Yvain was standing in front of a room the academy provided for Burn and Morgan. His face was down, knowing he couldn’t do anything for his master.

His hands were beside him, clenched. Now that he had gained more muscle and height, it was obvious how tense his body was.

“This world is in danger, Yvain.”

“Everything your Master had done for you… for your sake…”

“...We had to do this. And…”

Well, Burn didn’t try to sugarcoat things.

“You were supposed to die.”

Yvain closed his eyes. Even now, he felt like it was better to die if he couldn’t be useful. He thanked God for giving him the strength he had now, but it wasn’t enough. He must… get even stronger.

“Sir Sator…?”

Yvain flinched, his gaze meeting Blair's concerned eyes as she stood there with Matthew and Alan.

“Are you okay?” Blair's voice sounded distant, unable to fathom the sight of Yvain in such a state of vulnerability. Witnessing his unraveling facade was chilling, casting shadows over all she had previously known about him.

“Yes. This has happened before. Please don’t worry,” Yvain tried to smile.

Blair and the other two felt chill run down their spines. In truth, in that moment, the weight of Yvain’s existence bore down on him like a heavy burden, suffocating any flicker of hope within.

The thought of being rendered useless clawed at his soul, seemingly a proof of his perceived inadequacies. Despite the strength he tried to muster, he found himself drowning in a sea of despair.

Matthew's laughter cut through the tension, but it held a hint of helplessness. "You don't look okay at all."

Alan's sigh added to the somber atmosphere. "Sir Padparadscha… of course he wouldn’t look okay."

Yvain managed a weak smile, trying to push aside his struggles. "Thank you for your concern. Mama will recover soon. We don’t even need to call a doctor. Let's go back to the buffet."

Blair exchanged a worried glance with Matthew and Alan. The lack of doctor needed for the situation raised questions in their minds. Could it be that they had grown accustomed to her condition, or was there truly nothing more that could be done?

Matthew placed a reassuring hand on Yvain's shoulder. "Stay strong, okay?"

Alan shook his head, his voice filled with concern. "Is there nothing that can be done… for your mother?"

"What's the matter?" Yvain furrowed his brow, sensing their unease.

After a moment of hesitation, Blair softly replied, "It's nothing, Sir Sator. We understand."

***

Inside the room, the atmosphere hung heavy with tension and seriousness. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken fears and the sharp pang of anxiety. Everything felt hushed, as if the very walls were holding their breath in anticipation.

Stolen novel; please report.

Burn's gaze was steely, his features set in a cold mask, while Morgan's expression betrayed a mix of vulnerability and defiance. The space between them crackled with unspoken words, a battlefield of emotions clashing in silence.

After they heard Yvain’s and the others’ footsteps disappearing, Morgan sighed in relief. The two put their ears away from the door.

"We nailed it!" Morgan declared triumphantly. "The classic 'sick mom trope’ card has been played!"

“This crazy woman…” Burn rolled his eyes, muttering, "What a plot twist, heh."

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Morgan teased, "Oh, come on, Burn. It's practically a rite of passage for every hero to have a parent on the verge of death. It's always the moms for some reason."

Burn raised an eyebrow and strolled over to the couch. "Right, so I'm the stoic, anguished father who goes from loving husband to heartless villain in a single hospital visit?"

"Pfft," Morgan snickered, plopping herself unceremoniously onto his lap. "You were practically born for that role, Villain. Embrace your destiny."

Burn let out a mock gasp. "I feel so honored to be typecast in the world's oldest cliche. What a time to be alive."

As they shared a smirk, the weight of their fictional narrative seemed to momentarily lift, replaced by a shared sense of absurdity in their exaggerated roles.

“Still hurt?” Burn asked.

Morgan shook her head. “Not that bad.”

Yesterday, they were supposed to die. The stage should be set as the second White Dwarf made its grand entrance, adding a dash of flair to the usual interstellar scenery. Along comes the Junior Fleet Admiral, armed with a brilliant idea: "Let's spice things up by throwing in an order to obliterate the world!"

Because, of course, what's a typical day without a generous sprinkle of imminent destruction and a hint of recklessness, right?

Morgan shrugged, expressing a sense of acceptance. "I had believed that a new loop would come into existence a little further down the line. However, it appears that this development simply validates our past efforts and actions. We are on the right track."

"However, this time, it's only you who will die. Lately, I've been thinking that perhaps it's better for both of us to die together. It means we’ll be separated at some point," Burn muttered.

"But it just means that whatever it is, it won’t be too dangerous. That’s... a flag I raised. I’ll take it back," Morgan closed her eyes.

Burn snickered at that.

"I mean, who can kill you?! Maybe I’ll die because I’m too weak to fight alongside you," Morgan said.

"You do have a point, but that’s still insulting to my protecting capability. How about we take the time to visit the moon and get your treasures?" Burn asked.

Morgan nodded, “We will do that. Let’s do that.”

And now that they talked about it, Burn suddenly recalled something and clasped Morgan's waist tightly. "Do you happen to possess a fine long sword in your treasures?"

Morgan arched an eyebrow and replied with a slow shake of her head. "No. But hold on a moment. Perhaps Isaiah might have one."

"Isaiah...?" Burn inquired. "The dragon?"

***

Emperor Burn's office at Soulnaught Palace was a bit busy today. The room exuded an air of sophistication, with intricate tapestries adorning the walls and gleaming silver candelabras casting a soft, flickering light.

As visitors entered, they were greeted by the sight of ornate furniture upholstered in rich velvet, the kind that practically screamed, "I'm too regal for you." The scent of exotic incense lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of arrogance that seemed to permeate every corner of the room.

Emperor Burn himself sat upon a grandiose throne-like chair, his expression a perfect blend of superiority and boredom. His eyes, sharp as daggers, scanned the room with a mixture of disdain and amusement, as if silently judging every soul that dared to cross his path.

“This is the guest he’s been waiting for…” the man muttered as he read a letter in his hand.

“Yes, sir?” his subordinates raised their faces.

Burn stood from his chair. “Send word to Sator Merchant Group that the guest has requested attendance. Junior Fleet Admiral Rudolf Blitzen…”

“When should we prepare for the meeting, Sir?”

“In three days. Don’t let them enter the premises,” Burn answered.

“Yes, sir.”

CLICK! SLAM!

“C…C-Caliburn~!”

A beautiful, blonde-haired woman entered the room. Even though seemingly shy and awkward, she walked across the room and reached one hand forward toward Burn.

“Momo, come. All of you, out,” Burn said as he shooed away the blushing visitors and subordinates.

Once they were all out, the beautiful woman’s face twisted into a frown.

Landevale exploded in red, as red as her original hair. “W…why do I need to act like that… in front of people?!”