Cooro 1’s POV

  I woke slowly, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains and casting gentle patterns across the room. The warmth beside me was gone—no sign of the lamia, the elf, or the bunny girl who had shared the night. The bed felt emptier, quieter, the lingering scent of their presence fading like a half-remembered dream.

  I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and trying to shake the fog of drowsiness. The events of the night played back in fragments—a mixture of laughter, whispered confessions, the delicate brush of scales, ears, and fur against my skin. It was surreal, almost too perfect, yet undeniably real.

  But now, they were gone.

  My gaze fell to the nightstand beside the bed, where a small, folded note rested. I reached for it, unfolding the paper carefully. The handwriting was elegant, flowing—unmistakably theirs.

  C

  Dear Cooro, your presence has meant more than you realize. You didn’t just share your warmth—you sparked strength in us beyond what we thought possible.

  O

  We’re stronger now because of you. The king’s reign is unjust, and we plan to overthrow him. But before that, we must become true adventurers, worthy of the challenge that awaits.

  R

  You spent 150,000 gold on us, a debt we intend to repay fully. Fail us, and we accept endless toil in death’s shadow.

  O

  We did like you, Cooro, truly. This is not a farewell, but a promise.

  X

  Fluffina Hopskotch, Sherrel, and Mosastus

  XOXOXO

  I sat back, pondering. Should I bother writing Maerd on a mirror seven times? They had the trials and left me behind, but part of being the protagonist was amassing a harem, right? And unlike the catfish and bots on dating sites, these NPCs were women of their word.

  Lost in thought, a familiar figure appeared—the fox girl O-Ha, who had once been my summon giant wolf but was now synthesized into an ordinary fox. Arms crossed, cheeks puffed, she looked miffed. Classic tsundere behavior.

  I puffed out my chest and grinned, hands behind my head, thinking she wants me, but she merely said, “Meet my Master—Cooro 2—and his guardian, the futanari Ares, in the breakfast room. Come. We need to talk.” Before I could protest she pulled me with strength she had–I didn’t–because she was a higher level than me. Curse my low strength stat.

  In the breakfast room, three plates were already set at the table.

  One for Cooro 2.

  One for Ares.

  One for O-Ha.

  None for me.

  I stood there longer than I should have, staring at the empty stretch of polished wood where my plate should’ve been. The omission wasn’t accidental. Everything about this place was deliberate.

  “Why only three?” I asked.

  Cooro 2 didn’t look surprised that I’d noticed. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like the weight of something unseen pressed down on him.

  “I had a dream,” he began. “Or maybe it wasn’t a dream. I was Liam—a former unemployed teenager. A hikikomori. Shut off from the world.”

  I frowned. That didn’t sound like him. Not the version of me sitting across the table.

  “Then I transmigrated into an Isekai Library,” he continued, eyes distant. “After that, I was reborn as a commoner baby. Exiled. Cast out before I could even understand why. Now I roam the world searching for dungeons. My summons watch over my family in Aquina… and keep an eye on a pompous noble who’s also a reincarnator.”

  Silence settled between us.

  His story hit me harder than I expected. It wasn’t just fantastical—it was familiar. Rebirth. Rejection. Reinvention. A second chance forged through isolation.

  Different details. Same wound.

  I realized then that Cooro 2 wasn’t just another version of me.

  He was walking a parallel road—close enough to mirror mine, but distant enough to shape him into something else entirely.

  After breakfast, I prepared to return to my own world. The air around me hummed faintly with the magic that would carry me back.

  But O-Ha latched onto my arm before I could step away.

  “You’re not leaving alone,” she said, her fox ears twitching with defiance.

  Ares didn’t grab me. She simply stood at my side, hand resting on her weapon, eyes unwavering.

  “We follow,” she stated.

  Their loyalty wasn’t loud.

  It was absolute.

  Cooro 2 looked between us and gave a small nod. No argument. No dramatics. Just understanding.

  Light swirled around us, folding space into itself.

  As we vanished, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t an ending—it was tightening threads. Lives crossing. Choices echoing. Bonds strengthening instead of fraying.

  Whatever this web was—

  It wasn’t unraveling.

  It was weaving tighter.

  The air changed the moment I stepped back into Rainbow Ashes.

  Heavier. Warmer. Familiar.

  The sun hung low, spilling gold across the forests and cobblestone streets. After everything—the battles, the revelations—this world grounded me. Beneath the armor, beneath the expectations, this was where I remembered who I was.

  Spirits flickered around me—soft wisps of light, curious and affectionate. They weren’t bound to me exactly… not in the way they were to the other me.

  The copy.

  He walked this world with brighter charisma, easier smiles. The spirits adored him. I’d seen it. Felt it.

  I won’t lie—I felt a flicker of rivalry.

  But it wasn’t hatred.

  It was… complicated. Like looking at a reflection that made different choices and wondering which version people preferred.

  I checked the clock.

  An hour before school.

  Enough time to visit Alvin.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  And finally meet his mom.

  Alvin spoke about her with this mix of admiration and tension—like she was both anchor and storm. I was curious. So was Cooro 2, if I was honest. Funny how even across worlds, some interests aligned.

  Before I could move—

  The air tore open.

  Purple energy spiraled into existence, crackling with a sickening sweetness. The portal’s edges shimmered like oil on water.

  A voice slid through.

  Smooth.

  Mocking.

  “Cooro,” it purred.

  I already knew.

  Loki.

  God of Mischief. Pestilence. One of the Four who delighted in disorder.

  “Your return is timely,” he continued. “Come down and face me. Let us see if you’ve grown worthy.”

  O-Ha stepped closer, tail bristling.

  Ares moved to my other side, silent but coiled like a drawn blade.

  I felt it then—not fear.

  Anticipation.

  “Guess I don’t get a quiet morning,” I muttered.

  The portal pulsed again, daring me.

  I exhaled once, steadying myself.

  Then I stepped forward.

  If Loki wanted a duel—

  He’d get one.

  I stood on Alvin’s porch, pulse thudding harder than it should’ve. I’d heard stories about Ms. Benecal—strong, independent, intimidating in that effortless way.

  When she opened the door, I understood why.

  She wasn’t just beautiful. She commanded the doorway.

  “You must be Cooro,” she said, voice low and measured. “Alvin talks about you.”

  I stepped inside. The house was warm, sunlight pouring across polished floors. She moved toward the couch, every step deliberate. When she sat, she crossed one leg over the other—slowly—and gestured for me to join her.

  I sat.

  Too close.

  The couch dipped under our combined weight, bringing us nearer than I expected. Her perfume—something floral and dangerous—curled into my lungs. My pulse quickened. Heat pooled low in my stomach, unwanted and undeniable.

  She noticed.

  Her lips curved faintly.

  “So,” she said, leaning back, studying me. “Why do you want to spend time with my son?”

  I swallowed. Tried to focus on her eyes.

  “I didn’t grow up with much,” I said. “Broken home. No real guidance. Someone helped me once. I want to be that for Alvin.”

  Her expression shifted—not softer, but deeper.

  “And you think you can protect him?”

  “I know I can try.”

  She leaned forward.

  Too close now.

  The space between us thinned to breath and tension. Her hand brushed my knee—light. Testing. My body reacted before my brain did, heat flaring sharper.

  “Confidence,” she murmured. “That’s rare.”

  The air grew heavy. The couch creaked as she shifted closer, one hand resting against the cushion beside me. I could feel the warmth of her through fabric. My thoughts blurred.

  Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.

  We both froze.

  Then—

  Footsteps.

  Alvin.

  Ms. Benecal’s eyes flashed with sudden mischief.

  “Behind,” she whispered.

  Before I could process it, she pulled me down. We slipped behind the couch in a breathless scramble, hidden from view as Alvin descended the stairs.

  I barely had time to steady myself.

  The tension was ridiculous—absurdly close quarters, her hand braced against my chest to keep balance, both of us trying not to breathe too loudly.

  Alvin entered the living room.

  “Mom?” he called casually.

  She somehow answered smoothly from the floor, voice steady despite the situation. “In here, sweetheart!”

  I bit back a laugh.

  Alvin walked past the couch, distracted by his phone. He muttered something about potion comments and retreated toward the kitchen.

  We stayed frozen.

  Seconds stretched.

  When his footsteps faded, she looked at me—eyes bright, amused, dangerously pleased.

  “Well,” she whispered. “You handle pressure well.”

  My heart was still pounding.

  “I’ve faced worse,” I said.

  Her laugh was low, satisfied.

  “Good,” she replied. “Because if you’re going to stand beside my son… you’ll need to.”

  She stood first, composed as ever, adjusting herself with effortless dignity before offering me a hand up like nothing had happened.

  But the heat in the room hadn’t faded.

  Not even close.

  Cooro 2's POV

  The chamber of tapestries reeked of illusion, a heavy, almost suffocating aura that clung to the air like a thick fog. The walls were draped with six magnificent woven legends of Loki—each tapestry alive with divine mischief and whispered secrets. Scenes unfolded in threads of shimmering gold and shadowed silver: the tragic death of Baldur, the binding of Loki’s fate, the temptation of the golden apples, and the forging of Mj?lnir, Thor’s mighty hammer. Each image pulsed faintly, as if watching, waiting, and ready to spring to life at a moment’s notice.

  Then, without warning, the air split open—a violent rift spiraling with purple-black energy that twisted like smoke caught in a tempest. From this swirling abyss stepped Loki himself, his smile sharp and cold, gleaming like a razor’s edge.

  “So,” he drawled, voice dripping with mockery, “another mortal who thinks he understands chaos.”

  “I don’t need to understand it,” I replied steadily, “I just need to outlast it.”

  The floor beneath us shattered, fracturing into jagged shards of stone that rose like jagged teeth, signaling the start of battle.

  Loki moved like smoke—ethereal and unpredictable. Every strike was a feint, every shadow a deadly trap. Illusions layered upon illusions blurred the line between reality and deception. Chains erupted from thin air, coiling with venomous intent. Phantom serpents slithered and dripped poison, their flickering forms weaving through the chaos. Amidst it all, I saw myself reliving Baldur’s fall, trapped within woven light and shadow.

  Yet, I adapted.

  Ares anchored me—her presence steady, brutal, disciplined. Drawing from that bond, I summoned an axe forged of pure resolve and cleaved through the first illusion. It shattered like fragile glass, scattering into nothingness.

  Loki laughed, cold and dismissive. “Level one,” he taunted. “Adorable.”

  Suddenly, he multiplied—dozens of his forms flooded the chamber, each one twisting and darting with lethal grace.

  I shifted tactics.

  Calling upon O-Ha’s power, illusion met illusion. I fractured my own presence across the battlefield, creating shimmering afterimages that mirrored his trickery and forced him into hesitation.

  That hesitation was my opening.

  Using Auto-Loot—not to seize treasure, but to grasp fleeting moments—I snatched fragments of his illusion magic mid-cast, stripping them away before they could fully form.

  Loki blinked, caught off guard.

  I pressed forward.

  Axe transformed to spear; spear shifted to blade. Each movement tighter, faster, less hesitant—each strike more precise than the last.

  The chamber trembled under our clash.

  At the climax, Loki unleashed a storm of shadow-daggers, countless blades cascading like a deadly rain.

  I didn’t block.

  I advanced.

  The axe burned white-hot with unyielding resolve, cleaving straight through the veil of deception.

  Silence fell.

  Loki staggered.

  Then came slow, deliberate applause.

  “Well done,” he said softly. “You didn’t overpower chaos.”

  He smirked. “You learned to play.”

  His form dissolved into prismatic light, the power settling within me—not as dominance, but as partnership.

  The tapestries stilled.

  And for the first time—

  Loki stood beside me, no longer above.

  Alvin's POV

  I awoke from a horrible dream where my Hunter's Streaming account was blocked because of my video showing up to brew Poison Resistance potions to D rank with only the materials for an F rank. I jumped out of bed and rushed to my computer to check...five minutes of waiting for the buffering to find my account still there much to my relief, but a cacophony of hateful comments there.

  Not negative critique about the video.

  Just hateful things said because of my job as an Alchemist.

  I trickled with tears over just a glimpse of the abhorable things they said about me, then walked down the stairs calling out to my mom thinking she would find a way of making things better. But like most mornings she stuck her head out from behind the couch making another excuse of how she dropped something; how stupid did she think I was? It was obvious she was having sex with another stranger first thing in the morning, but I just nodded and headed towards the kitchen to have some breakfast.

  After breakfast I was greeted at the front door by my fellow classmate who was persistent about becoming my friend. I didn't trust him; he was way too enthusiastic about applauding me when I awakened my Alchemist job--it was like he expected I would get the job before even I did.

  Cooro and I walked side by side toward the sprawling gates of Rainbow Ashes Academy, the morning air crisp and filled with the chatter of students milling about, preparing for another day. I kept my gaze mostly on the ground, my steps hesitant as the nerves tightened like a knot in my stomach. Cooro, however, walked with that confident stride he always had, head held high, seemingly unbothered by the bustling crowd around us.

  “You okay?” he asked, glancing over with a knowing smile.

  I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, just… it’s a lot sometimes, you know? Being here, trying to fit in.”

  Cooro chuckled softly. “I get it. When I first showed up, I felt like everyone was watching me—judging me. But you learn to find your own rhythm.”

  I sighed, glancing up briefly to meet his eyes. “I wish I had your confidence.”

  We continued walking, the school’s stone pathways winding between towering trees whose leaves shimmered with a faint magical glow. As we passed the row of shops lining the street, Cooro suddenly veered toward a weapon store, the polished wooden sign swinging gently overhead.

  “Wait here,” he said, disappearing inside.

  Curiosity got the better of me, so I lingered near the entrance, peering through the glass. Inside, Cooro was talking to a young woman behind the counter—a receptionist with a neat brown ponytail tied back in a business suit that accentuated her professional demeanor. Her cheeks flushed pink as they spoke, a shy smile tugging at her lips. She seemed utterly enchanted, hanging on his every word.

  I couldn't help but notice how different the atmosphere was around Cooro. Outside the shop, a group of girls passed by, eyeing me with barely concealed amusement. One of them sneered, making a comment just loud enough to sting. I tried to ignore it, but the words echoed in my mind, a stark contrast to the warm interaction I was witnessing through the glass.

  The receptionist’s eyes sparkled whenever Cooro smiled, and he returned her gaze with easy charm I could only dream of mustering. Meanwhile, I shuffled my feet, feeling more invisible than ever—just another face in the crowd, dismissed or mocked.

  After a few moments, Cooro stepped out, the smile still lingering on his face. “Ready?” he asked.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, trying to shake off the sting of feeling overlooked. “Yeah, let’s go.”