"Wait…there is something not right."
In front of his eye was the crowd of first-year students gathered around the square of the academy.
Some were listening to the symphony; some were chatting around, talking about their dreams or goals for the future.
'But this isn't right. In the game's timeline, the terrorist should have attacked right now.' That was his thought and expectation.
Yet it didn't happen; nothing happened.
'Wait, did I do something wrong to change the plot again?' As such, Renauld began to question himself and asked if he had done something for this outcome to happen.
A pale, anxious expression started to appear on his face. Renauld nevertheless made an effort to conceal it from everyone else.
But, even though he had tried to mask the unease that had gripped him since descending from that towering structure, it seemed Theresa wasn't fooled.
"What's wrong? You've been acting strange ever since you came down from the clock tower." Theresa said, her brow furrowed in concern.
"Oh, it's because I'm not used to this many people." He lied and held her hand, trying to reassure her.
But Theresa knew there was something more to his mind; she gripped Renauld's hand tightly and said with a weary voice.
"I'm your girlfriend now, Renauld; if you have anything on your mind, you should share it with me."
His heart trembled at the sight of her cuteness as her warmth drew closer, filling him with a quiet, tender feeling.
To him, she was incredibly cute and considerate, just like the character she resembled from the game.
But seeing her in person, he realized she was even cuter. Now that she was real—alive and right in front of him—everything felt different.
He could actually touch her, hold her hand, or gently pat her head, something he could never do with the digital version.
It was a dream come true, and in that moment, she seemed like the perfect girlfriend—charming, thoughtful, and real in a way he never imagined.
'So sad, I couldn't share my secret with her.'
But he had learned the hard way the last time he revealed his secret—it had cost him dearly.
Now, standing before her, he knew he had to lie. The memory of the consequences still lingered, a reminder of why honesty and being too thoughtless could be so dangerous.
He forced an awkward smile, trying to downplay the discomfort.
"After climbing up and down the tower, my stomach's a bit sore, but it's nothing to worry about," he said, though his voice lacked its usual ease. The truth was more complicated, but he couldn't risk telling her. Not again.
"Huh, if you say so." Theresa smirked, then reached over to pinch his cheek playfully. She pouted cutely, her eyes widening just enough to make it clear she was teasing.
With a soft sigh, she dropped her hands and shuffled over to the wooden bench nearby, sitting down with a small creak. He followed her, settling beside her as the bench groaned slightly under their weight.
He was still worried about the attack, but by now the fear had subsided a bit, partially because there wasn't any sign of danger.
"So, what about him?" Theresa murmured, her voice soft as she rested her head on his broad shoulder.
Her long, golden hair cascaded over his chest, the delicate strands brushing against my skin like a gentle whisper. There was a hint of sadness and concern in her voice.
"I think he just doesn't care about us now." He sighed while still on guard and searched for any trait of anomalies.
"Roland is an extremely violent man; he didn't threaten you or anything?" Theresa still looked at him with concerned eyes and asked.
"He was more curious about why I could find him." He gave a very evasive response and said nothing about that altercation.
The truth is, Renauld didn't want to remember anything about it anymore.
"So that was it…" When she realized he was not really interested in sharing, she gave up.
Theresa furrowed her brow, a slight crease forming between her eyebrows as she stared into the distance.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and a soft sigh escaped her. Her eyes, usually bright and clear, seemed clouded now, holding a mixture of wistfulness and regret.
Roland Gisil Kylian.
She had once been deeply fond of him, drawn to the way he had always been there for her in the past, his actions speaking volumes about his dedication.
She admired his strength, his quiet determination, and the way he seemed to carry the weight of the world without complaint.
But over time, those same traits began to feel suffocating. His lack of facial expression, which once made him appear stoic and mysterious, now felt distant and unreadable.
She found herself yearning for a glimpse of warmth in his eyes, a soft smile, or some sign that he cared beyond the surface level. His affection had always been reserved, but as the months went on, it seemed to evaporate altogether.
Every touch, every word, felt more like a mere formality, as though he were going through the motions without truly being present.
His tendency toward excessive violence—whether in his words or actions—had also become more pronounced.
What had once been an occasional outburst, a moment of frustration now seemed to happen with alarming frequency. He would lash out over the smallest provocations, his anger boiling over in unpredictable bursts that left her shaken and confused.
With every passing day, she grew more fed up.
The man she had once admired seemed to be slipping further away from her grasp, and the connection they had once shared began to unravel, thread by painful thread.
She realized that the love she had once felt was being overshadowed by a growing sense of fear and coldness, and it seemed increasingly impossible to ignore.
And that is when Renauld came into the picture. He was similar to Roland in many ways, from appearance to their kindness.
But what separated those two was their action. Renauld would forgive and move on, but Roland would never do so. He would hold a grudge till the end of his life.
His cynical nature was also tiring to her; being with him made her lose faith in humanity. Something she didn't want to happen.
Their relationship is destined to fall, even if Renauld never came into the picture.
'How unfortunate' Although she regretted what had occurred, she knew deep down that it should have happened.
As they sat there and looked at the beautiful scenery at hand, all they could feel was a sense of unease and unfulfillment.
Theresa with her failed relationship with Roland and Renauld with his failed realization of why the attack didn't happen.
No matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't find out the answer.
'But if it didn't happen, then wouldn't it be better?'
'So much tragedy will happen because of that attack; maybe I shouldn't be worried about it too much?' Renauld sighed and thought about that scenario.
But the moment he let his guard down, the earth beneath them shook violently as if it were going to erupt.
"What!?"
No, it didn't just erupt—it tore open with violent fury.
The earth split apart like the gaping maw of some ancient, hungry beast, and from the wound, molten rock surged forth in torrents, glowing with an otherworldly orange heat.
The ground trembled as if the very bones of the planet were cracking under immense pressure. Rivers of lava cascaded down in fiery downpours, crackling and hissing as they met the cooler air, sending up clouds of steam and ash that darkened the sky.
But the eruption didn't end there.
As if it weren't finished, a blinding, searing beam of energy shot up from deep beneath the surface.
It was like a laser—an intense, white-hot flash of light that cut through the atmosphere with the force of a thousand thunderstorms.
The beam was so powerful, so sharp, that it felt as though it could burn through time itself, leaving behind nothing but an afterimage of its blazing path.
"Vermilion Nova!?" He gashed at the destructiveness of that thing.
The attack that tore apart the earth is nothing but the ultimate move of Roland in his final form.
Renauld had never witnessed such a destructive attack, even in the game. This isn't the normal [Vermilion Nova] but is something akin to a final desperate attack.
Renauld had never witnessed anything like this before, not even in the most chaotic, high-stakes battles of the game.
The sheer scale and ferocity of the assault left him stunned. This wasn't the usual Vermilion Nova, the powerful but controlled attack he had seen countless times.
No, this was something far more extreme—something that felt like a last-ditch, all-or-nothing move, as if the very core of the power behind it was pushing to the edge of exhaustion.
The air itself seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the attack, crackling with energy, as though every ounce of magic was being siphoned into one final desperate burst.
'There is something bad happening." Renauld exclaimed and put his hand on top of his head, brainstorming about what could have led to this desperate move.
'That direction…'
'The secret basement?! Why was he there?!'
'In the original plot, Roland would be standing next to the principal and protecting everyone. During that time, the terrorists would sneak out and steal all of the forbidden books.'
'That's the right track, but since that didn't happen then..."
He pondered while thinking about what to do next. But that is when he noticed a figure floating in the air.
'Principle Schwanhild!'
She was channeling some kind of spell and was completely outfitted with her magic staff.
"Hah, what an annoying kid! I'm going to teach him a lesson after this has ended." With an irritated face, she swung her staff and shot out a beam of light toward the gaping hole created by Vermilion Nova.