Chapter 130

“Don’t make me laugh. What’s with the perfect score?”

Harold spat out his words with as much disgust as he could muster. He fully understood that such defiance was pointless, but showing a compliant attitude wouldn’t improve the situation either.

Even though the person before him appeared to be a cute little girl, Harold felt that unless he consciously stirred up his rebellious spirit, he would be swallowed by Justus’s madness. Whether or not Justus knew about Harold’s inner turmoil, the man’s smile didn’t falter.

“Still as sharp-tongued as ever, even in this situation. Oh, I wonder—does your precognition tell you that you’ll manage to escape this time?”

“Hah, who knows?”

“So you won’t deny it. Well, it doesn’t matter either way.”

The chair creaked as Justus sat down, facing Harold, who was kneeling with his hands bound.

Unlike the previous dungeon, there were no bars separating them. Yet, despite the lack of barriers, Justus sat directly in front of Harold, crossing his legs with a confidence that suggested complete disregard for any danger.

His movements, poised yet unsuitable for a child’s body, created an eerie sense of incongruity. The smile he’d worn just moments earlier faded, replaced by a neutral expression that betrayed no emotion as he gazed down at Harold.

Harold couldn’t discern what Justus was thinking.

He knew Justus’s goals, methods, and motives as they were depicted in the game. But that was merely information handed to him—he had never been able to understand the logic born from Justus’s thoughts and emotions.

“Harold, I’m intrigued by your existence. Can you guess why?”

“I don’t care, nor do I want to.”

“…Hmm, it doesn’t seem like you’re lying. You’ve never lied directly to me before, have you?”

Harold’s expression twisted slightly with bitterness.

The observation was accurate, and the fact that Justus could see through him so thoroughly was unsettling.

“You thought that if you lied to me face-to-face, I’d see through it, didn’t you?”

“…”

“That implies you have secrets you don’t want me to know. Your precognitive ability is one of them.”

The way he spoke wasn’t even a question—it was as if he were presenting a mathematically proven fact. It was clear that Justus had already reached his conclusion.

“Precognition? That sounds absurd to me.”

“It’s an absurdity that your actions make hard to dismiss.”

Harold had to agree.

Especially given his recent movements, Justus was likely well aware of them. Harold suspected that Justus had been handling him all along, knowing full well he might betray him someday. If that were the case, then Justus had probably prepared countermeasures for such an eventuality.

“When you eliminate all impossible possibilities, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. It’s elementary logic.”

“So you’ve concluded it’s precognition. But assuming that’s true, what do you plan to do about it?”

“Nothing. Even if there were a way to obtain such a power, it doesn’t interest me.”

Justus dismissed the concept of precognition as unimportant without hesitation.

Harold could tell that Justus wasn’t bluffing or trying to save face. It was this unwavering indifference that made him so unnerving.

Precognition was undoubtedly a powerful ability. Harold had relied on it to survive this far. Yet, despite recognizing its existence, Justus saw no need to treat it with caution.

“I know you’re indifferent to others, but to show no interest even in precognition makes your fascination with me all the more inexplicable.”

“Well, to put it simply, your existence itself is what fascinates me.”

Harold couldn’t fully grasp the nuances of Justus’s words, but a sense of unease crept over him.

And that unease solidified into near-certainty as Justus continued.

“The abnormalities you harbor—precognition included—suggest that you are an entity beyond this world’s natural order.”

“…What are you trying to say?”

“It’s still a hypothesis, but let me put it this way: Harold Stokes, who are you?”

At first glance, the question seemed almost philosophical. But it was clear that wasn’t how Justus meant it.

He was seeing something in Harold beyond Harold Stokes. He didn’t yet grasp its nature or origins, but he was beginning to perceive the existence of Kazuki Hirasawa.

The cold, emotionless voice and piercing gaze made it impossible for Harold to think otherwise.

“…I don’t understand the question. I’m me.”

“You really aren’t good at lying. Regardless of whether my hypothesis is right or wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten much else from you.”

“Hah, so your theory missed the mark?”

“Not entirely. Just having this conversation is a small validation of my hypothesis.”

Harold couldn’t follow Justus’s reasoning. How could mere conversation serve as evidence for anything?

The story had deviated so far from the original game that Harold’s foreknowledge was becoming increasingly useless. Every word he spoke, every reaction he gave, could unknowingly provide a hint. That thought terrified him.

Sitting before this man, Harold felt his suppressed fear of death clawing its way back to the surface.

“Good for you… So, what do you plan to do with me?”

“If my goal is to ensure my plan’s success, you are undoubtedly the most dangerous obstacle. Killing you would be the safest option. However…”

Justus’s eyes, typically lifeless like those of a dead fish, gleamed brightly—perhaps due to his possession of Sara’s body. The madness in his gaze was evident as he stared at Harold, though he seemed to be looking at something else entirely.

“Harold, you represent a possibility for both me and her.”

“A possibility…?”

“Yes. You possess the potential to render my entire plan meaningless.”

Harold couldn’t make sense of Justus’s words.

Justus’s plan was to resurrect Estel by extracting her astral form and anchoring it to a Star Child’s vessel. To achieve this, he was willing to risk exposing the Star Core and collapsing the continent.

Harold was actively trying to stop that plan. But to say that Harold’s existence made the plan itself meaningless? That suggested Harold had something that surpassed Justus’s ambitions entirely.

“Have you finally gone insane?”

“Shall we find out? Who’s crazier—me or this world?”

Harold swallowed his retort. Insulting Justus wouldn’t accomplish anything.

Instead, he focused on observing Justus’s behavior, searching for any clue that could help him escape.

“It doesn’t matter either way,” Justus said with a shrug. “As long as I achieve my one goal, the rest of this world can be as broken as it pleases.”

"That must be a lie," Harold thought. "These are words spoken from the very depths of his being."

To Justus, there was only one thing that mattered—Estel. If retrieving her meant breaking himself or breaking the world, he would do so without hesitation. It was a love that could only be described as madness.

“Let’s get back on topic. Harold, I believe you have an existence within you that is not your own, correct?”

Without hesitation or preamble, Justus drove straight to the heart of the matter.

Harold didn’t know how Justus had arrived at that conclusion. But deep down, Harold had always felt certain that this truth would eventually be discovered. That’s why he had taken such pains to conceal it.

“The abnormalities you possess—I believe they are entirely distinct from dual personalities or dissociative identity disorder. It’s not a case of one personality splitting into two. Rather, it’s two separate selves inhabiting a single body.”

The Kazuki Hirasawa who moved Harold’s body and thought through his mind was indeed a self completely distinct from the original Harold who slumbered within the body. From Kazuki’s perspective, Harold belonged to a different plane of existence altogether.

If even Justus described it as something outside the world’s natural order, then it must truly be a phenomenon as rare as it was bizarre—one that likely occurred only to Harold in this world. And Justus had identified in it a certain potential.

“I investigated a number of things while you were unconscious.”

While Harold had been unconscious? Did that mean several days had passed since the battle in Barston? To Harold, it felt as though only a few hours—or at most a single day—had gone by. But the situation might be far more dangerous than he realized.

“That seems a bit late, doesn’t it?” Harold muttered.

“I was being cautious. I had no idea what sort of traps might have been set, so I needed to be thorough.”

It was hard to imagine that Justus would orchestrate all the events in Barston just to capture Harold. However, it was possible that he had used part of his broader plan to weaken Harold and safely bring him under control. If that was the case, then Harold had fallen right into his trap.

Though from Harold’s perspective, he had set no traps to begin with. At best, his plan had been, “If we’re attacked, beat them all to a pulp and escape.” If Justus found that unnerving, it showed he wasn’t infallible.

“But as a result, I discovered that your body contains two astral forms. Two astral forms in a single human body… This is something that should be impossible by any known theory.”

“...Much like precognition, then?”

“Indeed, it’s another defining feature of your abnormalities. To be frank, I have no idea what principle is causing the phenomenon occurring within you.”

“Admitting defeat so readily doesn’t seem like you.”

“It’s only for now. Given enough time, that will change.”

The notion of a person from the real world possessing a game character—or a person in a world resembling a game—seemed like something akin to divine intervention. Yet Harold couldn’t shake the feeling that Justus might truly be capable of reaching that domain.

“So rest easy. Until I unravel this phenomenon, I won’t kill you.”

“...Why? Why are you so fixated—”

“Why am I so obsessed with this phenomenon?”

Justus’s smile deepened, the madness in his expression growing more pronounced.

“Because if I can solve this mystery, then she and I could exist in the same body, in the same world. We could be together more deeply, more completely than anyone else. Becoming one wouldn’t just be a dream!”

Sharing the same body and perhaps even merging completely—Justus spoke as though this was his dream.

To Justus, this might seem like a wonderful thing. He was, after all, the man willing to let the world collapse if it meant reclaiming Estel.

But Harold...

“That’s laughable.”

The words he spat out were colder than usual, fueled by an anger that burned deep in his gut.

For Justus to call Harold’s situation “wonderful,” to claim it was “like a dream”—he had no idea how much suffering Harold had endured over the past eight years.

Nor did he understand what Kazuki Hirasawa had lost—his home, his body, and even the chance to know if he could ever reclaim them. Kazuki had clung to life, struggling and enduring just to reach the story’s ending and thwart this man’s plans.

“It’s utterly meaningless. But if that’s what you desire, I’ll make sure your dream never comes true.”

“Your tone suggests you understand at least part of what’s happening to you.”

“Even if I do, there’s nothing I’d tell you.”

“I see. As I thought, the truth serum seems ineffective.”

Apparently, Harold had been injected with a truth serum before waking up. Perhaps Justus’s earlier comments about validating his hypothesis referred to the fact that the serum’s failure was linked to Harold’s possession of two astral forms.

In any case, Justus was as meticulous as ever.

Justus snapped his fingers.

The door opened, and over ten men entered the room. Among them were faces Harold recognized, most notably Cody.

Their common features were unmistakable: they all wore knights’ uniforms, and their eyes were the same sky blue as Justus’s.

“Did you foresee this future, Harold?”

As he spoke, the figure resembling Cody drew a sword. The other knights followed suit, all of them wearing faint, lifeless smiles.

Unbelievable as it seemed, not only Sara and Cody but every one of these knights was likely another part of Justus’s divided consciousness.

“Now then, shall we begin the next experiment?”

Justus’s voice, still that of a young girl, rang out.

It was the voice of someone presiding over a stage of pure madness.