Inside the cabin, everything was back to normal. A comforting calm had settled in the aftermath of a shared tea and conversation, as if the cabin remembered the moment and chose to hold onto it just a little longer.
Jericho lay on his back atop the bed, one arm stretched behind his head, the other on his chest. He stared blankly at the ceiling, the silence of the room loud in his ears.
Just what happened?
He replayed the last few moments again and again.
He had invited Hilda Drakenveil, Hilda, the strongest character in the game, the most unreachable route, the "final boss" of the dating system, to dinner. And she said yes.
"Tomorrow night... I'm cooking for Hilda," he muttered aloud, blinking. "What the hell?"
There was a ridiculous grin on his lips that he couldn't suppress.
Since when was he this happy?
He looked at his hands. His long, slender fingers were slightly calloused from work, and his fingertips were stained faintly with dye and potion residue.
He remembered his past life, the old world. He stammered in conversation, avoided eye contact, and was a trembling wreck when talking to any girl. He used to break into a sweat just greeting a waitress.
What changed?
Was it the time he'd spent in this world? The immersion in the game? Or maybe how deeply he knew these characters. Hilda had always been interesting in-game. Strong, complicated, worth chasing.
But this version of her, honest, real, breathing, tired but determined, hit different.
He recalled her smile. Not the game sprite animation. The real one.
"It's so much better here after all," he whispered.
He slapped his cheeks and sat up abruptly.
"Alright. Time to use this energy."
He shifted gears, snapping back to the bigger problem.
The plot.
His brow furrowed as he replayed what he knew.
Two minor arcs were active: the Firewell Bandits and the Forgotten Fountain. Neither was supposed to happen at the same time.
Depending on your actions, some quests could trigger early or overlap. It all depended on the protagonist's choices.
More importantly, it is about who the protagonist was dating.
That's how the branching routes worked. Five girls. Five different evolutions of the story, and the only one that seemed close to the current situation was Hilda's route.
Fewer early quests. Less socializing, just training, and hard leveling. She dragged the hero through brutal fights. But in exchange, when the final arc came? You were a beast.
Only now...
Jericho scratched the back of his head, his brow furrowed with disbelief.
"This doesn't add up," he muttered, squinting at the ceiling. "Shin hung out with Lena. That should've locked him into her route. There's no way he's on Hilda's. It doesn't fit the flag pattern."
He paused, frowning deeper. Then the thought clicked.
"Wait... he didn't get the scroll. And because of me... Clarissa beat him. That's it. That's the break point."
He stood up, looking at the window.
"The story is off-script."
The idea sent a slow chill crawling up his spine. If the chain of events had derailed to the point that it was no longer possible to determine what route was ongoing, then none of his calculations were safe. The story, the arcs, the enemy strength... it could all be reshuffled.
Worse, he didn't know where Shin actually stood now. Not in the plot. Not in the game.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to himself, sitting straighter. " I need to check where the story really is."
Resolved, he stood up and walked over to his workshop corner.
He grabbed his sewing kit and began pulling out rolls of fabric, enchanted threads, and charms.
If he was returning to this place, he needed more buffs than usual.
He worked for hours. Tank tops with stamina regen. Socks enchanted with evasion boosts. Armbands that improved perception. Even underclothes with small agility bonuses.
By dawn, he was dressed in a custom set.
Tank Top of Tenacity: +10% stamina regen,+10% evasion.
Socks of the Wind-Step: +5% evasion, +5% agility.
Gloves of Focus Threading: +7% crafting speed, +2% agility.
Underlayer: +3% agility, +3% evasion.
Armguards: +2 Defense, +2 Strength, +2% evasion.
He stood in front of his door and nodded.
"Alright. I'm ready."
He smirked.
"Let's see anyone try bullying me now."
The road to the academy felt longer than usual.
Jericho drank a slim vial of the Stamina Solution [C] from his belt, one of his latest creations. A soft light passed over his skin as the potion's effects activated.
+15% stamina recovery.
-10% fatigue for the next four hours.
Just what he needed after pulling an all-nighter.
He walked toward the academy gates with quiet confidence. But the moment he stepped past the outer wall, the mood changed.
The air tensed.
Conversations faded. Eyes glanced then turned quickly away. Murmurs replaced greetings. Glares were quick and cold.
Jericho adjusted the strap on his shoulder and kept walking.
Then—
Whoosh.
A pencil flew from behind. Fast.
Jericho's head tilted slightly.
The pencil sailed past his cheek and stabbed into a tree trunk.
[Auto-Evasion]
He didn't flinch. He scratched the back of his neck like he hadn't even noticed.
Behind him, a student crouched behind a bench, staring in shock.
"What the hell...? How did he dodge that?"
Jericho stifled a smirk and turned the corner toward the restrooms.
Inside, a group of boys stood on the edge of the divider walls, giggling with buckets in hand. One gave the signal, and they splashed water down into the stall he'd just entered.
Water splashed and laughter followed.
But then...
Jericho stepped out. Completely dry. Not a single drop on him.
His hair caught the light as he flipped it gently with one hand.
"Hm? I should buy an umbrella. There are so much drizzle lately," he said with a calm smile as he passed them.
The boys froze. Their jaws dropped.
"He didn't even get wet?!"
Jericho headed down the hall and paused in front of the lockers.
His own locker stood out. Covered in red marker and paint.
"Freak."
"Loser."
"Die."
And a poorly drawn skull.
He opened it.
Inside, shredded books, torn fabric, and papers covered in death threats.
"DIE."
"GO BACK."
"SCUM."
Two boys stood nearby, pretending to check the bulletin board. Watching.
Jericho leaned in close to the locker's interior.
He placed a finger on his chin and nodded thoughtfully.
Then he spoke clearly, his voice carrying across the hall.
"Hmm... how do I put this nicely? Absolute garbage. No contrast. No vision. That skull—what is it even supposed to be? A melted avocado? Or maybe it's a self-portrait? Either way, it screams 'no talent.'"
Muffled laughter broke out across the corridor.
"Seriously, if you're gonna hate someone, at least hire an artist. This just looks like someone's failed first draft in art class. I'd give it a D-minus. And only because I believe this is a fatherless behavior."
One of the boys clenched his fists. The other looked away, face red.
Jericho closed the locker with a soft click and walked off.
"Also, jokes on them. I never use lockers."
By the time he reached the main hallway, his steps had more spring. There was something oddly satisfying about turning every ambush into a win.
"If this were an achievement system," he muttered, "I'd be stacking Perfect Dodges like crazy."
Still, this wasn't just for fun. He had a goal.
Shin.
He wandered through familiar areas: the library's quiet corners, a few classrooms, even the rooftop balcony near the sparring arena.
But Shin was nowhere.
Without clear quest markers, it was like searching in fog. He had seen Shin progress through a tight story thread before, but now that thread was unraveling.
He was debating heading toward the training grounds when a voice rang out.
"Jericho."
He froze.
That voice.
Smooth, soft, like sweetened poison.
He turned around slowly.
Clarissa stood at the end of the hallway. Elegant as ever. Her smile looked gentle, but he knew better.
The road to the academy felt longer than usual.
Jericho drank a slim vial of the Stamina Solution [C] from his belt, one of his latest creations. A soft light passed over his skin as the potion's effects activated.
+15% stamina recovery.
-10% fatigue for the next four hours.
Just what he needed after pulling an all-nighter.
He walked toward the academy gates with quiet confidence. But the moment he stepped past the outer wall, the mood changed.
The air tensed.
Conversations faded. Eyes glanced then turned quickly away. Murmurs replaced greetings. Glares were quick and cold.
Jericho adjusted the strap on his shoulder and kept walking.
Then—
Whoosh.
A pencil flew from behind. Fast.
Jericho's head tilted slightly.
The pencil sailed past his cheek and stabbed into a tree trunk.
[Auto-Evasion]
He didn't flinch. He scratched the back of his neck like he hadn't even noticed.
Behind him, a student crouched behind a bench, staring in shock.
"What the hell...? How did he dodge that?"
Jericho stifled a smirk and turned the corner toward the restrooms.
Inside, a group of boys stood on the edge of the divider walls, giggling with buckets in hand. One gave the signal, and they splashed water down into the stall he'd just entered.
Water splashed and laughter followed.
But then...
Jericho stepped out. Completely dry. Not a single drop on him.
His hair caught the light as he flipped it gently with one hand.
"Hm? I should buy an umbrella. There's so much drizzle lately," he said with a calm smile as he passed them.
The boys froze. Their jaws dropped.
"He didn't even get wet?!"
Jericho headed down the hall and paused in front of the lockers.
His own locker stood out. Covered in red marker and paint.
"Freak."
"Loser."
"Die."
And a poorly drawn skull.
He opened it.
Inside, shredded books, torn fabric, and papers covered in death threats.
"DIE."
"GO BACK."
"SCUM."
Two boys stood nearby, pretending to check the bulletin board. Watching.
Jericho leaned in close to the locker's interior.
He placed a finger on his chin and nodded thoughtfully.
Then he spoke clearly, his voice carrying across the hall.
"Hmm... how do I put this nicely? Absolute garbage. No contrast. No vision. That skull—what is it even supposed to be? A melted avocado? Or maybe it's a self-portrait? Either way, it screams 'no talent.'"
Muffled laughter broke out across the corridor.
"Seriously, if you're gonna hate someone, at least hire an artist. This just looks like someone's failed first draft in art class. I'd give it a D-minus. And only because I believe this is a fatherless behavior."
One of the boys clenched his fists. The other looked away, face red.
Jericho closed the locker with a soft click and walked off.
"Also, jokes on them. I never use lockers."
By the time he reached the main hallway, his steps had more spring. There was something oddly satisfying about turning every ambush into a win.
"If this were an achievement system," he muttered, "I'd be stacking Perfect Dodges like crazy."
Still, this wasn't just for fun. He had a goal.
Shin.
He wandered through familiar areas: the library's quiet corners, a few classrooms, even the rooftop balcony near the sparring arena.
But Shin was nowhere.
Without clear quest markers, it was like searching in fog. He had seen Shin progress through a tight story thread before, but now that thread was unraveling.
He was debating heading toward the training grounds when a voice rang out.
"Jericho."
He froze.
That voice.
Smooth, soft, like sweetened poison.
He turned around slowly.
Clarissa stood at the end of the hallway. Elegant as ever. Her smile looked gentle, but he knew better.
Jericho raised a brow.
"If you're here to pitch your proposal again, I'm still not interested."
She groaned and rolled her eyes.
"You're unbelievable. I'm not forcing anything anymore. But why do you keep ignoring my invitations?"
He blinked.
"Because we're not exactly close enough to spend time together."
Clarissa huffed.
"I just want to be friends! Maybe... interested in buying all your products. Let's say... 25% cheaper than everyone else?"
Jericho laughed dryly.
"So you can sell them to my clients at 125% markup? Please, don't make me laugh, my ribs are sore."
She scowled.
"If you worked with me, you wouldn't have to worry about students messing with you. I'm your best insurance."
"Mm. Tempting. Where have I heard that before?"
"I'm serious. You keep vanishing. Where even are you these days?"
"Going places," Jericho said vaguely, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. But another though was filling his mind.
Clarissa might be useful. She was always near the academy. She saw and heard everything.
He cleared his throat.
"So, what's new lately? Anything worth hearing?"
"Hmm?"
He leaned casually against a wall.
"You know. Just the general vibe. Any news? Weird rumors? What about Shin?"
Clarissa tilted her head slightly, her expression shifting just enough to raise Jericho's suspicion.
Her smile remained, but her eyes... something about the way they narrowed made the air feel heavier.
A moment passed.
Then she asked, hesitantly, like she wasn't sure if she heard him right.
"... Who?"
Jericho's heart skipped.
"What?" he said again, slower this time.