Subaru was stunned when
But right here, right now, there was no reason for Emilia to try to unsettle him with a meaningless bluff.
That meant the only possible conclusion was that the title of this volume before him—*Book of the Dead*—bore Meili's name. It was an irrefutable fact.
"......"
Without a word, Subaru felt cold sweat soak through his back as his jaw clenched tight.
Inside his skull, his brain was screaming one thing and one thing only—*why*. That was all.
Why was Meili's name here? Why had the archive that recorded the dead prepared her book so quickly? Why, among this impossibly vast collection of volumes, had Meili's book been found so easily? Why, the very instant Subaru had wanted to trust Emilia and the people inside the tower, had something like this happened? Why was fate so merciless toward
"......
"!"
Even as his mind was flooded with that staggering cascade of *whys*, those words vibrated against his eardrums with eerie clarity. When he jerked his head up, it was Emilia who had addressed Beatrice.
She glared at the spine of the book still sitting on the shelf while questioning the small girl.
From what Subaru had heard, the *Book of the Dead* in this archive apparently flooded the reader's mind with the memories of the deceased when someone who knew them in life touched it.
Quite a chilling power for a magical tome to hold, but that wasn't the issue at hand. The fantasy-colored aspects weren't the problem—the practical reality was.
If Meili's memories from when she was alive were visible, that meant her final memories would be visible too.
In other words, it would reveal who had strangled her to death. The answer would be right there.
"......"
Logically speaking, Subaru had no doubts that the person who killed Meili was his own two hands, and that the one who did it was "Natsuki Subaru."
But the only one who could draw that distinction was Subaru himself. The memories—functioning like a kind of recorded footage, like security camera footage of the crime scene—would make no such distinction. Moreover, in this loop, Subaru had been hiding his amnesia from Emilia and the others.
If the memories exposed his crime, and only then did he reveal his memory loss—it would look like nothing more than a clumsy, last-minute excuse. Anyone else pulling that kind of improvisation would be dismissed out of hand.
Naturally, Emilia and the others would think the same thing Subaru would.
If Beatrice had already accessed the memories surrounding Meili's death— "I haven't confirmed it yet."
"You— really? You haven't?"
"Of course not. One has to exercise caution with these things. Besides, we don't even know yet whether this is truly the book belonging to *that* Meili we know. If it really does belong to that girl..."
"Meili is inside this tower...! Oh no—we have to find her right away!"
Emilia's face drained of color, and she made to rush off at Beatrice's words. But Beatrice cut in front of her, shaking her head.
"Wait, I suppose. If this really is that girl's book, rushing around won't help. If a book has been added to this collection, that's what it means, I suppose."
"...That's why
"And if, along the way, Meili happens to appear looking perfectly innocent, it'll turn out to be nothing more than Betty's silly overreaction."
Beatrice's calm analysis gradually deflated Emilia's momentum. Still, the anxiety didn't leave her face. Emilia clasped her hands together before her chest as if in prayer.
Hoping—clinging to the hope—that the book on the shelf didn't belong to Meili, that it was simply some other person who shared the same name.
—And Natsuki Subaru knew that hope was destined to go unanswered.
"......"
Watching Emilia and Beatrice's exchange out of the corner of his eye, Subaru's mind was racing.
Spinning, churning thoughts—the vast majority of his mental energy was devoted to figuring out how to escape this situation and keep the truth to himself.
Just as he had simulated before, Emilia and the others must not be allowed to see Meili's memories. That Beatrice hadn't looked yet was a stroke of fortune, but it was only a matter of time.
Meili's death was a fact. She would never appear in this archive looking perfectly innocent. So naturally, the opportunity to verify the *Book of the Dead* would come. And soon.
If the book were read, Subaru would face accusations from Emilia and the others.
So then—would it be enough to dispose of Meili's book somehow? —No, he wanted to avoid that conclusion.
It was true that the situation made it extremely difficult, but even more problematic was Subaru's own feelings—Subaru himself had a strong interest in the book's contents.
As things stood, Subaru believed without question that the one who killed Meili was "Natsuki Subaru." If he peered into Meili's records, he might be able to see that "Natsuki Subaru."
To see the face of his own—or potentially something lurking inside him—a literal, latent *enemy*.
If that were possible, Subaru's situation would change dramatically. At the very least, he would be able to steel his resolve.
For that reason, he needed to find a way to keep Emilia and the others from reading the book here, and ensure that only he would access its contents— "Yo, someone called me over here all noisy-like, so what's going down, ssu?"
"
While Subaru was still turning those thoughts over, Shaula appeared in the overstocked archive.
Cracking her neck and letting her black hair dance, Shaula was greeted by Emilia and Beatrice. Then she spotted Subaru in the back of the archive and waved at him.
In that instant, the image overlapped with Meili that morning—her walking into the breakfast scene—and Subaru turned his face away, fighting back the urge to vomit.
"Oh, Master, how cold, ssu. Just a while ago you were spending such hot times with me, and now this, ssu."
"I'm curious about what happened between you and Subaru, but that'll have to wait. If you've seen Meili anywhere, tell us. You were getting along with her, weren't you?"
"The little kid... um, Number Two, ssu? Hmm, now that you mention it, I haven't seen her in a while. After breakfast this morning, I don't have a clue, ssu."
Beatrice's question was met with Shaula waving both hands in response. Then she pressed one of those hands to her cheek and tilted her head. "Did something happen to Number Two, ssu?"
At Shaula's question, Emilia's gaze faltered with worry.
"Actually, a book with Meili's name was found in the archive. We haven't been able to look inside it yet, but before that, I wanted to make sure she was safe..."
"Ah, got it. Number Two kicked the bucket, ssu. Hard to imagine, but there are plenty of ways to die, so who knows, maybe that's what happened, ssu."
"!"
"...You."
Without a shred of consideration for Emilia's feelings, Shaula laid out her breezy philosophy on life and death.
Emilia's cheeks stiffened, and Beatrice glared at Shaula with open fury. But Shaula showed no particular reaction to either of them.
"So, where's the actual book, ssu? If we just check inside, we'll know where and how Number Two died, ssu."
"Hey—cut it out, will you?! All you've been saying this whole time is stuff like that—"
Unable to watch any longer, Subaru snapped at Shaula's callous remarks. Her words and behavior just now showed a staggering lack of human empathy.
Subaru's own thoughts from moments ago were things he could never let Emilia hear, but he at least had the good sense not to say them aloud. Shaula, on the other hand, didn't have that— "Don't be mad, Master. I don't mean anything bad, ssu! But still, if the book is right there, shouldn't we just do it, ssu? If your worry, Number One, is that something might happen when we read it..."
She faltered, her momentum weakening as Subaru failed to produce a counterargument. Shaula pressed on, casting a quick glance toward Beatrice before cutting herself off and refocusing on Subaru.
Then, with a brazen, innocent expression, she continued: "—You should be the one to read the book, Master."
"......"
"When we found this archive, you and that other guy with the crazy face had already done the first-time experience, ssu. And after that, nothing bad happened to either of you, right...?"
Shaking her voluptuous chest, Shaula leaned in until her face was within arm's reach. Subaru swallowed hard at her proposal, and his brain once again went into deliberation.
Shaula's suggestion was—terrifyingly, given her usual behavior—perfectly logical.
In truth, the effects of the *Book of the Dead* on its readers were unknown, but at minimum, two people had already experienced it. The experiment was more than worth attempting.
Of course, it was also possible that this experience was what had stolen Subaru's memories and severed "Natsuki Subaru" from his current self. But if that were the case, Julius should have been similarly affected. The suspicion that he, like Subaru, was secretly hiding amnesia was too much of a leap.
There was no connection between the *Book of the Dead*'s effects and his amnesia.
Given the circumstances, that conclusion could be safely drawn. If so, this proposal was a godsend— "......You know, Shaula might have a point."
"......Subaru, are you really going to do this? She's someone you shared meals with."
If he rode Shaula's momentum, he could at least clear the first hurdle.
It would also open the path to becoming the first and last reader of Meili's *Book of the Dead*—and behind that argument, Subaru hid his true motivations. Beatrice's genuine worry interjected.
She was concerned about the psychological toll it would take on Subaru, and she was reaching out to him.
So far, the dead that "Natsuki Subaru" had seen here were, ultimately, people with only shallow connections. But Meili was different.
She was someone he had traveled with, exchanged words with, shared meals with—a comrade of sorts.
Beatrice was troubled by the thought of what kind of psychological wound Subaru would suffer by witnessing her death.
"......I'll be fine. Don't worry. Like Shaula said, I'm the most likely candidate."
Meeting Beatrice's concern, Subaru tightened his cheeks to look serious and nodded.
It was true—peeping into the records of a dead person you knew could very well cause severe psychological damage. A good, normal person might not have been able to endure it.
—But he wasn't that. He wasn't.
For the current Subaru, Meili was by no means a comrade he had traveled with, exchanged words with, and shared meals with.
They had spent merely a few hours together, acted like they knew each other, shared two or three breakfasts, and there had been the faintest moment where her presence had offered his heart a sliver of salvation. That was the extent of their relationship.
A girl he barely knew—nothing more.
There would be no wound from witnessing her death. None at all.
"I'm still against it. If you absolutely insist, then I'll be the one to look, not Subaru—"
"If you're the one looking, Betty is against it, I suppose. If someone has to do it... it's frustrating, but either Subaru or Julius would be the safest option. Looking at Julius's state this morning, I'd like to cross him off the list too."
"Even you, Beatrice..."
Beatrice overrode Emilia's emotional objections with logic.
At the very least, Beatrice appeared to have chosen to respect Subaru's wishes. But Emilia had also witnessed Subaru's state just moments ago—his instability, for lack of a better word.
So, to the violet eyes that still couldn't hide their worry, Subaru nodded.
"—I'll do it. Besides, maybe it's all just a misunderstanding, and even if I read it eagerly, nothing will happen, right?"
"...If anything happens, I'll rip you away from the book immediately. I'll pull your hair."
"I'd appreciate it if you could be gentler about it—maybe shake my shoulder or something."
If Emilia yanked his hair with that superhuman strength of hers, the back of Subaru's head would become a permanent wasteland. With that lighthearted deflection, Subaru walked toward the bookshelf.
Meili's book remained in its place, radiating its same strange presence. When he had first seen it, it had looked like nothing special—an unremarkable volume. But the moment he learned it bore a familiar name, it transformed into this. Human consciousness was unreliable like that.
And seeking out his own unreliability, Subaru picked up the book.
"......"
Behind him, Emilia and Beatrice held their breath. Shaula watched his decision with a relaxed posture, hands clasped behind her head.
Bathed in the gazes of all three, Subaru took a light, deep breath, placed his hand on the dictionary-thick cover of the book, and— "—Here I go."
Murmuring as if steeling himself, Subaru opened the book—and his consciousness plunged into darkness.
— * — * — * — * — * — * — * — * — * — * — * — * — —When the woman became aware of her own beginning, she had nothing.
There was no one around her.
No men, no women, no adults, no children, no elderly, no infants. No one at all.
Dark, dark, black, black—in the forest, alone, the woman simply existed by herself.
She knew nothing of standing and walking. Nothing of speaking and communicating. Nothing of crying out to survive.
She possessed none of these things. They were all distant, vanished beyond the horizon of oblivion.
"......"
If she didn't know words, she didn't know how to grieve.
If she didn't know how to walk, she didn't know how to resist.
If she didn't know how to live, she couldn't even fathom the reason to die.
Therefore, the woman had no options whatsoever. Before birth or death could offer her any meaning, she was meant to be torn apart by the fangs of beasts—a vicious, ugly slaughter-beast with a horn jutting from its forehead, writhing on nothing but murderous intent.
Yet those fangs did not tear through her throat. Instead, they seized her by the collar and dragged her back to their den. What grace had brought this about, the woman could not begin to understand.
And so, options that should not have existed began to emerge, and the woman's way of being took shape under the beasts' dominion.
She didn't know words, so she didn't know how to grieve.
She didn't know how to walk, so she didn't know how to resist.
But she learned how to live—so she had no desire to die.
When she realized it, the woman commanded the slaughter-beasts and had become a queen ruling over the domain.
She attacked prey as the mood struck her. She ate when hungry. She slaughtered when it pleased her. She slept when she wanted. She lived as she pleased. She killed as she pleased. Nurtured within the maternal embrace of carnage.
The memory of what she had once been was long gone.
She had become nothing. A thing that needed no name or symbol—she had been reduced to that, and nothing more.
And so, as just another beast in the pack, she had expected to die alone—neither well nor poorly.
"—A bigger welcome than I expected. For the record, I have no intention of harming anyone here."
It was a girl cloaked in black. A girl steeped in a bloody, demonic aura.
The woman who led a horde of beasts—creatures so fearsome that even those with combat experience wouldn't dare raise a hand—lost everything she had built to this reckless black girl.
Blood and flesh overflowed. Death screams scorched the sky. The black girl's smile was painted in spattered gore.
The woman could do nothing but watch, and once again, she had nothing.
"I was told to bring you back. So you're coming with me."
The black girl forcibly carried away the woman who had nothing.
She took the place where the woman had spent so long. The beasts who had been with her. The place where the woman had been herself. She took it all.
Even with all of this done to her, the woman could do nothing.
She didn't know words, so she didn't know how to grieve.
She didn't know how to walk, so she didn't know how to resist.
She had lost the means to keep living—perhaps this time, she could finally die.
"You've lost the ability to grieve, the ability to resist, and the ability to live? Wow, wow—spouting off a bunch of pathetic excuses like that doesn't change a thing, you know."
That made her regret not knowing how to grieve.
"Grieve—for my sake. Resist—for my sake. Live—to love me."
That made her regret not knowing how to resist.
"If you're gonna go around saying you've lost everything, forgotten everything, had everything taken—I'll be the one to discipline you back into shape. —Because that's what a 'mother's' duty is."
—That made her regret forgetting how to live, forgetting how to think about dying.
A hell worse than hell. A nightmare worse than nightmares. Evil worse than evil— The "mother" applied every form of discipline not for the woman's sake, but for her own.
The "mother" never lied.
The "mother" was fair. The "mother" employed every means necessary to be loved.
The "mother" simply had twisted means for all of it.
She remembered words. The ability to grieve was ripped away.
She remembered how to walk. The ability to resist was crushed out of her.
She remembered how to live. The desire to die was carved out of her.
"Stop doing whatever that person tells you. Besides me, you'd surely run out of lives no matter how many you had."
One day, when she had just remembered words, walking, and living, she reunited with the black girl.
The black girl visited the woman often. Before she knew it, the woman was spending more time with the black girl than before.
She remembered being plunged into scalding water before meeting the "mother" for the first time.
The black girl washed the woman—caked in blood, mud, grime, and stains that wouldn't come off—without mercy and without care. Perhaps that was the last release the woman ever felt.
Under the "mother's" directive, the woman's time with the black girl clearly increased.
The black girl was abnormally strong. She excelled at killing. More than living, she knew how to kill. And at the same time, she was incompetent at everything else.
"There are [■■■■] here. If that's the case, I'll leave it to you—you'll handle it better."
That was how it went with everything.
She was useless. She was unreliable. She was high-maintenance. She was someone you couldn't take your eyes off. She wasn't loyal to the "mother." She had freedom in how she lived, not just in how she killed.
The woman had seen hell. She had seen nightmares. She had seen evil.
She believed she would never forget "fear" for the rest of her life.
But when she was with the black girl—while she was helping that messy girl—that carved-in fear seemed to fade.
And so— "—Elsa died."
She died. She died. She turned to ash and died.
The black girl who couldn't be killed no matter how many times you killed her—no, those days of being a girl were over. She was Elsa.
She died. She died. She turned to ash and died.
A spear through the gut, both arms torn from the shoulders, her neck snapped—she had seen Elsa endure all of that.
Even so, Elsa didn't die. She didn't die—so the woman had believed.
She died. She died. She turned to ash and died.
She endured the "mother's" discipline. She endured the "fear" of hell, nightmares, and evil.
But Elsa died. It was back to being alone. She lost the pack, she lost Elsa—alone.
She died. She died. She turned to ash and died.
She killed. She killed. She turned to ash and killed.
Those who turned Elsa to ash captured the woman and threw her into a cell.
—Alone, in a dark room, the woman spoke to the void.
Is this hatred? Hatred, hatred, hatred—what on earth is hatred?
Is this sadness? Sadness, sadness, sadness—what on earth is sadness?
She didn't know how to grieve. She didn't know how to resist. Not even the value of her own life existed within her.
It had been that way from the start.
Before Elsa died. Before she recognized the black girl as Elsa. Before meeting the "mother" and beginning her discipline. Before the black girl annihilated her pack of beasts. Before she came to lead the pack. Before her life was spared by the whim of a beast. Before she was torn away from her real father and mother and whoever else should have been there. The woman had been defective from the beginning.
The woman had simply drifted along and lived.
When she was with beasts, she imitated the beasts' way of living. When the "mother" disciplined her, she became obedient to that discipline. When she began spending time with Elsa, she even imitated her speech—mimicking, copying, following.
The woman had always been that kind of creature.
A creature in the shape of a person, imitating people. She performed as desired, acting as expected.
All the woman could do was imitate others, mimic others—a thing in the shape of a person that was not a person.
Would such a thing even think to kill?
Would such a thing even think of wanting to follow someone into death?
If "Elsa" had died, what should she do? She wanted to imitate someone who had let "Elsa" die. She wanted to copy them. She wanted to see the correct model.
What should she do? Now that she had lost "Elsa," whose example should she follow?
Not knowing, time passed.
During that time, maintaining a facade, the woman continued being the person those around her wanted.
She wished for change. If something different happened, if the situation changed, maybe an answer would emerge.
Or perhaps the "mother" would someday wish for her death. —That might be fine too.
As desired, as swept along, as demanded—the woman had shaped herself.
Then, if the "mother" wished it, this life—this life of no particular value—could be taken from her.
—.
——.
———.
————.
—————.
——————.
—She didn't want it to end here. She didn't want it to end like this.
Impatience burned her heart. A soul that had lived as others desired now cried out with its own wish.
At the very least, she wanted to know the answer.
What could she do—she whose "Elsa" had been taken from her—she wanted an answer.
"—Oh, you're here too, [■■■■]?"
It was night.
In the sand tower's archive, in the place where the *Book of the Dead* was kept, a voice called out from behind.
She turned. Standing there was a familiar, well-known black-haired boy.
In that instant, her heart lurched. The fear that her inner thoughts had been discovered gripped her. If he asked why she was here, she couldn't answer.
Why she had come to this place—searching for whose book, secretly, in the dark.
"I've got a book I've been wanting to find. Normally I should work together with everyone, but I couldn't hold back the urge..."
The boy was saying something. She couldn't make out the details.
She smiled, tilted her head, and concealed her pounding heartbeat, playing it cool.
"—Don't stay up too late, [■■■■]."
With those words, he left the archive. Walking slowly at first, then gradually quickening her pace, and finally breaking into a run.
She had been seen. She had been found out. Her presence had been noticed.
She bit her nails, furrowed her brow, and crouched there until her breathing calmed.
She didn't want to be seen. She didn't want to be known. She didn't want to be noticed.
But everything was now in ruins.
She had been figured out—why she had come to this place, and for whom.
Then perhaps she should just set everything she had prepared into motion and truly burn it all to the ground— Impulse seized her brain. Surrendering to emotions that had nowhere to go, grinding her molars, the woman turned around.
She retraced the path she had run. Her steps gradually slowed, then she walked, and finally her footsteps vanished entirely as she returned on impossibly delicate feet to the archive of the *Book of the Dead*.
The black-haired boy sat on the ground, his back turned to her.
Several books were scattered around. Had he found what he was looking for? The *Book of the Dead*? She was already jealous of that mere assumption, but before he noticed her, she might as well— "—You're really transparent, you know that."
She felt as though her reckless, self-destructive impulses had been called out.
She stopped. All she could do was stare at the back of the boy's black head before her, which did not turn to face her.
She had made no sound. She had killed her breathing. She was sure she had returned silently.
Elsa was far beyond her, of course, but even so, the woman could muffle her footsteps well enough.
So why had she been found out?
"......"
All her thoughts tangled together. She had just left, muffled her footsteps on the return, was positioned behind him—what possible excuse could she make now?
—No, even so, she should have spun one. She had preparations in place. All she had to do was survive this encounter. After all, it was the boys who had brought her here. She had already factored that in.
She should have smiled without shame, tilted her head, concealed her pounding heartbeat, and played it cool— "Don't put on that creepy, flattering act. Nobody's asking you to do that."
Her words were cut off, and she fell silent.
She turned her thoughts over, trying to figure out what the black-haired boy was trying to say.
"Don't put on that serene face either, you obedient little puppet. Can't you hear the wishes deep inside your own heart?"
Deep inside her heart—the wishes.
For some reason, that observation struck with incredible weight.
"Listen to your wishes. If you do, you'll start to see who you really are. And once you can see who you really are, you'll know what you want to do."
Knowing what she wanted to do. Seeing who she was.
What she wanted to do, her wishes—those were— "—That expression... nice. It's got depth."
Before she knew it, the black-haired boy had turned around and was standing right in front of her. His hand grabbed the end of her braid, and he gazed at her with eyes that harbored a profoundly twisted pleasure.
She couldn't look away from those black pupils before her.
"Once you know your wishes, once you can see who you really are, start acting more like *yourself*. Your tedious worries and your pointless suffering—I'll remember them for you."
Having declared that, having unilaterally decided what was in her heart, the boy pressed his lips to the tip of her hair.
A surge of fear—but also a faint, searing pain in her chest.
"—I'll remember them for you."
Once she knew her wishes.
Once she could truly see who she was.
Would she—as [■■■■]—be able to do what she was supposed to do, to act *like herself*?
"—About last night's conversation... how seriously should I take it, I wonder?"
One night passed. Breakfast was finished. Before taking the next step in the tower, the woman sought out the black-haired boy.
She had been unable to sleep, turning it over and over in her mind. Thinking and thinking and thinking, but still, no answer came.
The boy greeted her in the morning as though the previous night had never happened.
So she made a point of finding an opportunity, approached him, and—she should have held back her urgency and brought him somewhere no one could hear. That might have been better.
"Not here. Let's change locations."
The boy suggested that himself.
Change locations. Duck into a suitable room and press him about the true meaning of his words. —Come to think of it, what the boy had been about to tell everyone in the archive last night— "Sorry about this, [■■■■]."
The whisper came right beside her ear, and an instant later, her light body was slammed to the floor.
She crumpled. Her back hit the ground, and no sound escaped. In her flickering vision, she could see the boy mounting her from above—a face twisted into a grin more vicious than she had ever seen.
"That counts as breaking the rules if you ask directly."
A crushing force constricted her neck.
Her mouth opened and closed, gasping, but the air she needed refused to enter her body. She thrashed. She struggled. She dug her nails into the hand on her neck. She kicked her legs desperately.
Nothing moved. She couldn't throw him off. If it were Elsa— "This time you're disqualified for breaking the rules, but I expect bolder performance next time. Keep pushing hard like you have been."
She didn't understand.
What was he saying. What was he saying. What was she being told.
"This is going to be an interesting story in its own right. —A murder case by Natsuki Subaru."
She was going to be killed. Her understanding reached only that far. She was going to be killed. In the end, what had she accomplished? She was going to be killed. From the time she had been alone in that forest, what had changed? She was going to be killed. Unable to do anything, devoid of meaning. She was going to be killed. He looked so amused. She was going to be killed. He was enjoying this. She was going to be killed. As if it were all some child's game. She was going to be killed. She was going to be killed. She was going to be killed.
—I'll kill you.
— * — * — * — * — * — * — * — * — * — * — * — * — "Ugh—aaagh—!?"
In an instant, [■■■■] jerked his head back as if spring-loaded and collapsed on the spot.
The thing in his hand clattered to the floor, and his vision spun in circles. Gasping for air, his lungs—thrown into panic by the sudden suffocation—seized up.
"Su—Subaru!?"
A silver-haired girl rushed over to [■■■■] as he groaned in pain from the hard impact. Beside her was a lighter-haired girl, and the two of them placed hands on his shoulders simultaneously.
"I—me—ah, I? Right now—right now right now right now, what's—happ—wha—"
"Take a deep breath! Just breathe, okay? You don't have to force yourself to talk! Emilia, you mustn't touch the book!"
[■■■■]'s eyes rolled in his head and foam gathered at the corners of his mouth as a girl—no, Beatrice—desperately called out to him.
At Beatrice's words, the silver-haired—Emilia, yes, Emilia—was just reaching for the book, but she too pulled her hand back and nodded in a panic.
"But Beatrice, Subaru's acting strange! This book..."
"That's exactly why you mustn't fall into the same state, I suppose! He must have delved far too deep. His way of speaking is mixing together, I suppose."
At Beatrice's analysis, Emilia's cheeks went rigid and she sucked in a breath. Then she lunged toward [■■■■], grabbed his face, and forced him to meet her eyes.
"Subaru, remember. It's okay—you're Natsuki Subaru, my knight. The indigent nonpareil of the realm, and everyone else... and then, and then..."
Emilia fumbled through her own memories, rattling off a string of bizarre, nonsensical words.
Listening to her, [■■■■], [■■]u, S[■]baru— —Subaru called himself back.
"I... ah, Emilia, Beatrice... I'm... I'm me, right? Not me—I mean, *I*—Elsa isn't—here, and..."
"It's okay. Calm down. You're fine... slowly, okay? Slowly?"
"It's like pulling out thorns one by one—memories that dug in from somewhere else. If you remove them carefully, you should return to the real Subaru, I suppose."
"Ugh... nng..."
Emilia and Beatrice were speaking to Subaru—Subaru. To Subaru.
Listening to their words, he did his best to process what he had just witnessed.
The very end—the memories leading up to the final, final moment when life was severed. He tried to somehow sort through them.
"Emilia-sama, I apologize for the delay. On the way, I spoke with Lady Ram—"
"Is it true that a book bearing that girl's name was found?"
Just then, Julius and the others—late for the rendezvous—came bounding up the stairs.
Julius,
"......"
Shaula quietly watched from where she stood, seemingly indifferent to the book that had fallen to the floor at her feet.
Her black eyes narrowed, her gaze betraying no emotion, as she simply watched.
—Quietly, she watched.