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Chapter 5
During my last playthrough of this game, I had only one goal.
“No matter what, I’ll stop the world from ending.”
In a dating-sim game set in a world devoid of hope or dreams, what’s left if you strip away romance?
The results were right before my eyes.
To prevent destruction, I had invested everything in the protagonist, Yulia’s abilities. Not that I did much else.
“I just showed naïve Yulia a few truths about the world she had been ignoring.”
Thanks to that, Yulia became stronger—but she lost her faith in the gods.
“But she couldn’t admit it, so she clung to faith even more fanatically.”
Of course, even that wouldn’t have been enough to stop Azel.
Honestly, if I had known I’d end up possessed in this “Heretic Inquisitor version” after playing it just once, I never would have touched it.
But the damage was done, and regrets wouldn’t change anything.
“Then I need to figure out how to survive.”
If I let Yulia run wild, she’d provoke Azel again and bring about another catastrophe. Better to redirect her attention toward me.
“What did you just say? That I lost my faith? Me?”
The coldness in her voice was straight out of a horror movie.
“You just want to defeat Azel, whom the world has branded evil, and prove that your faith hasn’t wavered.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“You already know this, don’t you? That no matter what you do, nothing will change.”
“Didn’t I just tell you to shut your mouth?”
Sorry, but this mouth of mine has kept me alive for years. Telling me to shut it is cruel.
“And I haven’t even started yet.”
I was speaking carefully, choosing only gentle words. Yet Yulia was already reaching her limit.
“How dare you twist words to slander me. Don’t you know that no sin is heavier than one born from a cunning tongue?”
Her eyes were slightly wild, her smile twisted. She no longer resembled the protagonist at all.
Even the male leads standing like silent walls watched her nervously as I finally decided to strike with my last counter.
“Yulia—”
I meant to say it.
“Stop.”
If only Azel hadn’t intervened.
He was standing in front of me, blocking the way with a strangely unreadable expression.
“Let’s stop wasting time. We’re not done talking yet.”
“Azel.”
I flinched, caught off guard, while Yulia seemed determined not to stop.
“Don’t interfere.”
“Do you even remember who interfered first?”
Yet Yulia’s goal was about to fail.
“Seymour.”
At Azel’s call, his subordinate who had been quietly observing the scene stepped forward.
A man in black, blending with the shadows, smiled oddly as he answered.
“Did you call, my lord?”
“Seize her.”
Seymour Cleor. Azel’s right-hand man. With him taking action, the commotion would be quelled instantly.
“As you command.”
But then something unexpected happened.
“This will sting a little. Think of it as a nice, long nap.”
And he aimed straight for me.
…Wait.
“W-Wait!”
“Haha!”
I was the one being seized.
“Damn it!”
Then everything went dark.
“Azel! Why would you do this! How could you—without going mad—do something like this?”
“I’ve done this dozens of times already, Yulia. Do you think I could remain sane after all that?”
Blink.
“Was that… a dream?”
Apparently, I had fallen asleep mid-knockout.
“Ugh! This bastard…”
I tried to get up, only to feel stiffness at the back of my neck from the blow.
“Where am I now?”
The bedroom had an antique, almost classic vibe I hadn’t seen before, though I had a rough idea where I was.
It was Azel’s mansion.
“So he didn’t throw me into a torture chamber or basement…”
“Even for a guest, that’s going too far,” a voice replied nearby.
I turned sharply and saw a familiar face.
Seymour. The one who knocked me out and brought me here. His expression was, somehow, lecherous.
“Wait… is that bastard referring to me?”
He clearly had heard everything.
A heavy silence fell between us, and I desperately searched for words.
“…I just had a nightmare.”
“Ah, I see.”
Seymour’s dry, indifferent ‘Ah, I see’ tugged at the corner of his mouth like a faint smile.
‘Haha… guess there’s no restarting this game.’
In Azel’s route, the character you encounter most frequently aside from Azel is Seymour. Players know him well.
This guy is—
“Insane.”
A madman, though in a way different from Azel.
-
He killed a servant for leaving cookie crumbs on a carpet he had just cleaned.
-
Seriously? I once died because the sky looked ominously red.
-
But I didn’t eat that cookie!
-
……???
What chance did anyone have of surviving if they cursed him in their sleep?
‘Mom… I’m leaving now.’
Knowing this somehow eased my mind. The death looming before me made me silently brace for another life, yet Seymour smiled brightly.
‘My last sight before dying is this handsome pervert? My luck really is something else.’
Surprisingly, instead of killing me, Seymour stepped back.
“Pleasure to meet you. I am Seymour Cleor, the lord’s loyal servant.”
“Nice to meet you… Seymour.”
Then I realized why he hadn’t harmed me.
“My master is waiting for you.”
Azel had spared me.
“How long have I been out?”
“Just enough for a proper nap.”
“So, half a day has passed.”
The guy who knocked me out was still talking about naps—infuriating. But the important info was clear: half a day had passed, meaning my personal details had likely been completely uncovered.
“What about Yulia’s party… the events at the plaza?”
“Handled neatly. No need to worry.”
So Yulia and her group were safe… probably.
I felt a twinge of unease, but there was no way to confirm.
“…Let’s go.”
“Very well. I shall guide you.”
The urgent matters settled, it was finally time to face the final boss.
No one was going to give me time to prepare mentally, so I rose immediately.
“Ah.”
The corridor that greeted me looked like a painting come to life.
Sunlight bathed the pristine white hallway, golden decorations and intricate portraits lined the walls. Seeing a location I’d only viewed on a monitor in real life felt surreal.
“Guest?”
Seymour’s voice snapped me out of my daze.
‘Foolish me.’
As I walked, the sound of my heels echoed, since assassins like Seymour moved without a sound.
“Is he in the end room on the third floor?”
I asked cautiously, deliberately hesitating, and Seymour’s smile widened.
“Yes. He waits for you there.”
The question had a purpose. Azel always went to the end room on the third floor when his mind was restless—a secret known only to his closest aides.
By asking that, I subtly indicated that I knew this private habit.
‘Every little thing becomes an important setup.’
And through Seymour, it would reach Azel’s ears. They were already suspicious of me.
‘Honestly, believing that so quickly would be stranger.’
From now on, I had to prove my existence as ‘me’ at every moment.
“How did you know my master prefers the end room on the third floor?”
“Impossible.”
Fortunately, Seymour gave me an answer I could work with.
“He doesn’t like that room.”
“…”
“Who could enjoy being in a tomb?”
That was easy enough.
A man stood with his back to the large window, shrouded in shadow.
He seemed depressed, bored, motionless—like a corpse in a coffin.
“Have you been waiting?”
And he had been waiting for no one but me.
