Chapter 6
“Huu…”
I’m exhausted from coding all night. The cigarette smoke drifting beyond the rooftop railing feels like the elusive solution to a problem that’s just out of reach.
“Inventory bug… I’m seriously going to lose it.”
People rarely get a chance to see their own back. But if I had to guess, that’s what my back must have looked like back then.
The back of an indie developer facing an onslaught of sudden bugs with nothing but bare hands.
After messing with every line of code all night and still failing to fix it, the strength just drains out of you.
And she was never the type of woman to leave me like that.
“You can’t lose it now.”
I look at the woman who came up to the rooftop holding a can of beer. On nights when she stayed up with me working, her hair would be just as messy as mine.
“Which Mi-ri do you need right now?”
“…What kinds are there?”
“The meticulous girlfriend. The gentle wife. The reliable comrade. The smart colleague… or the kind friend.”
Maybe I’d have to gather up every single one of those words to describe our relationship.
The time I spent with Mi-ri was exactly that kind of time. Loyalty, emotion, and practical benefit all tangled together—perhaps even stronger and more solid than a relationship built purely on affection.
I chose the one that felt closest to my heart from the options she offered.
“The kind friend.”
“Mmm.”
She nodded solemnly, wrapped her arms around my neck, and said,
“Don’t worry too much, Yo-han.”
“Yeah.”
“Everything’s going to be fine.”
I smiled. Seeing the corners of my mouth lift, she looked relieved, like someone who had accomplished her goal. I couldn’t possibly tell a face like that how hard things really were.
“Yeah… I’ll give it a shot. Sink or swim.”
“Yeah… I’m here too. Hang in there.”
It hits me all over again. There are women in this world more wonderful than pretty girlfriends or neat wives.
And Mi-ri was one of them.
She looked down at the growing pile of cigarette butts I’d stubbed out and said,
“But… it looks like you’re smoking more. It’s going to ruin your health.”
“I should cut back.”
“Does it taste good?”
“I just smoke it, that’s all.”
“What does it taste like?”
I showed her directly.
Her lips carried the rich scent of beer, and mine probably smelled faintly of menthol capsules. I led her cold hands back inside the rooftop room. She fell asleep soon after, drunk off just one can. As I looked down at her sleeping soundly with her head on my lap, a thought suddenly came to me.
Someday in the future.
No matter how this development ends.
I would miss everything related to this woman.
Not the passionate nights with her,
But quiet moments like this—listening to her peaceful breathing as she slept.
A new morning beginning with her calling my name…
***
“Um… Jeong Yo-han… wake… up…”
“……”
“…up.”
My eyes opened gently.
To the soft voice calling my name.
And that gentleness was an illusion. The woman with long black hair hanging in front of me was not Mi-ri.
“Huu…”
I rub my dry face. To forget the painful dream.
Arien looked at me with an awkward expression and asked,
“Did I do it right?”
I stood up without a word.
The short improvised scene I had forced through my game character’s mouth—
Her waking me up in that brief hallucination—
Could never have been my true purpose.
This was
A prayer sent to some nameless god who had given me one more chance.
A plea from me, Jeong Yo-han.
That I would absolutely return.
That I would face the failure I was meant to meet, and take responsibility for it.
And that, at the very least, I would not repay the apology and gratitude I owed her with nothing but abandonment.
I don’t know what my expression looked like. Arien flinched and stepped back after looking into my eyes. I brushed past her bewildered form and walked to the window.
The Academy dormitories have one distinctive feature that sets them apart from other buildings: the windows face a direction unrelated to the sun.
Though the exact direction varies by building, every window points toward the same object.
The clock tower of Frantimo.
This is one of the many magics experienced at the Academy.
That clock does not rely on springs or gears. At the top of the tower, in the center of the clock face model, there are no hands at all.
It’s not even a building in the strict sense.
It merely appears in the shape of a tower, taking on whatever image each person associates with the word “clock tower.”
It is, literally, magic.
An artifact left behind by the great mage Ong.
One that tells time to everyone who looks upon it.
“7:45…”
Enough time to wash up and get ready. After cleaning myself, I went down to the basement alone and finished breakfast. Then I returned and gave Arien the food I had secretly brought back, repeating yesterday’s warnings once more.
Arien nodded vigorously.
I looked out the window again at the clock tower that showed no hands yet still told the time perfectly.
Today, the real story begins.
And I will walk the true ending route.
Not just to survive this world.
But to go home.
To the place where she is waiting—even if she no longer waits for me.
To the rooftop where we shared beer and cigarettes and exhaustion and dreams.
To the woman who once told me, “Everything’s going to be fine.”
I will return.
And when I do,
The first thing I’ll say is:
“I’m sorry.”
And then,
“Thank you.”
“Yes. Don’t worry. I absolutely won’t get caught.”
“Good.”
I slid Mulkan’s sword under the bed mattress. After stepping out, I locked the door with the key and flipped the nameplate from “Occupied” to “Absent.”
Before leaving, I pressed my ear to the door. Fortunately, I sensed no presence outside. With a slight sense of relief, I left the dormitory.
***
The Academy’s training uniform is a black robe. Evangelos’s red hair stood out even more sharply against the dark fabric.
“The duty officer didn’t say anything yesterday?”
“Yeah. Just got my knees scolded a few times.”
He glanced briefly at my knees before speaking again.
“When I went to your room earlier today, it looked like you’d already left.”
My heart sank for a moment.
“Why the hell would you climb all the way to the 12th floor?”
“Why else? To eat breakfast together. You really just sneak off alone without a word? If you were up, you could’ve at least dropped by hyung-nim’s room.”
I subtly studied Evangelos’s expression. Fortunately, he didn’t have that “I know what you’re hiding in your room” look.
“You left really early. What were you doing?”
“Ah. Just wanted to look around the school a bit.”
“From the morning? To see what?”
I shrugged.
Evangelos pouted, but there was nothing to be done.
I needed to confirm what had happened to yesterday’s incident.
And right now, that part remained a mystery.
An Academy corporal had died. Clearly cut down by a blade. Murder, no matter what kind of person he had been.
Yet the start of the day was far too quiet for something like that.
“Evangelos. Did anyone come around this morning asking questions or investigating?”
“Huh? What kind of investigation? About the Blood Plate Method?”
Nothing. No investigation at all.
Had someone cleaned up the body?
Impossible. It hadn’t rained overnight, and even if the corpse had been removed, the bloodstains that had poured onto the platform floor would still be there.
No—even if those had been cleaned, the damaged Mulkan statue would remain.
When I stayed silent, Yohan Esperts’s childhood friend narrowed his eyes and said,
“You’ve been acting kinda weird since yesterday.”
“…Ah. Hangover.”
“Bullshit. Have I only known you for a day or two? What’s going on? Spill it to hyung-nim.”
“Rest time over! Next person, step forward!”
It was the swordsmanship instructor’s voice.
Even after facing more than fifty students already, there wasn’t the slightest hint of fatigue in his tone. As one hesitant student picked up a wooden sword and shuffled onto the sand, the instructor’s wooden blade thrust forward.
“Head! Waist! Stomach!”
“Urk—!”
The boy’s body was mercilessly knocked flying by the instructor’s attack. Growing up in a noble house, he probably had never been hit like this before.
Every student’s gaze poured onto the rolling boy.
“Ugh…”
Groaning in pain, the student staggered back to his place.
About a hundred students surrounded the sandy training ground.
Anyone watching would notice a few common traits among them.
They were all around 18 years old.
They were all wearing the black robes provided as the Academy’s training uniform.
And every single one of them was glaring at the swordsmanship instructor with open hostility.
Yohan Esperts’s special ability [The Smell of Death] does not activate against this kind of “hatred.”
[The Smell of Death] only triggers when a person’s murderous intent turns into action.
From the start, none of these kids truly believed they could “kill” the instructor.
And the instructor seemed to enjoy that fact.
“I told you, didn’t I? Idiots like you can’t block it even if I explain it step by step.”
“…Tch.”
“And there’s something your mommy and daddy never told you…”
He twirled his wooden sword and looked down at the students.
“There’s a reason you’re all idiots.”
“……”
“Because you take after your parents.”
“…Wow, he’s really crossing the line now.”
Evangelos loved his family. He had been sitting quietly, but now he grabbed a wooden sword and suddenly charged forward.
“At least make it a proper insult, you bastard!”
Sand flew up with every furious step of his charge.
He came from behind.
But the instructor turned as if he had eyes in the back of his head.
“Chest!”
Their wooden swords clashed. Then, with a loud crack—Evangelos’s sword shattered.
“Shoulder! Wrist!”
“Argh—! Aaaah—!”
Struck in the shoulder joint and wrist, Evangelos collapsed screaming. Shards of wood scattered across the sand.
The students’ legs felt weak just watching.
“It broke?!”
Evangelos must have felt the same. Despite appearances, he had been training in swordsmanship for a long time.
Murmurs rippled among the students.
“Shit, is his sword different or something?”
“No way. The instructor picked last.”
“Then why do only ours break?”
The instructor looked down at the groaning Evangelos and spoke calmly.
“Next.”
Of course, it wasn’t a difference in the swords.
I quietly picked up the broken base of the wooden sword that had bounced toward me.
The signature technique of the Academy’s swordsmanship instructor.
[Weapon Breaking]
It sounds simple, but it’s an extremely versatile skill. As the name implies, the instructor ignores the durability of whatever weapon his opponent is holding. And the category of “weapon” in his mind includes not only swords but also monster horns, claws, and even dragon teeth.
Twirling his wooden sword, Bastia spoke.
“Anyway, you lot have no honor to speak of, so feel free to come at me like this.”
A grinding grit sound mixed in among the students’ sighs. When no one stepped forward, the instructor’s provocation continued.
“Only those who think they still have some shred of honor—step up and give me your names. Not that I’ll bother remembering the names of idiots like you anyway.”
One angry boy stood up.
“I am Holioma of the Kapus family. I demand an apology for what you just said.”
This swordsmanship class was, in essence, an initiation ritual.
A time dedicated to thoroughly shattering the arrogance of young nobles raised in privileged houses.
“Kapus family idiot. Come.”
At the Academy, class time nullifies noble ranks. Even if the emperor’s own son were here, he would have to show proper respect to the instructor.
And explaining that kind of thing verbally was not Bastia’s style.
Etiquette isn’t taught through words—it’s taught through experience.
By driving it straight into the body like this.
“Shoulder. Thigh. Chest!”
“Gaaah—!”
Every time Bastia’s wooden sword struck, the students let out sharp groans of pain.
Having sent the eldest son of the Kapus family rolling across the sand, the instructor spoke indifferently.
“Next idiot. Come with your wish.”
“I’ll do it. I am Jackal of the Frodo family. If I win, I’ll call you an idiot from now on.”
“Fine. Until then, you’re the Frodo family idiot. Come.”
He was a young lord whose build made it hard to believe he was the same age as the others.
He charged at the instructor like he was going to devour him.
Of course, there was no upset. It didn’t even take three exchanges for Jackal of Frodo to end up rolling on the ground.
“Next idiot. Step up with your wish.”
“I’m Mubatliger of the Hanako family. If I win, you’ll eat without utensils—like a dog.”
“Ah, so that’s the Hanako family dining custom. Waist. Ankle. Head!”
The next student also lasted three exchanges.
Thirty minutes later, only one student on the training ground was still standing properly.
“Only one left? Whoever it is, he’s not only an idiot but a coward too.”
It was me.
And I didn’t get worked up over the provocation from a character I myself had created. Something else had been bothering me from earlier.
It was strange.
Event name: [Bastia’s Initiation Rite].
As a main event in the early scenario, there is no “death”-related element here. The original intent of this event was to introduce two characters.
Swordsmanship instructor Bastia.
And the Sword Demon, Savaki.
These two figures would grow and compete alongside the protagonist, becoming key players in major incidents.
But…
One of them was missing.
The only student in the original story who could actually receive Bastia’s strikes—Savaki.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t find him. He hadn’t appeared at all, even up to my turn as the last one.
…Why?
As I stepped onto the sand, the students’ eyes turned toward me. But there wasn’t much expectation in their gazes. The precedent of the hundred-plus students who had already fallen was too strong.
“Hey. If you’re not coming in, should I go to you?”
Bastia’s words snapped me back to attention.
I must have hesitated too long.
“I am Yohan of the Esperts family.”
“I already forgot your name. It’ll be proven soon enough—that everyone dragged to the Academy is an idiot.”
Bastia crooked his finger, signaling me to come closer.
“May I ask one question first?”
“A question? Go ahead.”
“I heard this is the last class. Is that true?”
“It is. There’s no one here with any real potential anyway.”
Savaki’s absence was already making itself felt.
In the original story, the character who should have been the one Bastia referred to as “someone with potential” was Savaki.
The character who would make the strongest swordsman—who had planned to leave the Academy after this class—decide to stay.
I muttered quietly.
“This is insane.”
If Bastia leaves, the mid-to-late scenario will collapse beyond repair. For whatever reason, Savaki wasn’t here now—so I had to take his place.
“Done asking? If you don’t want to come, I’ll go to you. Waist. Head. Stomach!”
Bastia advanced toward me.
Seeing it head-on like this made it feel incredibly real.
Yohan Esperts’s early-game swordsmanship stats weren’t high. In the original [Bastia’s Initiation Rite], he would roll on the ground just like the others.
There was no need to confirm.
He couldn’t block it with swordsmanship alone.
But…
I held the wooden sword straight forward and closed my eyes for a moment.
Not relying on sight—but on memory.
There was one characteristic the current me had that the original Yohan Esperts did not.
Because I was also Jeong Yo-han.
I knew this swordsmanship instructor’s attack patterns.