game chapter 4

A strange unease prickled my skin at her words.

“Yeah, Ren. Wanna come along? Three’s less awkward than two.” Raphelt’s carefree tone grated on my nerves.

“If you had things to do, why did you call me?” Déjà vu. A wave of unpleasant familiarity, similar to what I’d felt when I first met the heroine, washed over me. I frowned. I couldn’t pinpoint the source of this feeling… A fleeting image flashed through my mind, but it vanished before I could grasp it. ‘What was that?’ I started to speak, then stopped myself.

“Raphelt, it seems you have plenty of company. I’ll be going now.”

I turned and walked out. That sense of déjà vu had plagued me since I first arrived in this world. I possessed the memories and knowledge of this world, but everything before that was a blank slate. My past life, my family, my friends, who I was—all remained a mystery. My memories were fragmented, like a puzzle with missing pieces, as if someone had carved out a chunk of my life. I seemed to be adapting well enough, but that void was a constant source of anxiety.

Lost in thought, I descended the stairs when a strong hand suddenly grabbed my wrist.

“Ren, are you mad? Because of her and me?” His voice was anxious yet strangely excited. I frowned and looked up at Raphelt.

“Wow, I’m actually kinda happy. Are you jealous?”

I was speechless.

“Jealous?”

“Yeah.” Raphelt’s cheeks flushed like a lovesick teenager, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. You know you’re the only one for me, right?”

Had I grown fond of him despite myself? The knot of annoyance in my chest loosened slightly at the sight of his smile. He leaned in and kissed my cheek. I’d tacitly allowed Raphelt this level of physical contact, so it wasn’t a big deal.

“Ren, when you’re upset, I’m miserable all day. So cheer up, okay?” He wagged his tail like a puppy eager for affection. It was almost sickeningly charming. As my expression softened, he pressed another kiss to my cheek, then quickly pulled away, as if afraid of being reprimanded. He beamed, practically radiating happiness. ‘Carefree idiot.’

Just then, with uncanny timing, Scior walked past. Whether by coincidence or design, he always seemed to appear whenever Raphelt was bothering me.

“It’s 10 o’clock. Don’t forget. Understand?” He glanced at Raphelt with utter disdain, then held up ten fingers for my benefit before continuing on his way.

“Raphelt, let go of me now.”

“Mmm, no…”

“Do you want to get hit?” I seized his hand, which had snuck inside my shirt, and squeezed it hard. He reluctantly backed off with a sigh.

Over the past year, I’d observed that Raphelt was a peculiar creature. He was popular with everyone—the female executives of Absinthe, external clients, even noblewomen he met at social events. He was undeniably attractive, and the fact that he knew it and used it to his advantage was slightly irritating. He was two years older than me, but his mental age was roughly equivalent to the Doberman we kept at the mansion. Despite that, perhaps due to his looks, he attracted people like moths to a flame. He was the quintessential pheromone-driven human.

“Ren, about the training today… if Scior tries anything funny, just kick him where it hurts. I’m leaving tonight, so I can’t protect you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Just call it taking precautions against potential danger.”

“Nothing’s going to happen. Scior’s not the type to do anything like that.”

“Still, I’m worried. Especially about the Boss. That guy’s a complete enigma.”

Come to think of it, I hadn’t encountered the Boss even once since the game began. I had no connection to him, no idea who he even was. How could the head of the organization remain so invisible, even to his inner circle? Rumor had it he resided elsewhere, but it was hard to say if it was true.

“Anyway, behave yourself in training. I’ll bring you back a souvenir—a head, perhaps, my princess.”

“Oh, please stop calling me that.” I shuddered, my skin crawling. Raphelt, of course, didn’t bat an eye, finding my reaction highly amusing. He did it on purpose; he delighted in my discomfort. In the original story, Ren Maharani collected anatomical models, so his morbid jokes weren’t entirely out of character. But if he couldn’t distinguish between reality and a model… this time, I’d make sure he met his maker.