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A long silence passed.
Allen lifted his pen, staring at the ink-blurred spot where Hilda's name had been.
Then, with a turn of his wrist, he wrote her name again—outside the circle.
Right beside Eris'.
[Oh? Feeling generous?]
His gaze flicked over the newly materialized text before settling back on the two names, shifting between them.
"Stop being sarcastic. I think Eris will need her."
[Eris needs her? Good reasoning. Solid reasoning.]
[Eris does need her.]
[But is this really a logical decision—or just your 'kindness' talking, Allen?]
"..."
[Eris needs her. Eris also needs Philip. Eris needs Sauros too. What, gonna save them all?]
[Weren't you just condemning Philip and Sauros for valuing schemes over family? For treating you—their 'son'—and their own daughter as pawns? Doesn't that clash with the 'family' you knew in Buena? With the bonds you built in Paul's household?]
[If you're saving Hilda, why not just save them all while you're at it?]
[What's there to forgive?]
[Save them! Save everyone!]
[Dig up the whole Fittoa region while you're at it! Hell, evacuate Buena Village too!]
[Why hesitate?]
[After the rescue, might as well help Philip slaughter James in the capital and install him as family head. Easy, right, Young Master Allen of Boreas?]
The words writhed, dripping with viscous mockery, as if reveling in Allen's struggle—a spectacle it found deeply entertaining.
It was enjoying this.
[Who do you think you are? The chosen saint? The greatest do-gooder in the Six-Faced World? Thinking you can save whoever you please?]
[Who can you actually save?]
"..."
[Rescue Hilda—the one 'normal' person in Boreas who showed you kindness? Then what? Save her husband? Her father? Every damn relative?]
[Won't you reconsider?]
[Really won't reconsider?]
[Can you even—]
[SAVE YOURSELF?!]
Snap.
The pen in Allen's hand broke.
The system panel vanished instantly.
Allen watched the dissipating smoke, massaging his temples.
"...What kind of garbage system is this? Feels like my old phone gained sentience and turned into a little shit."
"One moment it's professional, the next it's unhinged—like me putting on a polite voice for clients at work versus my midnight Twitter rants."
He absentmindedly rolled the broken pen pieces between his fingers, eyes drifting between Hilda's, Philip's, and Sauros' names.
Finally, he sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead.
He understood the system's subtext.
That line—[Can you even save yourself?]—was a reminder of the cost of abandoning Future Sight.
"The current situation is a tangled mess. Even if I detach my own feelings, even if I consider Eris' perspective… Yes, ideally, I'd save them all. But I haven't even finalized plans for the people I truly want to save—Paul, Zenith. How can I arrogantly assume I can rescue everyone?"
Allen narrowed his eyes at the names. To save Paul and Zenith, he'd already resolved to shatter the "detestable future." But as someone who knew the original story, he was acutely aware of the price.
The most critical one?
If his interference grew too noticeable—if he drew the attention of a certain Dragon God—and that being "saw" him, an anomaly absent from previous cycles, then noticed the ripple effects altering others' fates…
What would Orsted do?
Simple.
Walk up, stare him dead in the face, and ask:
"Have you heard of Hitogami?"
Game over.
Would Allen get a chance to explain?
Would it even matter?
Would Nanahoshi be with Orsted this time?
If so, would she—even for a second—think to spare him?
The cost of abandoning Future Sight…
Was Allen's own survival.
Yet even so.
He'd chosen to discard it.
The memory of everyone rushing toward him in Snow Valley—frozen in last winter's light, yet vivid as yesterday—flashed in his mind.
Some things…
To Allen, who'd grown up starved of love…
Once he truly acknowledged them…
Were, in a way, more precious than his own life.
And the Boreas family…
Did they fall within that acknowledgment?
Not yet.
Candlelight flickered.
Allen pulled out a new pen.
He drew a question mark beside Hilda's name—but left Philip and Sauros untouched.
"...Let's wait and see."
"Three years and three months left. Still time to 'see' more clearly."
A long exhale escaped him.
He slumped forward, arms sprawled across the desk, exhaustion weighing his bones—yet sleep refused to come.
His eyes traced the woodgrain patterns, moonlight pooling in the 481 grooves.
His pen moved unconsciously, grazing paper.
"System."
[Here.]
The response was immediate, its tone neutral—as if the earlier taunting had never happened.
Too tired to speak, Allen simply thought a name.
In the next instant, swirling smoke condensed into a massive world map on the desk, zooming in until a familiar bird's-eye view of Shirone Palace materialized.
[Deploy 'Gaze'? Duration: 10 seconds.]
[Yes.]
Vision hurtling across mountains and crowds—
Until it locked onto a similar desk.
A cascade of blue spilled over the surface, rivulets weaving through woodgrain like liquid sapphire.
Not water.
Roxy's hair.
Her soft azure strands fanned across the table, blending with the indigo of her eyes.
Within that waterfall of blue, a familiar gaze met his.
At this moment—under the same Asuran night, separated by vast distance—both of them lay sideways on their desks, mirrors of each other.
Roxy blinked, her expression faintly troubled.
She tugged at her bangs, pushing herself upright.
Beneath her cheek: a letter.
The Gaze couldn't transmit sound.
Yet Allen still heard it—the whisper of her pen on paper.
The same sound from two years ago, during their shared nights in Buena, when he'd watch her—chin propped on his hand—as she scribbled in her monster encyclopedia with that endearingly serious, slightly airheaded focus.
Ten seconds was short.
But enough to lull Allen into sleep.
Beside his hand…
The unconscious strokes of his pen had traced—
Roxy's name.
Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 185 on my patreon, go check it out and remember that if we reach the goal of 90 power stones I will publish the next chapter.