After their last exchange, silence fell between them.
Neither knew what to say anymore.
They simply kept counting their steps in the emptiness… until something impossible happened.
From the protagonist's head, the strange dragonfly that had once escaped began to grow — slowly, silently — until its shadow loomed vast above them.
In the blink of an eye, it had reached the size of a whale.
Without a sound, it released a thick mist that spread across the entire field, drowning everything in a pale fog.
Rastaban was the first to react.
> "We're being attacked by something! You must shout with me — HELP! Four hundred sixty-nine and a half times!"
Without a second thought, the protagonist obeyed.
Together, they cried out:
> "HELP! HELP! HELP!"
But whose voices would vanish first — theirs, or the countless echoes that replied from within the mist?
The countdown had begun.
The voices multiplied, folding upon themselves until it was impossible to tell what was real and what was reflection.
Blood began to flow from Rastaban's ear, yet he kept shouting, refusing to fall silent.
When both were too breathless to continue, Rastaban collapsed to his knees, his voice trembling as he spoke:
> "I think… this is the end.
You know, I've lived my whole life in this theater.
Master Doran was strange, maybe even harsh sometimes, but he had a good heart.
Still… I always wanted to see the world, meet people, find my soulmate…
and die someday beside my children.
If I regret anything… it's not thanking Master Doran one last time."
Despite the endless noise tearing through his mind, the protagonist heard every word clearly.
Then, with the last of his strength, he screamed louder than ever:
> "HEEEELP!!!"
Ironically, the same scales that tormented them scattered even farther, carrying his voice across the entire theater.
The cry echoed 248 times, then 317, and finally 469.5 times—
before a deep, thunderous voice roared from the mist:
> "You've done it again, Rastaban…
Always causing trouble, aren't you?"