Recarnation of the villainess.

The sword clattered to the ground once again.

Salira—or Iris, depending on which side of her soul was more annoyed—let out a long, exhausted breath and collapsed onto the grass.

Her back ached. Her fingers burned. Her lungs hated her.

Across from her, Adam was still perfectly upright. Not even sweating.

She squinted up at him.

> "God… are you made of stone?"

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to make her feel like a sparrow yelling at a lion.

> "That's enough for today. You'll train again tomorrow."

"Great," she muttered, dragging herself to her feet like an angry swamp spirit.

---

Later, after scrubbing off the battlefield dirt and bruised ego in a hot bath, she changed into her nightclothes and finally sat down at her desk to pick up where she'd left off with her blueprints.

Her eyes scanned across the table.

Sketches. Notes. Tools. Ink. Paper.

Then her fingers paused.

Her favorite blueprint—the one with the dual-trigger lockblade design—was missing.

> "Wait..."

She blinked.

She remembered waking up that morning—groggy, confused—and noticing her blueprint was gone. But before she had time to fully panic, a maid had knocked, saying "His Grace has requested you at the training grounds."

Everything after that had been a blur of bruises and wooden swords.

But now that her thoughts were clear, she remembered something else.

> The coat.

When she had opened her eyes earlier that morning, Adam's coat had been draped over her like a quiet, careful gesture.

And what had he said during training?

> "If you're going to make weapons, learn to protect yourself."

The coat. The blueprint. The training. The line.

> "It has to be him."

Without another thought, she stormed to his room and knocked.

> "Come in," came that calm, casual voice from inside.

She opened the door—and there he was, just like she suspected.

Seated at his desk.

Holding her blueprint like he owned the patent.

> "You took my blueprint!" she blurted.

Adam didn't even flinch. He glanced up at her calmly. "You really should lock your door when you sleep."

> "You—why didn't you say anything when you saw it?!"

> "What should I say?" he shrugged. "It's not like you were stealing from me. And your designs are... impressive."

> "So you're not mad?" she asked, still bewildered.

> "No. Why would I be? You're not just building weapons—you're building something bigger."

He stood, handed the blueprint back. Their fingers touched for just a moment too long.

> "...Try not to leave something this powerful out in the open again," he said softly.

She stared up at him, her mind blank.

> "I—I'm going now."

---

Back in her room, she pressed her hand to her chest.

Her heart was racing.

Her cheeks were warm.

> "What... was that?"

He was fictional. She wasn't supposed to be thinking about him like this.

But that warmth...

The calm way he said impressive...

She flopped onto her bed, pulling a pillow over her face.

> "Too early. Too early. Way too early."

---

Eventually, she drifted into sleep.

And then came the dream.

It wasn't like before—no blood, no screaming.

Just... dark.

Dim flickers of light hummed faintly.

In the distance, two girls stood. Their silhouettes were clear this time—one with long straight hair, the other shorter and curvier. They weren't hurt. Just… talking. Quietly.

But what caught Iris's eye—

Was the third figure.

In the shadows. Sitting on a large chair.

Dozens of glowing screens hovered around them, flickering with unreadable data.

That figure wasn't moving. But they were watching.

Everything.

Iris tried to move closer.

> "Who—"

> BZZT.

Her dream shattered like glass.

She shot upright in bed, heart pounding.

> "What... what was that…?"

She looked down at her shaking hands. The system hadn't shown up. No glitches this time.

But that figure.

That screen.

Those girls.

And the feeling that she wasn't alone.