The Truth
“Haa….”
The pain ripping through me felt like my guts were being torn apart, but the Steel Will I'd honed through Battōjutsu training kept me from buckling under something like this.
Propping myself up on the ground, I slowly rose to my feet and looked up at Hori, who was still scribbling furiously in her notebook even now.
“Hmm… Side effects hit, then about three minutes to recovery…? No, wait—Teacher Peter’s still down, so maybe Ian’s the outlier… If only I had more test subjects….”
Test subjects? She was planning to make someone else taste this hellish agony too?
What a nightmare. To prevent any more victims, I slapped my hand on my sword hilt and bellowed at her.
“Hey!! What?! ‘Slight side effects’?! You call this slight?!”
“Eek!! I-Ian!! Talk like civilized people!! T-take your hand off that hilt!!”
Hori yelped at the sight of my hand on the hilt, dropping her notebook and pen in shock.
“Screw civilized—tell me what the hell this crap potion is before I draw.”
“I-I told you at the start! It has slight side effects!!”
“Slight my ass!!”
If I'd used this against Robo, I probably wouldn't be standing here right now.
The potion's raw power was impressive, no doubt—but the duration and backlash were the problem.
Five minutes was plenty of time, but chugging it announced to the enemy: This is temporary doping.
So they'd play it safe, turtle up on defense, and wait it out.
Then, when the boost faded, the backlash hit—and there was no dodging it.
Game over. You'd be wide open for a solid three minutes. Survival odds? Zero.
“It's not doping—it's straight-up gambling!! Win and you live, lose and you die!!”
“And that's a good thing!!”
“...What?”
“Ah…!!”
Hori slapped a hand over her mouth like she'd slipped up. Staring at her, I recalled those research notes I'd glimpsed by accident that day.
“Pascotamine.”
“...!!”
She flinched hard as the name of that torture-grade poison herb left my lips.
“I didn't snoop on purpose, but why the hell was that in your notes?”
“...P-poison herbs can be medicinal if you know how to use 'em.”
“Hori. You know I won't buy that crap—why even say it?”
Under pressure, her shoulders slumped in resignation.
“Guess I can't hide it anymore….”
“Hide what? Spill it.”
“...I said our family researched body-enhancing potions, right? Truth is, it changed starting with my dad.”
“...Changed how?”
“...Yeah. Dad's focus was potions that wreck your body but grant power in return—ones that deliberately break you to boost you.”
“...What?”
Was I hearing this right?
The first part made sense. The second? What the actual fuck?
“Grk…!! W-what the hell… are you… spouting…!!”
Peter, shaking off his own backlash, croaked in disbelief.
“Yeah, no clue here either. Explain it so we get it.”
“Okay, but first—Ian, doesn't it sound cool? Overdoping to topple a foe you'd never beat otherwise?”
“...The fuck?”
Her angle was so out of left field I just tilted my head. Eyes misty with nostalgia, Hori launched into her tale.
“It started by accident.”
This was before her father got hooked on that mad obsession.
“One day, deep in research, Dad brewed this potion by chance.
It crushed the body with strain but yanked the drinker's physical abilities to their absolute limit.
At first, he wrote it off as a dud. Even if it won fights, the backlash was so brutal you'd probably die.
But its potency blew every other potion from the same ingredients out of the water, so he kept it—tweaking to minimize the downsides.
He pressed on like that until one stormy night of endless rain.
Someone shattered all Dad's lifelong principles with a single knock at the workshop door.
His name was Zen—a herb hunter and monster slayer who often supplied Dad.
Midnight, pouring like a waterfall, no appointment—but Dad said curiosity beat anger.
Who wouldn't wonder? One eye pulped, bloody bandage barely wrapped.
Zen's first words, dragging his mangled body inside: apologies.
Sorry for the late visit. Sorry, but no more herb runs.
Then he shoved over a fat stack—not riches, but huge for a hunter.
‘Can you make as many potions as this buys?’
Dad assumed healing ones. Nope.
Zen wanted body-boosters.
His story? Tragic but common.
Out hunting to train his son, they crossed paths with a magic beast. Bad luck.”
Zen lost an eye and his son. For revenge, he poured everything in: gear, savings, and a final edge from Hori's dad.
“Pity? Or curiosity about testing that ‘failure’? Maybe both—or just one. Who knows.
Dad took the cash, handed over the dud booster plus heaps of recovery potions.
Zen bowed nonstop, clutched them, and vanished.
Dad figured he'd never return.
Hunter vs. magic beast? Even boosted, suicide.
Days passed, but Dad couldn't shake it—posted a search request at the adventurer guild.”
Soon after, guild scouts found Zen's body.
Hori's dad raced to the site at the report—and beheld….
“A battlefield's worth of carnage. The magic beast shredded like it'd been tortured, not fought.
And Zen's corpse—wrecked by backlash, yet smiling ear to ear.”
The tale barreled toward its end, but I had a bad feeling it wouldn't wrap neatly.
“...So why chase a batshit potion like that?”
“Yeah—seeing someone sacrifice their life to fell a superior foe? Dad was blown away. Thought: ‘High-risk doping to topple the untouchable? That's cool!!’”
“What kinda bullshit… Listening to you's giving me a headache.”
“Khurk…!! T-the whole family's nuts…!!”
Rare harmony between me and Peter—then Hori kept going.
“After that, Dad dove into mega-backlash, mega-power potions! But it was like pioneering a whole new field!”
Exactly.
Who designs potions pre-loaded with backlash from the start?
“Sailing blind into open ocean—but Dad never quit!!
And like the gods approved, genius inspiration struck!”
“...Which was?”
“Can't make backlash? Mix in agony herbs like Pascotamine during brewing—voilà, ‘side effects’!!”
“You fucking lunatic!!!”
“Crazy bitch!!!”
What? So the pain I felt wasn't ‘backlash’—just straight poison?
No—worse. Boost first, agony later. By design?
I know jack about potions, but who the hell could replicate this?
If a priest were here, they'd curse the gods for wasting talent on her.
“Ditch that garbage philosophy!!”
“No way!! You said it yourself—breaking or bending before the strong ain't conviction! This is mine!!”
“Fine, have conviction—but make it proper like mine!!”
“Y-you two make quite the pair…. For humanity's sake, stay together forever….”
“W-we're not there yet…!”
Hori flushed with embarrassment; I turned beet-red from sheer frustration.
“Ian! From day one, I smelled it on you—the same vibe as me! You hold some freak belief normies can't grasp!!”
“...?!”
“Different paths, same soul—we're kindred spirits!! Keep drinking my potions! Aftereffects might kill ya, but I'll fix 'em all! So…!!”
She thrust out her hand like begging for a clasp. I stared blankly.
“Hori….”
“Yes, Ian!!”
“Battō.”
“...Battō?”
The word slipped from her lips like sweet music. In the same breath, I drew on her skull.
“Kyaaak!!”
She crumpled like a marionette with cut strings.
“Hori, you're half right, half wrong.”
Even if normies reject a belief, mine's just too profound for their pea brains.
Hori's? Straight-up insanity.
No point telling an unconscious girl, but I said it anyway.
“Now then….”
I turned from her to Peter, still struggling to rise.
“You and I—we got unfinished business, right?”