Subaru wiped his sleeve across the polished windowsill, watching the cloth smear the last bit of stubborn dust from the wood grain. The mansion gleamed, every mirror spotless, every floor buffed, yet the tension in his chest remained dull and persistent—like a bruise that wouldn't fade.
He hadn't seen Rem since their confrontation last night.
No shared chores. No sidelong glares. No humming tension behind his back. Just… silence.
And if that wasn't enough, Ram had taken it upon herself to become the designated drill sergeant of his daily life.
"Wrong glyph again, Barusu," Ram snapped, slapping the back of his hand with a wooden ruler. "That's Ha, not Ro. You'll insult someone if you keep mixing them."
"Ow! C'mon, I'm trying here!" Subaru hissed, rubbing his hand. "You ever think that maybe the guy from another world with a brain fried by spirit companions and monster fights might need a minute to adjust?"
Ram narrowed her eyes. "And yet you have time to complain."
Subaru gritted his teeth but said nothing. The I-glyphs and Ro-glyphs danced mockingly on the parchment in front of him, looping and curling like smug little snakes. Ha-glyphs, reserved for nobles and the elite, looked like hieroglyphics drawn by a drunk spider.
He groaned and dropped his pen.
"Back in Japan we had three alphabets, you know. I managed just fine. And Hollownest's script? That looked like cave etchings made by ghosts with no thumbs." He looked up at Ram, half-snarling. "So if I can handle those two, what's one more, right?"
Ram stood with arms folded, unimpressed. "Then stop whining and write."
Subaru took a deep breath and picked the pen back up, muttering, "Only reason I'm not blasting you through the nearest wall is because I need to understand this gibberish…"
The lessons continued. Every time he accidentally let slip a glyph from Hollownest, Ram would raise a brow and let the ruler talk for her. If he stuttered or slipped, she corrected him with a sneer and a sigh of long-suffering disappointment. Not a moment passed where she didn't remind him how useless he looked.
"Maybe if you spent less time pretending to be a hero and more time reading, you'd be able to write a sentence without looking like a drooling buffoon."
Subaru didn't rise to it.
He knew what this was.
It wasn't about language. It wasn't about him being slow or foreign.
It was about Rem.
Ever since the blowout, Ram's chill had turned arctic. And Subaru could feel the contempt in her gaze—like every mistake he made was just one more reason she believed he was unworthy of her sister's attention, trust, or anything else.
She hadn't even said anything about that night. Didn't need to. Her iciness was sharpened by each little slap of the ruler, each smug smirk when he fumbled.
You hurt her, that silence seemed to say. You pushed her too far.
And deep down, Subaru knew: she didn't just dislike him—she didn't believe him.
When he'd mentioned being beyond the Great Waterfall—the metaphysical boundary between death and rebirth in the world of Hollownest—Ram had scoffed.
"Flugel claimed to have been from beyond," she'd said flatly. "And he's been dust for centuries. Every other liar who's claimed to see the other side was just a coward looking to sell snake oil or escape their own shame."
Subaru had stood in that conversation like someone being measured for a coffin.
"You're not a sage, Barusu," Ram had said with her signature sneer. "You're just a freeloading stray with a mask and too many delusions. If you're so convinced you almost died, maybe next time you should try staying dead."
He clenched his fist at the memory now.
He wasn't going to fight her—not yet. Not with words, not with anger.
But that didn't mean he'd let it slide forever.
Later that day, as chores wrapped and lessons concluded with another sting to the knuckles, Subaru found himself alone again in the quiet hallway just outside the library. Grimmchild bobbed behind him, pulsing red and watchful, while the Weaverlings scampered to the edge of the bookcases.
Subaru leaned against the wall and exhaled.
"…She doesn't believe me. Neither of them do."
He slowly slid down to sit against the wall, resting his elbows on his knees, mask now held loosely in one hand.
"But I'm not lying. I've seen things. Things they can't even imagine. Death, rebirth, the dreams of kings and the decay of gods."
He chuckles to himself.
"Even I sound crazy to myself."
He looked down at the glowing spirit floating silently in front of him.
"And now I'm stuck here. Trying to be a butler. And a student. All while the people around me think I'm a fraud or a monster. I only have one person I can call a friend."
The spirit didn't answer. It just hovered there, faithful as ever.
Subaru closed his eyes.
"Mom....Dad...What would you do?."
Subaru pushed himself to his feet, brushing dust from his pants as Grimmchild hovered at his side. The halls were quiet, too quiet—eerily so.
"I need food," he muttered, stretching his arms behind his back. "Or at least water. I've been working and getting emotionally tag-teamed all day…"
With a weary grunt, he turned the corner toward the kitchen—
—and stopped dead.
The hallway ahead looked exactly the same as the one he just left. Same oil lamp hanging crooked from the left wall. Same flower vase with a wilting lily. Same faint breeze drifting through a slightly ajar window.
Except now… there were five doors lining the corridor.
Subaru's brows furrowed. "Okay, that's not normal."
He walked the length of the hallway again, turned the corner… and emerged into the exact same hall.
Grimmchild spun in place midair, warbling curiously. The Weaverlings scuttled along the ceiling, pausing at the doorframes and twitching as if sensing something.
"Yeah. We're in a loop," Subaru muttered, eyes narrowing. "Somebody's messing with space. And considering how these doors weren't here before…"
He reached out, pressing his palm flat against one. A ripple of energy pulsed faintly from it—cool, arcane, and familiar.
"Mana. That's what it's called here, right?" Subaru nodded to himself. "Whoever yanked me into this wants something."
Following his gut—and the odd magnetic tug from one particular door—he turned the knob and stepped inside.
What greeted him wasn't a hallway or trap… but a colossal, vaulted library. Towering bookshelves lined every wall, stretching far past what should be spatially possible. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and arcane dust. Faint candlelight flickered above, casting long shadows across the maze of knowledge.
At the heart of it, seated primly on a red velvet chair with a book open across her lap, sat a small girl.
She was strange—ethereal. Her hair, long and spiraled into twin drills, bounced slightly as she turned a page. The pale cream strands ended in pink, and her dress matched—frilly, ornate, with puffed sleeves and striped tights. A tiny crown perched neatly on her head, as if it had always belonged there.
Subaru blinked, eyes narrowing. He stepped forward cautiously.
The girl didn't move.
Not even when he was a few feet from her.
Just when he opened his mouth to speak, she sighed—a long, weary thing—snapping her book shut with finality.
"I suppose," she said without looking at him, "the dog maid was right. You really are insufferable."
"…Huh?" Subaru blinked. "Wait, what?"
She finally looked up at him, her butterfly-patterned eyes cool and critical.
"You're annoying, in fact," she said, lips pursed. "Ever since you arrived, that paranoid maid has been trailing you like a lost puppy. And when she's not, you're the one outside sleeping on the grass like some flea-bitten mutt. And now… now you have the nerve to wander into my sanctuary and bring along lesser spirits like some back-alley summoner with no class whatsoever."
Grimmchild let out a hiss, puffing up with glowing red heat. A sudden gout of fire spit forward like a warning spark.
The girl's eye twitched as the air shimmered from the heat.
She waved her hand with an elegant flick, conjuring a gust of wind that struck Grimmchild square in the face. It tumbled backward, wings faltering as it fought for balance.
"Grimm!" Subaru barked, but the little spirit recovered midair, growling with a low screech before swooping up and perching protectively on Subaru's head.
"Careful," Subaru warned the girl, his tone cooler now. "She bites when she's cranky."
The girl frowned deeper, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I should burn the book you touched with that mongrel, I suppose."
Grimmchild growled louder.
But Subaru raised a hand and gave the spirit a calming pat. Grimmchild let out a purring croon, coiling tighter into Subaru's messy hair like a protective ornament.
"Alright," Subaru sighed, looking the girl dead in the eyes. "You got me. Sorry for being a nuisance, really. But if we're done with the insults… why did you lure me here in the first place?"
The girl tilted her head slightly, expression unreadable. The pause between them stretched long and thick, like the pages of a book yet to be turned.
Subaru kept his eyes on the girl in front of him. The silence between them was thick enough to swim through. Grimmchild perched atop his head, wings flaring in warning. The Weaverlings clustered along his shoulders and sleeves, threads twitching subtly in anticipation of a fight.
The girl didn't move—only watched him, her sky-blue eyes glowing with pink fractal patterns like butterfly wings pinned behind glass.
"…So?" Subaru broke the silence first, scratching his cheek. "You clearly dragged me in here on purpose. What now? I'm not some book you can dog-ear and toss back when you're done."
She huffed, crossing her arms with a little flump of frills.
"Hmph. Such arrogance for someone with dirt on his shoes and fleas in his hair, I suppose."
"Hey, I'll have you know this hair is a wild aesthetic. And she's not a flea, she's Grimmchild. Watch it with the tone."
Beatrice glanced at the glowing spirit girl on Subaru's head, lips curling.
"…You named it," she said flatly. "Of course you did."
"What, that a problem?"
"It's undignified, I suppose," she said, but her gaze lingered just a little longer on Grimmchild—long enough to notice the protective way she pressed close to Subaru's skull, the soft flicker of emberlight she gave off in response to his touch.
The little girl's eyes narrowed slightly. "Even the lesser ones follow him willingly… like it's natural."
Beatrice turned on her heel and glided across the room with practiced grace, trailing a hand over one of the massive tomes along the shelves. Her expression was unreadable.
"You reek of mana," she said casually. "Your body shouldn't even be able to contain that much without tearing apart, in fact."
"Uh, thanks? I think?"
"And those… 'spirits' around you." She spared the Weaverlings a brief glance as they chirred in unison, weaving a loose silk thread between her books. Beatrice scowled and twitched her fingers, making the thread snap with a pop of invisible force. The Weaverlings hissed.
"They're not ordinary. They're not even from this world, are they?"
Subaru shrugged. "Nope. Neither am I."
"…Yet they cling to you. Follow you. You haven't even signed a contract, have you?"
"No contract. Just… connection, I guess."
Beatrice flinched slightly at the word—just a twitch in her brow, the kind no one would catch unless they were looking for it.
"Connection," she echoed softly. "How careless."
She turned to face him fully now, her expression unreadable, the book still clutched in her arms.
"Why are you here?"
Subaru blinked. "Uh, the library? You dragged me here, remember?"
"No," she said. "Why are you really here? At this mansion. In this world. Do you even know?"
Her tone was sharp, but there was something beneath it—an edge of fear, of vulnerability expertly buried beneath sarcasm.
Subaru scratched the back of his head. "If I had a gold coin for every time I got asked that, I might actually afford therapy."
Beatrice didn't smile. Just watched him. Measured him.
"…You're irritating," she said at last. "You stumble around like an overgrown child, you speak in circles, and yet…"
Her fingers tightened around the book's spine.
"…You make this place feel less like a coffin, I suppose."
Subaru blinked.
Beatrice's eyes widened slightly—like she hadn't meant to say that out loud. She spun around quickly, turning her back to him.
"Don't misunderstand," she snapped. "I didn't call you here because I wanted you here. You just wouldn't stop loitering in the halls and stinking up the manor with that... noisy energy. It was disruptive, in fact."
Grimmchild chirped again, defensive.
Subaru smirked, folding his arms. "So you watched me?"
Beatrice stiffened. "…Only because you were bothersome."
"And now?"
She didn't respond. But her fingers fidgeted slightly against the book's cover.
"Whatever," Subaru sighed. "Look, Betty—"
"Beatrice, I suppose!" she barked, spinning with a glare.
"Okay, okay, Beatrice. Look… I don't know why I'm here. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing yet. But if you dragged me in here to get answers, you're wasting your time."
He turned to go—but stopped after a step, glancing back over his shoulder.
"But I'll say this… this place doesn't feel like a coffin to me. Feels like someone's been waiting here."
Beatrice's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened—but Subaru didn't see it.
He kept walking, the Weaverlings clicking around him, Grimmchild chirping once as the door swung open again.
She didn't stop him.
Just whispered, barely audible as the door clicked shut behind him:
"…Don't say things like that. Not if you're going to leave me, too… I suppose."