By the forty-first time, Subaru didn’t even flinch.
The sound of his boots crunching against the soil had once made her heart leap to her throat, had once filled her with a trembling kind of terror that set her body into fight or flight. But now—now her chest only felt hollow. Her fingers didn’t even tighten around the axe anymore. They just trembled faintly, gripping air.
He stepped out of the shadows again, the same way he always did: his expression empty, eyes sharp, voice colder than iron. “Demons… must die.”
There was no hesitation in his words. Never had been. Not once.
Subaru swallowed hard. Her throat was dry, rough like sandpaper, every breath scratching against her lungs. She wanted to speak, but her voice came out cracked. “I—I’m not even resisting anymore, you bastard… can’t you see that?!”
He didn’t answer. He never did. His face, his tone, his steps—everything about him followed the same script. He raised the axe.
Subaru’s eyes welled up. Her lips trembled. “Please… I don’t even know why this is happening. I don’t even know where I am… I’m not a demon, I’m not—”
The blade came down, fast and merciless.
For the forty-first time, Subaru felt the world go white and soundless. No pain, not really—just a sudden emptiness, a cold rush of air, the faint feeling of falling apart before everything turned black.
Then she blinked.
The stars above her blinked back.
The boy lay there again, bloodied, gasping.
Her body shook. Her breath caught somewhere deep in her chest, and tears started running down her face before she could even stop them. “Please,” she whispered to no one. “Please… just let it end.”
When he rose again, she didn’t even move. Didn’t try to talk. Didn’t try to run.
“Demons must die.”
The same words. The same swing.
The forty-second reset ended in the same red flash.
By the forty-third, Subaru could barely bring herself to speak anymore. Her throat ached from screaming, from begging, from explaining. She’d tried every version of her story she could think of—told him she was human, that she was lost, that she’d just woken up here, that she’d never hurt anyone. She even tried lying, pretending she was a cursed villager or a summoned spirit, but it didn’t matter. His axe didn’t care.
She tried to talk calmly. Tried to cry. Tried to fight. Tried to surrender. Nothing changed.
Every time she woke up, her legs would shake when she stood. Sometimes she’d vomit, sometimes she’d laugh until her stomach cramped. Once, she sat for an hour, staring at her trembling hands, before he found her again.
Now… now she just stood there.
She didn’t even bother picking up the axe lying beside her.
When she saw him approach again, her lips moved automatically. The same words left her mouth in a dead tone. “Demons must die, right? Go ahead, then. I get it. That’s all you can say.”
He looked at her, eyes as cold as ever, and swung.
Her head tilted back at the last second, eyes locked on the moon above—the same moon, always the same shape, same clouds drifting past it. A cruel, repetitive sky.
“I don’t… I don’t want this anymore,” she whispered.
The forty-third ended.
And the forty-fourth began.
This time, Subaru didn’t even cry. She didn’t run. Didn’t scream. She just stood there, staring up at the stars, her chest hollowed out, eyes lifeless.
When she blinked, the boy was there again, and her heart didn’t even jump.
She couldn’t remember how long she’d been doing this. Couldn’t tell if she was actually breathing anymore. Couldn’t tell if she was still Subaru—Subaru Natsuki, the idiot who once bought convenience store snacks and complained about games being pay-to-win. That felt like a dream now.
Now there was only this: the forest, the boy, the axe, the same words, the same pain.
“Demons must die.”
“Yeah,” Subaru whispered, almost smiling through the tears that never fully stopped. “Guess so.”
And with that, she closed her eyes.
The sound of the axe splitting air came, and she welcomed it.
The forty-fourth, forty-fifth, forty-sixth… they blurred together after that.
Each reset felt shorter, duller, emptier.
Once, she tried running again, half-heartedly, out of instinct—but tripped over her own foot, falling flat into the mud. She stayed there, sobbing quietly, waiting for him to find her. When the blow came, she didn’t even raise her head.
Another time, she thought of her family—her mom humming while cooking, her dad joking about stupid things, the smell of the tatami in her room. The memories hit her like blades, cutting through the fog in her brain, and she cried until her chest hurt. When he came that time, she whispered through the tears, “I just want to go home.”
He didn’t pause.
The axe came down.
By the forty-ninth, her mind had started slipping. Sometimes she’d laugh at nothing, or whisper random words just to hear her own voice. Sometimes she’d talk to the trees. Sometimes she’d apologize to them.
And every single time—reset.
The fiftieth time she stood there, she didn’t even notice the tears falling anymore.
The forest around her was quiet. The stars were exactly where they always were. The same hum of the wind. The same heartbeat in her ears.
“Demons must die.”
She nodded faintly, voice hoarse, almost broken. “Then do it.”
He did.
And as darkness took her again, she finally wondered if maybe—maybe she’d never stop seeing this place.
Maybe she’d already gone insane.
Maybe she already had.
To Be Continued
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