding off Reinhard's sword in a shower of sparks.
She laughed.
She was laughing.
"Oh, this is lovely," she said. "You really are as wonderful as they say."
Reinhard didn't respond.
He pressed forward.
The fight was unfair.
Not in Elsa's favor.
Every strike she made was perfect—deadly angles, surgical precision—but Reinhard was just… there. Blocking. Redirecting. Existing at a level above consequences.
I backed up instinctively, heart trying to escape through my throat.
Emilia grabbed my sleeve. "What do we do?!"
Good question.
I looked around.
Felt was edging toward the back exit.
Rom was bleeding—but alive.
Elsa was occupied.
And for the first time since I got here, something clicked.
I didn't need to win.
I didn't need to fight.
I just needed to make sure no one else died while Reinhard did what Reinhard does.
"Puck!" I hissed.
He zipped over. "Oh NOW you have ideas?"
"Can you shield Rom?" I asked. "Just—anything. Ice. Barrier. Threatening aura."
Puck blinked, then nodded sharply. "On it."
He flew off.
Emilia stared at me. "What about Felt?"
I glanced at the thief.
She looked terrified.
Not evil.
Not cruel.
Just a kid who stole the wrong thing.
I made a decision.
"Felt!" I shouted.
She flinched. "What?!"
"Run," I said. "Now. Drop the insignia and RUN."
She hesitated—then tossed the insignia onto the table and bolted.
Good.
One less variable.
Elsa noticed.
Her eyes flicked toward the door.
For the first time, her smile twitched.
"Oh," she said softly. "You're interesting."
She lunged—past Reinhard.
At me.
Time slowed.
This was it.
No checkpoints.
No resets.
Just a knife and a mistake.
Reinhard intercepted her mid-step, sword flashing—
—and stopped her blade a breath from my chest.
Silence slammed down.
Elsa froze.
Her knife hovered, trembling.
Reinhard's voice was gentle.
"I told you," he said, "no harm would come to them."
Elsa stared at the blade.
Then… laughed again.
Slow. Soft. Almost fond.
"Oh well," she sighed. "It seems today isn't my lucky day."
She stepped back willingly.
Reinhard did not pursue.
Elsa retreated into the shadows, eyes locked on me until the darkness swallowed her whole.
Gone.
The room collapsed into sound.
Rom slumped.
Emilia exhaled shakily.
Puck returned, smug and icy.
And me?
I sat down.
Hard.
My legs gave out.
I was alive.
Still alive.
No rewind.
No death.
Just… survival.
Reinhard turned to me.
"You acted quickly," he said. "That saved lives."
I laughed.
It came out shaky and broken.
"Yeah," I said. "Totally planned."
Emilia smiled at me—warm, relieved.
Puck smirked. "Fraud prophet lives another day."
I wiped my face and looked at the door Elsa vanished through.
Arc 1 wasn't over.
But for the first time—
I believed I could make it through.
Without dying.
Without resetting.
Without becoming Subaru.
And that?
That felt like the real miracle.