The Realization
When Marion left the interrogation room, he felt as if someone had kicked the legs out from under him. The teachers' voices still rang in his ears: name magic. Powerful beings. Demon kings. Dragons. The reborn.
He walked down the corridor, torches casting flickering shadows over the stone walls. Each step echoed heavy and dull, as if he were walking deeper into a truth he had never wanted to know.
And then it clicked.
A reborn… that's me.
He remembered. The old world. The taste of the noodles he'd eaten. The burning in his stomach. Salmonella. A death so pathetic that not even a joke could turn it into comfort.
And then waking up here, in this world.
In the dirt. Among monsters and mages.
He stopped and braced himself against the cold wall. His hands were shaking.
I'm reborn. One of the ones who can name.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Images slammed into him:
The little goblin girl in the cave.
The fear in her eyes when he found her.
His careless words when the others asked if he'd seen anything: "There's nothing here."
And how she followed him afterward—how she reacted to his call—how she became "Nix."
"I created her," he whispered.
From a tiny, frightened goblin, he had—by accident, by a single word—made a monster. A named being. An A-rank creature that would even stand against vampires.
And it was bound to him.
Every memory stabbed now like a blade:
The dead rabbit she proudly presented to him.
The bloody pelt on Rico's desk.
Her naïve questions—whether it was truly his wish that she and Rico get a room.
It hadn't been coincidence. It had been his command. His words were law to her.
Tears sprang to his eyes. He clapped a hand over his mouth so no one in the corridor would hear him.
It's me. I created Nix. I bound her to me. And I'm to blame for everything she's done.
His heart raced, his breathing came in sharp bursts. He wanted to run, to scream, to confess everything—but he knew he couldn't.
If anyone found out he was a namer—if they learned he had the power to create and bind monsters—they would never leave him alone. They would use him, fear him, hunt him.
So he stayed silent.
He wiped the tears from his face and forced himself to keep walking. His steps were unsteady, heavy.
One thought gnawed at him:
So I'm someone in this world. I have power. The power to name monsters.
And at the same time:
I'm the reason Xin exists. Why she fights. Why Rico is lying in the infirmary.
He left the corridor. The torches flickered behind him. Ahead lay the quiet of night—but inside him raged a storm that would not stop.
Marion was reborn.
And this truth would never let him go.
The Library
The academy was silent when Marion pushed open the heavy wooden door to the library. The night watchman dozed at the entrance, chin slumped to his chest. Marion slipped between the shelves, breathing shallow.
He had to know more. About name magic. About what he had done.
At first he found only vague chronicles—rambling stories about demon kings who supposedly shaped entire peoples with names, or dragons whose words moved mountains. Much of it sounded like fairy tales—too grand, too distant.
But then he found a thin, dusty book: On the Binding of Names.
He opened it, and the very first page made his heart speed up:
"A name is the binding of will and power—gift and chain at once. The Named gains strength; the Namer gains loyalty. But only if the name is accepted."
Marion froze. Accepted…
He remembered the cave. The goblin girl. His thoughtless sentence: "There's nothing here." And the way she had looked at him. The way she had accepted the name.
He read on:
"A Named one cannot rise against their Namer with lethal intent, yet they retain their own will. The bond does not force; it shapes. The Named is free—and yet never free."
Marion swallowed hard. So… she couldn't kill him. But everything else… everything she did… was tied to him.
The pages described more:
That a Named one could break free of the chain by — he couldn't read the word.
That the strength of the transformation depends on the power of the Namer.
"A weak Namer may kindle only small sparks. Yet even a spark can set a forest on fire."
Marion closed the book, hands trembling.
So he hadn't only created a monster—he had unleashed something he didn't understand.
And no one knew it. Not the teachers. Not the church. No one.
Tears burned in his eyes as he slid the book back onto the shelf.
I'm reborn. I have the power to give names. I created Nix.
But he also knew: if anyone ever found out, his life would be over. The Church of Light would hunt him down and erase him. A reborn who names monsters—pure blasphemy to them.
So he would have to keep playing the normal one.
The plain, insignificant boy everyone laughed at.
And secretly—very secretly—carry the truth inside himself.
He left the library, the silence echoing in his ears.
And in his chest only one thought burned:
I'm not nobody. I'm somebody. And I'm dangerous.