CHAPTER 61: SCREAM FROM FOUR HUNDRED YEARS PAST
Her melancholy eyes grab Subaru, not letting go. A desire to laugh away Beatrice's statements surges up in Subaru's chest. —Um, what did you just say? He just had to take those inexplicable words he heard, and throw them back at Beatrice.
He just had to twist his mouth into a smile, and joke around with her like usual. All it was was things were going just a little—yes, just a little undesirable. After all, if it weren't that,
Subaru: “—” Then he wouldn't be able to counter the desperate girl's JOKE. Subaru: “What, did... you just say?” A moment of hesitation, a brief gap of time, and Subaru gives his prepared line.
He just had to smile and give a shrug, and it'd be perfect. However,
Subaru: “...a,” Subaru's cheeks stiffen, not even his merely shoulders, but his fingertips also too rigid to move. It was almost as if the Natsuki Subaru reflected in Beatrice's eyes were fixed in place, stuck in exactly the position she saw him.
Beatrice: “As you wish, I'll say it again, I suppose.” Subaru: “W-wait...” Beatrice: “—Betty wants, by your hands, to be made ended, in fact.” Subaru: “Stop!!” Raising his voice, Subaru yells over Beatrice's speech.
It's a complete reversal of their previous positions and by some metric, a funny exchange. Ploughing forward with his theory, Subaru had made a Beatrice who rejected what she not wished to hear shriek.
And so, if Beatrice does the same then Subaru has no right to criticise her. No right, and he knows it, but, Subaru: “What the fuck do you think you're saying right now...” Beatrice: “Do you comprehend what you're being told right now, I suppose?”
Subaru: “What?”
Beatrice: “I am attempting to make you the finish of I, the Spirit Beatrice, in fact. I'm letting you be THEY, end of this over four-hundred-years gone contract, I suppose.”
You best think it a privilege, in fact, says Beatrice's unfitting and cynical smile. The smile of a chagrined girl—seeing it, gnarled fingers gouge their claws into Subaru's chest. Unbearable, Subaru puts his hand to his heart.
Subaru: “I don't understand... You really saying you wanna die?”
Beatrice: “Want to die, is strictly speaking incorrect, I suppose. Betty wants to have the contract be made ended. I just want to be freed, forever my binding, from this eternal contract, in fact.”
Subaru: “If that's done by taking your life, then how the fuck is that any different from wanting to die!!”
Roars Subaru, throat trembling, stomping his foot. His heel grinds down on the scattered gospel pages underfoot, but that isn't something to care about. Jabbing his finger out at her, Subaru glares at Beatrice.
Subaru: “Don't say this fucked, stupid shit about wanting to die! Wanting to die's... no matter who else you're saying it to, when it's around... saying that around me, to me isn't something I'll forgive!”
Someone dies, and their life isn't coming back. Only Natsuki Subaru can do-over after dying. So only Subaru, noting the benefit in forsaking his life to challenge again, can present an agreeable reasoning for suicide. But not Beatrice. Not anybody else.
They lose their lives, and they won't get them back. Knowing that, and still saying it in Subaru's presence, was,
Subaru: “The hell do you want ended! Don't just say this crap! Acting for an end... acting entirely to just goddamn die—no matter who else allows it, do you really think I will?!”
Beatrice: “Certainly a selfish complaint, I suppose. —What would you know about Betty, in fact?”
Beatrice's response is cold, hard, as she brushes at her skirt and stands. Her fingers fiddle with the tip of her pigtail.
Beatrice: “It's been four hundred years since Betty became caretaker of the Forbidden Archive, guard of knowledge. Four hundred years... that is how long Betty has simply obeyed the contract, and waited, I suppose.”
Subaru: “Four, hundred years...”
That phrase again, thinks Subaru as he scrunches his face, wanting to click his tongue. Four hundred years. The age most plagued by the witch menace, of which every long-lived relation of Subaru's had some connection to, an inauspicious age Beatrice too had been born in this age, and lived on to this day.
Beatrice: “I contracted with the witch, came into the similarly-posited Mathers family's care, and in the beginning followed the gospel's writ—simply, silently waiting through the days for the time to come, in fact.”
Subaru goes silent.
Beatrice: “But, while I was waiting, time in the outside world ticked on, I suppose. He who had been in the same position as Betty, the Mathers family head, passed away of old age as the generations proceeded down, in fact. Though aware of the shifting of the heads, Betty's time still remained unchanged and passing, I suppose.”
And how painful a time was this for Beatrice? Her dispassionate tone almost reflects the abrasion that the uncaring flow of time has been inflicting on her heart, giving even the listener, Subaru, chills.
Beatrice: “That promised day and its eventual coming—Betty knew not at all when it would arrive or who the visiting THEY would be, all through those days, in fact.”
But still, says the shake of Beatrice's head,
Beatrice: “I wasn't worried, I suppose. After all, in Betty's hands was a gospel. I just had to believe in the prophetic book, waiting ably for its white pages to report about that coming day. If I could wait, then that time would assuredly come... is what I had persistently believed, in fact.”
Subaru: “But...”
Looking down at the pages twisted beneath his heel, Subaru comprehends the cruelty of their endless whiteness. Sensing the meaning of Subaru's gaze, Beatrice nods. The gospel, the supposed hope for her, had—
Beatrice: “Every day, times upon times, I wondered whether the writ had changed... and it was suffering to check.”
Subaru says nothing.
Beatrice: “I've dreamed so many times of new letters appearing on the page after the last writ, I suppose. I've imagined so many, many times the day the unknown THEY comes to visit Betty, and I can fulfil the role given to me, in fact.”
Subaru: “...Beatrice.”
Beatrice: “The Mathers family isn't so devoid of visitors, I suppose. There have been many humans who visited Betty's Forbidden Archive. Many whose hands touched the Archive's door... and Betty's heart was betrayed every time, in fact.”
By those who pushed open the door not being THEY. So many times the disappointment surely repeated. So many times the discouragement surely reiterated. The continuing betrayal of her expectations progressively abraded her heart, and her eyes steadily permeated with resignation.
Beatrice's expectations were betrayed again and again, and she progressively ceased to even have expectations. Once kept elevated by the hope that she might perhaps get through it, Beatrice's heart was battered, unable to endure the splitting pain. Of course a heart which had endured so much would have begun to fracture.
Beatrice: “During the period I did that, I realised, in fact. ...No, I had already realised, I suppose.”
Subaru: “Realised what?”
Beatrice: “That Betty would never see the gospel's next writ, in fact.”
Beatrice bends over, picking up the gospel's binding fallen at her feet. With its pages shed and only the cover remaining, the thing drifts with a morose air. She traces her finger over the binding.
Beatrice: “Did you know, I suppose?”
Beatrice: “Gospels write the future of their owner.” The detail of their writ is so clear that their possessor has barely any deviation from the world's memories, in fact.2
Subaru: “World's memories?”
Beatrice: “The Memories of The World, I suppose. —The world doesn't just know the present and past, it also knows what will happen in the future, in fact. The Book of Wisdom is a forbidden text which draws its needed information from there. You'd say the gospel has inherited only a piece of that functionality, I suppose.”
Echidna was the one who termed the Book of Wisdom as The Memories of The World. It's indeed definite that Echidna and Beatrice had a close relationship. Beatrice presents the black binding so Subaru can see it.
Beatrice: “The principles of the imitation Witch Cult gospels are practically the same, I suppose. Their algorithms reference off this, with their accuracy the only departure, in fact.”
Subaru: “...How did that technique get out after Echidna's death? Only you and Roswaal're supposed to have inherited these two gospels.”
Beatrice: “Now that I don't know or care about, I suppose. Whoever is producing these fakes, and who they intend to distribute them to, has not any single thing to do with Betty, in fact.”
Subaru: “So why'd you bring up the Witch Cult then?”
2 Shaky about this line and unfortunately it's an important one.
Beatrice: Because I had to talk about cult gospels, I suppose. You were just jumping to conclusions, in fact.
Beatrice doesn't follow along with Subaru's challenging words, preserving her calm.
Beatrice: “You have a cult gospel, I suppose?”
Subaru nods.
Subaru: “Not on hand. I brought it into SANCTUARY, and right now it's in safekeeping there. We wound up giving all the ones we collected from the other cultists over to someone more capable.”
The only gospel Subaru presently owns is the one Betelgeux had possessed. The gospels that the other cultists—Betelgeux's fingers—had owned were destroyed by the still-conscious cultists before their deaths. The several tomes they managed to recover were entrusted to Crusch's faction for them to deal with. What Subaru had wanted to do in the first place was speedily bring Roswaal back from SANCTUARY, and go discuss the successes of the White Whale and Betelgeux subjugations with Crusch and Anastasia's factions.
Beatrice: “Have you looked over that book's text, I suppose?”
Subaru: “Suddenly I can read it now, so yeah sorta. It's written in this curly-worm handwriting and barely legible, but basically it's itemized information. Though, my personal impression... I see it less as prophecies of the future, and more as instructions from the future.”
Subaru recollects on the gospel that Echidna's influence had most likely rendered readable. Lots of the text in Betelgeux's gospel followed a pattern saying where Betelgeux would go, and what happenings he would cause. Considering that the gospel omitted a lot on how that written result was reached, you could say the gospel left the actions to realise those outcomes up to its owner's judgement. So rather than being an omnipotent prophetic text, it was a guide of the future—is how Subaru felt it ought to be considered.
Subaru: “If it perfectly predicted the future, then that sounds like I shouldn'tve had any way to stop it. Do agree an imperfect edition'd probably be just that kinda thing, though.”
Beatrice: “I'm not so interested in the contents, in fact. The essential thing is whether or not the owner's final passing was writ, I suppose.”
Subaru: “—Final passing, isn't what I'd call it.”
The final page of Betelgeux's gospel. Different from the END written in Subaru's blood, the final sentence writ in accord with gospel's true purpose. It was, shortly—
<In Mathers domain, Trial on silver-haired half-witch>
—that rather sloppy sentence, which gave no indication even to Betelgeux of what would happen before or after. Indeed, if this is the entire par of information the gospel brought, the inspecificity would make beating out Subaru in terms of future intelligence surely impossible.
Beatrice: “—That's what I thought, in fact.”
Beatrice nods, as if she's agreeing with something. She warps, bends the binding in her hands.
Beatrice: “Has the gospel appended with any more writing after that, I suppose?”
Subaru: “...No, I don't think so. Far as I've checked at least, its last writ is the final activity of its owner. And appending anything after just wouldn't happen. I mean.”
Going to proceed with his speech, Subaru realises what it is he's saying, and his throat freezes. This clarifies the intention of Beatrice's question. He raises his head. Beatrice is smiling faintly. Shown multiple times in this brief meeting was this hollow smile, which inspired only emptiness in those who saw it.
Beatrice: “—The gospel writing nothing further, means that is where owner's future ends, in fact.”
Subaru: “Y-you and him aren't anything alike...”
Beatrice: “It's the same, I suppose. In the sense of the gospels not writing the future, the only difference is whether we still exist or do not, in fact. —Can you say I am wrong, I suppose?”
Subaru: “You're wro—!”
The unimpressed look in Beatrice's interrupts Subaru's knee-jerk denial. Superficial consolations aren't what she's looking for. This question was one Beatrice had already answered herself. Gritting his teeth so hard they might crack, with blood oozing from the tip of his tongue, Subaru,
Subaru: “Why, 're you... doing that!”
Beatrice says nothing.
Subaru: “Coming up with the conclusions by yourself!! Everyone! When they deliberate over things anxious and alone, their thoughts're gonna plummet straight in a bad direction! When you're stuck thinking this's all that's left for you now... you'll wind up thinking this awfulness you see's the reality!”
Subaru has often collided with hardship, each time lamenting his impotence, and so he understands. Repeated malice, unfading obstacles, the world's barricade and its assault—which practically asserted that surmounting it was impossible. They all demanded that the challenger keep fighting alone, but shackled that person's heart petrified with their dark fingers. So,
Subaru: “If you think it's painful, that you want something done about it! Then a sentence is enough. What you should've done was called out to someone so they'd know. If you'd just said you wanted help, that you're unhappy... I would've!”
When cornered in the hopeless dead-end of fate, when submerged in a despair inescapable alone, they best merely try looking to those around the self they believe isolated. There would one first notice the hands reaching out for them. When they take that hand, when a strong pull comes to the body they thought immobile, they'll finally notice.
—There is no need to give up yet.
Subaru: “So many times, on you, I... and so this time, I'll...!”
Beatrice: “...I want, something done about it.”
Subaru: “Yes... just like that, call out.”
Beatrice: “I want help...”
Subaru: “Yes! Yes, yesyesyes! Now if you just reach out...”
Beatrice: “I'm sad, I'm suffering... Betty, wants to be saved from this darkness.”
Subaru: “Right, leave it all to me—”
Small, trembling fingers reach out toward Subaru. Spurred on by an incomprehensible strength flooding out from inside him, Subaru reaches for Beatrice's hand.
Subaru had completely forgotten why he had come here. He had actually come to Beatrice seeking her strength, to break through his dead-end situation. He expected that of anyone, she would help him. But now that he knew Beatrice's suffering, the darkness of her heart, such a thing was unthinkable. All that prompted Subaru's actions was a sense of duty, wanting to save a small girl agonized by her isolation. If he takes that hand, Subaru will be adding yet another unabandonable load on his shoulders. Despite already carrying more baggage than he conceivably could, Natsuki Subaru was again intending to hold more. But he didn't mind. After all,
Beatrice: “—”
—How could he abandon a little girl, looking at him with such wavering eyes?
Beatrice was trying to depend on him. Which summons for Subaru an unbearable, unassailable feeling. He doesn't know what. The meaning doesn't even matter. Simply, his soul is screaming. Help her! Save her! To you, that girl is—and so.
Subaru: “I, no matter what—”
Beatrice: “And so...”
Subaru's fingers reach the fingers reaching for him. Gripping the faltering fingertips firm, he pulls her in, entwining together their digits and meeting her palm to his. He looks Beatrice straight on. Her watery eyes reflect Subaru. With fat tears falling from those eyes, Beatrice,
Beatrice: “—Betty wants you to kill her, in fact.”
—I'm not seeking any simple aid, is how she shakes Subaru's hand away.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※
Subaru sucks in the breath to voice the question of Why? Looking at his rejected hand, looking at his empty unoccupied fingers, looking at the perpetrator Beatrice, Subaru means to ask why.
Subaru: “—”
That he nonetheless fails to do so is because Beatrice's eyes, as they watch Subaru, are too far, much too far, far too much too far—irreparably too late for saving.
Beatrice: “I've been alone... constantly, for four hundred years, I suppose.”
Subaru: “B-beahthri....”
Beatrice: “This surely-coming THEY surely didn't come, and I spent four hundred years constantly alone, in fact.”
He can't pull his gaze from Beatrice's eyes. Call her name. But even in that, Subaru now hesitates.
Beatrice: “I don't know how many times I've thought to abandon it all. I don't know how many times I've wished to simply forget everything. Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, a hundred million and more, but it still isn't enough...”
Beatrice spent a very long time in this cramped, dark room alone. Hugging her knees, waiting on that stepladder for that someone of unknown face and name to come. A sea of books as far as the eye can see—even finishing complete perusal of that whole ocean, she went on with that person she awaited never coming, and even her future-announcing book announced nothing. Just how many times had that solitude killed this girl's heart?
Beatrice: “I want help? I want something done about it?”
Subaru: “—a,”
Beatrice: “How many times, tens of times, hundreds of times... do you think Betty has thought that? Did you think I had never considered it, and simply given up, I suppose?”
Her speech starts breaking up, steadily coming cloaked with zeal. Subaru winds up overwhelmed instead. His throat cramps. The passion welling from his body's core, scorching his soul, wholly flips to utter freezing, his limbs heavy as if crammed with lead. So much so that he cannot act for the sake of this girl, or act to run away.
Beatrice: “If I reach out, you will pull Betty out of this impenetrable darkness? You will teach me the solution for this unending dead end, I suppose?”
Subaru says nothing.
Beatrice: “If you... are doing that for me, then... why is it... why, is it...”
Head hung, her sobs lace her statements. Her face now obstructed, an arcane darkness dominates Subaru's heart. With the ground beneath him shaky and unstable, he might almost lose sight of the road to reach the Beatrice standing within arm's reach of him. He dreaded, and hesitated. In that period, Beatrice raises her head. She glares. Mouth open, baring her teeth,
Beatrice: “—You left Betty alone for four hundred years!?”
Subaru: “—hk”
Beatrice: “I was alone! Always! Always always always, Betty was alone, passing time aimlessly in this room! I was lonely! I was scared! I was thrown away, couldn't fulfil my given role, couldn't get chance to keep my promise, couldn't waste away alongside the passage of time... I had to think I would spend eternity alone, in fact!”
Tears spill from the girl's big eyes. They strike her cheeks, droplets falling from her chin to the ground. With each drip that hits the floor, a ferocious shock smacks Subaru about the heart.
Beatrice: “You'll help me!? You'll save me!? Why couldn't you have come sooner, I suppose!? Why did you just leave me here!? If you're going to speak kindness to me this late, why didn't you hold onto me from the start!? Why did you pull your hand away!? How come!? Why!? You will leave Betty alone!?”
Her words are blades, are fire, are steel, each tearing into Subaru's heart. In every shape and every meaning they are every agony, torturing Subaru. Beatrice's complaints are very absurd, from Subaru's perspective. Four hundred years—the majority of the time she spent in isolation is nothing Subaru could have had involvement in. Beatrice and Subaru have only known each other for two months, and according to her, the only question is of early or late within this timeframe. There was surely no way he could have saved her. If he's going to respond with logic, he could respond with that.
But who exactly would that utterly pointless rebuttal help? Not Beatrice, not Subaru, and not anyone. Subaru realises now that he has been considerably disdainful toward the time this girl Beatrice has spent.
Four hundred years. —Four hundred years.
Looking just at those words, perhaps the number would not feel like anything big. In niche works, four hundred years is no big number. Stories out there give more ridiculous ranges of time, some even spanning the world's chronology. Compared to the impact of those, four hundred years is nothing.
Stupid. Was he stupid? Just how hopelessly foolish was he? By those simple three words, how could he perceive this girl who truly spent four hundred years in isolation, given only an impenetrable riddle as her reason for living? Understand her? Feel her? Just to what extent could Subaru's shallow words heal her four hundred years of solitude?
Beatrice: “The very word help... and the grace of wanting something be done... are both wishes long withered dead by these four hundred years, I suppose...”
Subaru says nothing.
Beatrice: “Do you think there was not any human like you who tried to bring Betty out? Betty is a superior spirit, I suppose. The humans who sought that power and laboured to bring Betty out were more than a few, in fact.”
News to him. There were people in the past who tried to bring Beatrice out of the Forbidden Archive like Subaru. Her presence here clearly announced the results. Beatrice’s gaze even weaker as she looks at him, Subaru shakes his head.
Subaru: “D-don't—don't lump me in with those people! All I want to do is...”
Beatrice: “Those like you who disregarded Betty's power, and simply wished to save the person before them... those softies may have been among them, I suppose.”
Subaru goes silent.
Beatrice: “But they were incapable of bringing Betty out, in fact. Of course they'd be, I suppose.”
After all, she sighs, her smile again fleeting,
Beatrice: “The contract binding Betty to this place is nothing that half-hearted resolve can overcome, I suppose. A contract having bound Betty to this role for four hundred years... no lowly human will so easily destroy it.”
Subaru: “What, should I...”
Beatrice: “—Make Betty your number one.”
Her words are quiet, but sharp. The shock feels to Subaru like needles piercing his eardrums.
Subaru: “Wha, t?”
Beatrice: “Make Betty, your number one. Think of me first. Choose me first. Overwrite the contract. Override the contract. Overwhelm the contact. Take me out. Pull me close. Hold me tight.”
Subaru: “—”
Beatrice: “This is impossible for you, in fact.”
Pleads Beatrice, fervently, eagerly, heart-crushingly. This was the absolute in heavy requests, to which any light nod of the head was unforgivable.
Beatrice: “You've already had your number one long decided, I suppose. That silver girl, or the blue-haired maid... either which way, it's impossible for you to push them aside and make Betty your number one. You can not do it, in fact.”
Subaru: “Emilia... Rem...”
Beatrice: “Contracts, are absolute. Absolute, I suppose. If you are to rewrite a contract by methods other than its fulfilment, it will require fitting recompense, in fact. Betty no longer believes the promise can be fulfilled, is unable to believe it, I suppose. Which means there is only one possibility other than its fulfilment for my freedom, in fact...!”
Those two girls spurred Subaru's heart to thump strong. When he thought of them his heart pulsed, throbbed, heated. That was the unconditionally unchangeable answer chiselled into his soul.
Beatrice: “And so, I want you to break Betty's contract... to, destroy this ultimately useless body, having passed its time in pointlessness...”
Subaru: “The contract... is really that serious? If you don't like it, can't your will do anything about it...?”
He can't find a response. He does not know how to respond to Beatrice. Thus Subaru's response is a cowardly one, asking elsewhere of the topic. That instant, disappointment flashes through Beatrice's eyes. Subaru apparently made a fatal mistake.
Beatrice: “That's... Betty's reason for living, in fact.”
Subaru: “The contract, is?”
Beatrice: “Betty was born for this contract, and lives for this contact. The role I was first ordered at birth, which since birth I have not fulfilled once, this contract... you mean to say I... selfishly, break it, I suppose?”
Subaru: “There's nothing selfish in it! You've worked so hard for four hundred years! You've kept your promise for that long, and how could anyone torment you for it! You are being tormented! Plenty enough, already...!”
Beatrice: “I can't even fulfil this single role! I throw away my meaning for birth, reason for living, and how can I live then!? No one will torment me!? I will torment me! Betty will never forgive it, I suppose! That underhanded life is nothing the Spirit Beatrice will forgive!!”
Stomping with his trembling legs, Subaru grabs the small girl's shoulders. But the girl thrusts back at him with a voice even louder than his, pushing hard at his torso and again taking distance. It's the strength of a frail girl, and Subaru is still pushed back. Strength won't enter his body Not even his mind can recall what he had seen.
Beatrice: “Contracts are absolute for spirits! Nothing is weightier than the contract with the contractor! It's the same for Bubby! That is why Bubby prioritises that silver girl more than anyone, I suppose! She is his most important! She is his most loved! If it were between the girl and Betty, he would absolutely take the girl's side! Not even Bubby will put Betty in first!”
Being a spirit just like her, Beatrice is more attached to Puck than anyone. That may have been a manifestation of a clinging sort of bond towards a being which she could share the human-unassailable timespan of four hundred years with. What did Beatrice feel toward Puck? What did Puck think of Beatrice? Subaru didn't know. But what Subaru didn't know, Beatrice had already come to her conclusion about.
Toiled, and took plenty of time to get it, but Beatrice had her answer.
Her breathing ragged, shoulders heaving, even her prim pigtails have come frayed. Fat tears float up in her big, round eyes, her shaking lips still yet hinting her weakness and entreaty. She is an incredibly small, little girl, could Subaru think of it. How had everyone just left such a small little girl alone here?
Beatrice: “I know... that you're not the contract's THEY, I suppose...”
Subaru: “—”
Beatrice: “But, can you please be THEY? Or otherwise not THEY, but something different, and save Betty, I suppose?”
Subaru: “—”
The words aren't coming. By surely no way could he either simply nod, or impulsively deny her.
In just this short time, Subaru managed to learn a fragment of the insecurity Beatrice harboured that he had not even attempted to learn. But if he's to truly understand her isolation, Subaru would have to actually spend four hundred years in solitude. To do so was was absolutely impossible for a human. Her worries, solitude, and sorrow, were nothing Subaru's hands would grasp.
Beatrice: “Betty is the one who knows best that it's hopeless, in fact.”
Subaru: “Beatrice...”
Beatrice: “So, kill Betty. By your hands. Suicide defies the contract, so spirits are absolutely incapable of it. I can't even die alone, in fact.”
Subaru: “Why, me...?”
Pleads Beatrice, both arms reaching out. Scared of accepting those hesitation-apt outstretched arms with frailty, Subaru buries his face in his hands.
Subaru: “Why are you trying, to entrust your last moment, the end of four hundred years, to me...”
Beatrice: “Why... I suppose.”
Sobbing, whining, evading, Subaru's words are eligible for any such insult—But Beatrice chooses none of them. She tilts her head, as if even she herself does not know the reason why. After a short moment, she slowly nods.
Beatrice: “—Yes, I've got it, in fact.”
Subaru says nothing.
Beatrice: “Betty entrusting her end to you, is surely... surely...”
He hears that answer, and he can't escape any more. That was the conviction he had. He raises his head. Without covering his ears so that he can finish this without hearing her answer. Without making her close her mouth. He is slow to decide. He is slow to notice. Now, he is too late to do anything.
Beatrice is announcing her answer. It's coming. And that instant—
???: “I'm sorry for this in the middle of your chat.”
A voice he should not be hearing calls out. Still urged into haste by his chills, Subaru glances behind him. He sees it.
???: “—Would it be alright if I became your THEY?”
Their kukri soaked in blood, a murderer stands in the doorway.
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