He had no idea how to respond. He couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening.
One thing was clear—Inas could see the same information windows.
Probably from the very first moment Nigel had regained his memories… or perhaps even long before that.
Just as Nigel had been observing Inas—Inas had also been observing him.
“…Don’t tell me, you remember?”
“Wh-what are you…”
Inas hadn’t specified a subject, but Nigel understood instantly.
There wasn’t even time to feign ignorance—his entire body froze in terror the moment Inas spoke.
Noting his reaction, Inas’s eyes sharpened.
“There’s no way you should have memories of a previous run… Just who are you, really?”
“…Inas.”
“A bug?”
Inas frowned—and without so much as a chant, a massive spear of ice formed behind him.
“Let’s run a little test.”
“Wait, what? Hold on—”
“Don’t worry. It won’t hurt.”
Nigel’s eyes flew wide open, and he tried to resist—but Inas was faster. The ice spear drove straight into Nigel’s skull.
“See you again soon, Nigel.”
You psycho!
Nigel wanted to scream it, but there was no time to shout.
No time to feel pain.
Just—blackness.
***
Nigel shot upright in bed.
His hand flew to his head, the one that had just been pierced…
Of course, it was completely fine.
But his mind? That was shredded into pieces.
“I-Inas… Inas…”
He trembled with rage and betrayal, whispering the name of the man who’d just murdered him again.
No need to check—he already knew what day it was.
It had to be sometime in April, Kingdom Year 283.
Gritting his teeth, Nigel sprang to his feet and opened a drawer, pulling out a pistol.
He was a terrible shot, but it was better than nothing.
There was no doubt now: Inas had fully grasped the situation.
And he’d be here. Soon.
He was probably somewhere else at the moment, but getting here wouldn’t take long.
Warp Portal—one of countless spatial magic spells that Inas had mastered to perfection.
And sure enough, Inas appeared before Nigel could even catch his breath.
A man dressed in the uniform of the Magnus Duchy, with a long cloak trailing to his ankles—
Stepped cleanly out of thin air.
Inas looked at the pistol Nigel aimed at him and gave a short laugh.
His handsome face, one Nigel had seen every day for over a decade, now wore an eerie gleam of madness, making him feel like a stranger.
“So you really do have your memories from the previous run, Nigel.”
Inas’s eyes swept over Nigel like a snake licking its prey.
Nigel involuntarily flinched.
“When did you start remembering?”
“Inas. Inas… how could you…”
Nigel’s hands shook so violently with betrayal that he could barely keep hold of the gun.
He wanted to blow Inas’s smug mouth off, but he knew it would be pointless.
The overwhelming stats made that abundantly clear.
Had Inas always looked down on him?
The moment the thought crossed his mind, a harsh cracking sound escaped Nigel’s clenched teeth.
Even if he risked dying again, he couldn’t stop himself.
“Calm down, Nigel.”
“Shut up. Why did you betray me?!”
“I didn’t betray you.”
“You—you killed me!”
Nigel gasped, breath ragged and labored. Not a good sign.
His frail constitution had always been a problem—even as a child, getting too worked up often led him to faint.
As the pistol slipped from his hands, Inas stepped closer.
Gone was the aloof smirk from moments earlier, his face was now filled with concern.
“Nigel. Breathe slowly. You’re okay. Come on…”
It was absurd.
He’d just split Nigel’s skull, and now he was worried about a little shortness of breath?
The worst part was—Inas actually looked sincerely concerned.
That made it even more infuriating.
Nigel pushed him away, determined not to be fooled again.
“Don’t act like everything’s fine! You—you blew my head off!”
Inas didn’t budge. Instead, he gently patted Nigel’s back.
That familiar scent, the steady touch that always calmed him—it worked like a drug.
His vision, darkened with rage, slowly cleared.
“Let—let go.”
“Don’t get too worked up, Nigel. What I did doesn’t qualify as ‘murder’ in the traditional sense.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Nigel barked at him—then immediately winced from the dizziness.
Inas patted his back again.
“Listen, Nigel. Murder implies death is final. But you came back, didn’t you? The incident at the banquet never happened, either. Wasn’t that convenient? I was wondering how we’d clean that up.”
He said it like he’d known all along. And he wasn’t wrong—Nigel had no retort.
Inas took that silence as confirmation.
“It’s all fine now.”
That attitude—that was what pissed Nigel off the most.
Inas had always listened to him, not acted like this—like some unshakable authority.
The disconnect between this version of Inas and the one he’d known fed directly into Nigel’s sense of betrayal.
“Don’t be ridiculous! Even if—even if you had to kill me, did you have to blow my head off?!”
“It didn’t hurt, did it? And if you remember it, you’re scared of blood. I thought it’d be better this way.”
“……”
…He wasn’t wrong.
Nigel couldn’t even tell if that was terrifying or considerate.
Probably the former.
His voice was so calm, so matter-of-fact, it was easy to get swept up in it.
Nigel snapped himself out of it and scowled.
“If you can make it painless, then do something now. My head hurts.”
He hadn’t passed out, but his chest felt tight, his head ached, and his limbs tingled.
Inas let out a light sigh and placed his hand on Nigel’s forehead.
A breeze-like sensation passed through his skull, and the pain eased a little. But it didn’t vanish completely.
“…More.”
“I can’t make it disappear completely.”
“…Why not? You can kill me just fine, but not help a damn headache?”
That finally made Inas look troubled.
Seeing him at a loss felt weirdly satisfying.
Nigel glared at him pettily as Inas sighed again.
“That’s not it… That time, I used a paralytic toxin to shut down your pain entirely. I can’t use it now.”
Nigel’s jaw dropped.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me…”
Honestly, he wanted to say You’re insane.
But the man could casually rip off heads like pulling up weeds, so he kept that one inside.
Judging by his tone, he probably wasn’t planning to kill Nigel again right now…
Probably.
Still, hard to feel reassured.
Nigel patted his chest in frustration.
It was absurd.
It was horrifying.
It was unfair.
Inas gently took Nigel’s hands and lowered them.
“Don’t do that.”
“You think I can stay calm? I don’t get it. How many times have you killed me like this?”
Even if he didn’t stay dead…
How could Inas just stab him in the chest, rip his head off—without hesitation?
Nigel bit his lip in anguish.
It was selfish, but if Inas was going to kill someone, it would’ve been easier to accept if it were someone else.
Or if he’d simply betrayed Nigel. If he’d stopped loving him.
But he hadn’t. He still showed loyalty. Still showed care.
And yet he’d killed him.
From Nigel’s perspective, it made no sense at all.
“Don’t treat death so seriously, Nigel.”
Inas said it lightly—too lightly. Like this was all a joke.
“I love you, Nigel. But your life has no value.”
“…What?”
“Because even if you die, it just resets. That’s all.”
“What the hell… are you even talking about…”
Nigel shuddered.
A chill crept up his spine, crawling into every part of him.
His instincts screamed.
<Protagonist>
This had to be connected to that strange, horrifying word he’d seen earlier.
“I don’t know how else to explain it… I’ve said this dozens of times already, but you’ve never understood.”
He wanted to shut Inas up—slap a hand over his mouth. But at the same time… he needed to hear it.
It was like being the protagonist in a horror story.
Standing at the edge of the dark. Terrified of what might be there, but still unable to stop yourself from stepping forward.
Inas looked at Nigel, tense and silent.
He blinked once, twice, as if discarding emotion, then spoke in a calm, clear voice.
“There’s some variance, but generally speaking, I’ve been living in this game world on a loop, from April 14th to March 27th of the following year.”
“……”
“This world isn’t real. And you’re just data.”
It rolled off his tongue with the calm of someone who’d said it hundreds of times.
Like a tutorial NPC reading a script.
But that word—fake—slammed into Nigel like a knife.
It wasn’t nonsense. He couldn’t write it off.
<Protagonist>. That vile word burned into his vision. He’d seen it with his own eyes.
His stomach turned.
Nigel pushed Inas away and stumbled to his feet, bent double.
He dry-heaved, again and again, but nothing came out.
If he could’ve vomited up his intestines to forget what he’d just heard, he would’ve.
Inas caught him by the shoulders and forced him upright.
In contrast to Nigel’s crumbling state, Inas looked elated.
“You understand me now… don’t you, Nigel?”
His eyes sparkled with joy.
