Wait what?

Some time later, the sky opened over the southern mouth of the Parcatia Pass.

The soldiers came first—weathered, wet, and hollow. Then the knights, their once-shining armor dulled by ash and moss. Behind them rode the Crown Prince, Lucien Rolan, flanked by surviving retainers. Their numbers were fewer than when they had entered.

The Alpha Fungal Wolf was dead.

But so was their certainty.

The beast hadn’t been slain by their blades, nor by the crown’s finest mages. It had been found collapsed, bones broken from within, its corpse half-buried beneath a crater in the forest floor. And worse—Lady Virelle d’Arvant had vanished.

There had been panic. Shame. A letter to the Duke had been written and rewritten thrice, but never sent.

So when they emerged from the pass—dirtied, defeated—and saw her, waiting at the trailhead in pristine riding gear, her braid neatly re-tied and her smile calm as dawn, their formation broke into stunned silence.

She stood beside a boy—taller than her by a head, with sharp, quiet eyes and the posture of someone used to watching others speak. His cloak bore the faded insignia of House Taranis, a rural knightly line on the kingdom’s outer edge.

Prince Lucien reined in his horse with a jolt. “Virelle?!”

She offered a shallow, court-perfect curtsy. “Your Highness. I apologize for the worry.”

“You—how—where did you go?”

“I fell. The beast pursued me and, well, ended up the way it did.” She paused, then gestured gracefully toward the boy beside her. “But I was fortunate. A young nobleman found me and helped me recover. I owe my life to Lord Timothy Taranis.”

Timothy bowed just enough to show respect, but not enough to seem meek.

He kept his face unreadable.

Virelle’s voice had changed. It was silk now—measured, calm. She wore the same gentle smile he did, the one they had practiced under the clouds, the one that said everything and nothing at once.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed, but the retinue had already begun murmuring.

The story was implausible—but the only one that explained the facts.

The Crown Prince dismounted.

He stood before Timothy, frowning, unsure whether to scold or reward. “...Taranis, is it?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Timothy replied smoothly. “I was gathering herbs in the mountains when I saw the Alpha collapse in the valley below. I found Lady Virelle shortly after.”

Lucien stared at him, suspicious. But he wasn’t stupid. A noble daughter alive was better than a noble daughter dead—especially one whose father happened to be the closest viceroy to the crown.

Lucien unceremoniously handed Timothy a signet ring and a velvet pouch heavy with coin. “You’ve earned a debt of gratitude. This will be remembered.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

"Taranis," Marcus butt into the conversation, "the name rings a bell, your family is known for its lasting tradition of knights in the outer regions."

"That is correct, my lord," Timothy said.

"Well, I appreciate you taking care of my fiancée. The contents of that pouch should cover any expense during these three days."

Then came the real blow.

“My prince,” Virelle said lightly, “About that, I must formally request you call off the engagement.”

The silence was immediate.

Lucien blinked. “...What?”

Marcus blinked. "What?"

Timothy was sure even the rest of the retinue blinked, and thought the same "What?"

Virelle placed her hand on her chest, as if gaining courage to say the words.

“I see now I am not suited to stand beside you. Not in the way our families hoped—” 

"My lady," Marcus interrupted, "I don't think you are in a position to relinquish this. It is Prince Lucien here who, in any case, may call off the engagement."

"My prince," she said, ignoring Marcus, "this trip has been mind-opening, at least for me, so that I cannot follow you where you want to go. You deserve someone willing to be by your side in these times."

Lucien remained silent, clearly struck by the proposal, but not necessarily displeased.

"Lady d'Arvant—no, Virelle," he said, "if you proved anything, it was that you are willing to test your mettle and walk sincerely by my side. Your honesty elevates your position rather than making you unworthy."

"But... your Highness, I—"

Virelle's words were cut short by Lucien's hand, "I won't call off the engagement, forgive me."

Virelle remained silent for a moment, seemingly sad.

Lucien smiled and placed his hand on her cheek, "I hope that we can rekindle a bit of that passion you showed me on the Mountain, yes?"

The girl simply nodded in contempt.

"Back there, you told me I could call you something, was it... V—"

"Virelle, it was Virelle, my lord," she answered coldly.

Lucien stepped back with furrowed eyes and a curious smile, as if he knew she was lying.

She turned, grabbing Timothy’s arm. “One more thing, I’ve decided to name Lord Taranis as my escort and aide going forward. He’s earned my trust. I would like to sponsor his admission into the Royal Academy next year.”

She didn’t say “savior.” She didn’t need to.

Lucien lifted his hand, signaling that he was allowing it.

"Now, my dear Virelle, would you come with me?" he said, playfully.

"I will mount my horse, thank you."

Prince Lucien smiled.

As the two moved forward, Marcus approached Timothy, "You have been assigned to Lady d'Arvant. Take a horse and come with us, your household will be notified in short."

That was the way it was for rural nobles; the royal house did as it pleased.

And with that, the scene shifted. The retainers exchanged glances. No one spoke against the Lady of House d’Arvant. Especially not when she spoke like that.

It should have been a clean victory.

And yet—

As they began the ride to the capital, Timothy’s thoughts churned like boiling ink. Not at the gold. Not even the ring, which would serve nicely as a fake token of legitimacy later.

No—it was her name. It was the prince's name, it was... even Marcus's name!

Virelle d’Arvant.

Lucien Rolan.

Marcus Phoenix.

He’d heard them before.

Not just spoken by knights or gossiped about at court. He’d seen it on a screen. In dialogue boxes. In dramatic CG cutscenes.

“Virelle d’Arvant, rival to the heroine, tragic noble girl, secretly in love with the prince but cursed by duty.”

She was a character. 

Not from Crowns and Laurels.

From the Otome game Light x Hearts.

He blinked once.

How? Why?

He blinked twice.

The bag. The damn bag.

He had requested the new world be based on Crowns and Laurels—his favorite political intrigue sim—but… he remembered it now, clear as shame.

There had been a second case inside.

“Light x Hearts”.

The limited edition box set. His little sister had begged him to pick it up. And he’d planned to hand it to his crush at school—the one who’d said Virelle was “such a complex character, not just a mean girl.”

Critics had praised the game for its writing. "A heroine is as good as her villainess," they said, "Virelle adds a layer of complexity to the game not seen before in the genre."

The information came flooding to him. The sense of dread was so strong that actual sweat came off his temple in rows.

Within the context of the game, Virelle d'Argant is set to be the main villainess and the favorite antagonist of the heroine Seraphine Vale in the plot. Albeit other rivals could rise and oppose your progress, none, according to the public, was as good as Virelle.

First off, Virelle used a wheelchair. That Fungal Wolf Incident? That was the moment Virelle got hurt by the monster so badly that she could not walk anymore.

She was called the most Shakespearean character in Otome games. At first, she truly seemed solely interested in sabotaging everything Seraphine does in the game, mainly because the player's actions draw Prince Lucien closer to them, and Virelle was desperate for attention, using her condition to manipulate the prince. 

However, what appeared to be a bid for control by marrying the prince turns out to be genuine love, a crazed love that led her to do many things for the prince's sake, and that led into a spiral of madness and obsession.

Her downfall comes when she desperately makes a deal with the rival Kingdom of Caledonia to overthrow the royal family of Rolan. As the Prince leaves to face the enemy on the battlefield, Virelle faces Seraphine back in the castle, on the throne room, in a showdown that showcased her true affection and love, and how she could have just left the prince where he was the happiest, yet her own love would never let her live with that. Her death brought tears to fans and casual gamers alike. Timothy himself remembered enjoying the finale, even though he was not a fan of the genre.

And now, Virelle was here, and Timothy had just thrown himself into the mix without knowing. Most importantly, the villainess was no longer in need of any wheelchair, and he had just recruited one of the most influential characters in the game, and by extension, the entire kingdom of Rolan.

He looked at her, with her violet to silver long hair. 

She looked exactly like her!

That bastard god had grinned. That smug, cigarette-stinking bastard. He had said, “As you wish.”

The world had been made from both games.

Timothy Taranis closed his eyes briefly. 

“…Ugh” he muttered under his breath.

Virelle turned slightly, her eyes sparkling in the wind.

“What’s wrong, Timothy?” she asked softly.

He opened his eyes.

“Nothing, Vi,” he said. “I'm okay.”

But inside, his thoughts were racing.

If she’s here… if the prince and Marcus are here... then who else is?

His mind flashed Seraphine Vale's face.

NOOOOO! 

Yet in the vastness of one's mind, no one can hear you scream.