"And what makes you believe I would ever buy this story?" I almost laughed, the sound caught somewhere between disbelief and irritation. This was beyond ridiculous. "You? The heroine worshipped by the world, the hope of the human race, turning against your own? Do you really think I'm that stupid? Why would you ever—"

I stopped mid-sentence.

Something was wrong.

Her eyes did not look like the eyes of someone lying. There was no calculation in them, no satisfaction, no hidden triumph waiting to spring the moment I lowered my guard. They were steady. Too steady. And in that instant, a single, unsettling possibility surfaced in my mind, sharp enough to make my breath hitch.

"Wait…" My voice wavered despite my effort to keep it firm, cutting through the heavy silence of the forest as it seemed to watch us both. "Are you still human? Did you accept Lyssandra as your master?"

Beelzebub shifted in front of Elira, placing himself between them without hesitation. His stance was small but absolute, fangs bared just enough to show intent. I could feel his confusion mirroring my own. He did not know Hera the way I did, did not understand her role in the story, but he understood one thing clearly.

To me, she was the greatest possible threat in this world, second only to Lyssandra herself.

She had already received a powerful ability from Lyssandra, something that had confused me the first time I witnessed it. Back then, I dismissed it as an anomaly, a hidden blessing meant to balance the world. But then the villainess herself avoided every question I asked about Hera. She deflected, redirected, refused to clarify anything.

Something had been wrong even then.

Now, standing here, I could feel it clearly. The logic of the story was collapsing. The rules that once governed this world no longer held.

"I'm not her pet like you are, Beatrice," Hera spat, hatred dripping from every word. "But she and I work together now. What's wrong with that? Are you jealous?"

The words struck harder than they should have.

No. Something was deeply wrong.

The real Hera would never say that. She would never align herself with Lyssandra, never tolerate her existence, let alone cooperate with her. Hatred toward demons was etched into her bones, absolute and unyielding. That conviction defined her character more than any blessing or title ever could.

And yet here she stood.

A thought surged up from the depths of my chest, dangerous and unsettling. It was not impossible. I was living proof of that. Worlds could fracture. Stories could be hijacked. People could awaken where they were never meant to.

If I asked her now, if I dared to voice it, what would happen?

If I asked whether she, too, was a transmigrated being like me.

The idea sounded ridiculous on the surface, yet it was the only explanation that made sense. The only one that justified why the heroine of this story would turn her blade toward the world she was meant to save.

But then… would she suspect me?

If she was also from my world, if she had read the original book, would she remember the raid? Would she remember how it was supposed to end? Would she remember that I was meant to die by her hand, erased without ceremony, a side character so insignificant that my death barely counted as a footnote? Would that kind of detail even stay with her, or would I blur together with the countless nameless figures the original Hera cut down along the way?

Or worse… was she already suspecting me?

Had she noticed my proficiency in surgery, the way my hands moved without hesitation, without fear? Had that alone been enough to raise questions? Could she have connected it to the modern world?

And then there was the system. It had not stirred at all around her. Not even the faintest ripple, as if deliberately hiding from her. That unsettled me more than anything else. The system reacted to anomalies, to threats, to things that did not belong. It had screamed when I crossed certain lines. It had whispered when fate bent.

But around Hera… nothing. As if she were invisible to it.

Or protected?

Does she have a system too?

The thought hit me hard enough to tighten my chest. If she did, what kind was it? One like mine? Or something entirely different, something layered deeper, hidden beneath the narrative itself?

Too many questions piled up at once, spiraling tighter and tighter, until it felt like my thoughts were eating themselves alive. I wanted to tear into the answers the same way I tore into flesh during surgery, to lay everything bare and force the truth into the open.

Before I could speak, she tilted her head slightly, watching me with that calm, infuriating composure.

"What's wrong?" she asked lightly. "Cat got your tongue?"

Her gaze slid past me for a brief moment, dismissive, almost bored. "If you don't want the Qillin bones, I can keep them myself. Even if things went more smoothly with you involved, I can kill those losers on my own. It's really not that big of a deal."

Her confidence was effortless.

And that, more than anything else, terrified me.

"Heh…" I let out a slow breath, the sound carrying more weight than amusement. Whatever this was, whatever game she was playing, I would not unravel it by standing still. If there were answers to be found, I would have to step closer to the blade.

"I never said I wasn't interested," I continued calmly. "But I need a reason. A real one." My gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. "Give me a convincing explanation for why you would turn against your own, and I'll consider helping you."

I held her eyes, searching for cracks, for something that did not belong.

"You need me, don't you?" I said quietly. "Otherwise, you would never have come to me at all." My voice hardened just slightly as the truth settled between us. "Or is it that you want me to shoulder the curse alone, since I already killed Blackbrand?"

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