“Well," Constantine said, "let me tell you about the story of the Scorpion and the Toad. Long ago, before the first Incursion when Animals still roamed, there was a Scorpion and a Toad. Creatures that looked similar to the Ghostslasher and Alabaster Goliath, respectively. The Scorpion was approaching a river, which had swelled due to an impending Echo Tide. He—”

“Wait, what’s an Echo tide?” Jordan jumped in. That phrase sounded so familiar, almost like…

Constantine raised an eyebrow, but took the interruption in stride. He was married to Mercia after all.

“There are two Moons, sweetheart. Do you remember them?” Jordan shook his head. “The Jealous Moon, Echo, shadows her sister, Avala, in the sky. Everyday, the four tides come and go, but once every few years, Echo, which is normally dark, lights up. When that happens, waters swell and monsters flood out of Dungeons, as an ocean tide far larger than any other comes. Hundreds of meters high—it sweeps dozens of kilometers inland, and Seers often view its timing as a sign of ill-omens to come.”

That sounds like some fantasy bullshit right there, Jordan mentally scoffed. Only… it all sounded familiar. Extremely, familiar. Where had he heard something similar? Where!?

“Regardless, the Scorpion was stuck at the river, worried about the coming Echo tide. He needed to cross, but the portion he normally forded was too overcome by the rushing river. That’s when he saw the Toad.”

“’Mr. Toad,’ the Scorpion called out. ‘Please sir, would you kindly usher me across this river?’ The Toad turned to see the Scorpion. For the Toad, this river was simple enough to deal with, for like an Alabaster Goliath it was at home in the waters. But the Toad hesitated. He didn’t wish to be rude and deny the Scorpions request, but he was worried. He knew the stories—he knew that Scorpions stung, inflicting lethal levels of Poison damage. The individual in front of him could kill him if he took him across. Regretfully, the Toad said ‘I’m sorry Mr. Scorpion, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. You could sting me if I did so.’ It could lose him Face to refuse generosity for one in need, but he would rather risk his reputation than his life.”

Catella oohed and aahed knowably. Jordan just stared blankly, only allowing the story to continue as didn’t want to interrupt again. If he did, the story would probably never even finish! Still, lose face? What a weird fucking thing to say.

“’What? Why would I do that?’ The Scorpion replied. ‘If I did, then we’d both drown!’ The Toad hadn’t thought of that. Surely the Scorpion wouldn’t kill itself just to sting him—he felt rightfully foolish at the admonishment. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Scorpion. You’re right.’ He apologized, because it’s always important to apologize for your mistakes. It’s also easier to save Face that way before you make an actual mistake, after all. The Toad then said ‘Please, Mr. Scorpion, allow me to take you across. We need to hurry though.’ The two gazed up nervously as Echo had begun to glow visibly in the sun-lit sky.”

“Climbing on the Toads back, the Scorpion sat comfortably. The Toad carefully waded into the river, trying to be mindful of his neighbor resting on his back. It’s important to be considerate of others after all. Yet despite his caution he could not hold back the ferocity of the river. As he swam, a sudden current caught him unexpectedly. While they didn’t go under—the Toad was far too strong of a swimmer to be defeated so easily—the sudden dip scared the Scorpion. And there is only one thing a scared Scorpion can do.”

“In a flash, just like a Ghostslasher, the Scorpion stung the Toad with its long, segmented spike barbed tail. ‘Ow!’ the Toad cried out. ‘Why did you do that Mr. Scorpion? Now we’re both going to drown!’ ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Toad.’ The Scorpion replied. ‘I couldn’t help it—I was frightened and… it’s in my nature.’ The Toad’s strength faded, and they were both swallowed by the river.” Constantine finished his story.

It was, Jordan realized, exactly like the scorpion and fox story he’d heard, though with a bit of embellishment about the moon and references to weird animals. For instance—why would something called a Ghostslasher sting someone? Shouldn’t it be a Ghoststinger then? And that Echo tide… he could swear he could almost see a glowing moon hanging in the sky. Why does it sound familiar? Why!? It was like having a word stuck on the tip of his tongue—only it was the whole damn dictionary!

“A Demon,” Constantine said, “will not always pursue their Passion first, but it is their nature. Weaker ones, such as the Imps, will pursue their own desires over survival. Stronger Demons may struggle as well, and you would be wise to never forget that. It is the nature of all Demons, as they are Spiritual Entities of Passion. When the young Westhell girl contracted with an Imp of Envy, a necessary task to complete her working, she overlooked that. At the very end of her ritual, right as she began to drink in the power and change—it betrayed her out of its own Envy. It tried to steal the power, and killed them both.”

Jordan jumped in. “If it was a familiar, shouldn’t it have been unable to do that?”

“It would depend on the nature of the contract and the foresight of the summoner. The thing is, nothing actually stops a demon from breaking a contract. It’s only that doing so would unmake them. It would reduce them to a Tormented soul, stripping them of all their strength.”

“So the Imp,” Jordan replied, “really choose to damn itself for eternity? Did it just… not know?” Given his recent ‘taste’ of what it was like, he found it incredibly hard to believe.

“It knew,” Constantine replied. “And had the girl been instructed to the nature of her own familiar—the nature of her own kind—she would have taken steps to prevent it. It only tried because its prize sat right in front of it, in her hands rather than his. And because she didn’t anticipate that, she perished. But not before completing her working.”

He leaned forward, pointing at Jordan’s chest. “The heart you now have is in many ways a Demon’s heart, not unlike what you would have from a Grafting. However, a Demonic Apotheosis is a theoretical state in which a Demon transitions from a Spiritual Entity, bound to the Asurias, into a physical being in the truest sense, tied to the Material Realm. Such a creature would be indestructible, one of the Immortals. It would be capable of recovering from any damage done to it by reforming as any Asura would. Only it would do so in the Material, rather than in Asurias. You’d never be able to banish it back to its prison either.”

“Then what happened to the one who did succeed? The Maou-guy” Jordan asked.

“He was never killed—only sealed away. Don’t worry overmuch, as terrifying as the stories about him are, it’s from a time in which Immortals were rare. Beings as strong, if not stronger, than the Maou are far more common in our times. There are several born in each generation, most trained in the Academy. Those that reach that level of power, however, normally move on, unlike the High King or Rahm here.”

Jordan turned to look at the four-armed man next to him. “Wait, you’re an… immortal? Really?”

The old man smiled and nodded, his white bristly hair bobbing ominously from the motion. He remained silent, however.

Jordan turned back towards the Brat’s parents and asked, “So… I have some immortal demon heart now?” He almost got his hopes up.

Constantine hemmed and hawed quietly for a bit, before saying, “I wouldn’t think of it that way. It’s more that you have a Demonic Graft that didn’t require us to pull at the rest of your Pattern and that won’t corrupt you by incidentally putting a hole connected to the Demonic Realm, Asurias, inside you. Rather than force us to manifest something within you—you have a physical organ that is flawless, capable of working within an Immortal, though it in itself holds no power. That would have come from the girl’s Core, as I mentioned, which of course the Westhells claim was destroyed.”

Yup, just another cheat power red herring, Jordan concluded.

Mercia prodded at her husband. “You think they still have her Core, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Without a doubt. But they’ll never admit it.”

Mercia shuddered, though Jordan didn’t know why. A few minutes passed in silence as Jordan thought over his options, finishing off a cookie.

“I’m grateful for the heart and all,” he said, “But… I don’t want to get married. Isn’t there… any other options?” He put out diplomatically, trying to avoid another spat with the Brat’s mother.

“We owe them for your life, Aureliana.” Mercia said. “If there were any other options then—”

“There is… one.” Constantine interrupted.

“No.” She shot out instantly with a glare.

“Mercia, let me at least put it out there—”

“No! You cannot be serious! It isn’t possible, even more so—”

“Hey!” Jordan jumped in. “Not all of us have ‘Skills that know someone’s sentence from the first breath,’ or whatever” Jordan poorly quoted and imitated Constantine. “I’d like to hear this, okay?”

Mercia glared at everyone other than Catella, though Jordan didn’t know why she held ire for Rahm. “Fine.” She said. She didn’t pout, but Jordan felt like she wanted to.

Constantine breathed a sigh of relief and turned to address Jordan.

“A union between the Westhells and us is all but set in stone. As far as Nobility are concerned, there is no way to overturn it. There is, however, one person who remains above us—one person who could, in theory, overrule the agreement. The High King.”

“The… High King? Okay, fine. Can we get his help? How hard will that be?” Jordan asked.

“Well… he doesn’t typically meddle, as much as a Tyrant as many view him to be—unless he has a reason to interfere he won’t. And to get a favor of the High King, well… you do have three great workings that you need to accomplish. This could solve all our problems in one move.”

Mercia snorted defiantly, but held her tongue. Jordan was almost proud of her.

“Okay, so… what’s the problem? Is this just really hard, or…?”

“It will be difficult, certainly. In order to gain a boon, and in order to fulfill your debts, you would need to enter into his services and distinguish yourself… a few times over.” He admitted.

“Services? What do you mean?”

“He means the Military, darling.” Mercia said.

“Oh. And that would stop the marriage?” Jordan didn’t see why.

Constantine nodded. “Yes, so long as you stay enrolled in his Academy and his services, any ongoing obligations you have among the nobility would be considered a lower priority. Serve well, and you could—”

“It won’t matter. She can’t get in before she’ll be married.” Mercia laid out one of her patented interruptions.

“What, why not?” Jordan wasn’t great at school, but it sounded better than gay marriage. He was still a man underneath all the fluffy lace!

“The requirements are… strict,” Constantine said, “and your betrothal will be announced at the upcoming Summer Solstice. The Westhells demanded as quick of a marriage arrangement as could be allowed in polite society, despite your age, so your marriage will take place on the following Winter Solstice. That coincides with the start of the next Academic year which means—”

“Which means,” Mercia jumped in, “you have all of six months to meet the requirements of entry. Which isn’t possible.”

“Why? What are the requirements?” Jordan demanded.

“At a minimum,” Mercia answered, “You’d need to formulate a Class and reach Level One. Beyond that, there are a number of requirements such as tournament participation, number of monsters slain, as well as the undertaking of a Dungeon expedition.”

“You’d need a team,” Constantine added, “preferably a two-team squad as that’s the common Academic formation they use. All of them would have to be of similar strength and ability to yourself so you’d have experience to reference for the entrance. The entrance exam is known for being similar in feeling and difficulty to the Review you just had—there would be no falsifying information or getting a free ride in. The Academy is strictly based on Meritocratic efforts. Every failure or shortcoming on your journey would be referenced, and every helping hand offered would be a burden holding you back, in their eyes. The ideal candidate for them is one who shows true initiative and succeeds in the face of extreme adversity.”

Jordan grimaced. “We can’t…” He hated suggesting it, but he was desperate. “We can’t bribe anyone?”

“What?” Constantine looked genuinely offended. Mercia just rolled her eyes.

“Never mind.” Jordan tried to smooth it over. “Look, so… yeah that does sound like a lot, but still… I’d rather try at this than accept this marriage. I can try at least, can’t I?”

Mercia’s eyes bored into his before she said, “Unless you sign that Contract, I won’t allow it.”

“Wait, what? Oh come on, already. I’m not signing it! I’m going to try and enter this Academy instead, and the Westguys can just forget it, okay?”

Mercia took a deep breath before Constantine jumped in, “Mercia, sweetheart, she’s just a bit upset—”

“Enough!” It was Mercia’s time to interject that statement. “You seem to be laboring under a misunderstanding, Aureliana. Allow me to correct that mistake.”

“Wha—”

“Silence.”

Jordan wanted to be silent. What? No, I don’t—

“The family signed this agreement. You will be married, whether you wish to be or not. If you refuse to sign the Contract willingly, then it falls to your father and I,” she eyed Constantine, “to enforce the terms instead. If I have to drag you down the altar and reshape your mind myself, then I will! We have already agreed to their price, so we must do as we are compelled. We choose to save you, despite your ingratitude.”

What? I’m not ungrateful? …am I?

“As such,” She continued, “If I have to babysit you for the next half a year and instruct you in the Skills and behavior that will be expected of you as a proper lady in high society, then I shall.”

“Mercia—” Mercia glared at Constantine as he spoke. He steeled his spine to continue. “How about a compromise?”

“…Ever the Politician, Constantine.”

He chuckled and said, “One of us has to be. Why shouldn’t it be the Sorcerer rather than the Courtier?” Mercia rolled her eyes at his light teasing, though Jordan didn’t understand it.

“And what would you suggest?” She asked him.

“Aureliana can sign the Contract now. If she does, everyone will be assured she’ll comply when the time comes, so there’ll be no need to drag her along. In exchange, we allow her to try and enter the Academy. If she does—she can continue along her path to try and break free of the obligation. The Contract won’t interfere with that. If not, then she carries out her duty like the Freyhell she is.”

“She will still be expected to take part in a number of social events, or she’ll risk insulting and embarrassing the Westhells.” Mercia pointed out.

“She can juggle her responsibilities.” He answered her.

“She’ll need to refine her Core. She hasn’t performed any Cultivation yet. She’s years behind!”

“Well…” Constantine faltered.

“I can handle that part.” The deep tones of Rahm filled the room, quieting the back and forth.

“…You? You’ll… you’ll help her Refine her Core?” Mercia asked with open mouthed surprise.

Rahm nodded slowly. “Yup.”

“But… I thought you wouldn’t train another family member after…?”

Rahm shook his head. “I know, but I won’t let my Granddaughter be treated like this. I have Pride in my family as well, you know. Besides, I’ve been getting bored only making potions all these years. I could use a good student again.” He lightly chuckled.

Constantine paled. “What… happened to Kioko, Sofu? I thought you had an out of family apprentice?”

The room went quiet.

Time passed by as the ominous silence clung to the family, the furniture—to the very fabric of space and time.

“…” Rahm said nothing.

“…” Mercia said nothing.

“…” Constantine said nothing.

Catella and Jordan shared a look, also saying nothing when—

“OH—shit!!” Rahm stood up, barely catching himself as he scrambled out the room, banging against the table bringing danger to the cookies, scaring the hell out of a few servants waiting outside as he went sprinting out the door.

“Did he…” Constantine started.

“Forget his apprentice…?” Mercia finished.

“Who’s Kioko?” Catella asked.

Constantine slowly face palmed. “That’s the name of his apprentice, dear. I wondered why we hadn’t seen her lately.”

Mercia turned her head mechanically towards her husband. “And that’s who we’re going to trust with training our daughter?”

Constantine gaped like a fish for a few moments before mustering up, “Well, technically speaking there are few better choices if—”

“If he doesn’t forget he’s training her!” Mercia shouted back. “What if he leaves her in some deserted mountain range!?”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Constantine winced. “If Aureliana is going to have any chance at this, then she’ll need his help.”

Mercia fought off a sneer. “Well then, Aureliana.” She turned back towards Jordan. “There’s your options then. Either you can sign the Contract and hope you can pull off a dozen different miracles and get into the Academy, or you and I can share the same bedroom for the next six months while I personally oversee every moment of your life.”

She’s… not even trying to hide her threat, Jordan scowled. “Fine. Where do I sign?”

Constantine met Jordan’s eyes gratefully as he slid over the piece of parchment and provided a pen. It almost seemed strange to Jordan that he was using a pen rather than a quill, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Glancing over the contract itself, Jordan was pleased to note that he could, in fact, read. As he stared over foreign script, it felt like his mind just applied reason to them, no effort required on his part. The only problem he had with the blessedly short contract was… the feelings?

As he looked over the words, it was like they began to swim in his mind. He could feel… desire, but also… pain? Sorrow wrenching at his chest, but joy he could barely even give words to. It was overwhelming him, and he looked inward, convinced that he had to be using a skill or something, but…

As much as parts of him were glowing (many did in the background after all), there was no Ki shifting within his body. He could read and he could feel, and it cost nothing. He vaguely recalled some conversation about permanent skills or something? Maybe this was related to that. He didn’t know for sure—all he knew was that reading this was a pain in his ass! It was going to be tough because of it, but he had to push through it. Only fools would sign a contract without reading it.

Jordan immediately signed the contract, grumbling a bit out loud, but surprising himself when he signed it easily with ‘Forsaken Fool, Lady Freyhell Aureliana Hortensia-Kellham the Repentant.’ At least this answered the question on whether he could write as well. He wondered if…

Wait… why did I sign it without reading it? That’s… the thought trailed off in his head. He looked over the contract one last time, and then was startled when he realized the damn thing was glowing! It settled down after a few moments, but he didn’t feel any different. Nothing had… changed?

“Am I supposed to feel anything from this?” Jordan asked.

“Only if the Contract is of poor quality, darling.” Mercia answered as Constantine gathered the scroll up to return it to his desk.

“Oookay, well anyway,” Jordan, now enslaved to the will of marriage, said. “What happens next? This kind of sounds like…” A game, he thought but decided not to voice it.

“Well,” Constantine called out from the far side of the room, “You’ll need to form a team. And learn to Refine your Core with Rahm when he gets back.”

“You’ll be attending the Summer Solstice celebration hosted by the Westhells in two weeks. Your engagement will be announced then, and that leaves you little time to pick up the necessary formal dance training, along with whatever initial training period Rahm gives you.”

“Dance?” Jordan queried nervously.

“Of course. All Maidens dance during the multiple day celebrations leading to their—”

“Oh come on!” Jordan interrupted. He did not like being called a… maiden. He shivered in disgust.

Mercia glared at response. “I’ll add extra etiquette lessons to the list as well.”

Jordan ground his teeth.

“Ladies, please” Constantine interposed, returning to sit back down with the group. “We also need to determine what Specializations you’ll need to focus on, Aureliana. You need to decide what Class you’re going to formulate from them.”

“Class? Where do I even start with all this?” And why do I keep thinking of… No. Stop it! This isn’t a game, that would make no sense. A bit of Jordan’s nervousness showed through, however.

“Don’t worry,” Constantine soothed him, “There will be time enough to explain the details, despite the complexity of the tasks ahead.”

Mercia lightly jabbed at her husband’s side. “Stop glowing so much, you’ll ignite the room.”

He laughed as he replied, “What? A Father isn’t allowed to be proud to have not one, but two of their children enter the Academy?”

Mercia sighed dramatically, “Assuming she gets in, Constantine. There’s a long way to go and the odds are very much against her.”

“You can do it Aury! Justinian goes to the Academy too, so you won’t be alone if you get in!” Catella optimistically said.

“It won’t be easy,” Mercia said, “But I suppose if you’re really set on it…”

It’s not like there’s any going back. Jordan thought. Besides… maybe I can find something worthwhile in all this mess?

“Yeah,” Jordan said, “we…. we can do this!” He gave a [Perfect Smile]. He couldn’t help it.

It was scary, yes, but also… for the first time since returning from the Review, he didn’t feel cold. As Catella grabbed onto him, Jordan could tell she was excited. There was hope in the air. True, a bit of it sounded pie-in-the-sky, but it was good to have a direction. A chance. Jordan had almost felt crushed after making his choice earlier, only getting this far because for once in his life he had people around him he could lean on. He didn’t feel alone. It almost…

“By the way, does this Academy have a name? Or is it like the only one?” Jordan asked offhandedly.

It almost lasted.

“Hm?” Mercia cocked her head, “Of course—you wouldn’t recall it, my apologies. It’s easy to forget that you… well, never mind. The institution is called His Majesty’s Immortal Academy, it’s the leading center of—.”

Jordan’s world began to fall apart.

“What did you call it?” No… it has to be a coincidence.

“His Majesty’s Immortal Academy. Is… is something wrong Aureliana?” Mercia was detecting Jordan’s distress. Everyone was.

No. It’s just… He asked another question.

“Is… the country we’re in called the United Kingdoms of Koterra?” Oh my god. The Judge… he even called it the UKK.

“You… remembered? Wha—er, well, yes—that’s correct. Honey, what’s wrong?” They were all leaning in closer. Jordan was having trouble breathing.

“You said there were two moons, and one of them is usually… dark? Is there like… a big nebula in the sky at night?”

They nodded.

“Is this world called… Ænerith?”

Someone said yes.

It is… this is… Jordan was breaking.

“This is… a game world?”

“A what? Darling you’re… you’re trembling. What’s wrong?” Mercia shifted from her spot to sit next to Jordan, taking the area that Rahm had been in.

“It’s… it’s a game! You—”

How had he not known? How—But I did, didn’t I? I just… I kept ignoring the signs. Levels? Classes? Fucking Skills? How much more obvious did the hints need to get before I picked up on them!?

“Are we playing a game?” Catella asked, confusion painting her face.

“No, sweety, I don’t think that’s what’s wrong. Your sister just… she needs to rest.” Mercia tried to comfort both her daughters.

“No! That’s…oh God why? She gave me… but I didn’t…” Jordan babbled.

Constantine kneeled down in front of Jordan to hold his shaking hands. “Hey, hey it’s okay. Breath sweety, breath. Just like before, okay?”

As the Brat’s father held Jordan’s hand, he felt that the fire between them was… gone. It made Jordan want to disappear, and he couldn’t even explain why.

All three Freyhells were holding Jordan in some way, but he didn’t feel comforted anymore. He wanted to be alone now, more than anything, because she had…

“Why? Why am I here? It doesn’t… this can’t even be possible!” Jordan accused the room.

Constantine and Mercia exchanged looks, trying to find a way to calm their panicking child. Catella didn’t understand though.

“What’s not possible? You’re supposed to be here Aury, who else would be?” She gripped onto Jordan possessively. A part of him recalled her feelings, tried to be empathetic to the pain she’d felt at losing her sister.

The rest of him looked at her and felt nothing but horror.

Who else should be here, if not me? He thought, recoiling quietly.

“My sister… it should have been her. She… she had a heart thing, just like the Brat. Like Aury, or whatever. It shouldn’t be me! Why is it me?” Jordan turned from Catella, to Constantine, to…

“Why?” He begged Mercia.

“Sweety, I don’t know. I don’t know who you think you are, and I can’t help with this. You’re… you’re delusional darling. We’ll get through this, though, okay?”

Delusional? She’s calling me crazy again!?

“Don’t call me that! I’m not crazy, alright? I’m from another world, only—I shouldn’t have been chosen! It doesn’t make sense, and this is a game world? It shouldn’t have been me!” He accused the Brat’s mother, but she just returned his glares with patient sadness.

“Maybe it was a redudoncy?” Catella tried to helpfully suggest.

“You mean Redundancy, sweety? I suppose, but…” She looked like she wanted to dispute Catella’s suggestion. She’s convinced that I’m crazy. She just wants to quiet me, but Catella…

“What’s that mean? What’s redundancy? Well, I mean I know the word but what are—”

He was breathing rapidly in his panic. Energy flowed through him. His heart was surging, so his Ki was poised and ready. At his unwitting call, his desire to know what a redundancy was caused something to tell him. He was confused at first, but as he sensed the Essence flow through his body, he realized the Ki he was burning was activating a Skill. It was…

[Mandala Lore]

A redundancy was a term used to reference an alternate target for a Mandala’s Foci, should the primary target prove to be void.

In other words—if your target were missing then you could specify backup options. Simple.

Targets. Like his… sister.

Jordan’s eyes bulged open.

“No. No you can’t…” He begged them. They didn’t understand.

He hadn’t heard from her in… months? Oh god how long has it been?

“No! No this can’t be real!”

“Sweety, calm down.”

“No! Fuck off! Get—”

“Ow, sweetheart—stop!”

“Mercia, hold her!”

“Aury!”

“Catella, get back! Aureliana, stop this instant.”

“GET OFF ME! UGH—”

“She’s resisting too strongly. Mercia, use a Mana Skill.”

“I’m running too low to push any harder. Watch her feet.”

“What? Mercia you—”

“RELEASE ME YOU FUCKS!”

“Uuf—Ow. I have no choice—I’m sorry Aureliana. Neriah, do it.”

“FUCK YOU AND YOUR NOSE! LET GO OF ME! YOU AREN’T REAL YOU’RE ALL—”

A quick thud and sudden darkness befell Jordan as the smell of burning blood filled the room.

----------------------------------------

They thought he was crazy. All of them did.

Was he?

He was beginning to believe them. He wanted to believe them. Because the alternative…?

Jordan cried within his prison of flesh, trapped in the child’s body that didn’t belong to him. One that he had accepted, before he’d gotten all the answers. Signed away his future to be stuck in, like a fool who didn’t read the contract.

Trapped with a fate he’d never be able to escape now.

But… he wasn’t supposed to be here. Jordan was sure of it now.

Jordan brought one leg up onto the couch he sat in, held upward with the sole placed firmly against the cushions. He held it in tiny, unfamiliar arms. The Brat’s body felt like it was protesting, telling Jordan that this was a breach of etiquette. But he didn’t care. In response he just brought up the second leg and embraced it as well.

He wasn’t in the study anymore. After subduing him, someone had brought him to the Brat’s bedroom. After waking up, the Harlot had come in offering him food, which he’d turned down, but also forced him to drink more potions to calm himself. He hated how effective they were at doing just that.

And now he was away from the family that loved him. Left to his thoughts.

He was alone. Always, alone.

As he held the Brat’s legs, he began to cry. To truly cry. He had thought the tears and noises he’d made in the past were crying, but he’d been wrong. He’d believed, arrogantly, that at one point—because he was a man—that he’d never cried. A part of him had been adamant, even as it shrank away to nothingness, that all the times he’d done so, here in this world, were the Brat’s fault! He’d never cried! It had tried to justify every sniffle and every trickle. Until now.

Because now he had a reason to cry.

It had been almost a year since he’d spoken with his sister. For the longest time he hadn’t thought much of it. But the thing was, she normally called once a month to check on him. Only, the last time they spoke was to warn him about their mother. He’d blown it off because it wasn’t the right time to deal with it. Like he always did.

I have too much going on right now, you understand right? I’ll set some time to come by if I can get some vacation time, alright?

She’d seen through him. He knew she did, and he’d thought she hadn’t tried to call him again because she knew he needed space. That or she had finally begun to hate him. That she was finally too tired to keep trying. That she didn’t call because she’d finally gotten it.

And he’d been… grateful, to be left alone. To be hated.

Redundancy. It was an odd word. Strangely redundant in its spelling, and if you had asked Jordan to talk about the word a few hours ago he wouldn’t have had much to say about it. Why would he? It wasn’t exactly a commonly used word.

But now he knew that it described him. How? Simple!

He was not the ideal target for the ritual the Brat had performed. It was obvious. Why would he be? He had nothing wrong with his heart, and he had no knowledge of how to fix something like that.

But his sister? She’d had a heart condition too. A congenital birth defect that the more he heard about the Brat’s own issue—minus all the stupid magic crap—the more he’d realized the similarities. He’d asked the Succubus about it while gulping down anti-depression juice, asked her if she knew anything about the physical abnormalities of the Brat’s heart. Turned out—she was a gossip. A great source of information.

Heart valve. She’d had a poor vocabulary to describe it, but Jordan pieced it together. Something had helped him. A Skill? He didn’t know the specifics on which one.

But he knew about the heart valve now. The same, or best he could determine, description of what was wrong with his own sister. The stupid little Brat, Aureliana, was a perfect match for his sister Anna. Not his youngest sister—who hated him. That was Kate, his sweet little sister. He could still remember the look of hatred on her face. He wouldn’t tell anyone, but sometimes he would look through the old photos they had, just to try and remember what it was like before Kate despised him.

With Anna, however, it had been different. She had been born with a broken valve in her heart. She’d survived through surgery and debt. She was… the perfect target for the Brat.

And lo and behold—here he was now. In a ‘fantasy’ world where a young girl had been saved by surgery and debt. Only, instead of his sister being summoned by the Brat, it had been Jordan. Why?

Redundancy.

If the primary target couldn’t be reached, such as them not being alive, a spell could be set to select an alternate person, based on sympathetic connections. Whatever that meant.

But why Anna to begin with? He had thought about it, surely there must have been plenty of people with similar heart issues that could have been targeted. Why his family? Why him as the redundancy?

It took Jordan only a moment to disregard that argument.

There was a problem with statistics, after all. Because when you looked at the ‘odds’ of something happening, then nothing would ever seem probable. Nothing was possible. Take life, for instance. It was something like ‘one in a million planets has the potential to form life,’ and yet barely one in a million of those—if even then—would have the conditions necessary to form complex life. One in million one in a million times. Why Earth then?

Because that’s just where it happened. The odds of any particular thing happening were low, but they still happened. And while looking at pure statistics could easily convince someone that nothing could happen, when the Brat cast her ritual, and reached into Earth looking for someone with a similar condition, she’d pulled out Jordan’s sister. Not for any reason, Jordan thought, other than odds.

There’s another reason, something whispered in his mind. What? He thought back to it. Insight filled him.

[Mandala Lore]. Sympathetic Linking. A term used to describe how ‘like calls to like.’ Put bluntly, the more similar something is to one thing, the more it can be affected through magic.

Oh. He thought lamely. Right… similarities between our families. The odds had been rigged after all, it seemed.

Wait. Did that mean his entire conclusion based on statistics was a waste of mental effort!?

God I hate this world…

Whatever. It didn’t matter anyway. Because she was gone. She had to be for the spell to target him. His sister was gone and he… was her redundancy.

He didn’t want to believe it was possible. Surely if something had happened to his sister someone would have told him. Right?

He dismissed that thought as fast as the previous one. No one would have told him. He’d shut everyone out—how would they even reach him? She was the only one left in his family who had a way to contact him directly. Not even his mother had his latest cell phone number.

Jordan abandoned all hope. There was none to cling to anymore. He was never going to see his mother or sisters again. He was never going to meet back up with his friends like he had promised himself he would, and he would never find love.

It was stupid, but even as old and bitter as he was a part of him had hoped against hope that he would find the right woman in the end. Maybe it was the American Dream still blazing inside him, but he had honestly believed that eventually he’d get married. He just had excuses as to why all the previous women weren’t right for him.

Always excuses. And now he was going to be forced into an arranged marriage.

You reap what you sow. That was what Mercia had told him. Perhaps she was right? Perhaps this was the universe balancing his karma, making him suffer for a lifetime of failure and selfishness. It didn’t matter in the end, however.

He was trapped.

He was never going home.

He would be forced to live in this fantasy world where he didn’t get to make his own choices. Where titles and training were forced on him. And unless he performed a miracle he’d be married soon, another set of chains binding him in place. It added to all the others.

Perhaps this world could have been beautiful. It was possible that it would have been exciting, or miraculous even. There was magic in the air, races of all kinds, airships and… he sighed out.

When he was young, he’d wanted to be an explorer, or a paleontologist, or an astronaut. He had a hard time choosing, really. He’d been full of dreams, and even if he became a failure of a man instead, this world could have offered him a second chance. A chance to fulfill dreams he’d all but forgotten. He could feel it singing inside him.

It was the perfect opportunity, the perfect world for anyone…

Except him. Because of four… little… words.

His. Majesty’s. Immortal. Academy.

Four little words that changed everything about his situation. Four little words that meant the only part of Jordan that had anything like ‘hope’ anymore… was praying for madness.

Because it didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense.

It was the name of a game from his world. The most popular game over the last decade! It had revolutionized the world of gaming, relied on the first near-true Artificial Intelligence to craft story lines, to build the world, quests, and dungeons out of the art created by people, and even voice act NPCs from its quite realistic-sounding synthetic sources.

It was the largest, most ambitious AAA game of the century. The most beloved game of all time. “It had a little something for everyone,” as IGN said. They said that about every game he’d ever played though. The problem was…

Jordan… had never played this one.

Oh—he had a copy, of course. That was the tragic part, really. Or maybe it was the dumb part? It didn’t matter—he had a copy, gifted to him by the very sister he now mourned. Another one of her dozens of unreciprocated attempts to bridge the gap in their family. At that time, he even still spoke with a few of his childhood friends. All of them were playing it, talking about it, living it.

But not Jordan. He made excuses.

Excuse after excuse, to cover up the truth. That he didn’t want to play it because she’d bought him the copy. Because she played it, and kept waiting for him to join her. That was the truth, the harsh reality that he covered up. He thought he’d come to some sort of understanding with his feelings over the matter. The last three days had already been the most emotionally exhausting, and physically harrowing, time of his life.

And it did nothing to stop the resurgence of guilt now. Redundant guilt? He almost laughed at that. Almost.

This wasn’t a generic fantasy world. The similarities in architecture, the familiar way somethings felt, all should have tipped him off. Even the language made more sense now that he stopped being an idiot about things. Half the team that developed HMIA was eastern after all. How had he not recognized it sooner? Why had he kept dismissing all the signs?

He was in the world of a video game.

Perhaps he should have been happy. Perhaps he should have used this as validation of some sort. He had to be in a virtual environment, right? But he’d already thought about that possibility. The technology didn’t exist. It didn’t add up!

It. Wastn’t. Possible.

And in the end… he had only one conclusion.

They’d questioned his validity. They’d asked if he was real.

When he’d first woke up in this world, he’d thought he knew what was going on, only to excuse sign and sign away, again and again.

But the first justification he’d had struck a chord with him now. Back when he was still waking up in the darkness of the Brat’s bedroom. Back when he thought he was still a man.

He had thought that he’d simply forgotten what day it was. Such a silly little mistake, no worries here—I just got black out drunk and forgot all about my week! Hohoho! Wait, organ thieves? Whaaaat?

“Fool.” Forgot? Really? They were right about him. They all were.

And the way the court had pressed into him, combined with this revelation had only one explanation to Jordan.

If his memories of the life he had lived, and the truth he perceived now, couldn’t align properly, then he had only one possible, logical reason.

What he thought he knew was wrong.

What he thought he remembered was incorrect.

What he believed was true, wasn’t.

If VR didn’t exist in his world and he couldn’t justify how he was in a game world, and he proved beyond a shadow of his doubt that he was in a game world based on the answers he’d received, then he had to be… crazy.

He’d lost his mind. He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be real!

And he didn’t want to be.

He didn’t want to live in a world where his sister should have been.

He didn’t want to mourn her, and his family.

He didn’t want to hate himself, and hate this world.

It was a game?

He’d lost his mind.

It couldn’t be real.

It felt like he was spinning out of control.

Like the strands of his mind were coming undone.

He wasn’t real.

He wasn’t.

Nothing was real.

Nothing mattered anymore.

He needed to escape.

To get away.

Or maybe to tell someone?

Tell them what?

Tell them that he was trapped in a game world!

That everyone was crazy!

Like him!

None of them existed though, so did it matter?

I need to escape. I need to. Death… could be a way out?

None of this was real!

They were all fake!

Everything was a lie!

Had he… gone ins—

Had… had he been crying?

Jordan wiped at his face in irritation. It was excusable, though detestable, that he’d been crying. He’d had a long day, and just learned of the difficult journey ahead of him. Six months to get ready to get a class or something? Six months to get into the biggest school this world had to offer.

He knew it was going to be hard. He hadn’t played it, but he knew all about His Majesty’s Immortal Academy. Just thinking about the game filled him with guilt, and an unspeakable anxiety gripped his soul. A nameless part shouting a voiceless scream. It was odd, but he ignored it.

He missed his sister. It hurt in unspeakable ways that he was her redundant option. That she was gone. But he’d made his choice already, and he’d do what he could to fix the life he lived here, and now.

It was hard to accept, but he had finally convinced himself—all of himself—that he would never be going home. Not that he didn’t think it was possible—but just that he was determined to do his best and honor his word. He’d agreed to pay the debt this stupid little Brat caused, and he wouldn’t leave his job half done.

He hoped… he hoped his sister would’ve been proud of him, for that. Though, if he were being honest, he didn’t think he’d succeed.

He was sca-rewed~, after all.

The melodramatic sigh he gave did little to make him feel better, but the guilt over never having played this stupid game, and the confusion over how he could have possibly been forced into it, weighed on him. He’d just have to do his best, and for now he wouldn’t think too much about it.

There was one silver lining at least.

While he barely knew anything about the lore of the game, he’d heard of many of the ways you could start it out. It was the only section his friends would talk about around him to avoid spoilers, after all. So he recognized many of the sign’s he’d been ignoring. He could see where he was.

Even if it didn’t make sense… he knew he was in the beginning.

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