I stand frozen, holding the “Book of the Dead” bearing the name “Natsuki Subaru.”

“――――”

My eyes widen in shock, and I feel my throat rapidly drying out.

Astonishment and disbelief barely scratch the surface. What hits me here is something far greater—localized damage that is purely personal.

A potent poison that works exclusively on me and no one else――.

The “Book of the Dead” about “Natsuki Subaru” pierces through me with such a fierce meaning.

“Wh-why…?”

Is this “Book of the Dead” really here, where it shouldn’t exist?

I should be looking at the records of the lives of the deceased, stored on “Taygeta,” in the third layer of the Pleiades Watchtower. It’s contradictory to have a book devoted to the living.

Or could it be that I’ve simply stumbled upon the book of someone else with the same name?

“If this weren’t another world, I might have found it convincing…”

The possibility that cropped up in my mind is immediately denied.

It’s obvious that this is another world—a place whose rules of naming are vastly different from what I know. How could a name like “Natsuki Subaru” be born here?

Before that, there’s a decisive problem.

The title of this “Natsuki Subaru” book is written in kanji.

“――――”

As far as I’ve seen so far, this world has a completely different character system. Thus, someone from another world who is unfamiliar with our letters would surely see this title as mere hieroglyphics.

The more I think about it, the more it seems impossible that I found the “Book of the Dead” for “Natsuki Subaru” here—it’s as if a stroke of incredible luck has managed to provide this, or perhaps—

“――Someone’s predetermined route.”

That’s the only way it makes sense.

“――――”

Again, holding the “Book of the Dead,” I lapse into silence, contemplating my situation.

I’d discovered this “Book of the Dead” thanks to subtle reactions from “Cor Leonis.”

It’s not the first or second time I’ve searched for a specific book in this archive, so I know that finding a target title amidst this vast collection about takes an act of divine intervention.

Probably something entirely impossible without the invisible hand of God stepping in.

“Or, it could be someone else’s…”

I’m convinced there’s intent behind it.

What I need to ascertain now is the authenticity of this “Book of the Dead”—whether it indeed chronicles the life of “Natsuki Subaru.” If it does, what mechanics are at play here?

The undeniable fact remains that I am alive here.

If “Natsuki Subaru’s” “Book of the Dead” exists here—

“Once I’ve lost my memories, I have been treated as dead… The ‘Book of the Dead’ in ‘Taygeta,’ that ‘Memory Corridor’ is observing the world where I died…?”

If so, it’s conceivable that they’ve somehow captured my “death” and manifested it as a “Book of the Dead.” But then, what does “Return by Death” even mean?

“Am I reversing time or completely reconstructing the world? I’d considered this before…”

If I postulate a method for the “Book of the Dead” to generate “Natsuki Subaru’s” book, the most probable scenario seems to be the latter. If that’s the case, what happens around me and “Natsuki Subaru” is not a cute concept of “returning by death”—

“How foolish am I? No, I’m really an idiot. …this coward.”

Feeling my thoughts spiral off into a tangent, I berate myself.

Why is my thought process getting sidetracked? Because of my own cowardice. I’m simply scared of the “Book of the Dead.”

What would happen if I read the “Book of the Dead” about “Natsuki Subaru”?

I am scared of that unknown event, something entirely beyond my grasp, so I frantically chase baseless hypotheses, trying to avoid opening the first page of the book.

“――――”

It’s strange, but the very existence of the “Book of the Dead” here feels like salvation for me at this moment.

It seems like proof that I didn’t just suddenly appear in this world.

However, at the same time, it signifies that someone other than myself, “Natsuki Subaru,” definitely existed and carved out his path in this other world, while I am trampling over and obliterating those traces from above.

So now, it’s just about confirming what’s written within.

“Assuming this is indeed the ‘Book of the Dead’ of ‘Natsuki Subaru’… Where does it begin, and where does it end?”

With Meily, I could trace her life from the time she was just a little girl—when her memories settled and began to solidify.

But what about my case? If I could read the “Book of the Dead,” would it start with my self-awareness sprouting, evolve from there, and then, where would it lead?

Now, since it’s not that “Natsuki Subaru” died, but rather “Natsuki Subaru” was counted as dead, it makes sense that I could follow the memories of “Natsuki Subaru” right before he lost his consciousness.

Or, would I inevitably trace the memories of the current Subaru, who woke up in the tower after losing them? In that case, which “death” would be chosen as the end?

Or just like with Reid, it might merely be the remnants of blank memories left behind.

Just like how the memories recorded in Reid’s “Book of the Dead” have disappeared from the book to recreate his role as a tester in this watchtower, the recollection of “Natsuki Subaru” might have also vanished.

Thus, what I open and see in this book is not the memories of “Natsuki Subaru” —

“—In the end, what do I want, you coward?”

Do I want to see, or do I not want to see?

I loathe my inability to provide a straightforward answer to that very question, so I scold my floundering self and exhale deeply.

At this point, the option of not looking at the book is unfathomable. While that may become an option, I can’t imagine actually choosing to reject it.

So, so, so, so, so—

With a strong exhale, I opened the “Book of the Dead.”

And thus begins the journey of “Natsuki Subaru,” with no clue where it starts or where it will end――.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

This is seriously messed up.

“――――”

I’m hit with a rock-hard sensation on my face, and my abdomen feels as though it’s burning away, scorching my brain.

A violent heat restricts my breathing, making my head feel like it’s filled with molten magma. Yet my limbs grow cold and heavy, a contradiction that shakes my very essence.

Thoughts tumble over one another, questioning what has happened. I need to do something—thoughts scream for action.

But those thoughts of doing something are useless.

The moment I move towards the source of my scorching pain and touch my abdomen, my palm becomes drenched in blood. I sense a flood of blood soaking the floor beneath me.

—Ah, is this all my blood?

I can’t tell how much blood has pooled on the wet floor, but it’s not just a casual amount like when donating blood. My life source streams forth, unable to sustain the flickering flame of my fragile life.

In conclusion, my body has already begun its countdown to death.

Yet still, I’m not dead because this life, heading towards death, has a last mission left to complete.

—Raise my voice.

I must raise my voice.

It’s dangerous. It’s a threat. Stay away. Run. Dash away without looking back.

I needed to alert her of the danger.

Warn her that it’s dangerous so she wouldn’t enter this place.

But—

“――――”

No sound comes forth.

Instead, what escapes is a heated clot of blood rising within me. My throat is choked, leaving me helpless to articulate anything. I cough violently as the burning sensation spreads in my abdomen.

Pain, suffering, embarrassment, confusion, and—

“—Bal?”

A silver-tongued voice invades an area it shouldn’t.

“――――”

I need to stop that.

But I’m too late.

Even though I should have guaranteed that it wouldn’t happen by sacrificing my life if needed, my belly’s been ripped open.

“—Ah!”

I hear a scream, and with an intense noise, someone collapses to the ground.

The hand of that fallen someone overlaps with mine, a cruel twist of fate. The maliciousness of fate is too much to express in words.

“――――”

Fingers trembling faintly grasp that hand gently. I return that clinging touch, and deeply, deeply exhale along with the clot of blood.

“…hold on…”

The blood clot spills forth, my life flows away. I can’t stop it.

It’s already beyond help. This situation has completely hit a dead-end.

All of it is the fault of none other than this powerless, useless man.

Therefore, this blood-colored oath bears no meaning.

I know that it’s futile, yet still, there’s a foolishness in wanting to vow.

Even though I know it’s over.

Even though I understand it’s ending.

Those facts, however, seem to bluster onward without end, clumsily, as I vow.

“I will definitely—”

—Save you.

In that next moment, he—Natsuki Subaru, “Natsuki Subaru,” “菜月・昴,” lost his life.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

The moment the connection was severed, Subaru felt a hard pain at the back of his head.

“Ugh—”

A jarring shock echoed in his skull, and for a moment, he was tricked into thinking he’d been struck from behind. But soon enough, he realized that was a mistake. Because Subaru’s body was tilting backward, and the entire back of him pressed against the cold floor.

“Wh-where…?”

It wasn’t in a cold, dim, dilapidated building, but within the library of “Taygeta.”

Slowly rising his body, he shook his bewildered head, turning his neck—and then, in a panic, checked his abdomen.

There should be a wound there, one that would threaten his life.

But—

“Not—there… no, no, no. No wounds. My stomach—wasn’t cut…!”

I touched my abdomen multiple times, confirming that the source of the burning sensation had vanished. The most vivid sense that remained from the scene I had just witnessed had dissipated.

I had heard before that extremely strong pain can often be misinterpreted as “heat” by the brain. That phenomenon was precisely what was occurring. In other words—

“—I died from a gash in my stomach.”

Being sliced open by a sharp blade, drowning in blood bubbles and weakness during the end.

If dying meant just me, I might have been able to bear it. But this wasn’t the case.

“Satella…”

The name of the girl I couldn’t save, whispered at the very end—her fake name.

In that recollection, the silver-haired girl I knew had deceived her identity, interacting with Subaru. It was clear that malice wasn’t the reasoning behind it.

“…Still, what a pathetic way to die.”

Placing my hand against my forehead, I replay the events that happened to me.

I had been summoned to another world, wandering the streets with foolish optimism while nearly dying from thugs. Then, I was saved by Satella, and in turn, helped her find something she lost—

“I wasn’t even useful in the end…”

At the last moment, I couldn’t even communicate the danger, and I dragged her into it.

Not merely a wasteful death, but a death unworthy even of a dog.

That’s just how irredeemable my death as Natsuki Subaru was.

“But—”

It wasn’t as though I reaped absolutely nothing.

“—This is the ‘Book of the Dead’ of ‘Natsuki Subaru.'”

At the very least, that much was absolutely undeniable.

“――――”

A hopeless, foolish, weak, irredeemable “Natsuki Subaru.”

A self-aggrandizing delusion had continued to fester, turning a blind eye to the heavy burden of my parental failures. In the end, my summoning to another world had been a convenient escape from reality, while I feebly tried to trick myself and everyone else.

Such foolishness had led to the tragedy in that Thieves’ Repository.

How shallow and naive was my view, to allow for such foolish failures?

Why could I be so defenseless in such a dangerous place? What imbued this foolish self with a baseless confidence? It should have been a mindset that could cost me my life anywhere, even in a foreign land. And look at what resulted because of it.

If I hadn’t died, I’d want to kill myself out of sheer embarrassment.

“An irredeemable fool… but still…”

It was undeniably a cataclysmic foolishness, but finding out about it was a stroke of luck.

I held my anger back and calmly scrutinized this fact.

Indeed, the “Book of the Dead” functioned as intended. The book recorded the death of “Natsuki Subaru.” And naturally for “Natsuki Subaru,” there were countless facts he had no way of knowing.

—For instance, that relates to how he obtained the power of “Return by Death.”

If this were the usual, cliché isekai trip, a god or a similar, extraordinary being would have summoned Subaru to this other world.

However, “Natsuki Subaru” had no recollection of interacting with some supernatural being, nor any indication that someone bestowed him with powers that he recognized.

This was something Subaru, who witnessed the death of “Natsuki Subaru,” could assert.

At the very last moment, even while rambling on about his persistent denial, he had no certainty that he could leap over death and reverse time.

At the very least, that much was true for me. It was at that moment I realized something.

I couldn’t objectively view myself nor “Natsuki Subaru” very well.

The cause for that was crystal clear.

“I’ve sunk deeper than with Meily.”

As I read Meily’s “Book of the Dead” and experienced her life, I felt a strong sense of being pulled down. It was as if half of her person merged with mine, creating a vision of Meily that came forth in my mind, saying whatever she pleased and manipulating Subaru at her whim.

Although, in the end, I understood it was merely a false version of Meily, created by my own thoughts, entirely unrelated to the real Meily, a delusion born from discord.

“――――”

Nevertheless, this “Book of the Dead” set itself apart from my experience with Meily.

Regardless of what I might say, the confusion right after reading the book about Meily had some indicators that separated her from me: differences in gender, age, values, and more.

While I could use such differences as markers, gradually pulling myself away from her and accepting our distinct existences.

But this time, it wasn’t going to be that easy.

It was me under question. The situation that I should never encounter was transpiring—”Natsuki Subaru” was unexpectedly leading me into a fight against myself.

A fight against myself. While hearing those words might sound clichéd, it’s precisely the phrase that encapsulates what I am currently experiencing.

In reality, things do not look good.

Overlapping with “Natsuki Subaru” means I’m approaching an act of erasure. Dipping a pristine paintbrush into the murky waters of the black paint that is “Natsuki Subaru.”

“—Emilia. Emilia, Emilia, Emilia, Emilia, Emilia.”

The feeling of being stained drives me to chant Emilia’s name like a spell.

The reason I invoke her so is simple. The “Natsuki Subaru” within the pages does not seem to recognize her as Emilia.

Under the false name given, he faithfully played the fool to the last moment.

Thus, this is where the differences between my current self and “Natsuki Subaru” lie.

“――――”

As my teeth chatter, worried about the sensation of being chipped away at, I glance down. A book I dropped haphazardly lies there.

“――――”

I’ve once observed where “Natsuki Subaru” died.

It’s oddly fascinating that the beginning of “The Book of the Dead” starts when he suddenly called out to the world with a dumb look on his face. Meanwhile, with Meily, the story began when she was an exceptionally young child—no, that matter is irrelevant now.

The real issue lies with the continuation of this “Book of the Dead.”

“You’re going to do the same, right? ‘Natsuki Subaru’…”

Thanks to “The Book of the Dead,” I was able to witness the death of the very first “Natsuki Subaru” summoned to this other world.

However, that was merely a beginning.

This “Natsuki Subaru” must have utilized the power of “Return by Death.”

Perhaps it isn’t “Return by Death” but rather a different manifestation of a unique power entirely. —No, it’s more natural to believe it that way.

The ability to freely travel back in time is far more convincing.

If “Emilia,” “Beatrice,” “Ram,” “Echidna,” “Julius,” “Meily,” “Shaula,” “Patrasche,” “Giant,” and undoubtedly many others whom I’ve crossed paths with expect a “Natsuki Subaru” to perform, then surely this much could be anticipated.

If that’s the case—

“There must exist something beyond this point.”

A “Natsuki Subaru” that seemed no different from the previous “Natsuki Subaru.”

However, within that “Natsuki Subaru” lies something pivotal that distinguishes him as “Natsuki Subaru.” Spirited by a desire to find that, I once more reached for the book.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath.

“――――”

Holding the book, I counted the beats of my heart, calming my anxiety as I began to walk slowly.

My steps were hesitant, yet my direction was unwavering.

Eventually, I arrived before the bookshelves, reaching out—

“—The second volume.”

Another “Natsuki Subaru” book weakly proclaimed its existence within “Cor Leoni.”

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

“Natsuki Subaru’s” journey was absurdly haphazard and entirely unplanned.

“Pretty pathetic. It’s all amateurish and messy. Lacking any blessing or skill; I expected some wit, and yet there’s none. Just what were you thinking?”

A powerful enemy playfully torments me, and I cannot even retaliate properly as I get engraved with wounds.

Amid my suffering, a bloodied old man and a golden-haired girl lie collapsed nearby. Neither was saved by my hand. I could not even move.

“Slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly, just squirm.”

Eventually, I got cut open at my stomach, my eyes gouged, losing my sight in a world where every essence of my life is limited, spending my time alongside fear until my death.

Even till the very end, I trembled, shivered, and cowered, all whilst utterly pathetic.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

“Did you stab him?”

“Couldn’t be helped. What if he escapes outside? It wouldn’t just be a hassle.”

“Ah man, this is it. You’ve damaged the innards; he’s going to die. …And the clothing is all soaked too.”

A whimsical discussion unfolds over the fallen enemy’s head.

How carefree of them to be contemplating such useless thoughts, while I must grapple with the shocking pain stabbing into my back.

At least I can intuitively escape from pain, find ways to protect myself.

What a complete wasted death, an absurd life lost when it could have saved someone.

Instead of addressing a girl who isn’t even Satella with her name, I level that false pretense at her, and find myself overpowered and murdered by someone who doesn’t even notice the obvious peril I’m in.

What a befitting end. Why could I not, from beginning to end, embrace each second and put my whole being into living?

This is enough. This world has come to an end; I knew this would happen all along.

From the start, I was fully aware, that seeing “death” here was what awaited me. So with nothing decisive, the world comes to an end. Now that it’s over, just let me go to the next phase. Next, next, next, next, next, or else the pain becomes unbearable, unbearably agonizing, painful to the point of insanity so I must push on to another new chapter—.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

Even as I sleep, death creeps in, and in sharp contrast to its abrupt arrival, it courses a cold toxin through my veins as if to intrude upon my very soul.

Death’s approach, that itself so subtle one might overlook it, should be far less torturous than the pain and suffering I went through until now.

However, such a perception couldn’t be further from the truth.

Why did I die? Did I truly die?

Amongst those fearing “death,” there are undoubtedly many who wish to die peacefully in their sleep, but speaking from experience, dying that way should never be desired.

“Death” holds meaning.

In the closure of life, in the final act, there must be an end one recognizes.

Confusion, disappointment, shock, and longing swirled within me as I sought another “Book of the Dead.” I have to know what transpired. I need to know what killed me—.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

—Mysteries call forth more mysteries, as I relive the incomprehensible and unreasonable “Death.”

Endings pile upon endings, and tragedies recur.

While I rejected the notion of dying peacefully in my sleep, it would similarly feel unsettling to be smashed into pieces or gouged out.

Death seems to come for me one by one, hunted, taken, shattered, only to eventually lead to betrayal.

Why has this become incomprehensible?

Why must I rescue that blue-haired girl who killed me?

Why was I so desperate to save her, while she thrust her back against a faltering Subaru?

Why did I feel strengthened by her words, and thought myself able to continue onward?

In betrayal, I long for one thing, a world that affirms my desire to believe.

One that acknowledges “Natsuki Subaru” can save someone.

In vain, I push against this sad and empty misconception and sacrifice my life over.

I’ve encountered Emilia, Pack, Felt, Old Man Rom, Reinhardt, Elsa, Beatrice, Ram, Rem, Roswaal, Petra, and the people of “Araham Village”――.

—With an overwhelming wave flooding in, I defy it.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

“Nguh…”

Covering my mouth, I kneel, facing the impending death once more inside “Taygeta’s” library. Unable to support my body anymore, I topple face-first onto the ground.

“Hah… hah…”

My breath comes in ragged gulps, drenched in streams of fat-soaked sweat.

Is it hot? Is it cold? Is it bitter, sweet, agonizing, or pleasant? My emotions, jumbled together in good and bad, condensed into a hundred shades of gray, leaving me perplexed as to which feeling is the correct one.

I feel incessantly bombarded from all angles, struck mercilessly.

“—That makes eight volumes.”

Since I found and began reading “Natsuki Subaru’s” “Book of the Dead,” I’ve stacked this many volumes.

Referring to them as volumes is somewhat peculiar. There should be no numbering given since there was never a “next volume” from the same series across the platform of that library.

Yet still, “Natsuki Subaru’s” books continually progressed through volumes.

Even more strange is that I can’t find a new “Natsuki Subaru” book unless I finish reading one. The cycles follow through regularly, not skipping interludes of “death,” flowing through “Natsuki Subaru’s” trail.

Thus, while following the trail, I think.

What a brute, what a tough-headed “Natsuki Subaru” he has been.

Especially upon witnessing the conclusion of the last one, the culmination of the eighth “Book of the Dead,” I couldn’t help but feel this way.

After the Royal Selection began, “Natsuki Subaru” fell out with Emilia at the castle, ultimately only managing to hurt her—while he didn’t offer any apologies or reflections, he perished amidst the chaos.

I, the reader of this book, sink into a subjective position where my consciousness channels closely with his.

It’s reasonable to believe such influence affects only the two of them intensely. Yet it was still unbearable.

Why can’t I be understood? The counterthought surfaces in the back of my mind.

“Don’t get trapped in the past…”

It’s enough to wish to forget this tragedy witnessed firsthand, breaking my body apart.

But that’s the past. Simply put, an event that occurred in the past.

For “Natsuki Subaru,” standing at the precipice of “death,” it remains a present matter.

Even as I sync with “Natsuki Subaru,” I share the immediacy of the moment.

That is the past. A past that will linger as an indelible scar.

Therefore, here in this moment, I should breathe and escape from shock. Forget. Who was it that killed Emilia and the others? Who made such nasty mayhem in the village?

If I don’t—

My spirit will snap.

If Subaru’s spirit breaks down and he can’t stand up again, then what will happen?

Who would do what, and for what reason? “Natsuki Subaru” isn’t here. Thus, it’s only up to me to figure things out.

“I haven’t….”

—Found it.

“――――”

There must be something definitive that only “Natsuki Subaru” receives.

That must be what serves as the key distinguishing “Natsuki Subaru” from himself. Until I obtain that key, my journey through the “Book of the Dead” won’t finish.

The key that allows Natsuki Subaru to emerge as “Natsuki Subaru.”

The key that would enable me to embrace Emilia, Beatrice, Rem, Ram, Echidna, Julius, Meily, Shaula, Patrasche, Giant, and everyone else as their savior.

For now, there are no signs.

“Natsuki Subaru” bears no spirit of a hero or savior capable of helping someone.

All I possess is an extraordinary amount of stubbornness and the unusual luck of having great people around me.

But that’s not all.

It’s not something as vague as “something.”

No, there’s something clearer, something straightforwardly evidenced by its existence, that without it, everyone would recognize and find it ironically universal.

There is something. So I seek it out――.

“—Volume Nine.”

I once again take on the cyclical deadness amid confusion, chaos, betrayal, and despair.

Let’s hope, “Natsuki Subaru.” Quickly return to being you.

—Before I can no longer endure “death,” “I” cannot hold on any longer.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

—”Death” piles upon death.

—”Ending” stacks upon endings.

With each bout of pain, sorrow, loss, and deprivation, I hear the cracking sound of my spirit.

Crying out in disbelief, I gnash my teeth to ask whether I can find a way out of here, while standing up coated in blood.

There, scrapped and earnest, is a man’s struggle.

Countless times, horizontal twice, it counts down my demise, compacting everything into this determined isolation.

It’s remarkable. Truly. Worthy of respect.

Not giving up is an incredible thing. It’s astonishing to keep fighting tooth and nail after going through such a nightmare. I’m impressed. I don’t mind it—Yet it’s different.

But it’s different. So this isn’t right.

“Something….”

—There must be something at play.

There must be something present. If there isn’t, it doesn’t make sense.

There should be something, and in turn, that weak yet irredeemable “Natsuki Subaru” will transform into the one who can finally save everyone—Emilia and the others.

So it is I who struggles in desperation for it, at risk of losing all sanity.

Each time I read through the “Book of the Dead,” I’m driven to re-experience the fluctuating state of affairs, the fear and shock that “Natsuki Subaru” underwent, all while desperately searching for what I need.

Nevertheless, I have yet to uncover a single hint—.

“Uuuaaaaah――!!”

I slam my head down against the floor.

While I pressed on in my observations, as soon as I returned, my sense of shame became discordant.

“Father… Mother…”

A “Natsuki Subaru” exchanged words with both parents, a “Natsuki Subaru” apologizing to them.

He was spirited away into another world, bidding farewell to them to survive in this place.

All the while, knowing full well what he had done, and realizing that conveying words of love would only bring pain to his parents, he sought self-gratifying satisfaction in those phrases—all unearned.

“Ugh, ugh…”

Nausea surged. Tears spilled forth.

The sharpness of the pain lay with the realization that I understood “Natsuki Subaru” so acutely, and leant awareness to how they could forgive him.

Don’t forgive me. Curse me. I wanted to be scolded for being an unfilial son.

Yet, they did nothing of the sort.

Neither Father Kenichi nor Mother Nahoko complies with my wishes. I yearned for them to remark upon how despondent a weak man like me could be, only to find that’s impossible.

Subaru’s father, Kenichi, and mother, Nahoko— were undoubtedly the best parents ever.

The joy I feel amidst all this only highlights how I condone “Natsuki Subaru’s” decisions, while I have no right to seek salvation .

—Is that it? Is this the reason? Is this why I can eventually become “Natsuki Subaru”?

“It’s different… it’s not it! That’s not it! It’s not like this!”

Pulling at my hair and hammering my aching head with my fist, I curse myself.

What I’m seeking isn’t a mental reprieve. I need something more clear, defined, something that holds actual power—.

A special power that only “Natsuki Subaru” can comprehend.

That same special “something” is what allowed “Natsuki Subaru” to awaken as “Natsuki Subaru” himself as I became successful with “Cor Leoni.”

That’s the key to changing this situation, and I must believe in it.

Touching the previously existent wound of my abdominal cut—now the last cause of my death, I murmur.

The memories begin to overlap with what I saw in Meily’s “Book of the Dead.” An assault on the mansion, an older sister who was both lovely and troublesome, and the onslaught of Elsa. The „Natsuki Subaru’s“ arch-enemy.

But all of that is merely the narration of an already passed world.

The world that “Natsuki Subaru” had once traversed.

What truly matters isn’t empathy for “Natsuki Subaru,” but rather unveiling the trick that he alone possesses and claims.

For that reason alone, for that solo pursuit, I pursue the “Book of the Dead.”

—For that single purpose, Natsuki Subaru presses onwards toward death.

“Tell me, ‘Natsuki Subaru.’ —Why are you so special? How could you alone retain that specialness? There is, right? Something must exist!”

“Something must have changed you! Something that transformed you into not a hopeless wretch anymore!”

“Change me from being weak, pathetic, tiny, and utterly useless! I’m so tired! I no longer want to witness everyone suffer!”

“Something… something! It’s out there, right? If there’s nothing, it’s bizarre. That ‘something’ exists, and because of that, you are… different from me… or else….”

—Or else, I would have no choice but to acknowledge it.

“You are the same as me. Weak, small, and powerless….”

—I teeter on the edge of kneeling again, repeatedly nudged along by someone’s encouragement, striving to repay the kindness shown by those who treated me well.

“Please, ‘Natsuki Subaru.’ I’m begging you. Please, just stop….”

—It would have been much better if you had been a superhuman.

—you may be a being that transcends weakness, utterly devoid of similarity, someone who embodies a being of strength, the reason you could do what I never could.

Yet—.

Ripping the pages from the book, I whacked my head time and time again with cumulative “death,” each blow crushing me further, while I earnestly seek possibilities.

Even so, no matter the situation, I desperately cling on to the chance I have remaining—.

“――――”

I grasp the book and open it.

Prepared for my mind to be shredded, for my spirit to be vandalized, for my soul to be ravaged, I open the book.

Because, facing a reality more painful than suffering or torment is the idea of losing my last hope.

“You understand, don’t you, ‘Natsuki Subaru’…”

As if seeking affirmation, I address the empty space where he is not.

My voice carries an undeniable loss of vigor, which is to be expected.

Because that isn’t even a rival worth encouraging.

He’s not a man worthy of such recognition. While hoping he would become something more, my fingers instinctively reach for and pull out the “Book of the Dead.”

Then, filled with a resolve that echoes the desire for doks, I—

“—Ah, I understand.”

“――――”

It was a white, bright world.

Plainly enough, Subaru found himself not in the library nor in some alien aspect of memory, but in a place familiar yet distinctly separate from here.

There, he said—

“I understand, Natsuki Subaru.”

“――――”

“Because you are me, after all.”

“`

 

---