The walk back to the royal chambers did not feel like a return.
It felt like an execution.
Every step inside Kenji's boots echoed too loudly against the polished marble floor, as if the palace itself was counting down the seconds until I broke. The corridors were wide, grand, suffocating. Golden chandeliers bathed the halls in warm light, but none of it touched me.
My shadow stretched unnaturally long ahead, thin, distorted—like a corpse dragging itself forward.
I passed a cluster of maids near the eastern wing.
Their whispers stopped immediately.
They bowed—too quickly, too stiffly.
I didn't look at their faces, but I felt their eyes on me. Curious. Measuring. Suspicious.
Not reverent. Not trusting.
I kept walking.
The moment I reached Kenji's chambers, I shoved the heavy oak door shut and slammed the bolt into place.
Click.
The sound echoed like a verdict.
Silence swallowed the room.
For three full seconds, I stood unmoving.
Then—
"What kind of sick joke is this?!"
My voice exploded, raw and fractured. The walls swallowed it without response.
I turned and drove my fist into the stone wall. Pain flared—sharp, immediate.
Again. And again.
Then I leaned forward, smashing my forehead against cold masonry.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I welcomed the pain. Needed it.
Because the truth clawing through my mind was far worse:
Rank 1.
Rank 2.
They weren't heroes.
They were Gods.
Literal deities masquerading as warriors.
My breath came uneven as I stared at the ornate carpet beneath my feet.
Images flashed through my mind—summoning circles, cheering crowds, smiling nobles.
Lies.
All of it.
Why summon humans into a world guarded by Gods?
Because humans were expendable.
I remembered the histories. The footnotes. The erased names.
The summoned heroes never ruled. Never decided. Never survived.
They were shields.
Meat thrown in front of the Seventh Rank.
Human sacrifices wrapped in the illusion of glory.
"It's all a lie…" I whispered.
Warm liquid slid down my brow. Blood dripped onto the floor, staining the carpet a dull crimson.
"Everything is a trap."
Dialogue with the Dead
The pressure came suddenly. Violently.
My chest tightened, as if an iron vice had snapped around my ribs.
My right hand twitched—once, twice—and slowly began to rise toward my throat.
I froze.
Not now.
Kenji.
He only struck when I was weak. When fear cracked my control.
"STOP IT!" his voice shrieked inside my skull.
"STOP RUINING MY BODY, YOU FREAK!"
My fingers trembled inches from my neck.
I exhaled. Slowly.
And something inside me… settled.
The panic faded, replaced by a cold, bottomless calm.
I straightened my back. My hand stopped.
"You really think this works anymore?" I said aloud to the empty room. My voice didn't shake.
"You only feel powerful because I let fear drive the wheel."
The phantom pressure faltered.
I turned toward the mirror.
"You want this body back?" I continued, reflection staring back with unfamiliar, predatory eyes.
"Then listen carefully, hero."
The air felt heavy. Kenji was listening.
"If you interfere again," I said, razor-flat, "I will destroy you without lifting a finger. I will smile in public and make mistakes in private. I'll let rumors spread. I'll let doubt rot your reputation. The world will think the Great Hero Kenji has lost his mind."
Silence.
Pure, terrified silence.
"You'll still be alive," I continued softly. "But no one will believe in you. Not the King. Not the girls. Not even the Gods."
My hand dropped to my side.
"The deal's simple. I stay. I play your role perfectly. I protect this body better than you ever could."
A pause.
"And when I find a way out of this nightmare," I added, "I give your life back."
His voice returned, small, shaken.
"Who… who are you?"
I laughed. Broken. Hollow.
"I'm the mistake this kingdom buried," I said.
"The fifth student. Elementless. Worthless. Trash."
Kenji remembered. I felt it.
"They killed me within an hour," I continued.
"Then used my corpse as entertainment. You executed me yourself."
Shock rippled through his soul.
"You think this is coincidence?" I whispered.
"No. Someone is watching. Someone is testing us."
I leaned closer to the mirror.
"So be quiet, Kenji. Let me deal with the monsters outside."
The resistance vanished.
The Mask of the Hero
I washed the blood from my forehead.
Adjusted the golden-trimmed robes.
Smoothed my hair.
The mirror reflected a flawless hero. Handsome. Confident. Powerful.
But the eyes—
They belonged to a ghost.
I walked into the Grand Banquet Hall.
Heat. Noise. Excess.
Roasted meat. Expensive wine. Sweet perfume thick enough to choke.
At the head of the table sat King Valerius.
To his right—Kiran of the Azure Tide.
His sapphire eyes locked onto mine instantly.
He didn't blink. Didn't smile.
He measured.
"Sir Kenji," Kiran said, voice slicing through the hall. "Your mana feels… different. Sharper. Heavier."
I sat.
Forced Kenji's familiar grin onto my face.
"Just a headache," I replied lightly. "I'll be sweet and fine once the wine kicks in."
A few nobles laughed.
Kiran didn't.
"I hope so," he said quietly.
"Because at dawn, we march."
My blood ran cold.
"Tomorrow," he continued, eyes never leaving mine. "Toward demon territory."
I nodded calmly.
Inside, alarms screamed.
I don't even know what a demon looks like.
Plates were set down.
The hall fell unnaturally quiet.
The King watched.
The General watched.
Sakura and Hina stared at me—not with warmth, but confusion.
Like they were seeing someone wearing Kenji's skin.
I lifted my wine glass.
My hand didn't shake.
I smiled.
But inside—I understood the truth.
I wasn't hiding anymore.
I was standing at the center of the stage.
And when the curtains rose…
This world was going to bleed.