Logout (1)

The dead of night. In the hours when ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠everyone else was fast asleep, one man remained awake. That man—Demian—sat perched on the edge of the bed, eyes half-lidded, letting out a endless stream of bitter laughter before he finally glared into empty space and spat a curse.

"Fucking ridiculous."

The words carried layers of meaning. Demian let out a short, troubled sigh, then winced as a throbbing headache pulsed through his skull. Probably from chugging liquor until his mind went numb. The headache was bad enough, but the stench of alcohol clung to his entire body. With a look of pure disgust, he slapped his own cheek to snap himself out of it. The sharp smack and the stinging pain on his face had just brought him back to his senses when—

"Mmm..."

A pleasant, melodic voice brushed against his ear.

"...!"

Demian's face froze solid, like a thief caught red-handed. He turned his head with the stiff, creaky motion of an unoiled robot, his gaze landing on the bed tucked into the corner of the room.

"Haaam..."

On the bed lay a woman with striking ash-gray hair, half-naked and reeking of liquor, lost in a deep sleep. She was a rare beauty—one blessed with an extraordinary allure that could steal anyone's breath at first glance. Yet even with such a woman lying there half-exposed before him, Demian's eyes remained indifferent.

"We've already seen everything there is to see. If I got flustered over a little skin at this point, I'd be the one with the problem."

He took in her bare form with calm detachment. For a moment he admired how beautiful her body still was, but then he shook his head. One of his eyes twitched, and the corner of his mouth curled. It must have just been a restless shift in her sleep. Looked like he didn't need to brace for the worst-case scenario after all.

The woman shivered as if cold, let out a small whimper, tossed once more, and then settled back into quiet, even breathing. Demian exhaled in relief, approached silently, and carefully pulled the blanket up to her shoulders so she wouldn't wake. Once he confirmed the soft texture of the covers made her smile contentedly in her sleep, he finally relaxed and muttered,

"Must've been sleep-talking."

He glanced down at the woman sleeping so peacefully. A hint of pity now swirled in his eyes.

"...I never thought things would turn out like this. Looks like I've done ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠something truly terrible to you."

He scratched roughly at his hair, his expression full of guilt as he offered an apology.

"I'm sorry. I really am."

It was an apology without clear context. Like a criminal seeking absolution, Demian gazed at the sleeping woman. In that brief moment, her face twisted faintly as if trapped in a nightmare. A light sheen of sweat even beaded on her forehead.

Demian gently reached out, wiping the sweat away, then stroked her cheek with the utmost care. Every movement was delicate, as though he were handling fragile porcelain that might shatter from the slightest mistake.

"If I'd known I'd be leaving like this, I wouldn't have held you—even if we were both drunk."

Now I've only left a wound in your heart. What else does that make me but trash who used you and threw you away?

With a gloomy face, Demian muttered to himself. From his pocket he produced a letter he'd written earlier, a holy water made from unicorn tears, and even a magic potion that would erase memories of a specific person. He set them all on the nearby desk, dragged over a chair, and dropped into it without hesitation.

Then he simply looked at her.

Her delicate features. Her pale, flawless skin. The sensual figure that stirred any man's desires. Her slender waist. The long ash-gray hair that spilled all the way down her back—her signature look. And those purple eyes hidden behind her closed lids. She was the kind of woman whose beauty would eventually capture anyone who kept looking.

You, of all people.

The one who never gave her heart easily to anyone except a certain person. The one she'd loved with all her soul.

"Leticia."

Leticia Lisianthes. That was her name. The eldest daughter of the Lisianthes family—the rulers of the North—renowned as the great mage hailed as the treasure of the snowfields. The woman called the Ash Witch.

"Isn't that right, Lady Ash Witch?"

Whenever you drank, you'd always say that with a silly smile that didn't suit you at all, demanding that I praise you. Demian let out a deflated chuckle, his expression lost in old memories. Leticia shifted again, as if something displeased her, and his smile grew endlessly warm as he watched.

"Unfortunately, I won't be able to see that smile anymore."

Truly a shame.

Demian sighed softly and said,

"If this had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been me before I met you, the moment I got the chance to return to my 'original' world, I would've logged out to Earth without a second thought."

But—Demian added as he gently smoothed her ash-gray hair—

"After we became entangled with each other, after I fell for you and you for me, I can't even begin to describe how fucking cruel this forced logout feels right now."

The words he'd been choking down in his heart finally spilled out like bitter resentment. Demian's face, glistening with unshed tears, looked utterly heartbroken. A single tear slid down his cheek, fell onto Leticia's, and soaked into the bed.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

He wiped the streaming tears away with the back of his hand.

"I have no excuse. For being such a pathetic man. So please—just forget everything about me."

The man named Demian Redius. The man born from customizing a game character. I want you to erase him from your memories. I'd rather you forgot me forever. Remember the man once called Heavenly Demon Demian Redius of the former hero's party as someone who never existed at all.

"That way, I think I can leave without any lingering regrets."

I'm sorry for being selfish until the very end. Truly.

Demian kept a smile on his face until the last moment as he withdrew the hand that had been stroking her cheek. That touch dripped with longing and regret.

The kind woman who had been the first to reach out to him when he was known only as a heartless murderer. The woman who had let him see this world as reality instead of just a game. The mysterious woman who was so precious—so incredibly precious—that he couldn't help wanting to stay by her side. The woman who was cold and reserved, yet endlessly generous and warm to her friends and comrades.

That was the kind of woman you were.

With a cheerful chime, a system window appeared before him. Demian scanned it with hollow eyes. It was time to go.

A familiar quest window. One Demian had cleared long ago.

A familiar favorability window. Just as the quest required, every value had exceeded 80%. The fact that the elf was stuck at 90% nagged at him a little, but given her personality, that was already generous.

The voice was inorganic, something no living creature could possibly produce. Demian shrugged.

"Maybe I should've run away with Leticia instead of kicking the Demon King's ass."

No, that wouldn't have changed anything. The world would've been destroyed anyway.

"The world would've ended either way."

No matter which route he took, it seemed he was fated to part with her.

"The gods really are heartless."

I drove out the Demon King—don't I get some kind of reward? If you're watching this tragic love story, couldn't you at least let me stay even if this world is just a game?

Of course, no god was listening.

Only thirty minutes left in this world. Seeing that made a hollow laugh escape him. Forced logout, it said. Forced logout. Normally a window would've popped up saying logout is impossible and mocked him, but not anymore. In short, since he showed no signs of leaving on his own, the system was kicking him out by force. Like it was done using him and ready to throw him away. What a disgusting way to put it.

"Whoever the nameless bastard was who threw me into this place, I hope you step in dog shit every single morning for the rest of your life and regret it."

I sincerely pray you lose every last penny gambling.

After hurling every curse he could think of, Demian rose from his seat with an expression that said what's the point of any of this?—if not for the hand that suddenly grabbed his sleeve.

Startled, Demian looked at Leticia. She'd unconsciously clutched his sleeve in her sleep. He tried to gently pry her fingers off without waking her, but each time he did, she only gripped tighter, refusing to let go.

"I just want to get some fresh air..."

Demian smiled bitterly and muttered.

"...Demian, don't go. Please, don't leave me. Don't leave me alone... don't abandon me... without you, I..."

She must be having a truly terrible nightmare. He knew it was just sleep-talking. He knew that, yet why couldn't he simply brush it off?

Hearing her murmur while cold sweat beaded on her skin, Demian's face hardened slightly. The always stoic, strong woman was nowhere to be seen. She sounded fragile. Vulnerable. The words spilling from her lips, in contrast to how tightly she clung to his sleeve, were almost pitiful now. Her fingertips trembled.

Demian forced the words out with difficulty.

"I'm sorry. Forget every memory connected to me."

It was a resolute answer that might have sounded cold to anyone listening. But no more time remained for Demian. So this was the right thing to do. If he carried lingering attachment and regret to the end, it would only torment both her and himself. Better to part ways thinking of it as nothing more than a passing connection.

As if binding himself with chains, Demian coldly peeled Leticia's desperate fingers from his sleeve.

"Ah... ah...!"

Leaving behind her anguished moan, Demian opened the door and stepped out—only to be greeted by an unexpected figure. At the far end of the corridor, leaning against the wall and watching him, was the hero, Leo Starfield. He shook the several liquor bottles in his hand and called out,

"Got time?"

"...Thirty minutes."

"That's plenty. Perfect amount of time for one last drink and a proper farewell before you go."

The only close friend and comrade who knew Demian's secret—a secret even Leticia didn't know. The hero hailed as the strongest of this generation, Leo Starfield, walked over, stared straight into Demian's face, and bluntly asked,

"Did you finish inside?"

"...What?"

"You must've gone at it pretty hard. I could hear everything from the next room over."

Demian's brain short-circuited. When he asked again in bewilderment at the brazen question, Leo's expression instead grew deadly serious.

"You— I didn't know you were that kind of bastard! Don't tell me you came inside Leticia without even using protection?!"

"What the hell are you even saying, you son of a—?!"

"The swearing means I hit the nail on the head! ...Ow!? Don't hit me, that hurts, you asshole!"

"You deserve to get hit, you idiot! I did it properly, okay?! I'm the dumbass for expecting any comforting words from a guy like you!"

Just like always, this guy was the same vulgar, idiotic hero he'd always been. Maybe that familiar feeling was exactly why this farewell hurt so much more.