The capital bustles with life—merchants shout, customers haggle, and children weave through the crowded streets with carefree laughter. But all of that fades the moment Emilia steps into the heart of the marketplace. Her presence shifts the atmosphere. Conversations die mid-sentence, and the crowd subtly parts, as if even brushing against her might bring them ill fortune.

Beneath the hood of her cloak, Emilia feels their eyes on her—watchful, wary, and full of quiet disgust. She doesn’t need to hear their words to know what they’re thinking. She’s heard it all before. Her fingers tighten around the edge of her cloak, pulling it lower, but it’s useless. The silver strands of her hair and the glow of her violet eyes peek through the shadows, impossible to fully hide. No matter how much she tries to conceal herself, they always see it—the reflection of someone she’s not.

Her heart tightens in her chest, the familiar sting of rejection wrapping around her like a cold embrace. The stares, the whispers, the way they recoil at the sight of her—it never stops hurting, no matter how much she tells herself it doesn’t matter. But after all these years, she’s learned to bury the pain. To mask it. She walks with purpose, ignoring the fearful glances, but inside, it simmers.

Her mind drifts back to a time when she still believed kindness could change the way people saw her. She remembers running through the woods near the village, her steps light with hope, her heart innocent. Maybe today will be different, she had thought. Maybe today, they’ll smile at me. Maybe they’ll see me for who I really am. But the moment she arrived, the whispers began, followed by the cold looks and the quickened steps of those who feared her. The children who once played together grew silent when she came near, their gazes wide with fear. That day, something inside her began to change.

Emilia’s fingers brush the insignia hanging at her side—the one thing that proves she’s more than what they think she is. More than the cursed child they fear. The insignia, her proof of royal candidacy, is her only chance to change the way the world sees her. It’s more than just a symbol; it’s hope, fragile and small, but hope nonetheless. Suddenly, she feels a sharp tug.

Her hand drops to where the insignia should be, but there’s nothing there. Her heart skips a beat as she whips around, scanning the crowd. A flash of movement catches her eye—a small figure, quick and nimble, darting through the streets with something gleaming in their hand. Her insignia.

Without thinking, she bolts after the figure, her cloak flaring behind her. The thief is fast, slipping through the crowded streets with practiced ease, but Emilia is faster. Her movements are graceful, fluid—each step deliberate as she weaves through the marketplace, the crowd parting before her. But even as she runs, she feels their eyes. The way they scatter, the way they look at her with wide-eyed fear. It’s not respect that clears her path—it’s the same old terror. Always the same.

The thief darts into a narrow alley, but Emilia is right behind. Her feet barely make a sound against the cobblestones, her body moving with effortless precision. Her heart pounds with determination. She won’t let them get away. Not this time.

As she rounds a corner, something unexpected stops her in her tracks. A struggle. Off to the side of the alley, a young man is being attacked by a group of thugs. His black hair is the first thing she notices, standing out against the dim light. His body is curled defensively, bruised and battered, as he tries to fend off the brutal assault.

The thief continues running, not sparing a glance at the man’s plight. But Emilia’s steps falter as she watches him—this stranger being beaten, helpless and alone. Something stirs within her, a sharp reminder of the isolation she’s felt all her life. They’re hurting him… because he’s different. His black hair—it’s like her silver hair and violet eyes. It marks him as someone judged, someone the world looks at with suspicion. Just like her.

He’s like me.

Her eyes flick back to the fading figure of the thief, now nearly out of sight. She’s so close. Just a few more steps and she could catch them. The insignia could be hers again—the proof she needs to show the world who she is. What she’s worth. But the young man groans in pain, his body trembling as the thugs continue their assault. She knows what it feels like to be left behind, to be rejected because of something you can’t control.

I won’t leave him behind.

With a frustrated breath, Emilia stops running. Her decision is made. She turns sharply on her heel and strides toward the group of thugs, her violet eyes flashing with cold determination. The air around her chills, the temperature dropping with her anger. The thugs pause, noticing her presence, their fists frozen mid-strike.

"That’s enough."

Her voice cuts through the alley like a blade. The thugs hesitate, exchanging nervous glances. They recognize her—silver hair, violet eyes—the Witch’s shadow. Without a word, they back away, fear overtaking any thoughts of continuing their assault. They scatter, disappearing into the shadows.

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The young man, still crumpled on the ground, blinks up at her in disbelief. His body is bruised and beaten, but his expression shifts as relief floods him. He tries to push himself up, his limbs weak, but his eyes are full of gratitude.

"Thank you," he breathes, his voice filled with genuine relief. "I… I didn’t think anyone would help me."

Emilia feels a flicker of something inside her soften. The gratitude in his eyes is so unexpected, so different from the usual fear she’s used to seeing.

"You’re safe now," she says quietly, offering him a small nod. But before he can say anything more, his body gives out, his eyes fluttering closed as he collapses into unconsciousness.

Emilia stares down at him, torn between frustration and sympathy. Her eyes dart back to the alley where the thief had vanished, her heart aching with the weight of the insignia’s loss. But before she can stand, a familiar warmth surrounds her.

"Lia, hold on," Puck’s voice drifts through the air, gentle and soothing.

The small spirit materializes beside her—a tiny, feline-like creature with large, expressive eyes and a soft, silvery coat that almost shimmers in the dim light. His fluffy tail twitches as he floats at her side, concern etched in his features.

"You can’t just leave him like this," Puck says, his round ears twitching as he glances at the unconscious boy. "He needs your help, Lia."

Emilia’s gaze flicks from Subaru to Puck, the weight of her lost insignia still pressing down on her. "But the insignia…" she starts, her voice full of uncertainty.

"You did the right thing," Puck says softly, his voice warm and reassuring. "You couldn’t leave him, and you know it."

Emilia takes a breath, her hands glowing softly as her healing magic flows into the young man. His injuries begin to fade, his breathing steadying as the magic works through his body. But as she heals him, her eyes catch on his clothes—strange, unfamiliar.

"Where did you come from?" she murmurs, curiosity flickering in her mind.

A few moments later, the boy stirs, blinking groggily as he looks around. His gaze falls on Emilia, and confusion twists his features.

"You… you saved me?" he asks, his voice hoarse but filled with grateful surprise.

Emilia hesitates for a moment, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. "You’re safe now," she replies, her voice softer than before.

"I’m… Subaru. Natsuki Subaru," he says, offering a weak smile. "Thank you."

Emilia tilts her head slightly, studying him. His name is unfamiliar, and so is everything about him. But there’s no time for questions now.

"Satella," she says, choosing the name carefully. "My name is Satella."

Subaru’s expression instantly changes, panic flashing across his face. His body jerks back, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

"Satella?! You… you’re the Witch?!"

His words pierce through Emilia like a blade. She stares at him, stunned by his reaction. The disgust, the fear—she’s seen it before, but not like this. Not with this intensity. "I just saved you!" Emilia snaps, her anger rising.

Subaru’s panic only grows. His memories of "Return by Death," of the horrors associated with that name, overwhelm him.

"Why would you call yourself that?!" he shouts, his voice desperate. Emilia clenches her fists, hurt and anger burning inside her.

"I don’t owe you any explanation!" she says, standing up abruptly. "If you’re going to treat me like this, then fine."

She turns to leave, but Subaru grabs her hand, his voice pleading. "Please, don’t go to the loot house… don’t meet Felt…" Confusion washes over Emilia. What is he talking about?

"Let go of me!" she snaps, yanking her hand free and striking him across the face. Subaru stumbles back, clutching his cheek.

"I don’t know who Felt is, and I don’t care

! You’re not making any sense!"

With that, she turns and walks away, her steps heavy with frustration and confusion. The sound of her boots echo softly against the stone alleyway, each footfall a reminder of the bitter sting of rejection that lingers in her chest. Her breath comes quicker, her mind racing as she replays the scene in her head.

She doesn’t understand. He had looked at her with such fear—worse than any she’d seen before. All she had done was offer a name, and in return, he had recoiled as if she were a monster. She clenches her fists, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

"I saved him… and he still looked at me like I’m cursed."

The words repeat in her mind, blending with the echoes of the past—the whispers of the villagers, the distant stares. Her pace quickens, trying to outrun the storm brewing in her heart. She doesn’t know why Subaru reacted that way, but the rejection feels familiar. Too familiar.

"I don’t owe him anything," she mutters, trying to convince herself. "He’s just like the others…"

But no matter how many times she tells herself that, it doesn’t stop the hurt from creeping in. Subaru had begged her to stay, pleaded with her not to go, but the way he had looked at her—like she was something dangerous, something to be feared—cut deeper than she cared to admit.

"Why did he say I shouldn’t go to that place? Who does he think he is?"

Her thoughts swirl with questions, but none of it matters now. The insignia, the symbol of her candidacy, is gone, and she needs to reclaim it. She takes a sharp breath, trying to steady herself, focusing on her next steps. Yet, the sting of Subaru’s rejection lingers, making her movements feel heavier.

As Emilia rounds another corner, the weight of everything presses down on her, but she pushes it aside. She has to find the thief. She needs the insignia back. But despite her determination, something in the back of her mind gnaws at her. The image of Subaru, terrified and broken, pleading with her, keeps playing over and over.

"Why does he care what happens to me?"

It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. She shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She’s wasting time. Subaru’s strange warnings mean nothing to her. All she needs now is the insignia. She can’t let herself be distracted.

But even as she pushes forward, her heart feels heavier with each step.