Chapter 294: Whatever

Eir’s hand reached out, wiping the blood from his split lip. Then, noticing the blood pooling in his mouth, she cupped his face.

Between her thumb and forefinger, she held the small, freshly extracted tooth. Still coated in viscous blood, the crimson liquid clung to its white surface like a grim jewel. She lifted it between them, as if consecrating it.

“Eir knows… since there’s no painkiller or blood-clotting spell… Young Master’s mouth must be full of blood from this wound…”

Her fingers tightened on his jaw—

Throb.

—pressing against the raw socket. Pain flared.

“…Young Master’s blood… is so sweet. Eir will savor it properly.”

“W-Wait, are you—?”

Her lips were already on his.

Slurp.

The suction tore through the empty socket. Fresh blood rushed over his tongue, metallic and thick. It spilled past their joined lips, flowing into her mouth like a dark river finding its course.

…

Hah…

Will’s lips curved. After the nerve-shredding pain, after Eir’s violent “care,” after understanding her warped logic—

Pain = Love

—he felt no helplessness.

Only…

Ecstasy.

So this was the craving he’d sensed earlier.

Gulp. “Ah… this isn’t Eir’s first time tasting Young Master’s blood, is it?” Her throat moved as she swallowed. The tense alertness in her wolf ears softened, becoming fluffy, pliant. “…But compared to licking your wounds years ago… it’s sweeter now. Less like rust…”

“Blood… shouldn’t taste sweet,” Will muttered, falling into old habits. “The iron ions make it metallic—”

He paused.

Bound to a chair. Tooth ripped out. Blood on his chin.

Yet here he was—explaining hematology. Calm. Normal.

The suffocating despair from earlier?

Gone.

Shattered by Eir’s loving violence.

“…Young Master?” Eir tilted her head. “This feels familiar. The real Young Master. The one before you… collapsed.”

—Wrong.

She hurt you. She smiled. Yet…

You’re grateful for it?

“It’s been hours since lunch,” Eir stood, retrieving the porridge bowl—now cold. “Should Eir feed you? Now? Or… once the bleeding slows?” Her tail swayed gently. “Whenever Young Master wishes. Eir will stay.”

…

Warmth bloomed in his chest. Sharper than the cellar’s chill.

“N-No… not yet.”

“Okay.” She set the bowl aside. Her tail wagged—wide, happy arcs. Content.

So… so good… The sigh slipped out.

He watched her turn toward the door, bowl in hand, backlit by dim light.

Don’t go.

Don’t leave.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

Without her, the darkness would swallow him whole. The useless, drifting wreck he’d always been—past life, present life—needed her pain to feel alive.

Since when did I become the one starving for agony? Starving for… her ?

“Eir… d-don’t… don’t go? Please?”

“Young Master? But… the bowl—”

“Just… stay with me a little longer. Please.”

“Young Master?! You’re… you’re trembling. Talking like this… are you alright?!”

Ah.

He understood.

Stockholm syndrome? Starting not with Eir, but with Leah’s bindings, Treya’s dreams…

Captured. Unable to escape their love.

That’s why he never truly fought. Why he faced them. Why he cursed his own weakness.

Why couldn’t he read their hearts? Bear their love? See their truth?

Why…

…couldn’t he be the hero ?

Those questions had dragged him—the detached “narrator”—down into the story. Forced him to live as Will Hysterm.

And “living” needed love. Purpose. The addictive rush of pain wrapped in sweetness.

Eir returned. Backlit, her smile remained—gentle, twisted.

“…I’m fine. Better than before. Truly.” He swallowed blood, hand over his heart.

Eir tilted her head. She couldn’t grasp his turmoil—like a pet confused by its owner’s tears. But she knew one thing:

He hurts.

So comfort him.

She embraced him, pressing his face against her chest. His bound arms couldn’t move, so she leaned closer. Knees touched.

Nuzzle. Hug. Whimper.

Make the pain fade.

“……”

Will inhaled sharply.

He’d done it.

He’d created the perfect yandere.

Only they could break the observer watching the “story.” Only they could make his detached “character” feel alive in his helplessness. Only they could own him.

“Young Master, you’ve done well. Eir had to do this… Only like this… can Eir feel calm.” Her voice hitched. “…Can you forgive me?”

Whatever.

Let it all go.

Just love me. Do what you want.

He surrendered. Utterly. In the tug-of-war of twisted love, she’d won.

He had… no fight left.

“…Mm. It’s okay. Just a little pain. And…” His voice softened, unfamiliar. “…Eir’s lips were warm. Eir’s chest was soft. It was… good.”

“Young Master’s voice… it’s so gentle? Eir’s never heard this before.”

“…Think of it… as how I speak to someone I love.”

“Y-Young Master?!”

“I won’t leave. Ever. I promise.” He exhaled, weary. “Dungeons? Game items? My stupid death flag? None of it matters now.”

“Young Master, really… alright?”

“I’m fine. Probably… the best I’ve ever been.” He met her eyes. “Since I’m staying… untie me? Let me hold you too.”

Eir froze.

This longing—this dependency—was new. Uncharted.

He was right. Even without the 300 Questions… following her heart worked.

“But… no, Young Master.” Her smile didn’t waver. “Eir can only relax… seeing you tied here. Unable to ru—”

“Then don’t stop at teeth.” Will’s voice cut like ice. His blue eyes—deep, hollow—locked onto hers. “If pain keeps you loving me… give me more.”

—Do what you want. It’s how I survive.

—In this world I can’t control… loving you is all I have left.

—Everything else…

—Whatever.

“Left hand. Right hand. Left foot. Right foot. Left eye. Right eye. Left ear. Right ear. Kidneys. Liver. Stomach. Vocal cords. Tongue…”

He listed organs tonelessly—a butcher’s inventory.

“Take what you want. Disfigured me. Make me need you forever.”

A knife-sharp smile touched Will’s lips as he saw it—the flicker of shock in Eir’s eyes, drowned by dawning rapture.

Perfect pupil.

Blackened to the core.

“As long as you smile… I won’t cry.”