Chapter 292: Depression

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Eir stood there.

In the icy puddle’s reflection, her polished maid shoes glimmered faintly, catching the thin sliver of light from the doorway. Her voice trembled, her body shuddered—a choked apology thick with genuine regret.

In her left hand, she held the pliers.

In her right, a small porcelain bowl—Will’s bowl, the one he’d used since childhood—filled with steaming porridge that sent tendrils of white vapor curling into the cellar’s chill.

“Eir… what… what are you here to do?” Will rasped, his voice raw.

“I’m sorry… truly, truly sorry… Eir doesn’t know what to do. Eir’s heart is all tangled… tangled up.” Her polished shoes clicked sharply on the stone floor. “But Eir remembered Young Master’s teaching. Eir thinks… Eir understands what must be done.” She swayed slightly as she stepped closer. “Just… do what you want. Say what you feel. That’s all, right?”

Those few steps felt agonizingly slow, stretched into an eternity.

“…Young Master… you seem… so terribly lost…” Eir murmured, noticing Will’s utter dejection. She knelt beside him, gently setting the bowl aside. Tilting her head, her gaze locked onto his.

Only then could Will truly see her expression.

She was smiling.

A wide, unsettling smile—not joyful, nor the classic, chilling “yandere grin” he’d once taught her.

“Broken. Resigned. Giving up on everything.”

“Not pushing forward like you always did…”

“Lying here like something useless, surrendering to this…”

She let out a low, guttural laugh, a sound utterly alien to the Eir he knew. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips as if the bound Will before her was a delectable feast.

“…I really, really am sorry.” Her voice was a breathy whisper now. “Eir…” Her smile widened, terrifyingly bright. “Eir loves Young Master like this.”

“—See? Just like you taught me. No hiding feelings. Say it all.”

Danger. A primal sense of it erupted from Eir, saturating the frigid air, raising the hairs on Will’s neck. She gripped the chair, effortlessly righting it with him still bound. “…So weak you need Eir’s help just to sit up? Perfect.”

She tightened the ropes with practiced efficiency, cinching them cruelly around his arms and legs. Will noticed the faint, chilling aura clinging to the bonds—Rimefrost Phalanx. A reinforcement spell, freezing them solid, impossibly strong. At this distance, his eye caught the thin, black silk ribbon tied around her right wrist.

Familiar…?

That black ribbon…

Was it the same one he’d used to demonstrate…? Or just a scrap left behind in this decaying place?

“Young Master, Eir is going to do something a little… different now.” Eir didn’t wait. Her fingers deftly untied the ribbon. Before Will’s dazed eyes could react, the cool silk brushed his skin, then tightened, plunging his world into absolute darkness.

The faint scent of moss was instantly replaced by Eir’s own, subtle fragrance clinging to the silk. Utter blackness. If it was the ribbon he remembered, it should have been translucent… but in the cellar’s meager light, the dense black silk offered nothing. He was blind. Utterly at Eir’s mercy.

“Huuu…” He exhaled shakily. As his mind clawed for calm, he heard Eir rise, her footsteps moving towards the “tools.” In the suffocating dark, his own heartbeat was the loudest sound. It had been frantic when the silk touched him. Now, it slowed, a heavy, dragging thud.

The “hope” was gone. He’d walked step by step into this vortex of fate. Now, trapped in sightless blackness…

He began to trace the roots of his failure.

Perhaps…

There were no roots.

He was just a pitiful footnote here, unable to grasp his own destiny. Even resistance only invited backlash.

Stripped of his “foreknowledge,” he was just fumbling blindly in the dark, wasn’t he? What good was their transferred affection? What good was understanding the monsters he’d created? What good was clinging to a shattered hope for them?

Events had spiraled beyond his control, dragging him down a worse path.

And he had to admit…

He couldn’t bear the weight of their profound, crushing “love.” Wasn’t that inevitable? Cruel fate played its hand; he’d crafted an unbearable, twisted devotion… and perhaps, he was never meant to escape it.

His spirit truly felt like that snowy afternoon, burying the foolish dog.

Back then, his despair and fury came from realizing his utter lack of control over “fate.”

Now…

It came from realizing the “broken” fate meant he held no advantage in this “story” at all.

Why…?

Calm descended like a shroud. A fragment of his “past life,” distant and half-forgotten, surfaced with startling clarity.

After some meeting… that crushing sense of futility, the feeling of trying everything and achieving nothing.

That day, he’d walked out of the conference room.

Passed through the gaudy office plastered with cheerful company logos and bright colors, a garish celebration he couldn’t share.

Pushed open the heavy fire door. Walked past the security guard’s concerned gaze.

Stood in the dim, dank stairwell. The air tasted stale, unfamiliar.

And then…

He hadn’t sat down. Just took off his glasses.

Pressed his forehead against his forearm. Leaned against the cold, rough concrete wall. Closed his eyes.

Work always seemed to… always had moments like this. Crushing collapse. Doing everything, gaining nothing.

Even back then…

In that hallway… no one had embraced him. No hand on his shoulder…

No one whispered, “You tried your best.”

…

Honestly… wasn’t this just the same as back then?

He hadn’t become the protagonist in that life either.

Born into a family that piled on endless pressure, always demanding “success,” thriving on tension.

Studied relentlessly, yet never matched the geniuses who aced exams with a casual glance.

Thought he’d found work matching his passion, ended up on the wrong project… stuck adapting other people’s IPs at the bottom.

Just… this.

A pathetic life replaying only the bitter, meaningless scraps, even here.

…Though, come to think of it…

Just what kind of meeting had left his past self feeling so utterly hollow?