I woke up in jail.
Not a normal jail—no, no, that would be TOO KIND for the universe I apparently wronged simply by existing.
This jail was:
• circular,
• windowless,
• glowing with runes that spelled "DO NOT TOUCH" in at least twelve languages,
• and humming like it was storing an angry god in the basement.
Spoiler: it was storing me.
The cell door was carved with anti-magic seals so thick they looked like the wall texture itself had trust issues.
A guard peeked through the viewing slit. "Oi! Demon of Elements! You alive?"
I sat up. "Please stop calling me that. I am a high school student. My greatest sin is failing chemistry."
The guard shuddered. "Yes… that's what makes you dangerous."
Great. Wonderful. 10/10 experience so far.
A system notification blinked above my head like a tired landlord:
"Not my fault!" I yelled at it.The notification refused to comment.
I slumped back against the wall. "Okay, okay. Let's recap. What did I do this time?"
My brain produced the highlight reel:
• accidentally made Hydrogen → exploded,
• accidentally made Helium → floated into a noble parade,
• accidentally made Lithium → destroyed the Adventurer Guild's plumbing,
• accidentally created a temporal paradox → attracted a Reaper from beyond spacetime,
• accidentally met my future self → broke several divine rules,
• did NOT get a tutorial.
Look, in my defense, this world is fragile and I am very… me.
The guard opened the slot again. "You best prepare. The Inquisitor's comin'."
I froze. "…the WHO?"
He swallowed. "The Royal High Inquisitor of Magical Catastrophes."
"You have a whole JOB for that??"
"In this kingdom? Absolutely."
Before I could panic further, heavy metal footsteps echoed down the hall.
CLANG.CLANG.CLANG.
Every step sounded like a lawsuit.
The guard straightened. "Sir! The prisoner is fully… uh… intact."
A figure stepped into view.
Tall.Armored in steel-black plates etched with magical sigils.A cloak that billowed despite zero wind (which is illegal and unfair).And—two glowing eyes inside the helmet—one blue, one green.
Weird eyes.
My heart dropped into my kneecaps.
Future Me's voice echoed:
"You'll know her when you see her—SHE HAS WEIRD EYES!"
I pointed dramatically. "YOU!"
The Inquisitor paused. "…me?"
"You're the girl with the weird eyes!"
The Inquisitor slowly, very calmly, turned to the guard.
"Did he just call me… a girl?"
The guard whispered, "Sir, please don't kill him. We just cleaned the floor."
The helmet retracted with a hiss of steam.
The face underneath was—
Not a girl.
Not a guy.
But something in the category of:"Too Pretty To Be Doing Government Work."
Jawline sharp.Hair silver.Eyes glowing like a malfunctioning RGB keyboard.
They narrowed their eyes at me. "Explain. Now."
I coughed. "Uh—funny story! Time travel! Future me! Fate! Bees!"
"…What?"
"I accidentally defeated linear chronology."
They stared.
I stared.
We stared.
The system coughed politely:
The Inquisitor sighed. "I hate my job already."
The Inquisitor pinched the bridge of their nose like someone who had already quit this job emotionally but was still here physically.
"Let me get this straight," they said, voice flat. "You destroyed a meadow, destabilized a timeline, created a glowing crater, and summoned a cosmic reaper—all by accident."
I coughed. "In my defense… nitrogen is slippery."
"Nitrogen," they repeated.
"Yeah! I just wanted to test a small reaction but apparently the air exploded—"
"The air exploded?"
I shrugged helplessly. "Air is a suggestion at this point."
The Inquisitor stared at me with the expression of someone recalculating life choices.
Finally, they sighed. "If what you're saying is true, then you are… more dangerous than a dragon operating a volatile alchemy rig."
"That feels oddly specific."
"We've seen things."
They walked into the cell, steps echoing sharply. The runes on the walls flickered, confused, as if the magic itself was saying, "Nope, I'm not dealing with this."
The Inquisitor knelt in front of me and poked my forehead with a metal fingertip.
I blinked. "Um. Is this a cultural thing or—"
WHOOM.
The runes on the walls all lit up at once.
A system notification chimed:
"WOAH WOAH WOAH—WHAT?!"
"Stay still!" the Inquisitor barked.
"YOU'RE POKING MY SOUL THROUGH MY FOREHEAD?"
"That's how soul-reading works!"
"No it DOESN'T, I read three fantasy novels and that's NOT IN ANY OF THEM!"
"Your soul is VERY LOUD," the Inquisitor snapped.
I gasped. "WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!"
"It's screaming."
"Probably because YOU ARE POKING IT."
The Inquisitor removed their gauntlet. "Fine. But at least now I know. You're telling the truth."
I blinked. "So… you believe me?"
"Yes," they said grimly. "Because no sane liar would ever make up something that stupid."
Fair.
They stood and crossed their arms. "Your skill… Void Synthesis. It shouldn't exist."
"Yeah, the goddess basically yeeted me out the cosmic window with it."
"To be clear," the Inquisitor said, "this ability is classified as a Tier-S Forbidden Genesis Skill. These were banned because they allow—well—whatever you are currently doing."
"So I'm illegal?"
"Extremely."
A pause.
"Oh."
"And on top of that—your mana signature is unstable. It's fluctuating like a dying star."
"Is that bad?"
"YES, RION. THAT IS TERRIBLE."
The system chimed:
"Okay," I admitted. "That does sound slightly concerning."
The Inquisitor exhaled through gritted teeth. "Listen. If you stay here, something catastrophic will happen. If we execute you, something catastrophic will happen. If we let you go—"
"Something catastrophic will happen," I finished.
"Exactly."
We shared a moment of mutual despair.
Then the Inquisitor said something life-changing:
"…I know someone who might be able to help you."
I blinked. "Wait—REALLY?"
"Yes. She's an alchemist. Extremely gifted. Extremely paranoid. Extremely angry all the time."
"Sounds… friendly?"
"No. Not at all. She despises the government. And magic. And people. And everything else."
"Cool cool cool—what's her name?"
The Inquisitor's expression darkened.
"…Lila."
I froze.
"Wait—THE Lila?"
"Yes."
"The alchemist who threw a duke out a second-story window because he mispronounced 'titration'?"
"Yes."
"The woman who patented 'Explodium Gel™' and then immediately got sued for it?"
"Yes."
"The same Lila who once yelled at a dragon until it developed a fear of conflict?"
"YES."
Silence.
Then:
"Why would she help me?"
The Inquisitor cracked a tired smile.
"Because she loves impossible problems."
I considered this.
The system chimed:
I sighed.
"Sure. Why not. What's the worst that could happ—"
The entire jail shook.
A guard screamed, "HE'S DESTABILIZING THE WALLS JUST BY TALKING!"
I groaned, burying my face in my hands.
"OH COME ON!"