Inside the mindscape, the silence was suffocating.

  Ange stood near the glowing summoning book, her expression conflicted.Wistoria sat quietly beside her, her hands folded tightly in her p, eyes flickering with worry.

  Across from them, Anastasia stared at the ground — unmoving.

  Her voice finally broke the silence, soft and low:

  “So… what you’re saying is…My existence… wasn’t supposed to happen?”

  Ange hesitated.Then nodded, guilt twisting her face.

  “Yes, Master… I consulted the stars, the deep lines of fate themselves.And you… you are not written anywhere among them.You’re not part of the Greyrat bloodline’s thread…And more importantly, you are completely absent from your brother Rudeus’s fate.”

  The weight of those words settled like cold ash around them.

  Wistoria, ever gentle, tried to speak comfort:

  “There’s an old saying…If you cannot be found among the stars,Then perhaps you are beyond them.Some souls are too great to be bound by fate.”

  But Anastasia only exhaled, slow and bitter.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, brows furrowed.“Even a pebble tossed into a still pond leaves ripples.Even the smallest insect caught in fate’s threads… leaves some mark.”

  Her eyes narrowed as something clicked in her mind — a theory forming.

  “Unless…”

  She paused, and the next words left her lips like a bde drawn from its sheath.

  “…Unless Rudeus absorbed me in the womb.Unless I was supposed to die there.”

  Ange gasped softly.

  Wistoria looked away.

  Anastasia clenched her fists, but her tone remained controlled — sharp with realization.

  “But I’m still here. Still alive.”

  She closed her eyes, drawing from the deep pool of forgotten lifetimes — of knowledge older than this world.

  And then, the words came with crity.

  “It’s my Beyonder trait.”

  Both Ange and Wistoria stiffened at the term.

  Anastasia opened her eyes, and this time they glowed faintly in the void-like atmosphere of the mindscape.

  “I suppose I owe you two honesty.I am not a soul born from this world — or any world.I am a Beyonder — one who transcends fate, causality, time, and even the gods.”

  “The ws of this universe… cannot bind me.Even if fate tried to erase me… it couldn’t.I persist because I exist outside their system.Immortal, yes. But cursed to wander.”

  Ange opened her mouth to speak — but nothing came out.

  Wistoria stared, stunned, struggling to tell whether Anastasia was confessing truth…

  …or slipping further into madness.

  But the way Anastasia stood, tall and unwavering despite the grief in her voice —Neither could deny it felt real.

  And terrifying.

  Anastasia leaned back on her phantom desk, arms crossed, a pleased glint in her eyes.

  “Anyway… do you two even know why I can summon you without any real consequence?”

  Ange and Wistoria exchanged a gnce — both recalling how Anastasia could summon them with hardly any mana strain, or sometimes even at full strength without breaking a sweat.

  They shook their heads, unsure how to respond.

  Anastasia grinned smugly, clearly waiting for that cue.

  “Simple. Once, in one of my past lives, I had tea with Death.”

  Ange blinked. Wistoria frowned.

  “Death as in…?”

  “The actual personification of it,” Anastasia said matter-of-factly. “Bones, robe, scythe — the whole package. Charming guy, surprisingly. Gave me insight into the mechanics of the soul.”

  The silence from the other two was deafening.

  “Also,” she continued, waving her hand dismissively, “I’ve uncovered the truth behind magic. And that’s why it bores me. The magic system of this world is a little different in structure, but the core is all the same — just fancy programming with mana. Once you learn the nguage, it all becomes… dull.”

  Ange tried to interject, but Anastasia rolled on.

  “Plus, the gods in this world? Weak. Honestly pathetic. They barely keep their domains intact. I could probably eat two of them before breakfast if I felt particurly moody.”

  Ange coughed into her fist.Wistoria’s lips twitched.

  They both decided, without words, that this was just Anastasia’s delusional episode fring up again.

  Anastasia narrowed her eyes, clearly sensing their thoughts.

  “You don’t believe me?” she said, sighing with mock offense. “Hmph. Your loss. I’m being generous with my honesty today.”

  But even as she mocked them, her voice had lightness to it — a strange kind of relief.Her shoulders were looser, her expression softer.

  After all, she’d made peace with it.

  Her fate — or rather, her ck of it — had finally been confirmed.

  “Turns out all that generational trauma and emotional baggage was pointless,” Anastasia muttered under her breath. “I was Merrylyn. I figured all this out once already… and just forgot because I got too emotional. How embarrassing.”

  She cleared her throat.

  “Anyway. Back to the topic. Continue with what you saw about Rudeus, Ange.”

  Ange nodded, a little thrown by the emotional whipsh but deciding not to press it.

  “Right… so, your brother. The fate line I saw wasn’t crystal clear, but the key moments are stable.”

  She took a breath.

  “Your father… Paul. He dies.”

  Anastasia’s eyes flickered.

  “Your mother… becomes paralyzed. Her mind remains intact, but her body will be unresponsive. A kind of magical vegetative state.”

  Anastasia said nothing.

  “As for Rudeus… he becomes a great mage. Travels across continents. Eventually marries three women. One of them is—”

  “Roxy,” Anastasia finished.

  Ange nodded.

  “The other two are named Sylphiette and Eris.”

  A long silence followed. Anastasia processed everything… slowly.

  And then.

  “…So. My father dies. My mother’s broken. And Rudeus becomes a harem protagonist.”

  She cracked her neck.

  “I see. Rudeus is this world’s son of fate. The chosen one.”

  Wistoria braced herself.

  Ange already had her hands over her face.

  Anastasia grinned — dangerously.

  “But I’m here now. So that fate? It’s already obsolete.”

  “You’re not— you’re not serious—” Ange began.

  “Of course I am,” Anastasia replied, standing proudly. “Just because fate married Roxy off to Rudeus doesn’t mean I’ll sit quietly and let that happen.”

  She struck a pose worthy of a stage vilin.

  “I’ll make sure Rudeus finds someone else. There’s plenty of nice girls out there who don’t already live in the same house, right? Boom. Problem solved.”

  Ange dropped her face into her hands with a groan.

  Wistoria gave up and turned away, muttering,

  “I should’ve stayed inside the book…”

  “Roxy is mine,” Anastasia decred smugly. “If fate has an issue with that, I’ll duel it at sunrise.”

  Wistoria stepped closer, her voice as gentle as the falling snow she once commanded.

  “Master… it’s okay to cry. Even if you put up a strong front, you’re not alone anymore. You can lean on us. On me.”

  Her sincerity struck the still air like a bell.

  Anastasia blinked once, twice—then abruptly snorted, lifting her chin with exaggerated pride.

  “No thank you,” she decred, arms crossing with all the pomp of a self-procimed noble. “I am Anastasia Greyrat! The future number one Sword Master! Your master, your summoner—an unparalleled prodigy of this era. I, the greatest, do not cry in the arms of my servants!”

  Her voice echoed as if spoken from atop a mountain… if that mountain was made of denial.

  Ange squinted.

  “…Says the one who brooded like a storm cloud all week.”

  The words slipped out before she could stop them.

  Anastasia’s eye twitched. Her finger rose slowly in the air like an executioner’s sword.

  “Ange,” she said in the calm-before-the-storm tone of a disappointed queen, “you are dangerously close to being resealed for insubordination.”

  Ange instinctively took a step back.

  “I-I was just saying it was a very elegant emo phase…”

  Anastasia clicked her tongue and turned away with a dramatic huff.

  “Hmph. It’s called capturing,” she sniffed. “A strategic, emotionally charged maneuver to ensnare Roxy’s heart. It was an act. A deliberate pn. I am charming her, obviously.”

  Ange and Wistoria exchanged gnces.

  “So… you do like Roxy?” Wistoria asked carefully.

  Anastasia froze.

  Her eyes widened a fraction. Her face twitched.

  “…Ahem,” she coughed. “It’s not ‘like’ as in romantic like. I like her the same way one likes a rare fruit—because it’s tasty—I mean interesting and, uh… high-quality! Yes.”

  Ange, eyes sparkling with mischief, suddenly mimicked Anastasia’s haughty tone.

  “‘Roxy is mine!’” she said, holding up an imaginary sword like a fg. “‘Fate be damned, I shall conquer the tsundere route!’”

  Anastasia turned slowly, her gre sharp as a drawn bde.

  “Ange…”

  Ange yelped and bolted down the hallway, ughing nervously.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace! I meant it in the most supportive way!”

  With an undignified growl, Anastasia gave chase.

  “Get back here, you defective healing spell with legs!!”

  Wistoria watched the scene unfold with a soft, amused sigh.

  “Somehow… this feels like a very odd kind of peace.”

  Anastasia’s eyes fluttered open—only to see Roxy’s smug face hovering above her, gently poking her cheek.

  “You insolent magician!” Anastasia barked, bolting upright. “How dare you defile the sacred cheeks of this noble body! I shall see you sent to the gallows!”

  Her voice was shrill, but the way she pouted and puffed her cheeks only made Roxy chuckle.

  “Oh no~ I’ve angered the little tyrant,” Roxy teased with a grin. “Maybe I should stop providing water for your baths.”

  Anastasia’s eyes widened in horror. A portable water caster was a cornerstone of her modern dignity.

  She cleared her throat and crossed her arms with all the faux-grandeur she could muster.

  “Ahem… I am, after all, a paragon of mercy. I forgive you... this time,” she muttered, clearly trying to save face. Her cheeks were pink with panic.

  With a dramatic turn, she stepped down from the bed.

  “Let us begin the day, Magician!”

  Roxy arched an eyebrow.

  “It’s Roxy.”

  Anastasia froze mid-step.

  “I have the free choice to call you whatever I wish!” she snapped, chin raised defiantly.

  But Roxy wasn’t budging.

  “And I have the free choice to ignore you until you get it right,” she said smoothly, brushing her hair with calm precision.

  Anastasia’s eye twitched. Her pride bristled. She stared at Roxy for a long moment, visibly grinding the gears in her head… then looked away.

  “R–Ro… Roxy…” she muttered under her breath.

  “…Sorry, didn’t catch that?” Roxy said, hand cupping her ear.

  “Roxy! There, are you happy now, you petty magician?!” Anastasia barked, face burning red.

  Roxy smiled triumphantly.

  “Very.”

  Anastasia spun toward the door in a huff, arms crossed, but the tips of her ears glowed pink.

  “Let’s go already, before I change my mind and call you fungus.”

  Roxy followed, shaking her head with an amused sigh.

  “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

  Behind her, Anastasia’s face twitched.

  “What did you just say?!”

  “Nothing~”

  They left the room, the sun rising on another chaotic but warm morning.