So many years had passed, yet Lumine had never forgotten the emotion—and the regret—of that moment.
Time had dulled many things. Pain could fade. Memories could blur. Faces could lose their sharpness. But that feeling never disappeared. It lingered like a scar buried too deep to see, yet impossible to forget. Every time he thought he had grown accustomed to it, it would resurface at the most unexpected moments—quiet, heavy, and undeniable.
Perhaps it was regret...
No— itwas arrogance.
Arrogance to the point where he once believed he was qualified to save the Thirteen Flame-Chasers.
Back then, he had thought that understanding their stories was enough. That empathy, sorrow, and admiration somehow granted him the right to interfere, to wish for a different ending, to imagine himself standing among them as someone who could change things.
Before transmigrating, as "Lumine," he had merely been an ordinary person—one of countless players moved by the story of the Thirteen. One face in the crowd. One spectator watching heroes burn themselves away on a screen, clenching his fists in frustration yet ultimately powerless.
He remembered sitting there, long after the credits rolled, staring at a darkened display. Remembered the hollow feeling in his chest, the helplessness of knowing that even fiction could carve wounds deep enough to ache.
Back then, he had cried for them.
But tears changed nothing.
But now…
Now he was here.
Not as a viewer. Not as a reader. Not as someone safely separated by a screen.
He was standing inside their world.
Since he had come to this world—
shouldn't he leave something behind?
The thought refused to leave him alone. It followed him like a shadow, growing heavier the longer he tried to ignore it.
He had only a handful of friends. No grand lineage. No destiny carved in prophecy. No grand army at his command.
All he truly possessed was the story of the Thirteen Flame-Chasers.
Their ideals. Their choices. Their regrets.
He could certainly choose to live on—but to what end?
To survive into the next era, to endure until time buried everything again, only to stand by helplessly and watch the tragedies of the Past Paradise replay themselves once more, unchanged and unavoidable?
To see the same sacrifices repeated. The same smiles offered at the brink of death. The same promises broken by reality.
He knew what that future looked like.
He had already seen it once.
"I'm sorry. I also have a secret."
Lumine's voice was calm, almost gentle, as he finally spoke. A faint smile appeared on his lips—not one born of joy, but of quiet resignation.
"A secret… you may never know," he continued. "Because compared to all of you, that secret is insignificant."
He lifted his gaze, eyes steady, no longer avoiding theirs.
"But there is one thing I can tell you clearly," he said. "I will not give up fighting the Honkai. I will not give up confronting fate."
His words carried no grand declarations, no heroic bravado. They were simple. Firm. Final.
"Even if everything I do is meaningless in your eyes."
He bent down and picked up the training rifle. The familiar weight settled into his hands, grounding him. It reminded him of countless hours spent training, bleeding, falling, and standing up again. Of a body that remembered pain even when the mind tried to forget.
"I have witnessed despair," Lumine said. "I have faced it. I understand this cruel fate better than most."
Images flashed through his mind—burning cities, collapsing skies, people screaming his name as he failed to reach them in time.
"I can't guarantee that what I do will succeed," he admitted. "I may still end up with nothing."
His grip tightened slightly.
"But at the very least, I will have fought for it."
Silence filled the room, thick and suffocating.
"Even if I leave nothing behind," he finished quietly, "I will leave a trace of my existence."
"You—!"
Mobius stared at Lumine, her hands clenched into fists so tightly that her nails dug painfully into her palms. She barely registered the sting. Her chest felt tight, her breathing uneven.
Why…
Why was he still like this?
Even after everything she had said.
Even after she had stripped away every excuse, every justification—
Not for the sake of the world, but for them—
Lumine… don't you understand?
The more you shoulder everything alone, the more it hurts me.
The more terrified I become of the future you're walking toward.
She had seen that future.
She had lived it.
Sleepless nights. Endless calculations. Watching his data degrade, watching his humanity erode piece by piece while telling herself it was necessary, that it was worth it.
Watching him disappear while smiling as if it didn't matter.
Lumine met Mobius's gaze calmly.
There was no defiance in his eyes. No anger. Only acceptance.
This was his understanding of the world—self-righteous, perhaps. The understanding of a man who knew he was insignificant, yet still chose to move forward anyway.
Because doing nothing was worse.
Then Elysia spoke.
"Then… please let us walk this path with you."
Her voice was gentle, but it carried weight.
"Let us experience this story with you."
She stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and wrapped her arms around Lumine. The warmth of her presence was immediate, undeniable.
"You didn't come away empty-handed," Elysia said softly. "You will always be my favorite person. The one I love the most."
Her words were sincere, without hesitation or concealment.
"So this time… please let me stay by your side," she continued. "Let me witness your story and your struggle."
Her arms tightened slightly.
"Even if, in the end, you still can't change anything—no one will ever have the right to laugh at you."
For a moment, Lumine didn't move.
Then, slowly, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"…Whatever!"
Mobius turned away sharply, unwilling to let anyone see her expression.
Anger burned violently in her chest—not only toward Lumine, but toward Elysia as well.
Because Mobius knew.
She knew that if the time came again—if humanity truly reached the brink—Elysia would make the same choice she made before.
She would sacrifice herself.
Again.
For humanity. For an ideal that never deserved her.
Mobius hated that.
She hated that Elysia's kindness was so absolute that it bordered on cruelty—to herself, and to those who were forced to watch her disappear a second time.
She hated how Elysia would offer herself up again, smiling as always, calling it hope, leaving behind nothing but grief for those who loved her.
Sakura didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, knuckles whitening. That single motion carried more resolve than any words she could have spoken. To her, the answer had always been simple.
If he walked forward, she would follow.
Even if that path led to ruin.
In the unfinished Spiral Workshop, far removed from the emotional storm unfolding elsewhere, Vil-V calmly lowered the surveillance interface she had personally modified. Lines of data faded from the screen one by one, reflections of distant voices and expressions dissolving into nothing.
She leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrest.
"So," she muttered softly, lips curling into a crooked, humorless smile, "in the end… I was nothing but a fool."
Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling, unfocused.
"Unable to save even a single person."
The workshop hummed quietly around her, machines standing idle, waiting for commands that never came.
And for the first time in a long while, even Vil-V had no idea what she should do next.
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