“Gasp!”
A stifled gasp squeezed out of Soren’s throat.
His hands clutched his neck like iron pincers, his knuckles turning white from the sheer force of his grip.
His chest heaved frantically.
Every breath felt as though countless tiny needles were scraping against his windpipe.
Suddenly, a scorching pain radiated from his throat to the back of his ears, causing cold sweat to break out across his temples.
He staggered half a step backward, his back colliding with the cold stone pillars of the Favonius Headquarters hall before he could finally steady himself.
A hazy white mist involuntarily clouded his vision.
Just a second ago, his head had been severed by Amber in the small woods outside Mondstadt… how had he suddenly ended up inside the headquarters in the blink of an eye?
“Big brother?
What’s wrong?”
A soft, sweet voice rang out beside him.
Soren forced his eyes to turn, finally spotting a little girl with twin ponytails standing next to him.
She was cradling a faded rabbit plushie in her arms, her round eyes filled with confusion as her small hand gently tugged at the hem of his shirt.
The burning ache in his throat eased a bit.
Soren took a deep breath, wanting to smile and tell her “it’s nothing,” but the moment he opened his mouth, his voice sounded as raspy as sandpaper.
He shook his head, bending down to make his tone as gentle as possible.
“Nothing, I’m just…
a bit thirsty.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the guards dressed in knight uniforms nearby, before looking back at the little girl.
“Now that we’re at the headquarters, go find those knight big brothers over there.
They will help you find your family.”
“What about you, big brother?”
The little girl blinked.
“I have some business to attend to.
I need to leave first.”
Soren stood back up, suppressing the residual discomfort in his throat, and waved goodbye to the little girl.
He watched her carry her plushie step by step toward the guards.
Only then did he turn around, clutching his throat as he hurried toward the entrance of the library.
I should hide in the library for a bit before I figure things out.
The moment his fingertips brushed the library door handle, the chilly wooden texture slid across his skin, dispelling a fraction of the heat in his throat.
With a slight exertion of force, the handle turned with a soft “click.”
He pushed the door open just enough to slip inside, quickly stepping through the gap.
He instinctively glanced back toward the main hall to ensure no one had noticed him before carefully closing the door behind him.
The library was not particularly massive.
Sunlight filtered through the high windows, illuminating tiny dust motes dancing in the air; the atmosphere was thick with the scent of old ink and dry paper characteristic of well-worn pages.
Near the entrance stood several dark wooden chairs with fine grains running across their surfaces.
Soren practically stumbled over to them, his fingertips scraping along the cold armrest as he abruptly pulled out a chair and collapsed heavily into it, his strength spent.
The chair legs scraped against the floorboards, emitting a soft “creak” that sounded exceptionally clear in the quiet library.
He pressed his hands hard against his temples.
The pressure from his fingertips cleared his chaotic mind barely, but he soon curled up, burying his head deeply in his arms.
He propped his elbows on his knees, his knuckles turning white from the strain.
His mind felt like a tangled ball of yarn.
The agonizing pain of having his head sliced off by Amber was still phantomly playing tricks on his senses; his neck felt as if the coldness and tear of the blade were still lingering.
Yet, the scene of the headquarters’ hall before him was undeniably real–the little girl’s soft inquiry, the cold stone pillar, the burning pain in his throat; every single detail was too vivid to be an illusion.
This feels exactly like the death rollback mechanic in web novels and video games…
The thought suddenly flashed through his mind, causing Soren’s body to shiver almost imperceptibly.
Back in his original world, he had indeed read plenty of stories where the protagonist returned to the past after dying, but those were works of fiction.
How could it actually happen to him?
He pinched his thigh hard; the sharp sting of pain proved beyond a doubt that he was not dreaming.
Why is this happening to me?
He knit his brows tightly, his fingers mindlessly clawing through his hair.
An onslaught of questions surged over him like a tide, making his chest feel suffocatingly heavy.
And why does every single character suddenly lose control like that?
“Would this gloomy little cutie like a cup of black tea?”
A lazy, seductive voice suddenly whispered in his ear, like warm honey-infused silk, enveloping Soren’s tightly wound nerves.
He snapped out of his thoughts at once, dropping his hands and slowly opening his eyes to look up.
Lisa was leaning against the desk, holding a white porcelain teacup.
A faint wisp of steam drifted from the rim, spreading a delicate tea aroma mixed with her signature scent of roses.
She leaned lazily against the side of the desk, her fluffy brown curls cascading over her shoulders, a few stray strands brushing against her pale neck.
Her emerald eyes were half-lidded, her gaze falling lazily onto his face.
The corners of her eyes curved upward with a subtle, playful smile, making Soren feel as though she were tossing him a deliberate wink.
A sudden warmth flushed across his cheeks.
He hurriedly sat up straighter in his chair, his fingers mindlessly gripping his shirt hem as he forced an awkward smile.
“S-Sorry…
I don’t really like tea…”
The moment the words left his mouth, he felt his tone was far too blunt, so he quickly added,
“It’s not the tea’s fault, it’s just my personal taste.
Sorry to trouble you, Miss Lisa.”
Lisa, however, showed no signs of awkwardness at being rejected.
Instead, she let out a soft chuckle, tilting her wrist to place the teacup on the corner of the table.
The porcelain cup met the wooden desk with a crisp “clack.”
She naturally pulled out the chair opposite Soren and sat down with a lazy grace, her skirt sweeping lightly across the floorboards.
Leaning forward, she propped her elbows on the desk and rested her chin on her interlocked hands, speaking in a highly teasing tone.
“That’s quite alright.
We don’t need tea to get to know each other, do we?”
Her voice lowered, her words carrying a soft, sweet lilt that tickled like a feather brushing against the heart.
“I’m Lisa, the librarian here.
If you don’t mind, you can call me Big Sister Lisa.”
Having said that, she deliberately winked, a flash of playfulness darting across her emerald eyes.
Soren did not indulge her, a sense of wariness tightening in his chest.
Why did she suddenly approach me like this?
With this thought in mind, he guardedly averted his gaze to the bookshelves, refusing to look at her any longer.
The moment Soren shifted his gaze, the opposite chair let out a soft “creak.” Lisa had actually stood up and walked right over to his side.
The fragrance of roses abruptly closed in on him.
He could even feel the tips of her curly brown hair brushing against his shoulder.
“Why aren’t you speaking?”
Lisa’s voice dropped even lower than before, her warm breath brushing against his ear with a sticky, sweet intent.
“Did Sister do something to make you uncomfortable?
Or…
are you afraid of me?”
Soren’s body stiffened.
He wanted to pull back, but Lisa anticipated his move and pressed her hand firmly against the back of his chair.
She leaned down, bringing her lips close to his ear.
The laziness in her emerald eyes vanished, replaced by a near-obsessive focus–like a tightening vine locking onto its prey, determined to bind him fast.
“I’ve been watching you for quite a while, you know… from the moment you rushed into the headquarters in a panic, clutching your throat, to when you hid yourself in the library.
I saw every single little move with absolute clarity.
And your peculiar appearance…
the horns on your head, and that black, snake-skin-textured tail.”
Her fingers brushed across Soren’s wrist.
The cold touch sent a violent shiver through him.
He tried to yank his hand back, but her grip only tightened.
“You seem to have quite a few secrets, little cutie.”
A bizarrely gentle warmth crept into Lisa’s smile as her other hand stroked his cheek, her thumb grazing over his reddened eye corners.
“Is it about what you encountered outside just now?
Or…
is it about yourself?”
Soren’s throat tightened.
Just as he was about to demand she let him go, Lisa’s eyes narrowed.
Her tone suddenly dropped, though she maintained that sweet, sticky lilt.
“Don’t even think about hiding it from me.
You know, the library holds all the books, and it holds all the ‘secrets’.
If I want to find out, there is nothing I cannot uncover.”
She leaned closer to his neck, her nose brushing his collar as if verifying a certain scent, her voice softening once more.
“But, I would much rather you tell me yourself.
After all…
I don’t like using unpleasant methods on someone I find interesting.”
Soren stared at the obsession swirling in her eyes, feeling cold all over.
The lazy, charming librarian persona was nothing but a front.
The Lisa standing before him was like a poisonous flower dipped in honey–seemingly gentle, but having already spun a web from which he could not escape.
He wanted to struggle, but her grip on his wrist was painfully tight, leaving him to watch helplessly as she smiled and leaned even closer.
“Tell me.
Perhaps Sister can help you with your secrets.”
Soren’s Adam’s apple bobbed uncontrollably.
His dry throat felt as though it were being rubbed with sandpaper, the simple act of swallowing bringing a dull sting of pain.
Cold sweat slid down from his temples, dripping onto his collar and spreading into a small, dark damp patch.
Lisa’s obsessive words still echoed in his ears, and he could still feel the lingering coldness of her fingertips against his neck.
His heart felt as though it were being squeezed by an invisible hand, making even breathing difficult.
“Are you thirsty?”
Lisa’s voice suddenly rang close again, carrying its usual sweet lilt, causing Soren’s body to freeze at once.
Before he could look up, a pale hand carrying a white porcelain teacup gently placed it on the desk right next to his hand.
Steam rose from the rim, and the fragrant scent of tea mixed with the aroma of roses washed over him, practically wrapping him in its embrace.
The cup sat right by his elbow, so close that if he raised his hand even half an inch, his fingertips would touch the cool porcelain.
Soren’s gaze locked onto the teacup, then darted to Lisa.
She was standing right beside him, hands clasped behind her back, her purple curls draping over her shoulders, looking down at him with a half-smiling expression as if she had long since read his mind.
He instinctively wanted to reach for it, but his fingers froze just half an inch off the desk.
Lisa’s previous obsession was still vivid in his mind.
This cup of tea, offered so gently, now looked to him like a trap coated in honey… the moment he touched it, he would never be able to escape.
More cold sweat broke out.
Soren clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms as he forced his panic down, slowly pulling his hand back.
I can’t let myself get thrown into another defeat cutscene…
Soren kept his eyes cast down, his fingers frozen in mid-air, his mind locked in an agonizing dilemma… he desperately wanted to soothe the dry burning in his throat, while terrified of falling straight into Lisa’s snare.