Where was the boy’s mother? The absence hung in the air like cold mist.

She remembered the last loop: in the bookshop fight, Lucimia had slain the octopus wearing his mother’s face, a mask slick as inked cloth.

It hadn’t been her initiative; the boy had popped up behind her, and the clash sparked like flint striking steel.

Wait—appearing behind her? The thought pricked like a thorn.

Fear hit first; her heart stalled like a muted drum. She whipped around; behind her, besides the pink-haired girl, nothing—just air sitting like a still pond.

She exhaled, relief rising like warm steam.

She’d just imagined the boy’s mother popping up behind her like a ghost; thank goodness it hadn’t.

So where had the boy’s mother gone? The question sat like a stone in her chest.

Why had the pattern shifted, like fate slipping sideways through sand?

Curiosity first; Lucimia leaned out, half a head, big eyes bright as moons, watching the boy.

The black-clad boy cradled vegetables, his gaze skittering like minnows—left, right—glancing up, scanning, then peeking back over his shoulder.

Too suspicious, like a shadow crawling with ants.

He slunk forward, using the crowd as a screen, and slid into a narrow alley mouth like a throat.

Where was he going? What was he planning? Questions buzzed like wasps under a jar.

Impulse surged; Lucimia sprang out of her own alley to follow, but after two steps her feet rooted like stakes.

No—she couldn’t tail him; caution poured over her like cold water.

Her goal this time was no extra ripples; just wait till the ritual, and breathe steady like a held lantern.

If she shadowed rashly and a Deceiver spotted her, it might strike at those she loved, like fangs in fog.

No—she couldn’t tempt the snare; stories taught that lesson like etched jade.

She’d seen it in novels and comics: a side character trails curiosity and meets a tragedy, a path paved like wet leaves.

Even a main character gets tangled; thorns pull tight, and it never ends well.

Better to go home; even if the mother’s absence and the boy’s appearance felt off, the Deceivers wouldn’t derail her plan.

She would make the ritual fail; with the ritual broken, the octopi’s careful preparations would collapse at the finish like a sand tower.

Back home, she explained Yuna’s origin to her parents, calling her a friend, words falling soft like spring rain.

Her parents agreed at once, happiness blooming like apricot flowers because Lucimia had finally made a friend.

So she smoothly brought Yuna into her room, the path flowing like a clear stream.

She shut and locked the door, kicked off her shoes, and settled on the bed like a curled cat.

Decision time came sharp, like a blade meeting a knotted rope.

Plan One:

If she told her father about the Deceivers, he’d probe the guard garrison like testing a fence for gaps.

As long as Lucimia blasted out their octopus bodies, her father would grasp everything like a map, then consult Bazeroth at the Church.

At that point, she’d propose a sweep of the Church’s mages to see if any had been replaced, turning stones to see snakes.

The risk sat in the reeds: acting early might spook the snake and draw a tailored counter.

Another knot: if the Church mages were replaced before the banquet, how did they dodge that moment when everyone drank Holy Water?

That one’s simple, like a door with the key already in it.

Think: Lucimia knows the Invisibility Spell; the Church’s Magic Array mages would know it too.

An octopus could use a simulated Blessing, copy the mage’s knack, and fool the banquet like a shadow walking among lamps.

If it was after the banquet, then an octopus slipped in during the next day like a tide under a door.

She sifted her memories like sand: the next day, Church forces gathered to raid the soldiers’ garrison, led by Purification Knights.

The mages were resting at the Church apartments, preparing Magic Arrays like weavers setting looms.

If the switch was after that, then an octopus infiltrated and replaced someone, quiet as ink in water.

Either way, with Plan One, she’d repeat last loop’s method to force out the replaced mages, then assign Purification Knights to guard them like shields.

Once the ritual ran safely, the octopi would show their true forms and have no escape paths, a net closing tight.

The only variable was early noise: spook them first, and they might act ahead or twist their strategy, a chessboard suddenly shaking.

Patience first; “Don’t rush—simulate the other plan,” Lucimia whispered, biting her finger, thoughts wheeling like migrating birds.

Plan Two:

She wouldn’t tell her father; Elyssus, the Deceiver, would remain a rumor drifting like mist.

She would hold her fire, and at the right moment, break the ritual, a blade sliding beneath silk.

But whether she breaks or tweaks it, the Exorcism Ritual won’t proceed; hidden Deceivers can’t be detected, shadows under floorboards.

The danger would linger like a thorn under skin; what then?

Cleverness rose like dawn; Lucimia soon found the best line.

Yuna had said she’d be discovered while sabotaging; the cause was unknown, but it had to be an octopus spotting her like a lantern catching a moth.

Then it’s simple: if they love pranks, she’ll prank back, turning the hook their way.

She won’t bother hiding while wrecking the ritual; when they spot her, she’ll fire a spell and slap the octopus body into the open like a fish on a dock.

Then she’ll summon Bazeroth; she’ll flip the script and cry thief while catching the thief—an Evil Entity tried to sabotage the Magic Array, and Lucimia nabbed it red-handed.

By then the octopus will swallow bitterness in silence, unable to speak, like a mute chewing herbs, forced to eat the loss.

This move wins twice: it stops the modified ritual and exposes Elyssus’s existence; the Church will sweep, reset the Magic Array, and let the Exorcism Ritual proceed.

Good. Better. Perfect. Her pulse beat like drumfire.

How did she miss such a nimble method in the first loop? Without memory, she’d panicked and fled, fear fogging every path.

Now is different; with Yuna as her golden finger and her memories in hand like keys, breaking the game should be no problem.

Side by side, Plan Two carries less risk, fewer variables, the river calmer.

Alright—settled, a seal stamped in wax.

She’d take Plan Two, the best path, straight as a clear road.

Confidence swelled like a full sail; she told Yuna, and Yuna agreed with a nod bright as a star.

Hearing Yuna praise her plan, Lucimia was overjoyed and pulled her into a hug, arms wrapping like wings.

Once this is resolved, I’ll fill in the colors you missed before; I’ll take you out to play, for real!