Good.
Very good.
We can work with this.
Second: politics.
We had just killed the White Whale.
Not "defeated."
Not "repelled."
Killed.
A 400-year-old calamity that had terrorized the world for generations was now dead because I had somehow stumbled into the correct sequence of events and survived long enough to benefit from it.
That was not a small thing.
That was the kind of thing people wrote songs about.
Or propaganda.
Or both.
Emilia had just gained a ridiculous amount of public attention by association.
The Royal Selection had already made her a political figure.
Now she was the candidate who had helped bring down one of the greatest monsters in history.
That meant meetings.
Lots of meetings.
Noble meetings.
Public appearances.
Thank-you ceremonies.
Strategic discussions.
Probably some old men with beards asking her to smile for the kingdom.
In other words, the Capital was not just a safe place.
It was the place where she needed to be.
If she stayed here, she could capitalize on the momentum.
If she left immediately, she would be abandoning the exact kind of political advantage people killed for.
And I was not about to let her throw that away because she felt guilty about a bunch of villagers who were currently safer than anyone had any right to be.
I exhaled slowly.
Excellent.
We are building a fortress of excuses.
Third: the emotional angle.
Emilia would feel responsible.
That was the real danger.
Not logic.
Not logistics.
Guilt.
She would think that because the villagers were still in Sanctuary, she had to go back.
She would think that because Roswaal was there, she had to keep an eye on him.
She would think that because she was Emilia, she had to personally fix everything.
Which was exactly why I needed to stop her before that thought fully matured.
Not by ordering her around.
That would never work.
Emilia was too stubborn for that.
No.
I needed to frame staying in the Capital as the responsible choice.
The noble choice.
The practical choice.
The choice that made her look like a competent candidate instead of a reckless heroine sprinting into a magical snowstorm because she felt bad.
I could already hear the argument forming in my head.
Subaru, we should go back.
And then I would say:
"No, Emilia. We just fought a calamity. The kingdom is watching us. You need to stay here and attend the meetings that are going to follow this victory. The villagers are safe. Roswaal is there. Felix is here. I am still recovering. There is no reason to rush into a dangerous situation when we can prepare properly."
That sounded good.
That sounded responsible.
That sounded like something a sane advisor would say.
Which meant it was probably the exact kind of lie that would work.
I smiled faintly into the pillow.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
The more I thought about it, the more elegant it became.
If Emilia wanted to leave, I would gently but firmly anchor her in the Capital with a pile of perfectly reasonable obligations.
Medical observation.
Political meetings.
Public appearances.
Recovery time.
Strategic planning.
All of it true enough to be defensible and vague enough to be useful.
And if she still insisted on going back?
Then I would simply look at her with the expression of a man who had survived too much and say, "Please don't make me walk into the rabbit forest."
That should do it.
Probably.
Maybe.
I was not above emotional manipulation if it kept me alive.
Especially not when the manipulation in question was just "please remain in the safest place available while the plot cools off."
That was practically charity.
I sank deeper into the mattress and let the plan settle into place.
The Capital was our anchor.
The Capital was our excuse.
The Capital was where Emilia would stay until the universe got bored and moved on to torment someone else.
And I would make sure of it.
No guilt.
No hesitation.
No heroic nonsense.
Just a very tired man using common sense to keep his entire camp parked in the one location that was not actively trying to murder them.
For once, I was going to be proactive.
For once, I was going to be the one saying no.
For once, I was going to win by refusing to walk into the obvious trap.
I closed my eyes.
Then, because my brain apparently enjoyed making me suffer, another thought surfaced.
If I can keep Emilia here...
Then I can also keep an eye out for useful people in the Capital.
My mind drifted lazily through the city beyond the window.
Nobles.
Merchants.
Retainers.
Guards.
And somewhere in all that chaos, people who might actually be worth recruiting before the plot got its hands on them.
I smiled into the pillow.
Good.
Very good.
We are not just surviving.
We are optimizing.
And with that comforting thought, I finally let myself relax again, already preparing the excuses I would need to deploy the moment Emilia woke up and started asking difficult questions.
Then another thought surfaced.
A dangerous one.
A useful one.
I need more than spoilers.
That realization hit me with the subtlety of a brick to the forehead.
Spoilers were great.
Spoilers were life.
Spoilers had gotten me this far.
But spoilers were also finite.
And worse, they were fragile.
The moment I changed too much, the timeline would start drifting.
The moment I drifted too much, my precious anime knowledge would become less "future sight" and more "vaguely embarrassing trivia."
Which meant I needed something better.
I needed people.
Real people.
Smart people.
People who could think for themselves when my brain inevitably ran out of cheat codes.
I stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Then a name surfaced.
Otto Suwen.
My eyes narrowed slightly.
Oh.
Right.
Him.
I hadn't met him yet.
That made sense.
I had bypassed the whole panicked carriage escape from the White Whale incident, which meant I had skipped the exact sequence of events that would normally shove Otto directly into Subaru's life like a stressed-out green-haired gift from the gods.
But I remembered him.
Of course I remembered him.
Otto was not the kind of character you forgot once you knew what he was capable of.
He was a merchant.
A very normal-looking merchant.
Which was exactly what made him terrifying.
Because under the surface, Otto was the sort of man who could look at a disaster and somehow become useful to it.
He figured out Gluttony's mechanics on his own.
He held off Garfiel.
He kept the camp's logistics from collapsing under the weight of everyone else's nonsense.
And in that one absurd side story I had half-remembered from the internet, he apparently went so far as to start a bloodline just to help unseal Subaru after four hundred years.
Four hundred years.
That wasn't loyalty.
That was a generational grudge against fate itself.
That was Speedwagon-level assist behavior.
That was the kind of devotion that made you sit up in bed and whisper, "What the hell is wrong with this man?"
And the answer, apparently, was "nothing."
He was just Otto.
Otto was Otto.
Otto was the best friend of Subaru.
Otto was the kind of guy who would probably apologize for being too competent.
Otto was the kind of ally you did not let the plot eat if you could possibly help it.
My expression slowly shifted from sleepy satisfaction to predatory determination.
Wait.
Hold on.
If Otto is in the Capital right now...
The thought clicked into place with alarming clarity.
The highway had opened early.
That meant the merchant traffic would already be flowing.
That meant Otto should be somewhere in the Capital.
That meant I had a chance.
A real chance.
Not to fight.
Not to scheme.
Not to survive.
To recruit.
I sat up a little straighter, the mattress protesting under my weight.
My mind began assembling the plan with the cold efficiency of a man who had finally found a problem worth solving.
Find Otto.
Approach Otto.
Smile at Otto.
Use my royal bounty money like a giant, glittering friendship coupon.
Convince Otto that joining the Emilia Camp was not only profitable, but spiritually correct.
Lock him in before the plot could ruin him.
Before some future disaster could chew him up and spit him out.
Before he became one more tragic casualty of this world's habit of turning good people into emotional wreckage.
I nodded once.
Yes.
This was good.
This was very good.
This was the kind of proactive survival strategy I respected.
Not because it involved combat.
Not because it involved prophecy.
Because it involved acquiring a top-tier support unit before the universe realized he existed.
Otto is not just a merchant.
Otto is an investment.
Otto is a future-proof asset.
Otto is the sort of man who can survive my terrible decisions and still help clean up afterward.
That was exactly the kind of person I needed.
Someone loyal.
Someone competent.
Someone who could look at my nonsense and somehow make it work.
I leaned back into the pillows again, feeling the last of my tension drain away.
The Capital was safe.
Emilia could be stalled.
The villagers were protected.
My body was still intact.
And now I had a new objective that did not involve walking into a cursed forest full of rabbits.
For the first time all day, my future looked almost peaceful.
Almost.
I closed my eyes.
The bed embraced me like a conspiracy.
My thoughts slowed.
My breathing evened out.
And with the comforting certainty that tomorrow would involve exactly zero combat and hopefully one very confused merchant, I finally let myself drift off into a well-earned sleep.