Itsuki pushed the door open and slipped back into the quiet room, the air still carrying faint traces of the friend who had just left. He moved across the floor and let himself drop onto the bed, the wooden frame answering with a tired creak.
Adrien's friend had only stopped by to check on him—though it ended up becoming an emotional moment—before rushing off again. It wasn't something abnormal since no one in the city had the luxury of free time. If a family wanted to survive, someone had to break their back for it by always being on the move. That was simply how life worked here.
Itsuki let his gaze wander around the room as he gathered his thoughts. In just a few hours, he had learned more about this world than he expected.
First, was the Obsidian Tongue.
A guild—and not a small one. The rift he'd worked in earlier belonged to them. Although he didn't understand their internal structure yet, the way Victor carried himself made it obvious: these people held real power.
Second, the blue-eyed man from the rift site was indeed who he suspected him to be: Captain Léon, part of the group he dubbed the armoured unit he saw marching out of the rift. And his partner—the mage who tried to hex him—was some sort of polished, corporate lackey with a smile too clean to be trustworthy and the personality of a man who organized his thoughts by alphabetical order.
The hex he had tried on him still bothered Itsuki. They had a reason; he just didn't know what it was yet.
And lastly was the riot.
Adrien's friend, along with others, were already planning a city-wide upheaval. A movement aimed at catching the attention of the Twelve High Seats.
The timing was supposed to match something called the T3, which Itsuki would apparently undergo right after checking his limit.
The T3…
The Twelve High Seats…
The riot…
Everything was building toward something.
And it seemed like he would soon be standing right in the middle of it.
Itsuki began peeling away the bandages wrapped around his arm, watching each layer loosen and fall limp on the bed.
Evil, corruption, and drama…
If a society doesn't have all three, is it even a society?
When the final strip came off, a glimmer flickered in his eyes. A small, disbelieving smile tugged at his lips.
The injury—the one he had intentionally inflicted on himself inside the rift, the one severe enough that they rushed him to a hospital.
Was now completely gone.
No wound, no scar, not even any faint trace of trauma.
The pale skin looked untouched, almost pristine. Then again… so did most parts of Adrien's body.
I had a suspicion… but I didn't bother thinking too much about it.
Just like when Adrien first got into the accident that killed him and dumped me here.
The injury's been completely healed.
His gaze lifted again. The system's HUD reporting the "Foreign Hex Detected" still floated silently before him.
But if the system immediately warns me whenever the True Light intervenes, why didn't it notify me about this?
Why didn't it tell me it healed me?
He paused.
"...Maybe it's one of the assassin perks?"
Almost on cue—like the system had been listening—the Archetype Selection HUD resurfaced, displaying all the archetypes just as he remembered.
"Perfect…"
Itsuki reopened the Assassin Archetype tab, combing through each detail with far more attention than he had the first time.
Just as I thought.
The only archetypes with any mention of healing abilities are Combatant and Skinwalker.
Assassin doesn't have anything remotely related to regeneration.
It's crazy but perhaps it could be some sort of glitch?
He exhaled long and slow, dragging a hand through his hair as he focused on the Assassin description one last time before finally breaking away from the data.
…Or maybe the system actually has my best interests at heart.... Motherboard? Light? Whatever that thing is.
But if that's the case…
Why tell me to try killing more than fifty Abyssals that were clearly intelligent and very dangerous?
It came to him in brief flashes—fragments of understanding he inwardly refused to accept.
Since the moment he transmigrated and began using the system, he had assumed the True Light was simply another narcissistic higher being exploiting his helplessness.
Someone—something—that brought him into a strange world for its own benefit.
In his mind, there was even a strong chance the True Light didn't care about this world at all.
Maybe Itsuki was just a convenient tool to be used as the climax act for it's entertainment.
But one particular thought tugged at him… a detail so small yet so persistent that it made all his earlier assumptions feel suddenly fragile.
When I first arrived, the system said the True Light saw me "capable of doing His will."
But why didn't it say I was worthy instead?
Itsuki tilted his head slightly as he stared out the small hospital window. The fresh breeze drifting through it caught his attention more than he expected—the calmness of the air, its clean scent, the gentle sway of the tree branches visible just outside.
The last thing I should do right now is act based on a hypothesis instead of facts...
But… if there's even a chance the True Light actually needs me more than I need Him—and if that means He'll help me get as strong as possible to carry out His will…
Then maybe trying to kill all those Abbysals wouldn't have been suicidal?... Maybe, either way, the True Light would've helped me keep my head on all through?..
The system's HUD blinked into view again, this time displaying his status dashboard.
Itsuki's eyes went straight to the Level description. A quiet but determined thought began stitching itself together in his mind.
I'll need to come up with a plan to enter the rift again...
His thoughts drifted away to the moment Victor and the Captain where there. The power he could somehow sensed that they possessed tugging at his mind...
He rose from the bed, rolling his shoulders before stretching out his arm, each movement slow and controlled.
I'll try to sneak back in tonight. Hopefully it'll be empty by then.
And hopefully the crystal blade I hid before escaping is still where I left it…
As he lowered his arms, his gaze drifted to the pile of discarded bandages scattered across the bed.
…Maybe I should wrap it back up.
At least until after tonight.