Ah… come to think of it.
Both saints.
Both utterly devoted to humanity.
Both the radiant public face of Schicksal in their respective eras.
Both lifted and sustained—single-handedly—by Otto himself.
Both sharing strikingly similar core values…
Cecilia truly does overlap with Kallen in so many profound, almost cruel ways.
And the ways she differs… align far too perfectly with his particular tastes.
If a man ever grew weary of constantly cleaning up after a sweet, silly little dumpling like Kallen, the sudden urge to lay hands on the jade-smooth hips of a refined, elegant, silver-haired homemaker saint hardly seemed such an outrageous leap.
Tsk, tsk, tsk…
Is this still pure love? Forever devoted to white hair?
The inner tsukkomi flared brilliantly for one heartbeat before he forcibly reined it in.
He stared blankly at the Cecilia-shaped projection of Void Archives.
Meanwhile, Void Archives was utterly convinced she had finally unraveled the true nature of this new tenant.
Arrogant. Overconfident. Greedy. Lustful.
The complete profile of the upgraded—and thoroughly nerfed—model.
Perfect.
A nerfed Otto!
She, Void Archives, was finally escaping the endless sea of suffering!
She could never outwit the five-hundred-year-old schemer of before. But deceiving this green, inexperienced brat?
Heh heh heh… this round, she was untouchable.
The Cecilia-skinned Void Archives leaned in close. Pink lips brushed the shell of Otto's ear; warm, teasing breath ghosted across sensitive skin until the tips of his ears flushed scarlet.
Only then did she whisper, voice soft and conspiratorial:
"Keep it up. Don't let anyone notice—after all, the old Otto terrified me too."
"We can work together, weave the perfect lie, and turn the entire world into our private hunting ground. Afterward… we each take whatever we desire."
"Good luck, little Otto. I hope you fool them all. And once it's over… whatever form you wish for—I can become it for you~"
With one final playful puff of air against his ear, she dissolved into swirling white mist and vanished.
…
"Heh."
The moment Void Archives departed, every trace of earlier fluster evaporated like smoke.
Otto's fingers began tapping the desktop in an irregular, thoughtful rhythm.
So… do all Herrschers go through an inflated pufferfish phase? Even a Herrscher core isn't immune, apparently.
Sure, he was a pervert—but a very disciplined one. Ten gigabytes of meticulously curated material back on his old computer hadn't taught him nothing. If he truly wanted to conceal something, he would never allow this much to leak.
But… why hide it at all?
Wasn't it far more delicious to watch an overconfident fool convince herself she had discovered his fatal weakness?
Best-case scenario: she believes she can control him, then bends over backward to help him adapt to the current Honkai world—cleverly clearing every obstacle from his path, perhaps even playing matchmaker in the shadows—all while smugly waiting for the moment the original Otto is confirmed gone forever, so she can finally claim this body completely for herself…
Only to be utterly stunned when he finally turns the tables.
Seven-in-seven-out until she's left a dazed, breathless wreck, murmuring "Otto-sama is amazing" in broken gasps—
Truly splendid, my dear Void Archives.
With Void Archives successfully hooked to his side, Otto's next priority was perfecting every gesture, every subtle mannerism, until no one could distinguish him from the genuine article.
That part was genuinely perilous. Literally a matter of life and death.
Should he… strike first?
A plan formed swiftly: put Amber into hibernation, then announce to the world that he had blundered again—an assassination attempt by one of his own clones had failed, the clone had fled Schicksal, and Amber had taken the fatal blow meant for him…
No.
Too crude. Too many variables. Demanding too much too quickly would only invite disaster.
Walking such a tightrope was a last-resort gambit.
Staging that kind of "murder" would require coordinating far too many people. A single off note from any of them, and everything would collapse.
The slightest inconsistency could convince the world that the fugitive clone was the real Overseer, while he—the supposed victim—was merely a pretender.
His opening move could not afford to be so clumsy.
Amber could not be removed from the board—the resulting upheaval would be catastrophic.
And honestly… he had no desire to personally comb through classified files scattered across every continent.
He sighed. Being Otto was fine, but why couldn't the transmigration have dropped him into childhood so he could take his time?
An Otto who didn't simp would surely have no trouble charming his own fiancée, little Kallen, right?
He'd have her clinging to him like a baby bird within minutes—Yae Sakura thrown in as a bonus dowry!
But handing a complete newbie the national-server #1 account? Everyone would notice the switch in seconds.
After all, not everyone was Cecilia—capable of shattering five centuries of Otto's meticulously honed "game records" in the blink of an eye.
And once he was accepted as legitimate… the Overseer of Schicksal had a job: fighting Honkai.
So what now…
Otto rubbed his forehead in frustration. The instant his arm brushed his brow, it twitched inexplicably.
What the—?
He wasn't paranoid enough to jump at shadows, but he couldn't afford to ignore it either.
This was the original, irreplaceable body—not Soulsteel.
If he died and woke up again… who knew whether it would still be him, or the original tenant?
He had no desire to test that theory. Caution was paramount.
This strange sensation in his brow… what was it?
He steadied his breathing and turned his awareness inward.
After a long, careful search, his eyes flew wide. Shock etched across his features.
Within his brow lay a self-contained space—and at its center floated the very ancient book that had dragged him across worlds!
A torrent of information surged from the book into his mind, transforming raw shock into exhilaration.
This book… could rewrite the past!!!
Of course whatever brought him here was no ordinary artifact.
It was called the Book of Wei. It possessed a limited but exquisite ability to distort time.
By using specific individuals as anchors, it could bridge past and present, subtly altering ambiguous moments in their vicinity—thereby reshaping known reality itself.
For instance, the original's lifelong dream of reviving Kallen? He could anchor on Kallen herself, reach back five hundred years, and rewrite the history of her death.
This golden finger… was absolutely perfect.
It granted no crude, overwhelming power… yet it operated with sublime cleverness.
And in this world, everything would be permitted.
Otto stretched languidly. Genuine confidence flooded through him for the first time since his arrival.
The moment the tension finally eased, however, a tidal wave of long-suppressed emotion crashed over him. The fear he had bottled since transmigration erupted into a splitting headache.
Yet years of practiced composure kept him seated properly—no wild flailing, only a faint tremor in his shoulders as low, manic laughter spilled from his lips.
"Hahaha… chaotic timelines… disordered fates… fools who think themselves wise… a tool to overturn the past… hahaha, HAHAHAHA…"
A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye—whether born of empathy or pity, he couldn't say.
But his lips curved into an exaggerated, almost deranged grin.
Pseudo-god, oh pseudo-god. Who could have imagined that even you—scheming across five centuries, every waking thought consumed by reviving Kallen—would see all your efforts rendered utterly worthless by a single page in my hands?
How absurd. How laughable reality truly is. Twisted. Cruel. You gave everything for that so-called saint, and in the blink of an eye, in my possession, it becomes so easily undone.
Hahahaha…
Heh.
When the storm finally passed, Otto grew still.
He lifted the wine glass from the desk, gazing through its rippling crimson surface at the cold midday sun beyond the window, expression solemn.
After a long silence, he smiled faintly and turned the glass upside down.
"To Otto Apocalypse."
With a soft clink, the glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.
From now on, I am Otto.