By all accounts, every word out of Imitation Yumeji's mouth was childish, and this battle, fundamentally, was meaningless.
But there exist battles that, once begun, will not end—until one side finds a face they can compromise with.
That was why Siegfried scratched his head in visible irritation as he prepared to engage in this absurd scuffle, despite having anticipated and even half-looked-forward to it.
<<"Hey kid, listen, I'm not trying to—Eh!? Oi!!">>
Siegfried didn't even get to finish his sentence before Imitation Yumeji had already blitzed forward, opening the fight with a leaping flying side kick aimed straight at him.
<<"Shit!!">>
Siegfried twisted his body, narrowly dodging, and immediately started grumbling.
<<"Damn it! Can't you let a man finish his sentence before you go all murder-mode on him!?">>
<<"Don't wanna. This battle started ages ago, so I don't see any reason to sit through a monologue from an opponent I'm not remotely interested in! If you wanna talk, then make it exciting, you crusty old geezer!!">>
Seeing that his opener had whiffed, Imitation Yumeji didn't miss a beat. He tucked into a roll to the side and swept his leg low to knock Siegfried off balance.
<<"Oof!">>
With his shin clipped by the kid's sweeping kick, Siegfried crashed into the snow, face-first. He clicked his tongue the moment he saw the brat wind up for a brutal stomp aimed at his gut, and had to roll away frantically across the snow to avoid the flurry of vicious kicks raining down.
<<"So you're the type that won't even listen unless I go all-out, huh!?">>
Even while dodging, Siegfried curled his body into a tight frame, summoning his weapon mid-roll. Then, at the very moment he twisted onto his back, he raised the gun—Judgement of Shamash—and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
In that instant, realizing he'd just thrown himself right in front of the barrel, alarm bells went screaming through Imitation Yumeji's mind. He yanked his torso hard to the left, dodging instinctively.
A blast of searing orange light erupted beside him—and the resulting shockwave slammed into his body, tossing him through the snow like a ragdoll.
<<"Kh.">>
<<"We're not done yet, brat.">>
Before Yumeji could even catch his breath, another gun manifested in Siegfried's open left hand. Only now had the full dual-set—Judgement of Shamash—been completely summoned.
Seeing that his first shot had missed, Siegfried immediately followed up with the newly appeared pistol in his other hand.
<<"!!!">>
Yumeji narrowly evaded the second blast—one that could have popped his head like a melon—by grabbing a handful of snow and detonating it using Flame Cloud, the explosion launching his body clear of death's scythe.
Because the real danger of a bomb lies more in its casing than the blast itself, a snowbomb was comparatively safe—but even so, his left arm had taken massive damage.
The shoulder was dislocated, and the burn was bad enough to expose muscle through the charred, torn flesh.
Blood gushed freely from the ruined arm, which now dangled lifelessly as Yumeji staggered to his feet, rolling from the explosion he'd triggered himself.
He clenched his jaw and popped the dislocated joint back in place. His left arm was now completely numb from the pain—but if need be, he could still use it as a makeshift shield.
Yumeji glanced at the aftermath of Siegfried's shot—a deep crater gouged into the frozen ground, with a mouth at least fifty centimeters across.
Had that hit him dead-on, either he would've been split in two, or his skull would've been smashed open like a dropped egg.
(That was just a warm-up shot... and it's got at least three to four times the force of a naval cannon.)
He figured that even reinforced concrete pillars would get pulverized under fire from Siegfried's twin pistols, and the rounds might very well punch through the hulls of heavy warships. His only hope now was to pray he could avoid a direct hit—because the alternative would be a total and utter wreck.
<<"So, you in the mood to talk now?">>
<<"Maybe a little. But I'm not about to stop just 'cause we're chatting.">>
At that, Siegfried sighed in defeat, spun the gun in his hand once, and made his choice—he dismissed them.
The twin pistols Judgement of Shamash vanished from his hands, leaving them empty.
He wiped a hand down his face and muttered,
<<"Looks like you're one of those kids who only know how to talk with their fists, huh?">>
<<"Now you're getting it, old man. Maybe I'll give you a minute to 'talk'—with your fists.">>
Imitation Yumeji finally dropped that disgusted poker face and instead flashed a crooked grin—a child's grin, one brimming with mischief and curiosity.
Neither said another word.
Both took up their stances.
And then, they charged.
***
The moment he slammed his foot down to burst forward, Imitation Yumeji went for the gut—a straight punch aimed right at Siegfried's abdomen. But his fist was caught, stopped cold in the air by Siegfried's open right palm braced in front of his chest.
Still, Yumeji didn't back off. He clenched his fist tighter, forced more power into it, pushing forward—
—then shifted his weight, crouched low, and drove his knee upward.
It hit.
Though Siegfried managed to block it, the blow broke through his guard. Seeing the opening, Yumeji slammed his other foot down to vault himself fully off the ground. He twisted midair, spinning his body to the right, chambered his raised knee, and let loose with his trailing leg—
—a vicious spinning heel aimed at Siegfried's ribs.
A tornado kick—improvised mid-air and from a wildly awkward stance.
The impact was enough to knock Siegfried backward from the sheer force, even as the motion threw a few of Yumeji's joints out of alignment.
—Crack!
With a sharp crack, Yumeji tumbled away into a roll, both to keep his distance and snap his displaced joints back into place.
But Siegfried saw the momentary lapse.
In a flash, he dashed in and swung his right arm at Yumeji, forcing him to cross his arms and block.
His left arm, already half-destroyed from earlier, screamed in agony the second it absorbed the impact.
Siegfried didn't hesitate.
He rode the recoil, rotated his body in a flowing motion, swept behind Yumeji's back, and chopped his left hand down in a ruthless arc—
—a reverse karate chop, aimed straight for the back of Yumeji's neck.
If not for his sharpened instincts kicking in, if not for the way he instinctively dropped his center of gravity by letting his knees go soft—Yumeji would've been out cold from that strike. No question.
But the more cornered he was, the more the randomness in his spirit came alive.
With a grin on his lips, he used the lowered stance to shift his hips and sweep Siegfried's legs, breaking his footing and slamming him to the ground.
As Siegfried crashed down, Yumeji lunged—
—and drove his elbow down hard into Siegfried's stomach.
Siegfried gritted his teeth through the pain, then leveraged his longer legs to hook Yumeji's waist, using that angle to roll both their bodies and reverse the pin.
<<"Kh.">>
With the tide turned, all Yumeji could do was grit his teeth and angle his head to avoid the barrage of punches Siegfried rained down. He curled his legs, pressed both feet against Siegfried's chest—and kicked out with explosive force.
The older man was launched skyward.
Yumeji took a second to catch his breath, staggering to his feet in a cold sweat.
His breath was heavy, almost strangled—like he'd just been dunked in ice water and left to drown.
He paused, hearing his own heart hammering in his chest.
It was almost funny.
Even a synthetic existence like him... had a heart built to feel adrenaline.
Excitement.
Fear.
He took a deep breath.
Centered himself.
And stood tall again.
***
Siegfried, on the other hand, was sprawled out on his back, lying motionless in the snow after being kicked away.
He gazed up at the night sky—clear and scattered with stars—letting the cold snow slowly swallow his body.
<<"Ghh... kahh!!">>
He forced himself to cough up the clot that had been clogging his throat—blood coughed up from the impact shaking his insides apart.
(Tch... two ribs, maybe cracked.)
Calmly assessing the damage, he glanced toward the boy, who was limping toward him with shaky steps—his mangled left arm still cradled protectively at his side.
(Tch... what an annoyingly energetic brat.)
Siegfried chuckled to himself, then spoke up.
<<"Hey, kid. Can you actually listen to me now?">>
<<"...Since you've given me a decent amount of combat experience from that little brawl just now, I suppose I can be patient and hear you out. But don't get long-winded—I'd say the fight we just had earns you about three minutes.">>
<<"Tch. You really are a pain in the ass, kid.">>
Imitation Yumeji didn't respond. He simply let his body drop back to the ground with a dull thud.
Propping one elbow on his bent knee while the other leg stretched out, he waited to see what exactly Siegfried had to say.
Ai-chan, who had been circling in the air anxiously during the intense skirmish, finally breathed a sigh of relief now that there was a pause. She landed gently on Yumeji's shoulder and turned her gaze toward Sieg as well.
Though Imitation Yumeji's tone had been a touch abrasive, Ai-chan said nothing. She continued watching in silence as the battle between Yumeji and Sieg entered a lull. After all, their whole reason for making it this far, clearing trial after trial, was to defeat the simulated opponents prepared for Kiana.
So even if Yumeji and Siegfried ended up beating each other black and blue, Ai-chan had no intention of interfering.
<<"Listen... I knew you'd probably hate me after I showed you that glimpse of my past. Or well—no, not really my past. Let's call it the 'historical record' used to create me. Yeah. That sounds cleaner.">>
<<"....">>
Yumeji remained silent, simply listening while working to regulate his breathing.
<<"In truth... when you saw the last segment of that playback I showed you, you must've realized that my daughter wasn't exactly normal.">>
<<"What, is this your bragging moment? 'Cause from where I stand, that violent, dumb little princess of yours was dangerous enough to threaten a damn warship even without that so-called history.">>
<<"I see. So I take it... my daughter grew up healthy and strong as a Valkyrie, huh? Funny, this simulation doesn't give me any updates about her current status beyond what was used to build me.">>
<
<
<
<<"...I see. I don't think I could live like that.">>
Siegfried let out a low breath before continuing.
<<"No matter what I say, the man known as Siegfried... was a failure of a father. He looked after his daughter, sure, but he never truly gave her the attention she deserved. And worse yet, in the second half of her life, he burdened her with a responsibility far too heavy to carry. However...">>
Siegfried paused for a moment, then went on.
<
After listening to Siegfried's incredibly long-winded speech, Imitation Yumeji quietly ran a hand down his face, a gesture of pure exhaustion. He clicked his tongue at the bitter taste that lingered in his mouth before speaking.
<<"That all you wanted to say?">>
***
Siegfried's brow furrowed slightly at Yumeji's words. Maybe he'd thought that speech of his would move the boy, at least a little. If so, he was dead wrong—because the look in Imitation Yumeji's eyes now was even colder than before.
The boy let out a long, exhausted sigh, shooting Siegfried a half-lidded glance.
<<"I don't know what you were thinking... but was all of that seriously what you really believe?">>
<<"...">>
<<"Didn't think so. Everything you said sounded like the kind of excuse a defense lawyer makes. Too tidy. Too polished.">>
<<"And what's wrong with being polished? Didn't you give a speech like that yourself?">>
<
<<"Then—">>
<<"But you're different.">>
He cut Siegfried off and continued speaking.
<<"The way you started was real. Confessional. Nothing fake. But everything after that? Just justification. All you did was go on and on about someone else—trying to make me sympathize with that guy. And then you wrapped it all up with a bunch of empty faith and resolve.">>
<<"....">>
Seeing Siegfried stay silent, not even trying to deny it, Yumeji pushed forward.
<<"We're simulations. We might have thoughts and urges of our own, sure, but that's it. Our emotions are still shallow—like a kid's. I could accept it if you told me you admired the man you were based on. But that's not what's going on, is it? Truth is, you're frustrated with the real one. The man who left behind nothing but pain and responsibility for his daughter... and then just vanished without saying a word. Am I wrong?">>
<<"!!">>
<<"The truth is, you don't understand why he didn't stay. Why he didn't stay by her side, protect her, help her through it all, make more happy memories together. Why'd he leave her to face it alone? If he was scared of dragging her into his mess, why didn't he just protect her with everything he had? Maybe... just maybe, that's what you were really thinking.">>
<<"Shut it.">>
<<"Now that I think about it... it's weird, isn't it? You used words you knew wouldn't work on someone like me. It's almost like... you weren't really trying to convince me at all. You'd rehearsed that speech, hadn't you? Practicing for the real one... for her. You were gonna tell her something like, 'Everything's okay, don't worry—Dad will always love and believe in you,' right?">>
<<"Shut your damn mouth.">>
<<"She's not even blood-related to you. You're just a bundle of data based on the image of her father. But you wanted to give her peace of mind. Reassurance. A better life. Even if you had to feed her the lies she wanted to believe—just so she wouldn't feel so alone. Hah... you're way too kind for your own good, old man.">>
<<"I said shut the hell up!!"»
Siegfried roared, shooting to his feet with bloodshot eyes, glaring daggers at the boy.
<<"What the hell do you know about me!? You're nothing but a goddamn outsider! A worthless stray mutt! Don't you dare pass judgment on me, you bastard!!">>
Imitation Yumeji smirked as he saw the fury contorting the man's face.
<<"I get it now. You were created based on some fake ideal—an image of the 'perfect father' that girl dreamed about. A kind, clumsy man who still gave everything for his family. A guy who could laugh and chat with his daughter about dreams and hopes, promising her a happy, wonderful future.">>
<<"Instead of the real father—depressed, bitter, crushed under a mountain of responsibility. The one who kept telling her life was hard, and that she had to grow up. 'I believe in you,' he said. How predictable.">>
<<"It's no wonder she wanted something more dreamlike. More detached from reality. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe she needed someone—anyone—to lean on. Like a picture-perfect dad.">>
—BOOM!!!
With a deafening roar, an entire line of trees behind Yumeji was reduced to ash in the blink of an eye as orange-yellow sparks exploded from the muzzle of Siegfried's gun.
<<"Looks like you're finally getting serious, huh?">>
<<"I'll rip that filthy mouth of yours off your damn face, you piece of shit!!">>
<<"Perfect! I like that face way better than the last one. So let's go all out, shall we? Time to fight for real, you sweet old dad. Kehehehe... I'll smash you to bits until you finally admit it, uncle.">>
With that, Imitation Yumeji summoned the Xuanyuan Sword – Wind Style, ready to face Siegfried, who now stood tall—twin pistols Judgement of Shamash once again in hand.
****
Some time later, slumped against the base of a tree, a boy sat gasping for breath—his body drenched in blood from head to toe.
There wasn't a single inch of him that wasn't injured. Battered, bruised, and torn to the point of being unrecognizable, from afar, he could easily be mistaken for nothing more than a hunk of raw, bloody meat.
<<"After all that big talk, this is all you've got? You pathetic little bastard.">>
A cold, cutting voice rang out nearby—and the mangled hunk of meat grinned from ear to ear.
Siegfried frowned at the sight and asked bluntly,
<<"What the hell is so funny?">>
<<"Well, it's not actually funny. But you talk like you've already won.">>
<<"Haven't I?">>
<<"Nope.">>
The boy shook his head, lifting a trembling hand to wipe the blood off his forehead with the tattered remains of his sleeve. He smiled again.
<<"Everything up until now was just recon. I already figured out you're stronger than me. Makes sense—your data set's clearly larger than mine. A difference in quality. My odds of winning weren't even 30%.">>
<<"Then what the hell are you smiling about?">>
<<"Because even if I lose in quality, I've got you beat in quantity. How many cards have you flipped from your deck by now? Almost all of them, right? Meanwhile, I've only used about half of mine. Right now... I've got more options than you, old man.">>
<<"Enough.">>
Siegfried clearly wasn't in the mood for more chatter. He raised his gun and aimed.
<<"Die.">>
Flames exploded in a brilliant orange flash—everything behind Yumeji was incinerated into ash.
Everything behind him—because he'd already moved.
Yumeji had rolled forward—toward Siegfried, the safest direction—and slammed into him, toppling the man over.
As they fell, Siegfried kicked out toward his face, but Yumeji grabbed his leg, rolled to the side, and flipped him over with ease.
Instead of pressing the attack, Yumeji jumped back—just in time to avoid a flaming projectile that tore through the air like a high-velocity plasma arrow. The blast had enough heat and force to burn through concrete and tank armor alike.
But for all its destructive power, the weapon came with a hefty recoil. Between each shot, even when dual-wielded, there was always a delay. Fire both at once, and the kickback could send the shooter flying if they weren't careful.
Yumeji let his body relax and took a deep breath.
<<"Let's bring this fight to its climax, old man!">>
With a shout, a crimson aura of Boost energy erupted around him.
His baseline stats surged—and with just one flex of his legs, he closed the distance in an instant, dragging Siegfried into close-quarters combat.
<<"Hah, hyaah!! Hrahh, take this!!">>
The rhythm of his attacks grew more intense, rising with the adrenaline that flooded his veins.
Bouncing back and forth on his feet, he began weaving in street-dance-inspired footwork into his martial arts style.
First up: a spinning tornado kick, fired straight at Siegfried.
Of course, Siegfried saw it coming. He shifted his weight and leaned back, dodging with minimal effort. But Yumeji wasn't finished. As soon as he landed, he dropped his stance low and followed up with a sweeping low kick.
That, too, was evaded—Siegfried hopped back lightly, maintaining his stance. He then countered with a flurry of hammer-like punches, swinging his forearms like clubs. But Yumeji, crouched low, ducked and swayed side to side, narrowly dodging them all.
Then he sprang forward—collapsing the gap and throwing a flying punch mid-leap that forced Siegfried to cross his arms to block.
Yumeji poured strength into his punch, pushing Siegfried back, then ducked under a reverse hook kick that whipped past his head. He rolled forward, slipped around behind Siegfried, and let loose a back kick that slammed into the man's jaw.
The strike hit square on Siegfried's right cheek, forcing him to stagger.
Sensing his opening, Yumeji planted a hand on the ground and launched into a cartwheel kick that struck clean.
<<"Bhah... Aghhh!!!">>
Grunting in pain, Siegfried stumbled back—dazed, his guard faltering. He lifted one arm, half-conscious, and blindly aimed his gun.
At that moment, the red aura surrounding Yumeji vanished—replaced by crackling, vivid red lightning.
He burst forward, instantly closing the five-meter gap between them.
He slammed his right hand across, striking Siegfried's arm and knocking the gun to the side just as the trigger was about to be pulled. The blast ripped through the air, but the aim was already ruined.
The sound was deafening—enough to rattle Yumeji's skull. The shockwave behind him roared, leaving his ears ringing, but he stayed sharp.
With all his strength, he launched a high kick straight into Siegfried's chin—sending the man flying.
Siegfried tumbled across the snowy field, rolling until his back slammed into a nearby tree, finally coming to a stop.
<<"Kh!">>
Still high on adrenaline, I casually strode toward the man slumped against the tree.
<<"Why?">>
Siegfried, lying sprawled on the snow-covered ground, let out a hoarse, bitter voice. His tone carried both grief and confusion, a shaken echo of pride undone.
<<"How the hell did you get so strong, you damn brat!?">>
I gave a slight shrug at the overly simple question.
I didn't need a noble reason. I didn't need to pretend some heavy responsibility weighed on me.
I wasn't even human—why the hell would I care about those kinds of things?
I just followed my own will and did whatever I wanted. That was it. Because to me, someone who doesn't even love themselves... no matter how much they try to love others, it's all just hollow. Meaningless.
<<"You're asking me why? Isn't it obvious? I'm strong because I stay true to myself. But what about you? What is it that you really want to do for Kiana? What is it that your heart truly desires?">>
<<"....">>
Covering his face with one hand, the man ground out a response through clenched teeth—aimed at a boy not even half his apparent age.
No—scratch that. They were equals.
Because they were simulations. Artificial constructs born on the same day, shaped by the same hand.
Their "ages" were meaningless. Just data. Just skin.
They were given these shells—faces, bodies—fabricated from the imagination of one girl.
They didn't have unique personalities. That was never part of the design.
They didn't have unique appearances. Their entire existence was a copy, a derivative of someone else.
They weren't blessed with any magical potential or special traits.
Everything about them was secondhand—an imitation that could never surpass the original.
They were characters written to never become protagonists.
But so what?
So what if their origin was borrowed? So what if their story wasn't theirs?
So what if they wore flashy costumes and pretended to be someone else?
That didn't make what was inside them hollow.
What the hell decides whether a fake has no value? Whether it's inherently inferior to the real thing?
Sure, they lacked complexity. Sure, they weren't diverse or unique.
But that didn't matter.
They weren't lifeless paintings. They could talk. They could listen. They could think and grow.
Compared to real humans—who are often contradictory and messy—they were simpler. More honest. More pure.
And that... was their strength.
So stop it already. Stop this pointless farce of self-loathing.
Don't be ashamed of what you are, who you are, how you were born, or why you exist.
What matters is what you want—and how you choose to live from now on.
It might not be long. It might not be glamorous.
But from the moment you opened your eyes and faced the world...
...that's been your life.
So stop denying your emotions. Stop lying to yourself. Stop hiding behind the role you were programmed to play.
Step out of the shadows.
Speak with your own voice.
Let it be ugly.
Let it be unimpressive.
Let the audience boo you if they want.
Here.
Right now.
In this place far removed from the eyes of the world...
There's nothing stopping you from casting aside the role you were assigned and stepping into the spotlight meant for you—
—as the protagonist of your own damn story.
***
<>
Siegfried spoke slowly, his lips parting and closing as he forced each word out with a voice choked in his throat.
<>
Those words slipped from his mouth with difficulty, as he picked them out bitterly like a sour plum stuck in his throat. His face was scrunched up in exhaustion as he continued.
<
<
I spoke calmly, making sure my words were conveyed clearly to the man in front of me.
<
At that, Siegfried once again gritted his teeth and roared out.
<
Hearing that, I simply shrugged and nodded slightly.
<
I paused, looking directly at Sieg before continuing.
<
Siegfried furrowed his brow at me, but I couldn't care less. I just kept on saying what I needed to say.
<
<
<
He had said everything there was to say.
Whether that man could crawl out of the mire he himself had created—that was something only he could decide.
<
The man turned himself over onto his stomach, clutching a fistful of snow in his bare hand and growling, his eyes distant and unfocused, as if he saw nothing but the simulated Yumeji.
Still keeping his eyes closed, Siegfried felt the world around him fade into a blur.
All sound, all sensation—grew indistinct.
It was as if he'd lost all connection to the world, as if his consciousness was being pulled away into some shapeless void.
And then...
And then...
He heard a voice.
****
"Hey, Dad, are we moving again?"
A little girl grumbled about having to relocate yet again, never getting the chance to settle down in one place for long.
That little girl—Kiana—was complaining as she trailed behind her father, trekking through a taiga forest in early autumn.
It was around early September. The leaves hadn't fully changed color yet—so there wasn't even anything scenic to enjoy—and walking in this freezing weather wasn't fun in the slightest.
Ignoring his daughter's complaints, Siegfried replied flatly.
"We're not moving this time."
"Huh? Then why are the two of us trudging down the mountain, Dad?"
Kiana tilted her head in confusion, only to receive a rather weary and disheartened reply from her father.
"Did you already forget what happened last night, my little Kiana?"
Hearing that, Kiana nodded in understanding, her eyes drifting off toward some faraway horizon, a look equal parts worry and sheer exasperation.
"Ah, you mean the part where you blew up our kitchen?"
"You didn't have to be that blunt about it, sweetheart."
"But that is what happened."
Kiana ignored her father's protests and recalled the previous day's events.
Not that it was anything rare or unusual. She'd seen this kind of thing happen a few times before.
It was just her dad falling back into his bad habit of trying to cook—despite being absolutely awful at it.
It was like clockwork, really—about once a month. He'd get some bright idea for a new recipe or get inspired by watching some online chef, and then he'd dive straight into making a dish he'd never tried before.
This time, the dish was strawberry pancakes.
Apparently, he'd gotten his hands on a whole bunch of strawberries—harvested right in season—from a small village at the foot of the mountain. It seemed the kind villagers had gifted them to him in gratitude after he saved them from some Honkai beasts.
With a bright, proud look on his face, he said he'd cook up a feast for her.
Though she swore he'd only watched half of the recipe video before getting started.
The egg-whipping part—sure, the cream splattered all over his face, but it was technically a success.
The batter-mixing part—well, flour flew all over the floor, but maybe you could still call it a success?
The strawberry-slicing and heating part?—Ah, well, there was no slicing. He just dumped them all into a pot and started cooking.
But the real problem came in the next step—because when he placed the pancake batter onto a pan... and then shoved that pan into the microwave...
Yes. Her idiot dad actually put a whole frying pan into an active microwave.
She had to thank God their house didn't explode from that stunt, even though their kitchen definitely went up in smoke.
Thinking back on it, Kiana couldn't help but let out a self-deprecating laugh.
"So, where are we going, exactly?"
"You're asking me that? Obviously, we're going out to eat."
In this middle-of-nowhere wilderness?
Kiana genuinely wanted to ask why they weren't just hunting and stocking up for winter while they were at it.
But in the end, the two of them just kept walking. She didn't know how much time had passed, but Kiana knew she was reaching her limit, and finally started to complain.
"Hey, Dad. When are we actually gonna get there?"
"You know, sweetheart, we've only made it halfway so far."
"Only halfway!? But I'm already tired... and hungry."
Her sense of distance wasn't the best, but she guessed they'd walked over 10 km already. If they were only halfway, that meant the total trip was around 22 km. If she had to go that far without eating anything, she was gonna die for real.
Needless to say, that was probably why her dad was lugging around that massive backpack.
After listening to his daughter's complaint, her father—Siegfried—finally took his eyes off the map he'd been holding and said,
"Well, maybe we should find a place to rest. Let's look for a nice spot and set up camp there, Kiana."
"Yayy! I'm totally on board! I was just about to say that, but uh... do we actually have anything to eat?"
"Don't worry. Your father already anticipated this very situation."
He puffed out his chest proudly and began showing off his backpack. But she still had to ask again.
"Are you sure we'll be okay?"
"Kiana, you have to have faith in your father!!~~"
He shouted that like her lack of faith hurt his feelings—but she didn't care.
(That's exactly why I can't trust you, Dad.)
And then...
Turned out, he really had prepared something. Hmph, quite the surprise, honestly—coming from her clumsy, foolish old man, someone who could barely take care of himself, let alone stay out of danger with the way he constantly threw himself into battles with Honkai beasts. And yet, here he was, actually showing some competence for once.
So, after gathering firewood and picking out a nice spot by a rocky riverbank, the two of them set up their tent and camped out for a break.
"Hmm? Wait. The food you brought is just apples?"
"Yeah. But if you don't want that, I also brought some bread. Oh, and I packed some butter and jam too. There're even some wild strawberries."
The moment her dad started going off on his little prep speech, she raised a hand to stop him.
"It's not that I don't want to eat. It's just—baked apples? I just hope you don't burn them."
"Have some faith in your old man's cooking skills, will ya!?~"
"You say that every time, but you still burned all the deer meat we hunted before. What a waste."
"Ahem!"
Her dad immediately cleared his throat and looked away once she hit him with that comeback.
Once they finished chowing down on the apples—surprisingly decent, since only a few turned out burnt—
they moved on to catching fish in the river.
Well, the Kaslana family wasn't exactly the patient type who could sit through the elegant, romantic pastime known as fishing. So, naturally, the two opted to catch them with their bare hands.
Her thoughts afterward were: "Damn these fish!" + "This river water is freezing as hell!" + "Shit—three of 'em got burnt to a crisp!!"
As night fell, the two camped out under the stars, and resumed their journey at the break of dawn.
After who knows how much suffering, they finally reached that damn restaurant—a full 22 kilometers from her house.
Her final verdict after the whole trip? "The food at that place was friggin' amazing!!"
...
On another day...
"Huff, huff, huff! Ughhh, I'm so done!!!~~"
Kiana collapsed on the ground, completely out of breath after another intense at-home training session.
She squinted over at the wooden training post—along with all the traps, obstacles, target dummies, climbing walls, and who-knows-what-else that had turned the land behind their house into some kind of insane training field.
Granted, they were all seasonal—only usable in summer and fall, before the winter blizzards buried everything in snow.
"What's this? You're already wiped out? And here I thought you were big and tough, saying you'd fight Honkai by my side. Such a load of crap~"
Annoyed
"Hey now! I'm just taking a breather, alright!? I'm not done yet! Ow—! What the heck!? Huh?"
Just as she was snapping back at her dad, something suddenly smacked her in the forehead, making her wince. When she looked up, she saw it—a canteen dangling in the air, tied to a rope that her father had dropped from above as he lounged cross-legged on a thick tree branch, looking down at her.
"My lovely daughter must be feeling a bit thirsty, huh?~~"
With her dad's teasing tone floating down from above, Kiana glared up at him, then let out a cold hmph, snatched the canteen off the string, and chugged it.
On yet another day...
"Stupid old man—where the hell has he run off to this time!? It's been three damn days already!"
Kiana grumbled, clearly fed up at being left to house-sit while Siegfried vanished on one of his mysterious excursions.
Then finally, that night, when he returned home all smiles and covered in mud, she marched right up to him and kicked him in the shin—with a smile on her face.
"Oww!! Kiana, what was that for!? My leg's gonna fall off!!"
Siegfried yelped, clutching his shin and hopping on one leg like a wounded bird.
"You're seriously asking me why? Where the hell have you been for the past three days!?"
"Wait, wait, Kiana! Let me explain! I have a perfectly good reason for being gone!"
"...?"
She narrowed her eyes, staring at him as if to say, What now...?
"You know, it's festival season over in the East right now, so I asked a friend to help me get this. And since the weather's clear today with no snowstorms, we can head outside."
"? What is that?"
She tilted her head at the cylindrical tube her father was holding and asked.
"It's fireworks. Fireworks! I used to watch these back in the day, so I figured you'd enjoy them too. Alright, let's go outside."
She didn't really get it, but it did sound fun, so she nodded and followed her dad out.
The night sky was crystal clear—lit with dazzling stars scattered across the heavens. It was one of those rare winter nights that made it worth stepping outside just to go stargazing.
But still...
"IT'S FREEZING!!"
Her whole body shuddered the moment she stepped out the door—today happened to coincide with a sudden cold snap.
"Yeah... it is pretty cold, huh."
Her father trembled as well while quickly gathering some dry branches to start a fire.
"I don't think that's gonna be enough."
"Don't worry, sweetie. Your dad's got a super top-tier ignition method right here."
Saying that, her father pulled out the twin Judgement of Shamash handguns, tied the branches together with rope, and prepared to light them up.
"Wait, what!? Aren't those your weapons? I already said something when you used them as makeshift grill stands, but now you're actually gonna burn them!?"
"Relax, sweetheart. These babies are tough—toss them in a fireplace and they'll still come out good as new."
"That's not the point! Even if they can take it, shouldn't you at least treat your weapons with more care!?"
"Don't worry, don't worry~~"
No matter how much she objected, Siegfried ignored her entirely and lit the fire anyway. And as he stared into the blaze with a serene look on his face, Kiana could swear he was smiling... like he'd just reached some kind of spiritual enlightenment.
And so, the two of them sat beside a bonfire fueled by heavy weaponry, beneath a starlit sky.
It should've been one of those beautiful, tranquil, emotional moments you'd see in a family movie—where someone brings out a guitar and another person starts crying and apologizing to their parents.
...But nope. That kind of overly sentimental drama should stay in fairy tales. No need to throw melancholic seasoning into a story about two people just enjoying their lives together.
And then...
"So what exactly are you planning to do with those fireworks? Just light 'em up like normal...?"
Kiana asked, eyeing the cylindrical tube with no small amount of skepticism.
"Of course not—we've gotta go all out with this!! You only get a chance like this once in a blue moon!!! I even prepared slow-burn fuses, boosted propellant charges, a 45-degree launch angle, and proper counterweights!"
Siegfried shot to his feet, shouting with giddy excitement.
"Uh... wait, weren't you a deserter? Why are you still acting like you're setting up a minefield or something?"
"Listen, Kiana. Your beloved dad didn't desert, alright~? I just couldn't stand that bastard of a boss I had before (Otto), so I transferred to a different branch. Besides! Even a retired soldier knows that if you're gonna light fireworks, you'd better make it spectacular!!"
At that moment, Kiana honestly couldn't tell whether she should be happy that her dad was so enthusiastic...
...or deeply concerned that something wasn't quite right in his head.
And finally, the moment to launch the fireworks arrived.
Her ridiculously "badass" old man raised his arm high and counted down like he was firing a damn cannon:
"Three... two... one... FIRE!!!"
Zzzzt—!!
The moment the fuse finished burning, a powerful flash burst out with a thunderous boom as the firework shot straight up into the sky. And then—
BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!
A massive firework bloomed across the wintry sky, blinding in its brilliance—shimmering shades of violet, red, gold, and blue lit up the snowy landscape below.
Kiana looked up, her eyes wide like she'd just witnessed a miracle.
"Oaaa... That's beautiful..."
It really was.
...If you ignored the part where it almost set the top of a nearby tree on fire.
"WAIT WAIT WAIT—WHY IS IT VEERING TOWARD OUR HOUSE!!?"
"Probably the wind changed direction~"
Siegfried said, already lighting the second one like setting off fireworks was his real job and being a dad was just his side hustle.
"STOP LIGHTING THEM ALREADY, DAD!! YOU'RE GONNA BURN THE WHOLE FOREST DOWN!!"
"Relax! I've got it all calculated!"
Zzzzt—!!
BOOOOOM!!
The second one launched—and exploded into a giant heart.
Kiana blinked. Then glanced back at her father.
"...You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
"Yup, that one's a Heartful Sparkling Missile. Custom-made."
"...That sounds like an ultimate move from some RPG game."
After firing off two rounds, Siegfried's face was smudged with soot. He sniffled, wiped his nose, then gave her a lopsided grin.
"But it sounds cool, right? That's what they call a man's romance."
"But I'm a girl, y'know~~"
Kiana puffed up her cheeks in protest, then just snorted and flopped down onto the snow while her dad lit off another round.
Under a starry sky, with black velvet heavens, white snowy earth, and bursts of vivid color painting a thousand shapes—the fireworks lit up the night, etching a memory into the heart of a certain father and daughter.
***
Blended into those clouds of frosty breath, echoing laughter, and absurd little moments, were the kind of simple, oddly-shaped memories that nonetheless brimmed with joy.
Of course, their time together wasn't always perfect. There were highs and lows. In fact, most of it probably leaned toward the lows—melancholy undertones that lingered in the mind of anyone looking in from the outside.
The time they truly spent happy together was brief. If you added it up precisely, then of the three years Kiana could remember, only about eight months were filled with moments that truly mattered—irreplaceable memories with her father.
But even so...
That girl—Kiana Kaslana—had absolutely, without a doubt, been happy.
And he had no right to deny that.
That was the one truth he had no permission to reject.
Siegfried Kaslana—at this point in time—was nothing more than a simulation, an idealized projection of what a father should be for Kiana.
But even so, he didn't need to make excuses anymore. Didn't need to smear ash and mud over himself in shame.
He had once wanted to become a villain, to shoulder the sins of the past. He thought by reopening old scars, playing the antagonist, he could push his daughter to grow stronger, to face forward, to find her own future.
But maybe... that had been a mistake.
In doing so, he denied all the good memories. He focused only on the pain—clinging to the past as if it justified his role, his guilt, his burden.
But that was wrong.
He was just being petty, just selfishly doing what he wanted—under the pretense that it was "for his daughter."
So now it was time. Time to stop running. Time to accept the pure, honest feelings that girl had for him.
Stop deflecting.
Stop forcing burdens onto her shoulders.
It was time to accept it all—the emotions in his heart, and the love and expectations that she had poured into the version of him that stood here now.
So what if he was just a simulation?
So what if he wasn't "cool" or "perfect"?
It was time to stop worrying about what he should be, or who he was meant to be. Time to simply live—as himself.
Shameless? Maybe. Clumsy? Sure. Imperfect? Absolutely.
But this—this was the father that she had imagined.
And at last, this simulation...
...was ready to become that man.
****
If you're going to be a dumbass of a dad—sometimes totally useless—then at the very least, you should be someone passionate, someone who can cheer with all their heart for their daughter's dreams, right?
She might make mistakes.
She might get hurt.
She might stumble.
She might even give up somewhere along the line.
But even so, as her father, shouldn't you be the one unwavering ally she can always count on?
He might not be dependable.
He might not even be able to lend a single helping hand.
Maybe all he could do… was cheer her on foolishly, believe in her, and watch over her from behind as she walked her own path.
But if that's what gives her the strength to move forward,
To get up after falling down,
To find the courage to wade through the muck of failure in search of her future—
Then that's enough.
Who cares if his daughter doesn't live up to anyone's expectations?
Who cares if she's cowardly, if she runs away, if she makes a thousand mistakes?
A hero?
Sounds nice and all—but he couldn't care less about that. Her life is something he'll always keep his eyes on.
She doesn't need to be perfect. She can be a mess. As long as she can smile—really smile—at him, then that's all he needs.
People tend to put expectations on others. Maybe he did too. But...
So what if she fails?
So what if she's weak?
So what if no one praises her?
Maybe she won't turn out like anyone hoped.
Maybe she'll live a life full of sadness.
Maybe she'll be gullible enough to get tricked time and time again.
But as long as—
As long as you can smile and enjoy the life you've been given, that's already more than enough for me.
You don't need a crowd of friends. Just make sure you have a few people—just a few—that you'd fight to protect.
Maybe you're not very smart. I mean, your dad sure isn't, haha.
But still—learn from your mistakes, okay?
And I hope you'll have someone you can trust.
Someone you'd entrust your back to without hesitation.
Though I have a feeling your relationship with that person won't exactly be peaceful, haha.
Man… there's so much I want to say. I could fill a whole damn phonebook with it.
But the one thing I want to say the most is...
No matter what happens, don't lose heart. Keep moving forward, toward your future.
That's what a certain foolish father once said to his daughter after a battle with a certain boy.
The truth is—he wasn't the real deal.
The truth is—maybe his feelings for Kiana were different from those of the real Siegfried.
But that's okay.
He said what he wanted to say.
He conveyed what he needed to convey.
His words reached her.
That's a truth that can never be erased.
***
The rest of this simulation dad's story won't be told here.
Right now, it's time to return to a battle the world knows nothing about.
A battle that picks back up after one of a certain boy's opponents was overcome by illusions, reliving his own memories—
—and reclaimed his resolve to stand back up, and face that boy once more.
The boy, overjoyed to see the fire in his opponent's eyes, now knows for sure—
The two of them can finally begin the true battle he's been waiting for all this time.
****
<
Their fight continued as both of them launched their strongest long-range attacks at each other, only for them to collide and create a red hot storm of heat that swept away the snowstorm on the battlefield.
But that could not stop the two people who had ignited the passion in their hearts and charged forward with all their determination.
They charged through the firestorm, ignoring the scorching heat, ready to throw their strongest fists at each other.
One of the two was a young man with a tattered appearance, his amber eyes exuded a clear mind and a strong will, but it also contained a free, innocent soul that could not be stopped while being filled with crazy desires.
Such a young man was grinning widely on his lips and regardless of whether his body was burning or scorching, he charged forward.
Even though both of his arms were burned by the heat wave to the point that the skin was burned off and the red flesh underneath was exposed, without the heat wave burning, those flesh gradually turned black.
But he ignored it.
Moving forward.
Continuing to move forward.
Because his great opponent was doing the same thing, and as soon as they met within the range of both of their fists.
The young man leaned.
The man leaned.
He clenched his bloody and burning fist and swung it forward with all his might while smiling.
The man opposite him also tilted his body and swung his fist in the same way.
The two fists mixed with fire and laughter as they flew towards each other, opening a page of history of a world-shaking battle that no one in the world knew about.
But that's a story for another day, the story of these two simulated people will temporarily close here to give the stage to the real main actors of this world.