Moonlight spilled across the wooden floorboards as Roxy and Ange sat beside the slumbering Anastasia, who remained curled up on the bed, her breaths shallow but stable.

  “I’ve already healed her physically,” Ange murmured, one hand resting gently over Anastasia’s chest, glowing faintly with healing magic. “No signs of trauma, wounds, or strain in her body…”

  She leaned closer, furrowing her brow.

  “But her mana circuits? They're scrambled. Fried from the inside out. Like she tried to cast something... far beyond what her frame can handle.”

  Roxy frowned. “What kind of magic causes that much internal damage?”

  Ange lifted her head with a solemn expression. “Domination magic.”

  “…Excuse me?”

  Ange nodded seriously. “As someone who’s battled demons, succubi, and at least one cursed idol, I can tell you with full confidence: those burn patterns follow an old, high-grade mind control spell. A succubus-css spell.”

  Roxy blinked. “You’re saying… she tried to dominate me?”

  Ange gasped. “So you did feel it?!”

  “No—I—wait, what?! Why would she even do that?! She hates me! I think!” Roxy filed, flushing red at the implication. “She treats me like I’m constantly one sentence away from being disintegrated!”

  Ange rubbed her chin, eyes gleaming with intrigue. “That’s exactly what makes it obvious. Master Anastasia is... a tsundere.”

  “A… what now?”

  Ange gave a deep, sage-like nod, like a priest sharing forbidden gospel.

  “You see, long ago in our… uh… very complex adventuring party, there was a woman named Lilium. She created a theory—no, a doctrine—about emotional behavior patterns in romance.”

  Roxy stared at her bnkly. “Are we seriously doing this right now?”

  Ange continued, unfazed. “A tsundere is someone who is cold, brash, rude, and possibly threatening—but only because they have romantic feelings they can’t express properly. Given time, patience, and frequent acts of kindness, they melt, becoming sweet, loving, and devoted.”

  She tapped the side of her head, confident.

  “That’s what’s happening. Your presence is triggering Anastasia’s tsundere instincts. That spell wasn’t mind control—it was a love confession gone... catastrophically wrong.”

  Roxy opened her mouth.

  Closed it.

  Stared at Ange.

  “...You’re insane,” she muttered.

  Ange just smiled. “You’ll see.”

  Roxy turned back toward the unconscious girl on the bed, studying her sleeping face. Even now, Anastasia’s brows were furrowed, her lips twitching like she was scolding someone in her dreams.

  “…She really doesn’t seem like the type to fall in love,” Roxy muttered.

  But she does seem like the type to set a building on fire just to win an argument…

  She sighed and rubbed her temples.

  “Anastasia, what are you pnning?”

  A quiet groan escaped Anastasia’s lips as she stirred, the world slowly swimming back into focus.

  Her body still tingled from the failed spell’s backsh. Her circuits ached. Her pride was—well, let's not talk about that.

  Her eyes fluttered open... and immediately locked onto her.

  Ange.

  The betrayal was instant.

  "You..." Anastasia growled, voice low and ominous like thunder before a storm.

  Ange, to her credit, didn’t flinch.

  Instead, she puffed her chest and stood tall—though her knees trembled slightly.

  “Master!” she decred, hands on her hips. “Just because you’re emotionally constipated doesn’t mean you can skip all the retionship stages and cast succubus magic on your crush!”

  A long pause.

  Anastasia stared.

  Blink.

  Stared more.

  “…What in the name of the shattered arcane tree are you babbling about?!”

  Ange doubled down. “You’re in love with Miss Roxy and tried to dominate her heart with forbidden magic! That spell reeked of a forced affection charm!”

  “You imbecile! That wasn’t a love spell—it was a memory override protocol with a partial soul bind signature!”

  Ange tilted her head. “So like a marriage contract?”

  “NO!!”

  Anastasia whipped around to Roxy, who was just… standing there. Bnk-faced. Staring.

  “You! Don’t get any ideas!” she snapped, her face beginning to burn scarlet.

  Roxy blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Exactly! You’re not worthy of being the object of my affections in the first pce!” Anastasia spat like a cornered animal. “Like hell I'd lower myself to fall for a smug, average-height, painfully patient, surprisingly competent—ARGH!!”

  Roxy: “...”

  Ange: “...A”

  Anastasia buried her face in her hands.

  “Why must everyone I summon have half a brain cell and the comedic timing of a jester high on fate dust?”

  Ange giggled. “You’re blushing, though~”

  “I will unsummon you and feed your essence to the book, don’t test me.”

  Roxy turned away, covering a ugh with her hand. “You know… tsunderes do exist, huh?”

  “ROXY!!!”

  Ange had been unceremoniously desummoned. The pillow she caught to the face still existed in spirit, echoing through the mana space she had been banished to.

  Now silence filled the dim room.

  Anastasia y on her side, back to the world, curled like a fortress made of pride and worn-out theatrics. Her eyes burned with exhaustion, not from spellwork, but from performance.

  Acting was such a pain.

  She wasn’t a tsundere. She didn’t even like Roxy like that.

  …But if it kept her from asking the wrong questions—or worse, getting too close—then she’d wear the mask. At least for now.

  Behind her, the sheets rustled.

  “So…” Roxy’s voice finally broke the silence. “How exactly did you know succubus-css spellcraft?”

  Anastasia froze.

  Her brain clicked. Her mind raced. Her pride screamed.

  She inhaled and muttered with as much nonchance as she could fake, “It’s from a book I bought in the bazaar. Really filthy stuff. Probably cursed. Didn’t even work properly—”

  Her voice caught itself too te.

  “Like hell I’d say that, idiot!!” she snapped, jerking the bnket over her head with a growl.

  Roxy blinked.

  Then softly—genuinely—she ughed.

  That calm, teacher-like chuckle that made Anastasia want to smack her with a dictionary.

  Still hidden under the covers, Anastasia grumbled, “What’s so funny?”

  Roxy settled onto her side of the bed, ying back with a smile in her voice. “Ange might’ve been right after all. You’re not good at pretending to care… but you’re worse at pretending you don’t.”

  “…Shut up.”

  The silence returned, gentler this time. The candlelight flickered. Outside, the wind brushed softly against the windows.

  “Goodnight, Anastasia,” Roxy said, her voice quieter now.

  “…Hmph.”

  But she didn’t face the wall anymore.

  The door shut behind her mind’s body with a soft click, and silence recimed the chamber.

  Anastasia sat at her desk, alone.

  Again.

  She clicked her tongue, frustration curling on her lips like smoke. "That act better hold up," she muttered. "If she figures it out... ugh. I don't want anyone reading deeper."

  Her eyes fell to the glowing tome—her soul's tether, her prison, her power.

  "I’m still immortal," she said bitterly, almost like the word tasted wrong in her mouth. "Why…? I was supposed to be reborn. Human. Finite. I even bleed, I even hurt... so why can I still access my Sage Eye without backsh? Why does the world still cling to me?"

  The silence pressed back. Like it agreed. Like it didn’t.

  Her voice cracked then—quiet, but raw.

  "I don’t want to hurt anymore. Not again. I don’t want to lose more people... bury more names I can’t forget."

  A single tear traced down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away.

  "I don’t want to stay immortal. I want... I want to end. To live fully, and die fully."

  She stared down at her hands—small in this life, yet still carrying the tremble of a thousand years of memory. The ache of centuries never faded. They just... dulled. Until a smile. A word. A voice brought them back.

  She inhaled sharply. Wiped her face with her sleeve.

  “Enough.”

  Emotion: boxed. Thoughts: compartmentalized. Persona: reequipped.

  She stood and brushed invisible dust from her robes, her gaze nding on the polished floor leading to the left wing of her mental domain.

  “Let me check on the others,” she muttered, walking through the grand doors.

  The academy’s vast halls stretched before her—marble tiles, high arching ceilings, stained gss windows depicting spells long lost to modern understanding. Once, the ughter of students filled this space. Dozens. Hundreds. Training, learning, living.

  Now, her footsteps echoed like reminders. Of what was. Of what would never be again.

  She walked slower than she meant to.

  She stopped once, near the central atrium, where the sunlight of her artificial sky filtered through blue and gold panes. There, long ago, she’d lectured a group of prodigies who would die protecting a border town.

  They had smiled at her that day. Brightly.

  Now she couldn’t recall all their names.

  Her pace quickened.

  She arrived at the dormitory wing, reaching the polished oak door marked Ange. A familiar emblem—a symbol of healing and stubborn compassion—was engraved on its surface.

  Anastasia hesitated only for a moment.

  Then she knocked.

  “Ah—Wistoria!” Ange chirped as she flung her door open.

  But her smile froze.

  Standing in the doorway wasn’t Wistoria—it was her.

  “…Master,” Ange corrected herself instantly, voice turning syrupy with respect and self-preservation. “What brings you to my humble dorm?”

  Anastasia stepped inside, her expression unreadable. Her eyes scanned the room like she was cataloging a library, then settled on Ange with dispassionate weight.

  “Do you know how to read stars?”

  Ange blinked. “Stars…? You mean like astrology?”

  “No. Real stars. Celestial alignments. The ones tied to fate.”

  Anastasia didn’t waste time. Her Sage Eye was sealed for now—temporarily—but time didn’t wait. She had five years at most before the convergence passed, and the dey would cost her everything.

  “Indeed, Master~ But that kind of knowledge isn’t free~ If you want my knowledge, you’ll have to pamper me a little. Maybe serve me tea for once? Call me Lady Ange? I’m open to suggestions~”

  Ange’s face brightened, then twisted with pyful cunning.

  Anastasia stared at her, deadpan.

  Ange wilted slightly but maintained her smile.

  “I want to know,” Anastasia said, her voice calm but heavy, “my family’s fate.”

  That made Ange pause.

  She wasn’t expecting something like that. Her teasing dropped like a mask slipping from trembling fingers. She studied Anastasia, trying to read the shift in tone. This wasn’t her usual haughty tyrant act.

  “…You knew?” Ange whispered. “That star reading could reveal fate?”

  “I figured it out,” Anastasia said ftly. “I can’t afford to wait years for its return. If I’m to protect them, I have to pn now.”

  Ange’s throat went dry. Her Master was many things—prideful, sharp, maniputive—but this was something different.

  “I’ll help you,” she said, quieter now. “I’m not a seer… but I’ve read signs. I’ll try.”

  Anastasia gave a faint nod but didn’t say thank you. Not directly.

  Ange hesitated again. “Can I ask why you want to see their fate…?”

  Anastasia’s face didn’t change.

  But her voice did.

  “…To wake myself from this delusion.”

  Ange blinked.

  Anastasia looked away—just for a moment.

  None of my lives were ever happy. Not truly. If this one is just another lie... I want to know before I get too close.

  She turned her back to Ange, gaze distant as if already counting stars.

  …Because I’m tired of loving people who die.