People always regret certain things—

Thoughts like, “If only I hadn’t done that back then…” only surface after you’ve lost something.

But regret comes in forms.

Would you, if time rewound to that moment, make the same choice? Or a different one?

If time flowed backward again—to that instant Cassipero questioned me—would I have said, “Please, let Arnold stay”?

Arnold wasn’t the man I’d imagined.

…

Karin’s full name was Kastelin. Not a delicate name. It carried deeper weight—sincerity, strength, conviction.

But it was a name meant to lower guards. Her family was a clan of assassins.

Assassin was a swordsman subclass—one awakened *by* swordsmen. Yet this path only led to becoming an assassin.

The entire clan trained ruthlessly from childhood. They carried out politicians’ orders. Even children, from age six—before awakening their profession—were drilled in assassination.

They mastered killing *before* awakening. Some, the moment they became assassins, already had skills at Level 4. Enhanced by profession, those skills turned terrifying.

Karin was exceptionally gifted. But geniuses think differently.

Like ancient philosophers or mathematicians—free from farming or hunting—they had space to ponder.

Tasks that strained others, Kastelin completed effortlessly, in moments. In her spare time, she reflected… and doubts sprouted.

*Is this life truly right?*

Killing without judging right or wrong—just following orders? She’d slain children her age. They played games she didn’t understand… yet invited her in, taught her rules. Foolish as those games seemed to Kastelin, she’d seen their radiant smiles.

*So… is my life justified?*

Many assassins once questioned this. But relentless missions and survival pressure made others abandon thought—it was easier. They became killing machines.

Geniuses couldn’t. They had the luxury to see clearly.

She knew the family’s “honor,” its “innate duty,” were just mental chains.

What honor lay in murder? Humanity’s true enemy was demons. Why not hunt *them*? She’d seen assassin-adventurers battle demons—while her clan slaughtered the innocent for vile masters.

What glory was there? Only elders’ gain.

She didn’t rebel. She lacked power. Maybe she never would.

Then—the clan fell.

Years after her awakening, a man appeared.

He called himself a “passing good Samaritan.” Every assassination attempt failed. He was too strong—a swordsman with razor-sharp danger sense, immense power, flawless technique.

He crushed them all. Wiped the clan out.

“A family like yours… truly makes one sick to exist.” His final words.

She survived—by playing dead. Unlike the loyalists, unlike elders guarding their interests—she struck first, let herself be pierced (avoiding vitals), collapsed feigning death.

The wound burned. Yet liberation flooded her.

*Free.*

She held her life’s reins. And she knew his identity—Heroic Rank Adventurer Arnold.

Back then, Arnold hadn’t yet slain a dragon solo or bathed in its blood. But he stood at adventurers’ peak, skills at Level 10.

*Become like him.* Karin knew her wish. She also knew—as an adventurer, his move against her clan was technically wrong.

Once, she’d subtly asked if he remembered. He did—but didn’t recognize her. She’d only said: “I heard of an assassin clan with exquisite techniques… wished I could’ve learned.”

Arnold scratched his head awkwardly: “Ah… I feel a bit sorry. Cassipero scolded me fiercely… But I don’t regret it. You wouldn’t have liked that family.”

“Why?”

“They were scum. Got what they deserved.”

His unilateral act was unprofessional. For Cassipero, such discontent piled up—until she dismissed him.

And her?

How did she feel toward the man who gave her a new life? Ugly jealousy? No—deeper. She’d thought, *He’s so strong. Nothing breaks him.*

After admiration came jealousy. After imagining his strength… came abandonment.

“As a girl… what advice would you give? I don’t get girls’ hearts.”

He asked sincerely. Genuinely smitten with the drunk girl dozing against the tree.

*She saved him.*

Karin saw it with brutal clarity. When *they* chose, Arnold chose too—whether he sought her help or she saved him first. Irreversible.

*She was ugly.*

In this moment, she knew: *I’m* the coldest assassin. I wanted my clan dead. I carried out missions without flinching to survive. I’m no saint. I’m guilty.

Yet I shamelessly claimed I wanted to be like Arnold…

If she named a reason—

Murderous intent toward Caro bloomed.

*Shouldn’t think this… but if she died, would Arnold fall back into despair?*

No. No. No. Arnold’s instincts were too sharp. If Caro died, he’d know. *Can’t kill her. Can’t.*

How despicable. How ugly. She fought the thought—but it coiled deeper: *How to make others “naturally” kill Caro? How to clear the path…*

She wanted him. She wanted Arnold.

This craving spread like wildfire in her chest.

“A-as a girl…” Karin forced words out, watching Arnold’s puzzled frown at her silence. “I think… if you’re gentle enough… there’ll be a chance.”

An answer that answered nothing.

“Gentle?” Arnold pondered, his gaze drifting over her.

The look jolted her. Flustered: “Arnold… why stare like that?”

“You’re lying,” he said—displeasure in his voice. A look he’d never shown before.

“N-no! Why would I lie? It’s true!”

Arnold scratched his head, awkward yet different. Embarrassed: “I… uh. Honestly? I’ve always tried to be gentle with you all.”

Like thunder from the sky—his words struck Karin’s heart.

“But I know how that gentleness ended. So… I don’t agree. I was gentle. Yet you didn’t like me—quite the opposite, right?”

He shifted into stance. “Fight me, Karin. I know you’re here to kill me. Cassipero’s order? Or your will? …Doesn’t matter. I’ll go easy. Call it my final gentleness.”

*Ah!*

What had they done?!

That *now*, in this very second, he still believed she came to kill him?

In his eyes… they were truly—so ugly.