Chapter 7: Farewell to Fantasy
In the sprawling realm of Yggdrasil, whispers turned to shouts as news of the Crimson Demon's disappearance spread like wildfire.
"Have you heard? The mad mage of Muspellsheim vanished overnight!"
"Impossible! She was online every day, terrorising the high-level zones."
"Some say she finally met her match."
In the bustling streets of Yggdrasil's player hubs, players huddled in anxious clusters, each adding their own flavour to the swirling rumours. Some celebrated the absence of the notorious player-killer, while others lamented the loss of a living legend
"Good riddance, I say. She unbalanced the entire game with those insane spells."
"You only say that because she one-shot you last week."
"Shut up! At least I faced her head-on!"
In the shadowed corners of Muspellsheim, a void lingered where once a crimson figure had stood, a conquering hero bathed in the light of impossible magics. The once-crowded hunting ground of challengers now lay silent, and the very landscape mourned her absence.
Her final gift, the massive influx of high-level items and currency into the newbie economy, had thrown the delicate balance of power into utter chaos. In the Newbie Support Fund Initiative headquarters, harried guild administrators worked around the clock to distribute the Crimson Demon's bequest. Lines of low-level players stretched for kilometres, each newly rich in wealth and equipment far beyond their means.
Inflation soared as the market struggled to absorb the sudden glut of high-end gear, leaving crafters and gatherers scrambling to adapt.
"Do you think she'll come back?"
"Who knows? Maybe she's just taking a break."
"Or maybe she finally got bored of us mere mortals."
And so the cycle began, a serpent eating its tail. Those who had once cursed the Crimson Demon's name now clamoured for her return, desperate for a steadying hand to revert a world thrown into chaos.
But Megumin did not hear their pleas.
She was busy building a new life, one step at a time.
The sulphurous sunlight of Neo Tokyo stabbed through the narrow gaps of Megumin's headset, outlining its contours like a fractured halo. As Yggdrasil's vibrant hues dissolved, the numbing bliss she'd clung to evaporated, and the dull ache of reality seeped back in—the relentless pressure of the device pressing into her skin, a weight she'd blocked out until this very moment. The headset clamped against her face, its straps digging into her temples, the clammy sweat trapped beneath suffocating her pores. Each heartbeat sent a throb through the indentations left behind.
With trembling hands, Megumin peeled the device away, wincing as it pulled at her damp skin. The stale air of her room rushed against her flushed cheeks, a cold reminder of the world she'd been avoiding.
As she set it aside, her senses were assaulted by the stale odour of confinement—a mix of sweat, old food, and that chemical tang she had tried desperately to scrub out of the walls once before.
Her room was a disaster zone. Towers of empty instant ramen cups teetered precariously, vying for space with mounds of unwashed laundry. Her school bag lay buried beneath a drift of crumpled papers, each covered in frantic scribbles of damage calculations and progression trees.
Attempting to stand, her legs wobbled, muscles protesting after countless hours of disuse. She caught herself on the edge of her cluttered desk, letting out a hollow laugh that echoed unnervingly in the silence.
"So this is what it feels like," she rasped, "to be truly awake in this accursed realm once more."
Her gaze fell upon her phone, its screen dark and blank. A knot formed in her stomach as she reached for it, fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. The device sprang to life, unleashing a relentless stream of notifications—a tidal wave of missed connections.
Megumin's throat tightened as she scrolled through them. Missed calls from the school administration, increasingly concerned texts from Hana, and messages from classmates about group projects she had neglected. Each one was a tiny stab of guilt.
Her thumb hovered over Hana's name. She hesitated, the weight of her absence pressing down on her. How long had it been since she last replied? Weeks? Months?
Taking a deep breath, she began to type.
[Megumin]: I'm sorry, Hana. I'm so sorry. I got lost in my own head and forgot what really matters. Can we talk?
She stared at the message and hit send before she could second-guess herself.
It was a start, Megumin knew. A small step on a long road to making amends. But it was a step she was determined to take.
Setting the phone down, Megumin surveyed the chaos of her apartment. The sheer magnitude of the mess was overwhelming. She picked up an empty ramen cup, then another, piling them into a trash bag. The simple act of cleaning felt foreign.
Hours passed as Megumin waited for a response. The silence of her room, once a comforting cocoon, now felt oppressive. She paced, her legs weak and unsteady, pausing occasionally to stare out the window at the hazy Neo Tokyo skyline.
Finally, her phone buzzed. She nearly dropped the trash bag in her haste to grab the phone.
[Hana]: Megumin! You're alive! Where have you been? I've been so worried!
Megumin felt a lump in her throat. The warmth in Hana's message was tinged with frustration, and rightly so.
[Megumin]: Your concern touches the very core of my being! I, the great Megu—
Megumin backspaced furiously, grimacing at her own words.
[Megumin]: Thank you. I'm sorry for worrying you. Can we meet up soon?
She glanced at her reflection in a grimy mirror—a pale face framed by unkempt hair, eyes shadowed by exhaustion. Digging through piles of clothes, she found something passably clean to wear. A quick shower washed away layers of neglect, and as the cold water cascaded over her, she felt a small semblance of renewal.
The next morning, Megumin stood outside the imposing gates of her school. Anxiety coiled in her stomach like a serpent. She took a deep breath, steeling herself before stepping inside.
Whispers followed her down the hallway.
"Isn't that Megumin-san? I thought she dropped out."
"She looks different."
"Did you hear she failed all her classes?"
Ignoring the murmurs, she made her way to the administrative office.
"Megumin-san," the secretary greeted her with a raised eyebrow. "We weren't expecting you."
"I know," Megumin replied, her voice steady. "I'd like to speak with the principal."
"Wait here."
Minutes later, she was ushered into the principal's office. The principal regarded her with a stern expression.
"Megumin-san. To what do we owe this unexpected visit?"
She swallowed hard. "I'm here to take responsibility for my absence and to discuss how I can make up for lost time."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "You've been absent without notice for over a year. That's a serious violation of policy."
"I understand," she said, meeting his gaze. "I'm prepared to face any consequences."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? And what brought about this sudden sense of accountability?"
Megumin hesitated. "I worked through some… personal issues. But I'm committed to returning to my studies."
The principal tapped a finger on his desk thoughtfully. "Everyone has personal issues, Megumin-san, but truth be told, it is no excuse. If you are held back from graduating, you'll be useful to nobody but the waste cleanup department. It's rare, but we can offer you a probationary period to catch up on missed work."
Relief flooded her. "Thank you, sir. I won't waste this opportunity."
"See that you don't," he warned. "Coordinate with your teachers immediately."
"I will."
As she left the office, a mix of dread and determination swirled within her. The road ahead would be steep, but she was resolved to climb it.
Hana was waiting outside the office, a questioning look on her face.
"Well?" she asked.
"I have a chance to make things right," Megumin said. "But it's going to be a lot of work."
Hana smiled. "You can do it."
"Will you help me?"
"Of course. But it's your effort that will make the difference."
Megumin nodded. "I know."
The following weeks were some of the hardest Megumin had ever faced.
The backlog of assignments was staggering. Every class felt like an uphill battle as she struggled to catch up while keeping pace with new material.
She forced herself to attend every class, to sit through lectures that seemed to drain the very life from her soul. The teachers, once figures of mild annoyance, now loomed as towers of authority, their disapproving gazes and sharp words a constant reminder of her inadequacy. They droned on about capitalist history, their voices a mind-numbing chorus of corporate propaganda.
Late nights once spent grinding for levels and loot were now devoted to studying, to making up for lost time. Megumin attacked her coursework with the same intensity she'd reserved for the trash mobs of Yggdrasil, pouring over textbooks and assignments until the knowledge seeped into her bones.
One evening, as she grappled with a particularly dense chapter on corporate law, Megumin reached for her staff. Her fingers closed on empty air, and for a moment, panic gripped her.
Where was—
Reality reasserted itself with brutal swiftness. There was no staff, no magic to call upon. Just endless pages of dry text and the ever-present hum of air filtration units.
Slowly, painfully, she made progress. Her grades improved, inch by painstaking inch. She learned to navigate the classroom's treacherous social hierarchies, forging necessary alliances.
Students huddled in cliques defined not by friendship, but by corporate allegiance. The children of NeoSoft executives sneered at those whose parents toiled in the lower echelons of MegaTech. Megumin found herself adrift in this sea of branded loyalties, her own heritage an impossible secret burning in her chest.
"Megumin-san," her homeroom teacher called out one dreary afternoon, "please stay after class. We need to discuss your future."
She managed a nod as a ripple of whispers swept through the classroom. Megumin felt her stomach clench, anxiety coiling like a serpent in her gut.
As her classmates filed out, casting curious glances her way, Megumin approached the teacher's desk with measured steps. She stood before it, hands clasped behind her back, the very picture of a diligent student.
"Sensei," she said, "how may the great Megu—*ahem*—how may I be of assistance?"
The teacher regarded her with a mixture of concern and approval. "Your grades have improved quickly over the past few months, Megumin-san. I find it quite impressive, given your rocky start."
Megumin inclined her head, accepting the praise with a humility that would have been foreign to her former self. "Thank you, Sensei. I have been working hard to catch up."
"Indeed," the teacher nodded. "Which is why I wanted to discuss your plans for after graduation. Have you given any thought to which career you'd like to pursue? Or any particular company?"
"I... I haven't decided yet, Sensei," she admitted, hating the hesitation in her voice. "There are so many options to consider."
The teacher's expression softened slightly. "It's a big decision, I know. But you can't afford to delay much longer. The top corporations will be scouting for talent beginning December, and with your improved grades, you may have a chance at securing a position with one of the Big Eight."
Megumin nodded. The Big Eight—megacorporations that controlled every aspect of life in Neo Tokyo. Once, she would have scoffed at the idea of pledging her life to such soulless entities. Now, she found herself considering the possibility with a pragmatism that surprised her.
"I'll give it serious thought, Sensei," she promised. "Thank you for your concern."
As she left the classroom, Megumin's steps felt heavier than usual.
She found Hana waiting for her outside, a worried frown creasing her friend's brow. "Everything okay?" Hana asked, falling into step beside Megumin.
Megumin managed a smile. "Just the usual future planning talk. Nothing to worry about."
Hana could see the change in her friend. Her once-colourful speech patterns, full of dramatic flair and grandiloquent declarations, had shown signs of fading. In her place stood a girl tempered by monotony, quieter perhaps, but no less determined.
They talked often, Megumin and Hana, in the spaces between classes and over lunches newly shared. They spoke of many things—of dreams and fears, of hopes and regrets. But never of Yggdrasil.
That chapter, it seemed, was closed.
Twice now, Megumin had experienced the loss of a world she'd held dear. And so she clung to Hana's friendship like a lifeline, a last connection to the person she had once been.
Only Hana seemed to understand, to see the struggle behind Megumin's newfound resolve. In the quiet moments between classes, she was there, a steady presence offering silent support and understanding.
More months ticked by, and Megumin's world narrowed to the confines of her school, her apartment, and the scant few places in between. The polluted air of Neo Tokyo, once so oppressive and alien, became a welcome reminder of her existence in the real world, the acrid tang of pollution a bitter comfort on her tongue.
It was a struggle, every step of the way. The coursework, so long neglected, seemed an insurmountable mountain, each new concept a treacherous cliff to be scaled. Megumin persevered, fueled by a grim determination to build something in this world that could not be taken away on a whim this time.
Hana helped in that regard.
They studied together, hunched over textbooks and tablets in Megumin's cramped apartment, the silence broken only by the occasional question or murmured encouragement.
On the rare occasions when they allowed themselves a break, they would venture out into the city, braving the soot-choked streets in search of small pockets of life amidst the urban decay. They'd linger in the few remaining green(ish) spaces, snatches of artificial parks and rooftop retreats where the air was just a little bit clearer, the world a little less grey.
It was during one of these outings, as they sat huddled on a bench beneath the wan light filtering through the dome of a neo-arcology's atrium, that Hana finally broached the subject they'd both been avoiding.
"Do you miss it?" she asked softly. "Yggdrasil, I mean. And before that, too. Since you never talked about it."
Megumin stiffened, her hands clenching in her lap. Had she revealed too much?
Of course, the panic lasted only for a second. She had to remind herself: Hana, like everyone else, simply thought her an eccentric transfer student from another arcology. She didn't know about Axel. She couldn't.
For a long moment, Megumin was silent, her gaze fixed on the lone sickly tree struggling to survive in the atrium's artificial environment.
"Every day," she admitted at last, the words feeling like shards of glass in her throat. "But I've come to learn that it's not mine to miss anymore. Those lives... they're gone. And chasing their ghosts will only drive me mad."
Hana nodded. "I can't pretend to know what it's like," she said, "I've lived in Neo Tokyo my entire life. But, I'm here, you know? Whatever you need, however I can help… I'm here."
Megumin felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of gratitude for the girl beside her. In a world of billions, in a city where every face was hidden behind a mask and every interaction tinged with suspicion, she could tell that Hana had genuine compassion.
"Why did you want to be friends with me? On the first day of school."
Hana turned her head away from Megumin, her hand rising instinctively to scratch at her chin. Her finger met the smooth surface of her gas mask instead, and she let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle at the gesture.
"I, well," Hana began, her voice muffled slightly by the mask. "Would you believe me if I saw a reflection of myself in you?"
Megumin cocked her head, curiosity piqued. "Oh? Do tell, O' Mistress of Mystery!"
"I went through a 'phase' too, you know? I was convinced I was the reincarnation of some ancient wind spirit, destined to cleanse the polluted skies of Neo Tokyo." She let out another chuckle, this one tinged with embarrassment. "I fashioned myself a ridiculous costume out of old filter fabrics and discarded tech. Drew manga and called myself 'Sakura no Fukushu: Vengeance of the Cherry Blossom!'"
Hana's shoulders sagged slightly as she continued, "I was… pretty insufferable, to be honest. But there was this senpai. She didn't laugh at me or try to force me to change. Instead, she listened—really listened—and helped me find my footing. She transferred out before I could properly thank her." Hana turned back to Megumin.
"So, when I saw you on that first day, full of declarations and striking those poses… well, I thought maybe this was my chance to pay it forward, you know?"
They lapsed into silence then, watching as the atrium's artificial sunlight cycled through its daily progression. But for that moment, in the company of the one person who seemed to truly see her, Megumin allowed herself to feel something dangerously close to hope.
Three months passed, and Megumin was caught in a strange dichotomy as the academic year wound to a close. On the one hand, her grades were improving, her teachers' once-constant disapproval giving way to a begrudging acknowledgment of her efforts. She was, by all outward measures, adapting to this world and finding her place in this strange society.
But in the quiet moments, in the stillness of her apartment when the day's tasks were done and the distractions fell away, the girl who had once burned with the passion of a thousand explosions, who had faced down demons and monsters with a laugh and a manic gleam in her eye… that girl felt further away with each passing day.
It was a gradual, creeping, insidious thing. Like a slow poison, it seeped into the vibrant colours of her past memories, muffling the once-clarion call of adventure.
Yet she clung to her memories like precious talismans, filling journals with increasingly desperate recollections of her time in Axel and Yggdrasil. She sketched her former comrades, trying to capture the likenesses of her treasured party members and family.
But the acts of remembrance began to feel hollow, and the tales felt stilted on the page.
As the days wore on, the spectre of Yggdrasil whispered at the edges of her consciousness, seductive and damning in equal measure. The promise of power, the freedom of a world where might and magic reigned supreme… It called to her, tempting her to lose herself one more in the virtual realm.
One night, as the neon-tinged darkness of the city pressed against her window, Megumin sat at her desk, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and half-finished assignments. Her eyes, bloodshot from hours of study, kept drifting to the corner where her VR headset lay, gathering dust beneath a discarded jacket.
"Just one peek," she muttered, her fingers twitching with the phantom sensation of casting spells. "To see how things have changed. That's all."
Megumin pushed back from her desk, the chair's legs screeching against the floor. She approached the headset as if it were a sleeping dragon, each step measured and hesitant. As her hand closed around the familiar contours of the device, a jolt of excitement coursed through her, so visceral it was almost painful.
With trembling fingers, she brushed away the dust and plugged in the headset. The startup sequence began, muscle memory guiding her through the motions. As the login screen flickered to life, Megumin's breath caught in her throat. The music, the vibrant colors of Yggdrasil's loading screen–it all hit her with the force of a battering ram, memories flooding back in a dizzying rush.
Her avatar selection screen appeared, the Crimson Demon she had poured countless hours into staring back at her. Megumin's breath caught in her throat as she met those familiar crimson eyes, once a source of pride, now alien and unsettling. Her finger hovered over the 'Login' button, trembling.
"I... I am..." Megumin began, her voice barely a whisper in the empty room. The declaration that had once come so easily now choked her.
Those eyes. Those burning, accusatory crimson eyes that she'd not seen for a year. They bore into her, seeming to demand an explanation for her betrayal, for abandoning the path of explosions. Megumin felt her chest tighten, her vision blurring as she stared into a face that was hers and yet not hers.
Megumin had brown eyes. When had that become normal? When had the sight of her true eyes, vibrant and full of magic, become something she couldn't bear?
"No," Megumin whispered, curling into herself. "No, no, no..."
Tears flowed freely now, hot and bitter. She wept for the girl she had been, for the worlds she had lost, who she was, and who she wanted to be. The sobs wracked her body, muffled against the threadbare carpet of her tiny apartment.
How long she lay there, Megumin couldn't say. But eventually, the storm of emotion passed, leaving her feeling hollow and wrung out. She pushed herself up, wincing at the stiffness in her limbs, and looked around her room with new eyes.
The scattered textbooks, the half-finished assignments, the meagre possessions she'd accumulated in this world—they seemed so small, so insignificant compared to the grand adventures she'd once lived. But they were real. She could feel their weight when she held them, their textures as she grasped them.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Megumin stood. She gently unplugged the VR headset and placed it in a box, along with the few mementos she'd made from her time in Yggdrasil. Her fingers lingered on a crudely drawn map of Muspellsheim, tracing the familiar contours of a world she'd once called home.
Megumin placed the box high on a shelf, out of easy reach. She turned back to her desk and picked up her pen.
After the incident, Megumin began setting small goals for herself, tiny victories to cling to when the siren call of her former lives ever grew too strong. Attending a class without daydreaming of explosions. Completing an assignment without once comparing it to a quest log. These were her new achievements.
With each passing day, Megumin found herself playing the role of a reluctant seamstress, carefully unpicking the threads of her past. The vibrant mosaics that were her life in Axel and Yggdrasil slowly unraveled beneath her fingers.
Thread by thread, she wove them into a new fabric—the dull, utilitarian canvas of Neo Tokyo. Gone were spell circles and the bold swirls of mana. In their place emerged stark lines and cold, corporate geometries.
Megumin found herself both the artist and the art. The girl who once painted the sky with explosions now crafted a life from the remnants of her dreams, each day an added thread to the fabric of her new existence.
Each small victory became another knot to which she could tie herself to this reality. The result was less a work of art and more a functional patchwork, devoid of the wild beauty of her former self but undeniably grounding.
She learned to speak the language of business, to craft resumes that highlighted her "adaptability" and "problem-solving skills" without mentioning her skill in magical combat. She practiced interview techniques in front of her mirror, rehearsing answers to questions about five-year plans and corporate synergies until they flowed as smooth and meaningless as the polluted rivers that wound through Neo Tokyo's underbelly.
As graduation crept ever closer, the pressure intensified. Classmates who had once ignored her now sought her out, desperate for study tips and interview strategies. Megumin found herself in the strange position of being looked up to, a departure from her days as the eccentric transfer student.
"Megumin-san," a timid voice called out to her one day after class. She turned to see a group of her classmates, their faces sparkling with desperate hope. "We were wondering if you could help us prepare for the NeoSoft interviews next week."
For a moment, Megumin felt a surge of her old pride. Here were people coming to her for guidance, acknowledging her superiority in a field of study. But the feeling was quickly tempered. They weren't seeking her out for guidance on magic or explosions. On level progression or her recommended job picks. They wanted her help in securing a place in the system she scorned.
"Of course," she heard herself say automatically. "Let's meet in the library after school tomorrow. We can go over some common interview questions and practice our responses."
As she watched her classmates' faces light up with relief, Megumin felt a twinge of something she couldn't quite name. Was it satisfaction at being able to help? Or a deep-seated unease at how easily she had slipped into this role?
That night, as she prepared materials for the study session, Megumin found herself staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror above her desk. The girl who looked back at her was a stranger—neat hair, pressed uniform, hazy brown eyes. Gone was the red mage with dreams of ultimate power. She was a model student, and the very image of corporate potential.
Graduation arrived quicker than expected, yet for Megumin, each day leading up to it felt like an eternity.
The ceremony was a subdued affair, held in the school's auditorium. Megumin sat among her classmates, her posture perfect, her expression a practised expression of calm anticipation.
As the principal droned on about the bright futures that awaited them, Megumin's fingers twitched, tracing invisible spell circles on her thigh. She bit the inside of her cheek, the sharp pain grounding her in reality. The taste of blood was almost welcome—a reminder that she was still here, still real.
When it came time to receive her diploma, Megumin rose on unsteady legs. The lack of sleep and overreliance on energy drinks made her head swim. For a moment, the principal's outstretched hand seemed to morph into the gnarled claw of a Yggdrasil boss. Megumin blinked hard, dispelling the illusion.
"Congratulations, Megumin-san," the principal said, his voice distant and muffled. "We expect great things from you."
Megumin nodded, not trusting herself to speak. As she turned to face the audience, diploma clutched to her chest, her gaze drifted upward. Past the shrouded sky visible through the auditorium's transpari-steel ceiling, past the towering monuments to greed that pierced the eternal haze…
…and for just a moment, she allowed herself to dream of crimson eyes and laughter, of magic and madness and a world alive with possibility.
The moment passed, and reality reasserted itself. But the dream remained, a secret ember nestled deep within her heart.
A promise, to herself and to all she had been, that though the road ahead was dark and full of terrors…
…she would walk it with eyes wide open, and with the memory of the explosion's song forever ringing in her ears.