"This is… completely screwed."

I muttered under my breath, staring down at the small sphere in my hand.

The Dreamscape Orb—my most prized artifact, the core of nearly all my combat ability—was cracked.

A thin, spiderweb-like fracture ran across its otherwise flawless surface, glinting faintly under the morning light.

Last night, while I was training, I'd heard a faint crack, but I hadn't paid much attention. I thought it was just the sound of mana settling—nothing serious.

Apparently, I was wrong.

"Just great," I sighed, rubbing my temples.

The Dreamscape Orb wasn't something that could be easily replaced. It wasn't just a magical tool—it was the tool. Everything I'd built up so far, my entire fighting style, relied on it.

And now it was about to fall apart in my hands.

If the crack spread even a little further, it wouldn't just stop working—it would shatter.

And if it shattered while I was using it mid-battle… well, let's just say the explosion would make sure I wouldn't be around to regret it.

"What should I even do now…"

I leaned back in my chair, the weight of the situation sinking in. My mind began to run through options.

To survive in this world, I needed the Orb. Without it, I was like a swordsman without a sword—or worse, a mage without mana.

"There is one way to fix it," I murmured.

The thought made me grimace.

There was, in fact, a method to repair the Dreamscape Orb. I'd read about it in one of the Academy's restricted tomes—a forgotten process involving a special kind of crystal found deep inside a particular dungeon.

The Labyrinth of Echoes.

Just thinking about it made me groan.

That dungeon wasn't just any random ruin; it was infamous. Packed with traps, mana interference zones, illusion puzzles, and monsters that fed on mental energy. To even enter, I'd need a specific catalyst and a high-tier purification charm.

Both of which were… not exactly lying around in my pockets.

"Of course it can't be easy," I muttered, dragging a hand down my face.

If I were one of those overpowered protagonists from the stories—able to crush a wyvern with a glare—I'd just storm through the dungeon, break every gimmick, and grab what I needed.

But reality? Reality was annoying.

I wasn't invincible. Not yet, anyway.

"Haah…"

The sigh slipped out before I could stop it.

"Why are you sighing like that?"

Elena's voice came from beside me, light and curious as always. When I looked up, she was standing there with her usual soft smile, tilting her head slightly.

"It's nothing," I said, waving a hand dismissively.

Morning sunlight filtered through the classroom windows, painting long streaks of gold across the desks. After weeks of chaos and reconstruction, the academy was finally restored to its usual rhythm. The once-cracked walls gleamed anew, the air filled again with the hum of mana and chatter of students.

We were finally back.

And yet, even as I sat there surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds, I couldn't shake off the weight in my chest.

The Dreamscape Orb.

It was still broken.

Even if the comic hadn't mentioned another way to fix it, there had to be one. Artifacts like that never appeared without purpose. Somewhere—somehow—there had to be a method to repair it.

I was turning over every possibility in my head when I noticed Elena watching me with a strangely conflicted look.

"What's with that expression?" I asked.

"Huh? Ah… well…" She hesitated, biting her lip for a second before glancing around the classroom. Then, with a little sigh, she reached into her bag and pulled something out.

"This…"

She held it out carefully, both hands trembling ever so slightly.

I leaned forward, curious.

"Hm?"

I leaned in slightly, my eyes drifting toward the paper in Elena's hand.

It was neatly folded, the edges perfectly straight—clearly handled with care. The paper itself was pure white, almost too pristine for something so ordinary.

Elena instinctively shifted, hiding the contents from my view.

But she didn't have to say anything. I could already tell what it was.

A love letter.

The classic, time-tested method of confessing one's feelings. The kind that shows up in every cliché romantic comedy.

And honestly… I've never liked them.

Because no matter how poetic the words are, a letter can never fully capture how someone feels. And more often than not, it just ends up making things awkward.

My gaze drifted to the corner of the paper—and then I saw it.

"…There's no name on it."

Of course.

Typical.

'An anonymous confession? How cowardly.'

If you're going to pour your heart out, at least have the decency to sign your name. Don't dump your feelings onto someone and leave them guessing—it just makes everything uncomfortable for the other person.

"I don't know what to do," Elena murmured softly, smiling as if troubled.

Her tone was calm, but her expression said otherwise. She looked genuinely lost, as if this single sheet of paper had thrown her entire morning into disarray.

I raised an eyebrow. "You've never gotten something like that before?"

"This is the first time I've received something like this," she said, her smile turning awkward.

"…Really?"

She avoided my gaze. That alone said enough.

'So that's how it is, huh.'

In the original story, Elena was constantly tormented by a stalker—someone named Louis. A person who wouldn't stop sending letters, flowers, and unwanted attention.

But since I hadn't done any of that in this version of events, it made sense that she hadn't built up any tolerance for this kind of thing yet.

Which meant this really was her first genuine confession.

She looked flustered, unsure of how to respond, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the folded paper.

I sighed softly and said, "I think you should respond."

She blinked. "Respond…?"

"Yeah." I shrugged casually. "I don't know what's written in there, but it's better to give some kind of answer. Otherwise, the person will just keep waiting."

I could already guess the contents.

Something like—

'I've liked you for a long time.'

'Please meet me at this place, at this time.'

The same script every romantic fool used.

Still, it was better to end it cleanly than let it drag on.

Even if it was just a simple letter, ignoring it completely would only invite more trouble later.

I glanced at her again—her delicate hands still holding the letter as if it might vanish if she let go.

Elena looked thoughtful for a moment.

"You're right. Yes… I'll meet them once."

Elena nodded, her expression softening as if her worries had finally settled. The faint smile she gave me looked genuine—relieved, even.

And yet…

'I don't know why, but something feels off.'

A faint unease began to creep up my chest.

Maybe it was nothing—just me overthinking things again. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something about this situation wasn't right.

In the original story, Elena had always been the type to attract trouble. No matter how small or harmless something seemed, villains had a way of finding her—like moths drawn to a flame.

And if this meeting turned out to be one of those moments…

I exhaled slowly, glancing at her as she turned away.

'…Yeah. I don't like this.'

It might be rude, and definitely a bit intrusive, but I'd rather be impolite than regretful later.

If something happened again—if someone tried to harm her while I just stood by—

I clenched my jaw slightly.

'It won't hurt to follow her. Just in case.'

And with that, I quietly made up my mind.

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