༺ Welcome Back (1) ༻
Blood red.
That was all I could see as I stumbled back, slamming into my desk. My vision blurred, and a heavy haze clouded my thoughts.
Golden-colored air swirled around me…
Shut.
Open.
The world flickered in and out like a dying flame. My body felt sluggish, as though I had been submerged in thick, suffocating tar. The moment I tried to focus, my vision darkened again.
And then—
An unfamiliar ceiling.
Of course, everything had been unfamiliar since I was possessed by this godforsaken game. But still…
I struggled to sit up on the neatly kept bed, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles. The air smelled of roses, a gentle breeze carrying the scent through an open window. Almost transparent white curtains billowed softly, the light filtering through them casting an ethereal glow over the room.
I tilted my head slightly to the left—only for a searing pain to shoot through my neck.
"AGHH—"
I clutched at my throat on instinct. Then—
I froze.
A vivid memory surged through my mind like ice-cold water.
That bitch.
She sliced my throat open.
My fingers trembled as they hovered over my neck. No, it couldn't be… right?
Did I die again?
I forced myself to look around. It wasn't the office. It wasn't the train. This time, it was… an infirmary.
Did the respawn point change again?
A deep, sinking dread settled in my chest.
Nothing terrified me more than the thought of repeating the same scenario. Again. And again. And again.
I clutched my head, my fingers digging into my scalp.
Then I felt it—
Soft fabric wrapped around my throat.
"…Bandages?" I mumbled, tracing the smooth material.
That meant…
I didn't return this time.
A wave of relief washed over me, but only for a moment.
What about the assassin?
Blurry fragments of memory resurfaced—
A figure.
A man dressed in white… yellow swaying hair…
His presence stirred something in the back of my mind, a connection I couldn't fully grasp.
"Hmm…" I exhaled, closing my eyes.
For a second, just a fleeting second, I thought that after all of this…
Maybe… just maybe… I had finally returned home.
But no.
I was still here.
I pushed the thoughts aside. I had already wasted too much time lingering on useless hope.
Then—
A soft chime.
A translucent golden screen flickered into existence before me.
A status window.
Something I had expected? Probably.
In a romance game? Not really.
[View Character Profile?]
The words hovered in the air, awaiting my response.
I hesitated before reaching out. My fingers passed through the screen like mist, yet the text remained.
In my past life, I played my fair share of RPGs, most of them action-based. Even if I wasn't a hardcore player, I was familiar enough with status windows and character builds.
But the more I lived through this…
The more I questioned if this was really a romance fantasy game.
As if responding to my thoughts, the screen changed.
A new set of information filled my vision.
『Character Profile』
Name: Noel Saint Grenn
Gender: Male
Age: 28
「Titles:
Imperial Security Department Treasury Manager
Senior Professor
Lout of Iron Deeds」
「Abilities:
First Law (Light)
Authority – Prismatic Armament [See More]」
「Character Setting:
Dark Romance Fantasy 」
「Traits:
Perfectionist: Meticulous to a fault, unwilling to tolerate incompetence.
Refined Fashion Sense: Dresses impeccably, even in the face of death.
Feared Noble: Commands silent authority, a name whispered rather than spoken aloud.
Calm Demeanor: Rarely loses composure, unnerving even in dire situations.
Improviser: Adapts quickly, turning even the worst odds in his favor.」
「Flaws:
Workaholic: Would rather die at his desk than rest (which… might happen).
Terminally Ill: Not just an emotional weakness—his body is failing him.
Sarcastic as Hell: Can't resist making sharp remarks, even in life-or-death scenarios.
Suspicious of Everything: Paranoia is second nature. Trust? What's that?
Luck is a Myth: Has the uncanny ability to land in the worst possible situations.」
「Limitations:
Terminal Illness」
---
I sighed.
A lot of information appeared on the status window, but my attention was immediately drawn to the Abilities section.
In this world, Laws were the foundation from which Authorities were derived. Those capable of manipulating these Authorities were known as Authority Users.
And mine was—
Prismatic Armament, drawn from the First Law: Light.
"The light glass blades…" I muttered under my breath.
Curious, I tapped on the [See More] section under my Authority.
『The Clear Glass Blessing – Prismatic Armament』
「A manifestation of the First Law: Light, this ability grants the user control over mana and light, allowing them to forge crystalline glass-like blades at will. These weapons, made entirely of condensed mana, can be controlled individually or as a swarm.
They can be summoned, reshaped, and manipulated remotely through telekinesis, making them versatile for both offensive and defensive purposes. The stronger the user's connection to their mana, the more precise and numerous the blades become.」
I read through the explanation, and suddenly, memories flashed through my mind.
The battle with Sasha.
The moment I materialized the glass blades in that desperate struggle.
They rained down like divine judgment—unstoppable, absolute.
I didn't even think.
It just happened, like my body instinctively knew how to wield this power. Like my innate will to survive had taken over.
"But I thought this body couldn't use mana…" I frowned. "Is there something I'm missing?"
My memories were still fragmented, like trying to put together a shattered mirror. The gaps were frustrating, but I knew I had no choice but to be patient.
And more than anything—I wouldn't lose myself in this body.
I was still Ju-won.
Overworked civil servant bastard from Earth.
"…Sigh. Not much of a difference either way," I muttered dryly.
I moved down to the Character Setting section.
Some of the traits made sense. Others…
Well, others just made it obvious the game devs were throwing whatever the hell they could into the character's backstory.
Perfectionist. Fair enough.
Refined Fashion Sense. Not bad.
Feared Noble. A bit dramatic, but okay.
Calm Demeanor. Useful.
Improviser. Definitely a lifesaver.
But then—
Workaholic. …Why am I not surprised?
Sarcastic as Hell. So this is just a personal attack now?
Luck is a Myth. Oh, fantastic.
Suspicious of Everything.
I scowled. "Seriously, was the character designer just bored or did they really want to make this guy suffer?"
Even with the inconsistencies, it still gave me a clearer picture of the body I now inhabited.
And if I was going to live and survive in this world…
I needed to understand everything about it.
Then my eyes fell on the Limitations section.
And there it was.
The Terminal Illness.
I tapped on it, and another screen expanded.
『Mana Overflow Syndrome – The Blessing and the Curse 』
「The Disease: Body absorbs and produces an abnormally high amount of mana. However, the veins and mana circuits are too fragile to handle it. This leads to internal damage, chronic pain, and mana leaks, which—if left unchecked—will eventually lead to death. 」
「Strain of Prismatic Armament:
Channeling mana into his blades worsens the condition, as the weapons directly draw from his unstable mana reserves.
Overuse leads to severe symptoms such as:
Vomiting blood
Fainting
Mana burns」
"Oh… so that's the terminal illness…" I murmured.
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head.
"...Hey, look, Hana... we aren't that different, see?"
I forced a smile as I whispered to myself.
But it didn't last.
A sharp pain throbbed in my chest as I thought of my sister.
Hana.
The illness that took her away…
The fact that I wasn't even there when she—
I clenched my jaw and slammed my fist into the wall behind me, the impact sending a dull ache up my arm.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted iron.
It didn't matter.
She was gone.
And I was here.
I forced myself to relax, taking a slow breath. Then, as if speaking to no one in particular, I asked:
"How long until this illness kills me?"
The screen remained unresponsive.
No answer.
Of course.
I was living on borrowed time after all.
My gaze drifted back to the profile screen, stopping at something else—
「Character Setting: Dark RoFan.」
"...What does that mean?"
There wasn't much written under it.
「Dark Romance Fantasy 」—I assumed it meant this wasn't just your typical flowery romance game. But it still felt too vague.
Before I could think further, the infirmary door swung open.
I tensed instinctively.
The person who stepped inside—
I wasn't expecting at all.
A woman.
Red hair.
Blue eyes.
Stunning. Beautiful in every possible way.
She smiled.
"Hey, Noel... welcome back."
Phoebe Saint Pierremont.
"..."
Her voice was softer than I remembered. More controlled.
I straightened up on the infirmary bed, resting my arm over my knee.
Silence stretched between us.
Phoebe had always been the reserved type, much like me. She was known for her sharp intuition, her calculated speech. But in the void of silence, she was the one trying to keep things going.
"You've been out for a while," she said, stepping further in. "The department's been a mess without you."
She exhaled softly, like she had expected that answer. "Still... it's good that you're back."
I leaned back against the bedframe.
Another pause. Neither of us seemed to know how to navigate this conversation.
My thoughts drifted back—far back—to the moment I woke up in this body, to the many times I died trying to save the Obsidian, and to the woman standing before me now.
Phoebe Saint Pierremont had killed me more times than I could count.
The memory of it was carved into my bones—the suffocating pain, the way my life was ripped away again and again.
It wasn't intentional. I knew that now.
It was Sasha's doing.
Her authority—whatever it was called—manipulated emotions, twisted them into something all-consuming. Love. But not the conventional kind. Love was a spectrum. It wasn't just devotion or affection; it was obsession, hatred, regret. All emotions rooted in some form of love.
In Phoebe's case, love had turned into devastation.
She must have arrived at the Obsidian after Sasha's massacre, after the corpses were already cold. And when she saw me—standing in the wreckage, the last one alive—her emotions must have snapped into place.
She had thought I was the one who killed them.
"I don't know why I fell for a man like you."
I had heard those words before. Over and over again.
The original Noel and Phoebe... they were close.
But I doubted Noel had ever reciprocated her feelings.
He had just gotten out of a failed engagement.
He probably didn't care about what she felt.
Thinking about it now, it wasn't just Noel who was shaken.
It was Ju-won.
The Ju-won who had never experienced something like this before.
I, who couldn't overlook the fact that the woman standing in front of him was a crazy talented individual who had cut me down mercilessly, even if she had been under the influence of an Authority.
Would I be able to face her if we fought again? Would I be able to overcome her?
I forced my thoughts back to the present.
Noticing my silence, Phoebe finally spoke again. "An assassin infiltrated the Obsidian," she said.
"No one was hurt... aside from you," she continued.
My grip tightened over the blanket.
"That can't be right," I muttered.
Sasha had killed everyone. I had seen it with my own eyes. She had reached my office and slaughtered the last survivors—me and Claire in the many loops I had taken.
How could there have been survivors?
Phoebe glanced at me. "Sir Redwyne intervened again. If it weren't for him, you'd be dead."
Sir Redwyne. That name sounded even more familiar...just couldn't wrap my head around it.
"...What about that woman?"
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
Phoebe hesitated. "According to Sir Redwyne, she was a fake...probably made through re-animation Authority."
A fake?
So all this time, I had been fighting a puppet?
Physically, mentally—I had been struggling against something that wasn't even real. I hadn't been able to overcome it, not even once.
A bitter laugh almost escaped me. The feeling that spread through me was worse than frustration. It was helplessness.
"Wretched Faith," Phoebe continued, unaware of the storm raging in my head.
"A faction formed by unknown individuals. Their disciples follow the Wretched Ones."
A cult that was devised by the 7 powerful witches that led to a war over 300 years ago.
"The Wretched Faith's sole purpose is to overthrow the empire. They impersonate the Witches—even though it's considered a curse and a violation of their belief. This time, it seems they sent a marionette to attack the Imperial Security Department. If they weakened it, they'd weaken the empire's forces too."
"Thank the Saints no one was hurt," she added.
"You were able to contain her long enough."
I clenched my fists against the blanket.
Thank the Saints?
Thank the fucking Saints?
I had died. Over and over. Blood had spilled—mine, others'. The pain, the suffering, the absolute despair of it all.
And yet, the way she described it was as if everything had been nothing but sunshine and rainbows. The cliche where the protag saves the day without spilling a drop of blood.
Did they even know what I had seen? What I had gone through?
My teeth ground together. Even if I tried to explain. Even if I tried to tell them—
I can return back in time upon death.
The moment I thought those words, everything paused. My mouth wouldn't open. My throat locked. The fucking game—didn't let me speak it aloud.
I steadied myself.
When I glanced up, Phoebe was watching me, concern evident in her expression.
"Are you okay?"
I forced myself to relax. A smile crept onto my lips, hollow but convincing.
"Yeah. Just glad everyone's okay."
Phoebe studied me for a moment longer before sighing.
"The faction is always being hunted, so you don't have to worry too much."
She straightened.
"Actually, I came here for something else. The department wanted to welcome you back. And..."
She hesitated before continuing, "...some important figures and prestigious houses will be attending soon."
A party. For me.
"For your return from the military," she clarified, "and for the many deeds you've accomplished in such a short span. Consider this your official invitation."
I stayed silent.
Phoebe gave me a small smile. "I missed you... we all missed you, Noel."
And then, she turned and left.
Before she exited, a familiar chime echoed in my head.
[View This Character's Profile?]
I stared at the system window as it unfolded before me.
『Character Profile 』
Name: Phoebe Saint Pierremont
Gender: Female
Age: 30
「Character Setting
-Romance Fantasy」
"..."
I stiffened.