I did not expect this to even get a tiny bit of view at all but 400 views? I know the description is intriguing but my writing is not as good. I'm sorry. Also, thanks for those three favorites and a review. I really appreciate it from my heart!
He had died five times now. Not twice. Not thrice. Five. Each death, more grotesque than the last. Each one, a new flavor of failure. And all because of this cursed checkpoint.
It hadn't budged. Not an inch. Not a second sooner. If it had reset, even once, he could've changed everything. He would've only needed four. Four lives to fix everything. To save them all.
Rem. Emilia. Crusch. Mimi. The dragon. The city. His sanity.
But no. The checkpoint hadn't changed.
It clung to him like a collar of thorns—mocking him with every heartbeat, holding him hostage in a timeline that had already begun to rot from the inside out.
This wasn't a starting point anymore. It was a prison. A loop of agony. One he couldn't escape from. And now? There was nothing left to fix. No pieces to pick up. No one left to scream for help.
The only thing he could do—
Was fight.
No more options. No safety net. No more do-overs. Just this moment. This battlefield. This end. (or so he thought)
?: "—AT ME, MEATBAG!"
A voice like a crowbar through a ribcage. His body didn't hesitate. Instinct took over, dragging the mangled flesh of Natsuki Subaru into motion.
His mind was numb—numb from loss, numb from guilt, numb from watching his own brain explode out the side of his skull too many damn times.
But somewhere in that haze, he locked onto the rhythm of battle. A rhythm that only ended one way. With him dead.
Could he fight her? Capella Emerada Lugunica. The Authority of Lust. A monster dressed in the skin of a goddess. A hydra in human form.
Cut her, she'd grow. Crush her, she'd reform. Twist her head, she'll twist it back. Burn her into ashes, and she'd rise like a phoenix made of slime and bile and sin.
So what could he do? The answer had always been the same ever since the first time she tore his leg off and laughed while doing it.
Run.
He saw it—those shimmering, grotesque blue dragon arms springing from her back like living spears. They moved faster than lightning. Faster than memory. It felt like it's breaking the sound barrier.
But he remembered. He had seen this before. Two times. He knew. He knew. So he moved.
Pure instinct. No thoughts. Just survival.
DODGE.
He threw his body sideways—just before the claws shredded the marble floor like paper soaked in blood.
Capella: "Ah~! What an interesting creature..!"
She giggled like a debutante. A noble at a masquerade ball where everyone else was already dead.
Left strike—he ducked low. Right hook—he twisted his body, letting the wind whistle past.
Then—he snapped his whip forward, fury and desperation merging in a single motion.
The rope coiled around one dragon arm. With every tendon in his trembling frame, he yanked.
The momentum tore her from her footing.
SLAM.
Capella's body crashed into the council chamber's far wall with the wet crunch of raw meat meeting concrete.
Something splashed. Something cracked.
Brain matter and spinal fluid. Just a little.
A smear of red and gray ran down the wall like paint on a rotten canvas. But she smiled anyway. Slumped and broken—and still smiling. She still smiled.
The wound closed before the echo of impact faded.
Capella, sighing: "You're so horrible…"
Capella: "But don't underestimate me, MEATBAG!"
There it was again. The mockery. The delight. Like he was nothing more than a pet who'd learned to bite.
Two more arms burst out from her back with renewed hunger—twisting and spiraling like serpents drunk on the scent of blood and sniffing out his weakness. They lunged. Subaru darted right, but he was too slow.
CLAMP.
"…Huh?"
The world stopped.
Sound dulled into a ringing void. His heartbeat became thunder. His stomach turned inside out.
His arm—his arm—was caught.
The dragon jaw bit into the meat of his bicep like a dog refusing to let go. It wasn't a strike. It was a capture. And he was the prey.
His brain hadn't caught up yet. All it processed was that strange, hollow calm.
The calm of a man watching his fate with open eyes.
No whip. No blade. No Roswaal trickery. Just him. And the sound.
Munch.
Munch.
Munch.
Then—
CRACK.
His elbow shattered.
And only now did he realize—
"I'm in danger."
The delayed pain bloomed. Not like fire, but like a sun detonating behind his eyelids. A scream ripped from his throat—raw, choking, gasping.
"GAAAGHH—!"
He thrashed. He pulled. The dragon mouth wouldn't let go.
Capella: "Now, you'll know what it feels like to be tortured~"
He looked. He watched with his naked eyes. Flesh peeled back like fruit. Veins snapped. Muscle tore.
Tendons sang like violin strings made of wet rope.
His brain short-curcuited. The thing in his mind—the thing that dulled pain, shielded him—it faltered.
And then—
WHIP!
The arm flung him. Like a ragdoll. Around. And around.
His body cartwheeled through the air, bones screaming with every rotation.
Blood sprayed.
Ribbons in the wind.
Capella, giggling: "So lovely...! You're dancing~!"
Until—
RRRIPPP!
Half his arm was gone. Torn from the socket. Meat dangling like curtains. Bone exposed—chewed. Blood erupted. A mist. A fountain. A storm.
Subaru couldn't breathe. His lungs were rocks. His throat was sandpaper. And Capella?
Still.
Smiling.
He saw it thrice already.
Still a goddess in a world of rot and gore. And Subaru?
Natsuki Subaru was still alive. But his soul—
His soul was a porcelain doll, dropped five times, shattered a hundred more.
Capella: "I'm gonna leave you here alone! Let me do my broadcast first!"
Subaru: "Broadcast…?"
The word was spat out with blood, each syllable dragging itself through a battlefield of shredded nerves, torn flesh, and excruciating pain. His voice cracked, twisted, guttural.
He couldn't form proper words anymore. His arm twitched violently, dangling like a grotesque puppet limb, held together by skin and spite.
Capella: "Ahah! I know now what to say! Thanks, Pandora-sama!"
Pandora…?
The name cut through his agony like ice. It didn't belong here. Not among the Sin Archbishops. Not in this hell.
The others—Regulus, Capella, Sirius—they used stars from his world. But Pandora? She was myth. The first woman. The cursed one. The box that should never have been opened.
Why her?
Why now?
She… was also created by Hephaestus—the god of blacksmith. Wait, she's also a moon from Saturn!
His mind began spinning, unraveling itself in a desperate attempt to rationalize. But this world defied rationality. He couldn't afford to lose himself in metaphors when Capella was real—so horrifyingly, painfully real.
His brain was eating itself alive trying to rationalize nonsense. And then the air changed.
Her voice, amplified through the microphone, flooded the sky like a corrupted lullaby, carried on a sick wind, echoing over the city like an execution drumroll.
Capella: "Ahem! Hey there, meatbags!"
Her voice wasn't being projected—it was injected. Into his ears. His mind. Like an infection spreading through the atmosphere.
Subaru's back hit the wall. His head lolled to the side. Pain was everywhere. His body had gone numb from overexposure—his pain threshold had been shattered, and now he was just floating in a sea of suffering, too exhausted to even scream.
But he moved anyway.
No medicine. No magic. No help.
Only bandages—if you could call them that. Soaked rags from Regulus's torrent of wind. Filthy. Reeking. Dangerous. Rotten. But what choice did he have?
Teeth gritted. Eyes burning. He reached down and tore the wrappings from his ankle, exposing churned meat and torn muscle. The moment the wind touched it, his leg spasmed and bled anew.
He bit down on his tongue so hard it tore open. That was fine. That was good. Pain kept him awake.
With trembling fingers, he tied those same dirty bandages around his ruined arm.
They didn't stop the bleeding.
But they slowed it.
Barely.
One minute of hell. A minute of wrapping, twisting, pulling, and screaming. It was PAIN, BLISTERING, SEARING. He hadn't died during it—but he wanted to. That level of pain should've killed him. It did kill him, in every way but the literal.
And through it all—
Capella: "Still trembling and cowering in fear?"
Her voice crawled into his ear like centipedes, sweet and venomous. Subaru stared blankly at her. Hollow-eyed. What the hell is the point of this broadcast anyway?
Capella: "Your lovely Sin Archbishop of Lust, Capella Emerada Lugunica, is here for another beautiful broadcast!"
Capella: "Nowww, even after allll those warnings, you meatbags still won't give up on raiding our base!"
He wanted her to shut up. Wanted to crush her voice under his boot. But he couldn't even stand.
Capella: "Oh, I'm so hurt! Even got to tore down someone's arm!"
She smiled when she said that. Laughed. Like it was adorable. Like tearing his arm off was a joke.
His vision blurred with rage and tears. He didn't even realize he was shaking until blood started dripping from his clenched fist.
And then—
Capella: "So, I'm making three additional demands aside from the Witch's bones!"
Subaru: "Huh…?"
What?
What did she just say?
This farce feels unacceptable. Typhon's bones cannot be accessed, now three more?
Capella: "First is the Book of Wisdom, which someone apparently brought into the city!"
"What in the absolute monstrosity…?", Subaru murmured.
The books were the perfect replica copies of Witch Cult's defective gospels, so it's reasonable they wanted that, but—
Subaru's stomach turned to ice.
No. That was impossible.
The books were gone. Roswaal's burned in the Sanctuary as a sacrifice from Ram for his own good. Beatrice's disintegrated in her arms while he screamed "Choose me, Beatrice!". There was no Book of Wisdom anymore. And yet—
Had someone made another? Was someone else carrying one? Was this bait? He didn't know.
Capella: "Second is the artificial spirit that's supposedly wandering around this city!"
His world stopped. He knew two of "artificial spirit". Puck and Beatrice.
We came to Priestella to wake Puck back up while he remained asleep somewhere. Somewhere.
That leaves only one option—
Beatrice.
No. No. No.
Beako. His Beako. His girl. Vulnerable. Unconscious. Somewhere out there. Alone. And now she was wanted by the monsters who tore him to pieces.
Something broke.
Subaru: "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, HUH?!"
The roar tore out of his throat like a dragon's last breath, soaked in blood and fury.
Regulus's Tower
The broadcast echoed through the halls like an angel screaming.
?: "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, HUH?!"
Emilia: "Huh?! Wait, Subaru!"
She rushed to the window, heart hammering like war drums. Wind caught her silver hair, and for a moment she could feel him. Not see. Not hear. Feel. His pain, his determination, his soul.
He was alive. Barely. And that terrified her more than death.
Looking out the window, she saw the tower. District One. Lust's Tower.
While she was talking to Sylphy about the upcoming wedding at the bed, he was fighting for her desperately.
Emilia: "Please… please don't be hurt… too much…"
No use. Her mind betrayed her. It filled in blanks. Arm gone. Leg gone. Blood everywhere. A body crawling through hell, screaming her name.
She bit her lip. Hard. Until it bled. His tone of speech still sounded like he's perfectly fine (kind of).
Emilia: "He's strong. He's loud. He's still fighting. Still alive…"
Please. The broadcast snapped.
Emilia: "Huh? Did it end? What about the third?!"
Sylphy: "Please calm down. If you're panicked, Lord Husband will be very offended."
Emilia: "…You said that to me again…"
Council Tower
Back in hell, Capella's smile faded. She exploded in anger. Subaru has never seen this side of her. Ever.
Capella: "How dare you… disrupt the broadcast?"
Subaru: "I-I didn't mean it, I swear!"
He tried to backpedal—tried to crawl. But all he could do was drag his ruined body backward like a worm. There was no dignity. No power. Just instinct.
And then—
The NOTORIOUS (for him) dragon arms emerged again. Silent. Fluid. Hungry. They lunged. Straight for his ankle.
The one without the bandage. The exposed one. The vulnerable one. He choked so hard on his saliva he almost hiccupped.
Capella: "Aww, when did you do that? Oh~ you improvised, huh? How embarrassing!~"
CRACK. RIP.
His foot—
Gone.
Torn away like a paper. Flew away like a leaf in the wind. Torn and forgotten.
His scream broke midway. Blood exploded. His lungs collapsed. His throat seized. The world tilted.
His vision starts to fade. The world around him starts to sound like whispers. Then—
Black.
He died… or did he?
Regulus's Manor
Capella (broadcasting): "Now! After we silenced that meatsack, let's talk about the third demand!"
She finally unmutes her microphone, and announced loud and clear.
Emilia: "Silenced… that meatsack? No…!"
Her breath caught. Her hands trembled. Her knees buckled. Her mind turned into only one possibility: He was dead.
Or worse.
But she couldn't believe that. Couldn't give in. Not now. Not when he needed her most. She has to stay on the bright side. Stay positive. If she could.
Sylphy: "I said don't make Lord Husband upset."
Emilia: "…Did Regulus make these rules to you…?"
Sylphy: "The rules will be discussed in the wedding."
Emilia: "Fine…"
And then—
Capella: "Third is the wedding of the silver-haired maiden to be held in the city!"
The third demand.
Then a while later….
Sylphy, the Wife #184 approached close to Emilia holding a stack of clothes, who has stepped out of the window.
Sylphy: "There are multiple Sin Archbishops in the town. Lord Husband is one of them."
A moment of silence.
"…" "…"
Regulus? A Sin Archbishop. That's (probably) the first time she realized he's a Sin Archbishop, but she feels like she has met her somewhere before.
Not knowing what to say, she blurted out the things that were first in her mind.
Emilia: "Regulus is… a Sin Archbishop?!"
In response to that, she realized another shocking revelation.
Emilia: "Does that mean… I'm the 'silver-haired maiden' they're talking about?!"
Sylphy didn't respond with words, but nodded lightly instead.
Emilia: "And if I run away… they'll sink Priestella?"
Emilia grabs her, well, not really "her" towel, fingernails digging into the white, pure microfiber cloth (yes I wrote that, if you know you know) that could tear it apart.
The responsibility she's in right now. If she didn't follow the rules, will she die? Will the city sink? What will happen? If she was still fragile compared to a year ago, she would have already broke down from sheer pressure.
Sylphy: "Now that you understand, please get changed."
She don't even know if she could feel a bit of relief or even more worry. What does this answer means? Does it mean she's correct, or she's wrong? Or what?
That answer is rather neutral.
Council Tower
The scent hit him first. Copper. Rot. Burning oil. The acrid stench of magic that had gone wrong.
Then came the heat. And the sound.
Screams, distant and raw. Metal clashing. Spells detonating like fireworks in hell.
Where the heck is Capella? Where did she go? Did she turn into a dragon and fly away or something? But why?
Is she done torturing him and… her? Is half an arm torn off and ankle torn off enough for her? At least it's good for him. No more life lost.
But none of it registered. But Subaru saw someone he recognized, A Girl With Dark Green Hair. Subaru's eyes were locked on her.
Crusch Karsten—once a paragon of nobility and strength—now lay slumped in the corner of the chamber like discarded meat. Her body didn't look human anymore.
What was left of her uniform was soaked in blood, shredded and clinging to exposed, ruined flesh. And clustered around her—
Rats.
Bloated. Diseased. Chittering.
Some gnawed at her arms. Others had burrowed into the flesh of her legs. One sat perched on her stomach, chewing lazily on something that looked like—
Subaru didn't think. He moved.
One arm useless, the other still barely wrapped in blood-soaked cloth, he grabbed Crusch's sword that was flung from his side and whipped it forward.
He moved forward and tried to kill the rats. One by one. The tip of the sword shattered bone and fur.
A rat screeched. Died.
Another.
Another.
His foot crushed a spine as he stomped forward, Sword cracking like thunder, mouth foaming with rage. He didn't feel the pain. He didn't care. This wasn't fighting. This was purging.
The last one tried to run. He didn't let it. Blood sprayed across his cheek. He breathed.
Silence. He turned. Crusch hadn't moved.
Her skin was cold, clammy. Her eyes fluttered, unfocused.
Subaru: "Crusch…"
Her lips parted. No sound. Just air. A single tear slipped down her cheek. He fell to his knees beside her, pressing his forehead to hers, trembling.
Subaru: "You're okay. You're okay. You're not dead. You hear me? You're not—!"
He stopped himself. She needed help. Now.
He slipped his good arm under her back and legs, lifted—gods, she was so light now—and staggered toward the ruined doorway.
Each step felt like his bones would shatter.
Assessing the details feels like being a police at a crime scene. What the rats did to her was something straight out of his second death when he first arrived at the mansion.
—Her arms are filled with bite marks, like a cannibalism group went to gnaw the flesh of the arms
—Her legs are too, in the same condition as her arms. Some parts even exposed her shining, white femur.
—Her ileum was dragged up a little bit, even getting to show her small intestines.
There were even more damages. But it will be discussed later.
Subaru pushed it down as to not disgust the others who will eventually see the state she's in.
Subaru cannot help but throw up. He faced away from unconscious Crusch and throw up gastric juice and acid on the floor.
Subaru tried to stand up but have to stump on the wall to rest, because his ankles were in a state of horror. He dragged Crusch along with his only arm that has a good shape, then tried to lift her up but fail.
He then carried her, a bit successfully, struggling with his left arm having it torn apart in half.
He walked out the gate of the Council Tower, struggling extremely hard, walking like someone who has only done a rehab training partially, or only one time.
Then he saw three people he recognized. Fighting cultists like their life depends on it (which, in fact, it did). And one of them is associated with Crusch.
Outside the Council Tower
The battlefield was chaos.
Fires raged. Dead bodies littered the streets—cultists, soldiers, civilians. A storm of ash and blood. And fleshes of purple meat capsules Capella made.
But through it all, three figures stood out.
Wilhelm van Astrea.
His blade carved a clean arc through a cultist's neck, not missing a beat as he turned to the next.
Garfiel Tinzel.
More beast than boy—fangs bared, claws soaked, smashing dragon arms with primal fury.
Ricardo Welkin. A boy who feels like a titan wolf. Swinging his trump card, the sword he held dear, towards another cultist.
Ricardo: "Damn it, how consistent are they?!"
Wilhelm: "We still have to deal with the eight-armed legend, Kurgan and the mysterious cultist from earlier."
Garfiel: "Yer ain't trolling me right?! There has to be a way to defeat them all!"
Subaru stumbled into view.
Subaru: "WILHELM!"
The scream tore from his throat—raw, broken, desperate. Wilhelm turned.
His sword froze mid-swing. His eyes widened. And then the blade fell from his hand.
Garfiel attacked the cultist in replacement that's about to cut off Wilhelm's legs.
Garfiel: "Think you can attack such a legend? Think again, buddy!"
Garfiel sliced through the cultist's heart, deep down into the spine. Blood and spinal fluid flowed out as the cultist's heartbeat stopped.
And the cultist fell down to the ground.
Wilhelm ran. Not walked. Not strode. Ran.
Wilhelm: "Crusch-sama…?"
His voice cracked. Subaru sank to his knees as Wilhelm reached them. He passed her over carefully, like a relic too sacred to break.
Wilhelm knelt, cradling her. He didn't speak. Didn't move. The silence was heavier than any scream.
Garfiel: "Wilhelm? Wait, what?!"
Garfiel: "The hell—Subaru! What happened to yer face?! Yer—what the actual—who did this?! Who the hell did this?!"
Subaru didn't answer.
Couldn't.
He looked down at the blood still on his hands. Some of it wasn't his. Some of it was rat. Some of it was Crusch's.
He didn't know which part hurt more.
Wilhelm finally spoke.
Wilhelm: "She's still alive."
His voice was steady. But his eyes—
They burned.
Wilhelm: "Who did this?"
Subaru looked at him.
Subaru: "Capella. Lust."
Garfiel let out a growl so deep it shook the air.
Wilhelm: "…Where is she?"
Subaru: "Gone. Disappeared. She left me to die. She said she had to make her 'broadcast.' She tore my ankle off, and half of my left arm."
Wilhelm: "Coward. Lust… how could she torment people like this?"
His fists clenched. His whole body seemed to age a decade in a breath. But he did not shake. He did not falter.
He stood. Still holding her.
Wilhelm: "You rest. We will take it from here."
Garfiel: "Damn straight. When I find that lizard—I'm gonna rip her spine out her mouth."
Subaru: "Wait…"
They both turned.
Subaru: "Don't go alone."
They stared.
Subaru: "You don't understand. She… she doesn't die. You cut her, she laughs. You burn her, she reforms. She's not a person—she's a plague."
Wilhelm: "Then I will become a cure."
Subaru flinched. There was no malice in Wilhelm's voice. Only resolve.
He looked down at Crusch, then back to Subaru.
Wilhelm: "She saved me. Gave me purpose after Theresia. If this is the price for her cause… then I will spend blood. My own, or others."
He looked to Garfiel.
Wilhelm: "Stay. Watch her. Protect her."
Garfiel: "You sure?"
Wilhelm: "She needs someone strong to stand by her. You are strong."
Garfiel's jaw tightened.
He nodded. And Wilhelm walked into the fire.
Subaru: "Garfiel…"
Garfiel spoke with a hopeless manner. He seemed to have lost all his emotions looking at Crusch alone.
Garfiel: "Cap'n, what is it?"
Subaru: "Carry her to the city hall. Let Ferris heal her."
Garfiel: "Cap'n… are yer… sure…?"
Subaru, said with a hopeless smile: "Yeah."
The moment felt carved out of time.
The fires burned behind them. The sky, once blue, was now a toxic gray of ash and despair. Screams rang in the distance. Somewhere, someone was dying.
But none of that mattered. Because in Garfiel's arms, Crusch Karsten wasn't moving.
Her body sagged with a sickening limpness. Wrapped in a scorched coat torn from a dead soldier, limbs covered, face obscured—only the tips of her green hair fluttered in the wind.
Subaru stumbled after them, dragging his feet through blood-streaked streets, one arm limp, the other still shaking.
Every step sent knives through his body. But he kept walking. He had to. He had to be there for this.
City Hall's entrance loomed like a crumbling cathedral. Soldiers stood guard outside—what was left of them, anyway. The moment Garfiel approached, they parted without question.
No one asked.
No one dared.
Garfiel didn't speak. Didn't growl. Just pushed forward, his steps heavy, as if each one pressed a coffin deeper into the ground.
They passed the barricades. The makeshift medical station.
The bodies.
And then—
A voice.
Ferris.
Ferris: "Hey, what's with all the noise—?"
He turned the corner. Saw Garfiel. Saw the body. And froze.
The room fell silent.
Ferris: "No."
The sound that left his throat wasn't human. He ran.
His boots slipped on the tile. His claws nearly tore open the tarp Garfiel had laid over her body.
He tore it off anyway.
And what he saw—
Ferris: "No…"
He dropped to his knees beside her, hands trembling, hovering inches above her destroyed torso. Skin chewed. Ripped. Opened. Her left shoulder was gone. Her midriff—mangled. Her leg—missing below the knee.
Ferris couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
Couldn't breathe.
Subaru watched as the most cheerful soul he'd ever known crumbled into dust.
Ferris: "You said you'd come back."
His voice was hollow. Airless.
Ferris: "You said you'd come back. You said—we promised. You don't get to break that. Not you."
He pressed his head to her chest.
She was still alive. A faint thump. But her body didn't move.
Ferris: "…You're cold."
His tail drooped. His claws curled.
Ferris: "You're cold, you're cold, you're so cold, Crusch-sama, why are you so—"
Subaru: "She needs treatment."
Ferris didn't look up.
Ferris: "There's nothing I can fix if she's already gone…"
Subaru: "She's NOT gone!"
His voice cracked. Raw. Bloody.
Subaru: "I found her. I fought for her. You think I'd let those rats eat her just so you can give up now?! DO SOMETHING!"
Ferris looked at him. Eyes empty. Hollow. Then he looked back at her.
Fingers trembling, he placed his hand on her stomach—magic flared—and—
He flinched. Hard.
Subaru: "What?! What happened?!"
Ferris: "Her body… it's rejecting healing."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Ferris: "It's not just wounds. It's corruption. Her cells—they're melting. Regenerating. Dying. All at once. Like something's—playing with her biology."
Subaru: "Capella."
Ferris didn't respond.
He pressed both palms to her side and poured magic into her until blood leaked from his nose.
And still, the damage barely budged.
Ferris: "I… I can stabilize her."
A pause.
Ferris: "But she won't wake up. Not now. Maybe not ever."
Silence.
Garfiel turned away, eyes burning.
Subaru didn't.
He knelt beside Ferris, placed a hand—his only working hand—on his shoulder.
Subaru: "…We're going to make her wake up."
Ferris didn't answer. But he didn't say no either.
Ferris: "…Give me some alone time. No. Leave me alone."
Subaru: "I already knew you're going to say that."
Ferris carried Crusch's body, and slowly opened the door.
He placed her body on the bed with white mattress, white sheet.
Ferris: "I was living alone. In a damp basement. I barely had food. It was you who saved me."
Flashbacks of Crusch opening the door signaled up his brain.
Ferris: "I love you."
Author's Notes:
YES. I'm leaving that as a cliffhanger. Just wait until the next chapter where Ferris backstory was revealed. The next chapter will be a bit based on the Light Novel Ex Volume 1. That's where his backstory came from.
Also, thanks for that review. APPRECIATE IT SO MUCHHHHHHHH! My first time writing. Always expected a negative review (maybe probably due to my social anxiety its not that much tho lol). Thank you from the bottom of my heart.