The Architect of Collapse

Marianne gazed silently at the utterly broken Allen, the fervent worship and deep attachment within her heart not only undiminished, but instead burning with intensified fervor.

Allen was merely human; he would suffer, be wounded, and succumb to despair, fragile just as she was.

It was precisely this shared vulnerability that solidified her conviction, more than anyone else’s, that Allen was indeed a messenger of the divine.

Marianne and Allen, it seemed, shared kindred spirits.

As Marianne’s yandere tendencies intensified, so too did her insight into Allen’s true self, revealing a heart already deeply scarred.

During their dance in the rain, Marianne had already sensed it—

Allen had reached his breaking point.

He had been merely posturing, attempting to mask his profound fear and despair with a facade of madness.

Within Allen’s dark eyes, Marianne perceived no flicker of a will to live.

Instead, she saw only solitude, numbness, self-deception, and an overwhelming, towering hatred.

It was this very hatred that propelled Allen relentlessly forward, a desperate sprint towards inevitable destruction.

Marianne felt compelled to save Allen, just as he had once saved her.

Yet, Allen’s emotional defenses were too formidable; he would never permit Marianne to breach the walls around his heart.

Unlike Allen, Marianne did not perceive her yandere disposition as an illness.

She merely projected her own experiences onto him.

Having discovered a new self and attained “true” happiness after her own profound breakdown, she reasoned—

Surely, Allen, so similar to her, could also find happiness amidst a complete collapse?

Armed with this newfound understanding of how to save Allen, Marianne promptly set about devising the “Allen Breakdown Plan.”

Her astute, maidenly heart swiftly identified a crucial breakthrough—

Allen was actively evading her affections.

Given Allen’s sharp intellect, how could he possibly fail to discern Marianne’s true intentions?

Yet, despite his clear awareness of Marianne’s feelings, he instinctively chose to flee, repeatedly invoking Livia’s name to sever any potential bond between them.

Confronted with the unreserved affection of others, Allen became utterly disoriented—this, she realized, was his fatal flaw!

Marianne seized upon the pretense of assisting him with his bath to subtly test Allen.

As expected, Allen took the bait.

The fervent resistance he displayed was not born of aversion, but of sheer terror!

What, then, was he so afraid of?

A sudden realization struck Marianne as she recalled her own distorted affections for Livia, and clarity dawned upon her.

Having been repeatedly wounded by this world, Allen had ceased to trust others, effectively rejecting any love the world might offer him.

Relying solely on her yandere intuition, Marianne had almost pieced together the entire truth!

Knowing now that Allen feared the love of others, Marianne’s course of action became remarkably simple.

She would force her love upon Allen, compelling him to confront her affections directly, leaving him no avenue for escape.

In this manner, Allen, cornered and with nowhere left to retreat, would finally shatter.

****

Or perhaps, the benevolent Lord Himself did not wish to witness His messenger endure further torment.

While tidying the area near Allen’s bedroom, Marianne chanced to overhear his almost delirious ramblings.

Within those frantic whispers, Marianne uncovered terrifying secrets she had never before suspected.

Bursting into Allen’s bedroom, she found him thrashing desperately on the bed in a grotesque posture, as if possessed by some malevolent entity.

Witnessing Allen’s profound agony, Marianne could only press her body against his chest, restraining his violent movements to prevent him from inflicting further harm upon himself.

When Allen finally awakened from his nightmare, Marianne beheld him at his most vulnerable and despairing.

It was then that Marianne instantly recognized this as the opportune moment to implement her “Allen Breakdown Plan.”

Marianne proceeded as planned, and to her delight, achieved success with remarkable ease.

Marianne had, in truth, stumbled upon success quite by chance.

Allen was precisely at the precipice where the immense pressure from The Observer had fractured his initial defenses, and Marianne’s kiss, delivered in that critical moment, instantly shattered his second line of resistance.

With Allen’s vulnerable heart now laid bare before her, Marianne resolved to implant the very desire to live deep within his innermost being.

Marianne would compel Allen to live, just as he had once compelled her.

“Why must we necessarily achieve a happy ending?”

Marianne stepped forward, gently enveloping the huddled Allen in her arms, her voice imbued with profound affection.

Allen abruptly lifted his head, his dark eyes brimming with bewilderment.

“Young Master,” Marianne whispered softly, “I, too, harbor a deep hatred for this world. More than once, I have pondered why I came into existence. Is life merely a relentless journey through unending suffering?”

“If everyone is destined to die, what meaning does life hold? What purpose does pain serve?”

“I once yearned to obliterate everything, myself included. That is why I joined the Scarlet Spiral Cult. I can never forget the agony of receiving the false mark; I believed that pain would empower me to seek vengeance upon you… but ultimately, I faltered.”

“Regardless of how formidable one appears, there will always be a vulnerable corner within their heart. Why, then, should you suffer so profoundly for your own perceived weakness?”

“Pain is the true constant of this world; all happiness is built upon its foundations. Perhaps there was never meant to be a so-called happy ending.”

“Should we abandon our existence simply because happiness eludes us? Young Master, we do not live to pursue happiness; we live merely to escape suffering. In this intricate dance, we entangle ourselves, tormenting each other—is that not, in its own way, happiness?”

“Why do you intend to claim happiness for me alone, while condemning yourself to the shadows of despair? What harm is there in us facing our pain together, enduring it side by side?”

“You claim this world holds nothing worthy of your love. Am I not worthy of your affection? What about your father, Lord Bernard? And the old butler, Monsieur Leclerc? Do you not love them?”

Marianne cupped Allen’s face, looking directly into his pain-filled eyes, and spoke each word with deliberate clarity:

“You have never truly hated the world, Young Master. What you truly hate is only yourself.”

“…”

Allen remained silent for a long time.

Outside the window, the faint glow of dawn struggled to penetrate the heavy curtains.

After a prolonged silence, Allen finally seemed to surface from a great depth, exhaling a long, self-deprecating sigh:

“Marianne, if I were the protagonist of a story, I imagine the heroine would likely not be Livia. It would be you.”

“I am honored to be your heroine.” Marianne smiled.

“Did you truly come up with those words just now?” Allen looked at her.

“In truth, you inspired them within me,” Marianne said softly. “You taught me that pain is not without meaning.”

Allen closed his eyes, a bitter smile gracing his lips. “Marianne, I always believed I was the clear-headed physician, tasked with curing your ‘illness.’ Now it seems a physician cannot heal themselves. My illness is far more severe than yours, and I am both arrogant and foolish, utterly beyond remedy.”

“Is that not splendid, Young Master?” Marianne’s smile held a peculiar sense of satisfaction. “I, too, am beyond remedy. So, why would you abandon me? We are bound by fate, are we not?”

“Marianne,” Allen opened his eyes, a trace of helpless amusement flickering within them, “you’re using my own tactics against me. When did you learn such tricks?”

“The moment you chose to spare my life.” Marianne replied without hesitation.

“…”

Allen closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath.

Even villains have moments of weakness; it was only natural.

However, Allen would not remain weak indefinitely.

Just moments ago, he had been overwhelmed by the pressure from The Observer, then further broken by Marianne’s kiss.

This time, what emerged was not virtue, but torment.

Allen’s greatest fear was losing control over his life.

But now, he understood.

Let nature take its course; what would be, would be.

“Marianne,” Allen’s voice regained its composure, “How much of my sleep-talking did you hear?”

“From your murmuring about the destruction of humanity to your instructions on how to carve my heart, I heard it all.” Marianne answered candidly.

“Is that so?”

Allen suddenly felt that the crushing burden of humanity’s impending destruction seemed less heavy. He felt considerably lighter.

Indeed, he couldn’t share those immense pressures and terrifying secrets with anyone, but if someone overheard his sleep-talk… surely, he couldn’t be blamed for that?

“In your eyes, who am I?” Allen asked, though he already knew the answer.

“A messenger of God.” Marianne’s reply was unequivocal.

“I figured you’d think that,” Allen gave a wry twist of his lips. “Even if I wasn’t before, I have to be now.”

“Young Master Allen, ‘Earth’…” Marianne tentatively pronounced the word. “Is that truly your homeland?”

“It is,” Allen’s voice carried a hint of distant weariness and profound longing. “It is my homeland, the place that haunts my dreams, the place I yearn to return to, yet can never truly reach.”

Marianne finally saw Allen in his truest form—a weary transmigrator, longing for home.

Allen was truly exhausted.

To die 999 times was an unimaginable torment for any ordinary human with a sound mind.

If, before, Allen had naively believed he could survive, then, after confronting The Observer, that terrifying entity responsible for countless destructions of human civilization, Allen’s will to live had utterly collapsed.

He felt a profound sense of powerlessness.

He was merely an ordinary person, possessing no world-shattering marks like Livia, only the accumulated experience from countless cycles of death.

But what good was it?

In the eyes of The Observer, human civilization was nothing more than a playful ecosystem in a bottle, and Allen, a pathetic ant living within it.

Could an ant in a bottle ever shatter the glass?

The world of *Starlight Serenade* did not possess a ‘hell difficulty’ because it *was* hell itself.

At this moment, Marianne, as if to seal the nature of their relationship, inquired: “Young Master, what do you believe our relationship is?”

Allen looked at her, answering clearly: “Master and servant, siblings, comrades, fellow warriors, a shared destiny… but certainly never lovers.”

“In that case,” Marianne smiled, her expression clear and open, “the kiss I gave you just now was the reverence of a sister for her brother, the gratitude of a maid for her master, the camaraderie between comrades, the bond between fellow warriors. Only, it will never be a sign of my deep love for you.”

Allen raised an eyebrow: “Is that truly alright?”

“Young Master, aren’t you precisely seeking such a twisted relationship?” Marianne countered, a hint of tenderness in her gaze. “For me, any kind of relationship with you is fine. As long as I am by your side, I am happy enough.”

“Marianne, I truly am a scoundrel. How I wish I were as strong as you.”

Allen could dissect anyone’s heart, yet he was singularly unwilling to dissect his own.

Doing so was simply too painful.

He continued the instincts of his previous loops, constantly fleeing, believing that if he fled fast enough, he could avoid those deathly endings.

He was wrong.

Under the threat of The Observer, Allen had to reignite his desire to live!

Not just for himself, but for those he loved!

To do so, he had to confront his truest self.

…His self?

Allen suddenly realized something.

“Marianne, give me a mirror.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

Allen took the mirror, which reflected a young face:

His black hair clung messily to his sweat-dampened temples, his eyes were sunken, framed by an indelible blue-black shadow, like the lingering marks of prolonged nightmares.

His colorless lips, which should have been handsomely formed, appeared somewhat harsh due to his habitual villainous sneer.

Most startling were his eyes—

What should have been the clear, dark pupils of a youth were now veiled in a grey film, hollow, bewildered, with a core of numbness and fragmentation, as if shattered by the heavy hammer of despair.

Allen’s entire face bore the ravages of endless death cycles and inner torment, akin to an exquisite porcelain vase shattered and then painstakingly reassembled, everywhere exuding a fragile, vulnerable despondency.

“Marianne… have I always looked like this?” Allen’s voice trembled slightly.

Marianne nodded: “Yes, Young Master, you are far more broken than you imagine.”

“It seems I am not so different from my past self after all.”

Allen suddenly recalled The Observer’s words:

[Transmigration? Reincarnation? It seems you have forgotten the beginning of all stories.]

At this moment, Allen entertained a terrifying hypothesis—

He might not be a transmigrator who had taken over the original body.

He might, in fact, be Allen de Laval himself, merely endowed with the memories of a transmigrator.

Constantly fleeing from pain, yearning for self-destruction, filled with remorse for having messed everything up, yet lacking the courage to change his weaknesses or atone for his mistakes…

Were these not the very traits of Allen de Laval?

Allen’s hypothesis was supported by a piece of evidence he had consistently evaded—

Allen could not remember his name before he transmigrated.

Indeed, Allen could clearly recall his entire life before transmigration, yet he could not remember his own name.

This situation could be explained psychologically—

Allen forgot his name because he had suffered significant trauma in the past.

To sever his connection to that pain, his brain had “deleted” his name, preventing him from recalling those traumas.

But the problem was, shouldn’t the suffering he endured in the cycles of reincarnation be tied to the name Allen de Laval?

Why had he specifically forgotten his original name, instead of selectively forgetting Allen de Laval?

Could it be… that he had experienced trauma even more terrifying than the death cycles before his transmigration?

…Never mind, it no longer mattered.

What was the point of agonizing over who he was?

It was as if understanding his identity would somehow absolve Allen from facing the world’s crisis.

Allen found himself amused by his own thoughts.

He was Allen de Laval now, and no one else besides.

“Marianne, I am actually a self-deceiving fool, weaker than anyone, not some divine messenger. Will this not disillusion you?”

“Of course not. I am your maid, your companion. I love all that you are, and that naturally includes your weaknesses. Rather, seeing you display these weaknesses to me makes me very happy.”

Marianne offered a somewhat yandere smile.

“You are finally willing to let me see the real you.”

“Alright, as long as you’re happy.” Allen finally curved his lips into his characteristic, slightly wicked villainous smile. “So, you foolish maid, my idiotic sister, have you had enough of laughing at this young master’s plight?”

“Not yet, Young Master.” Marianne also smiled, her expression bright.

“Hmph.”

Allen let out a soft snort, fully reverting to his languid yet alert, cynical yet utterly dependable demeanor.

“Marianne, are you afraid? Of that terrible future where the world is destroyed?”

Allen gazed at the gradually brightening sky outside the window.

“No, I am not afraid.” Marianne replied without hesitation.

“Why?”

“If you do not intend to live beyond the world’s destruction, why would you worry about it?” Marianne said with a smile. “Your concern indicates that you wish to live. As long as you are alive, as long as you are by my side, I will not be afraid.”

“Not even death can separate us.”

“…”

Allen began to understand, in a small way, why some people were fond of yandere characters.

He truly… had, in some measure, grown to like Marianne.

Of course, this was not the superficial love between a man and a woman.

Allen’s feelings transcended the realm of mere “liking,” resembling more a resonance and belonging on a soul level.

He had been so lonely. If, in this loop, he could die less alone, perhaps he could truly release his hatred for this world and peacefully sink into eternal slumber.

This was the salvation he yearned for.

“Marianne, do you think I can save this world?”

“Of course, you can save this world, just as you saved me.”

“But I didn’t save you; I only intended to use you.”

“It is precisely because you saved me that you were able to use me, is it not?”

“Very well, Marianne, you’ve convinced me. Our plan remains unchanged.” Allen’s gaze sharpened, and he stared at the dawn outside the window, his expression gradually softening. “We still need to win over Livia. This time, not for some happy ending, but simply to live, even if it is a life of suffering.”

“Even if humanity is destined for destruction, we must witness that final moment. Marianne, I am no longer alone, am I?”

“Of course.” Marianne responded softly, her eyes sparkling with unwavering resolve.

Marianne helped Allen to the window, and they stood side by side.

Allen reached out and, with a swift *swish*, pulled open the heavy curtains.

Golden-red dawn light instantly flooded the room, dispelling all shadows, gently bathing them and outlining their figures with a warm halo.

“Go forth and save humanity, Young Master.” Marianne looked at Allen, bathed in the morning light, her voice soft yet imbued with power. “This world is worthy of your love.”

Allen squinted slightly into the rising sun, savoring the long-lost warmth, a faint curve gracing his lips.

“Mm.”

Marianne gazed at her master in a daze, the morbid affection in her crimson eyes not only undiminished but growing even deeper. Her lips, almost imperceptibly, curled into a faint smile—a blend of successful scheming and a maiden’s blossoming romance.

On this morning, Allen de Laval, after 999 cycles of solitary death, for the very first time, truly had a companion walking by his side.