The knife felt alien in Subaru's grip—cold, sleek, a sliver of violence borrowed from the mansion's kitchen. He stared at its edge, catching fractured glimpses of his face in the steel. Hollow eyes, gaunt cheeks, the ghost of a smile that never reached anywhere vital. *Guilt* coiled in his gut, thick and sour. Beatrice's screams from the last loop still echoed in his skull, her tiny frame crumpled among the ruins of her beloved books.
*"How touching,"* Echidna whispered, her voice a serpent sliding through the cracks in his mind. *"The murderer returns to the scene, clutching his conscience like a talisman. Will you weep this time, I wonder?"*
Subaru drove the blade into his throat.
***
The corridor materialized around him—oil lamps flickering, rose-patterned wallpaper stretching endlessly. Rem rounded the corner, her blue hair swaying, her lips parting to offer some rehearsed pleasantry. Then the stench hit. She recoiled, hand flying to her mouth, eyes watering. Subaru didn't wait for her to vomit.
"Tell Ram there's a Mabeast nest in the village," he said, stepping past her. "Eastern woods. Thirty-seven of them. Six Wolgarm, the rest Blacksnakes. She'll want fire magic."
Rem gagged, collapsing against the wall. "Y-you… *monster*…"
He paused, glancing back. Her face was a rictus of hatred and fear, tears cutting through the sweat on her cheeks. *Loop 103,438: Rem dies in the forest. Loop 103,439: Ram's spine snapped by a Wolgarm. Loop 103,440: Both survive. Barely.*
"Monster," he agreed, and kept walking.
***
Ram intercepted him at the stairwell, her cleaver already drawn. "What game are you playing, *filth*?"
Subaru leaned against the banister, the knife's absence itching in his palm. "No game. Just saving you a trip."
Her nostrils flared. "And why would you—"
"Because I'm *bored*." He met her glare, unblinking. "Kill the Mabeasts. Don't. Either way, I'll be in the library."
For a heartbeat, Ram's mask slipped—confusion, suspicion, a flicker of *dread*. Then she sneered. "If this is a trap, I'll skin you alive."
"Promises, promises." He brushed past her, humming a off-key tune. Her mana spiked, wind nipping at his heels, but the cleaver stayed sheathed.
***
Beatrice's library was as he remembered—a mausoleum of dust and defiance. The door groaned as he pushed it open, revealing the spirit perched atop her floating ladder, a grimoire the size of a tombstone propped in her lap. She didn't look up.
"You were searching here, I see. Betty's beginning to think you're *obsessed*."
Subaru hovered in the threshold, the scent of aged parchment momentarily drowning the Witch's stench. "Got a minute?"
"For *you*? Betty has a millennium, and even that wouldn't suffice." She flipped a page with exaggerated disdain.
He stepped inside, boots whispering over warped floorboards. "I, uh… brought a peace offering."
From his pocket, he produced a sugar cube—pilfered from the kitchen, slightly crumbled. Beatrice's nose twitched.
"Insolent fool." She sniffed. "As if Betty would be bribed by—"
He placed it on the edge of her ladder.
Silence.
The sugar cube glinted innocently. Beatrice's gaze darted between it and Subaru, her composure fraying. "What *is* this?"
"An apology."
"For *what*, exactly?"
*For using you. For breaking you. For letting her in even if you don't remember anything.*
He shrugged. "For being a terrible guest."
Beatrice's laugh was a brittle thing. She snatched the cube, dissolving it in her tea with a flick of mana. "Your penance is insufficient. But Betty is… *magnanimous* today."
Subaru hid a smile. *Loop 103,435: She'd thrown the sugar at his head. Loop 103,441: Progress.*
He wandered the shelves, fingertips grazing spines—*The Ephemeral Art of Memory Wards, On the Nature of Forbidden Contracts*. Beatrice's ladder shadowed him, creaking with passive aggression.
"You're quieter than usual," she muttered. "Finally realized the futility of your prattle?"
"Just admiring the view." He paused before a stained-glass window depicting a six-armed saint devouring her own heart. "Why these?"
Beatrice materialized beside him, teacup in hand. "A reminder."
"Of what?"
"That even gods can be fools." She sipped, pink eyes narrowing. "Why the sudden interest in Betty's decor?"
He traced the saint's twisted smile. "Trying something new."
*"Pathetic,"* Echidna spat, her arms around his neck.
Subaru clenched his jaw. *Shut up.*
***
They settled into an uneasy rhythm. Mornings in the library, Subaru feigning interest in unreadable texts, Beatrice lobbing insults like confetti. He brought more sugar cubes. She pretended not to care.
On the third day, he found her asleep.
She'd slumped over her desk, cheek smushed against an open grimoire, ink staining her sleeve. The sight punched through Subaru's ribs—*vulnerable*, a child playing at immortality. He draped his jacket over her shoulders.
Her eyes snapped open.
"*What are you doing?*" She recoiled, the jacket bursting into flames.
Subaru raised his hands. "You looked cold."
"Betty doesn't *get* cold, you imbecile!" She hurled the charred fabric at him. "And don't presume to *touch* Betty's things!"
"Noted." He batted away embers. "But you drool when you sleep. Just FYI."
Her face flushed crimson. "O-Out! Out, out, *out*!"
He left, grinning.
***
Ram returned at dusk, her uniform singed, her cleaver caked in dried ichor. She cornered him in the hall, reeking of blood and triumph.
"Thirty-seveb Mabeasts," she spat. "Exactly as you said."
Subaru leaned against the wall, picking at his nails. "Congrats. Are you asking me out ? Or you want a medal?"
Her fist slammed beside his head. "*Why?*"
He studied her—the tremor in her arm, the wildness in her eyes. The sister who'd torn him apart for lesser sins. "I used to gamble before, had to stop because life was too boring."
"Liar."
"Believe whatever lets you sleep." He slid past her, toward the library.
"Wait." Her voice cracked. "Rem… she's *alive*. Because of your… *whim*."
Subaru froze.
"If this is some scheme to win favor—"
"It's not."
"Then *why*?"
He didn't turn. "Even gods get bored, Ram." What else would you call someone with the power to fell kingdoms, to decide someone's life and death situation anything but divine?
***
Beatrice was waiting, her ladder parked defiantly in the center of the room. "You're late."
"Got held up." He tossed her a new sugar cube. "Heard the Mabeast hunt went well."
She caught it, scowling. "As if Betty cares about *vermins*."
"Right, right. You're above such trivialities."
"Exactly." She popped the cube into her tea. "Unlike *some*, Betty's interests are *intellectual*."
"Sure." He flopped into an armchair, its leather sighing. "Hey, what's this one about?"
He held up a tome titled *The Seventh Calamity's Lament*. Beatrice's teacup clattered.
"*Don't*—"
Too late. The book fell open, its pages exhaling a sigh that wasn't *sound* but *sensation*—grief, raw and infinite. Subaru's breath hitched. Visions flickered—a woman with horns of light, weeping over a broken world.
Beatrice snatched the book, slamming it shut. "*Fool!* Are you trying to unravel your pathetic mind?!"
Subaru rubbed his temples, the phantom tears still wet on his cheeks. "What *was* that?"
"None of your concern." She clutched the tome to her chest, trembling. "Some secrets *stay* buried."
*"Dig deeper,"* Echidna urged. *"Unearth her. *Own* her."*
Subaru stood. "Okay."
"O…kay?" Beatrice blinked.
"Your rules. No more forbidden books." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "But you owe me a story."
"Betty owes you *nothing*!"
"The sugar cube tax disagrees."
She stared. Then, impossibly, snorted. "You're *insufferable*."
"So I've been told."
***
That night, Subaru lay awake, moonlight painting his ceiling. The library's grief still clung to him, but beneath it—something warmer. Beatrice's reluctant laugh. The way she'd hovered closer, just a fraction, when explaining star charts.
*"How *quaint*,"* Echidna drawled. *"Playing house with a broken spirit. But the cracks are showing, darling. How long until she sees the *real* you?"*
Subaru turned toward the window, where shadows pooled thickest. "Longer than you think."
Somewhere, Rem laughed in the courtyard. Somewhere, Ram sharpened her cleaver. Somewhere, Beatrice traced the cover of a book she'd sworn never to open.
*Loop 103,441: Not perfect. But closer.*