HLnovel Ch.44— Trial’s End
Ch.44— Trial’s End
After lunch break, Amy didn't return to class. Because honestly, what was the point? Sitting through lectures on subjects that didn't matter, in a school that wasn't real, surrounded by clones that weren't really alive…Going to class… There was just no point at all.
She'd left the courtyard the moment the incomprehensible moment of laughter with the Goddess had died down, and she'd realized she'd been genuinely laughing with her.
A mix of embarrassment, disgust, and disbelief all at once was what she felt right now.
The moment she regained her senses, Amy had scrambled away from that bench so fast she'd nearly tripped over her own feet.
Now, minutes later, she was still trying to forget as she stood in front of a door she recognized all too well. Her house. Or rather, the idealized version of it.
Just like the entire village. The paint wasn't chipped. The front garden was immaculate. And even the previously broken mailbox looked brand new.
Perfect. All of it was just... perfect. As she had always wished, just like everything in this damn illusion.
Amy's jaw clenched, then she reminded herself once again how none of this place was real. She took her key—which had appeared after she entered the trial alongside her school uniform —and her hand moved to the door handle, then stopped.
The vision she received from using her shared ability with Libris flashed through her mind again. The house was burning. The screams from her mother, her father, Mrs. Henderson with her dog, and finally Mira. The sky cracked apart overhead while she stood on the road, watching it all with a blank expression. It all came back, freezing her.
Later, during dinner, she would kill them all.
Amy's hand trembled slightly on the handle.
No matter how much she tried talking to herself, or how much she tried forcing her muscles to move, her body refused.
Amy stood there, frozen, staring at the door like it was the entrance to hell itself. Which, in a way, it was.
There was no logical reason to be standing here like an idiot without doing anything. She could create some excuse for why she wasn't in school if anyone asked. Moreover, the faster she got the gas cans out of the garage and distributed them throughout the house, the fewer chances of something going wrong.
So why was she still here…?
Amy thought and thought, and in the end, she could only reach one answer. The one she had tried to avoid this entire time.
It was obvious, but it didn't feel that way when she refused to accept the truth.
The life she'd always wanted. The one where everything was normal. Where the people she cared about didn't die, leave, or hate her because of her.
It was right here, in front of her, and she was going to destroy it.
Amy's fingers tightened on the handle.
What if…
She suddenly bit her tongue hard. Then opened the door once and for all.
Enough wasting time. She had a job to do. These people weren't real. Nothing was real. She needed to remember that.
With the door now open, Amy stepped inside. As expected, the interior was better than the one she remembered. The walls were cream-colored, with no scuff marks. Family photos lined the hallway in neat frames, all of them showing either silly or smiling faces. The wooden floor gleamed.
It was actually so caricaturally perfect, it almost annoyed her.
Amy had barely closed the door behind her when she heard movement from deeper in the house.
"Hello? Who's there?"
She recognized it instantly—her mother's voice.
Amy's throat constricted and her hand froze on the doorknob, but rapidly she controlled herself. This was nothing unexpected, and she'd been preparing mentally for this.
Footsteps approached, and then a figure appeared from the kitchen doorway. It was, of course, her mother. She was wiping her hands on an apron while looking visibly confused. She looked younger than Amy remembered, and now her hair had changed to blonde, but it was unmistakably her.
Her mother's eyebrows rose in surprise upon recognizing her daughter. "Sweetheart—"
Amy's brows furrowed for a fraction of a second, but she got them under control quickly.
"—what are you doing home already? School doesn't end for another—" She glanced at the clock on the wall. "—three hours?"
Amy swallowed, forcing a smile.
"Some of us from Group A finished early," she said, forcing her voice to sound casual as she removed her shoes.
It was a lie that came surprisingly easily. Maybe because she'd told that specific lie so many times that it barely registered.
Her mother tilted her head, then nodded. "I see. I bet you're pretty happy about that," she said, with a smile that made Amy clench her fist; it had been years since the woman had smiled at her like that. "You should've told me you might be back early today. I would've started lunch sooner."
Amy forced her jaw to unclench.
"Sorry," she replied. "It was… kind of last-minute."
"Oh, don't apologize, sweetheart, I didn't mean it in a bad way," her mother called, her voice light. "Anyway, are you hungry? I just put the curry on to simmer. I can share some with you. It should be ready soon. Or—" She stepped back into view for a moment, tapping her chin in exaggerated thought. "Do you want a snack? I bought some fruit earlier. You look a little pale."
Amy opened her mouth, the reflexive No already formed on her tongue. But before she could speak, her stomach tightened painfully, reminding her she was still hungry.
Right, her food from the cafeteria—chicken and rice—had ended up on the ground when a literal Goddess collapsed laughing into her lap like a pig.
She was still hungry and tired. She needed to recover not only energy but also mana.
She really needed mana, and the food here, contrary to what one would expect, was exactly like in the real world.
The plan to pass the trial required mana, and her not collapsing halfway through because she'd been too stubborn to eat some food in a fake house served by a fake mother.
She wasn't doing this because she wanted, she told herself.
Her jaw clicked shut.
Her mother blinked at her, still holding that easy, gentle smile. It felt so unnatural on her face.
Amy's throat tightened, then loosened just enough for words. "Uh… yeah," she said, trying to keep the hesitance from her tone. "I'm pretty hungry actually..."
Her mother's face brightened instantly, although Amy did notice some awkwardness in it. "Sit down, I'll get you something small to tide you over," her mother finished, already turning toward the kitchen. "Curry still needs a few minutes."
Amy nodded, following her into the kitchen.
She sat at the dining table—again, polished wood and not a single scratch. The fruit bowl at the center was full of oranges and apples that looked freshly waxed.
Her mother moved around the kitchen while humming a tune Amy recognized but couldn't place.
Amy followed her every movement with her eyes. The woman looked so real… and beautiful… The copy, and at the same time, a completely different person from her mother.
No matter how much she saw it, she couldn't make sense of it.
Her mother returned with a small plate of cut fruit—apples, pear slices, a few strawberries. "Here you go, sweetheart."
"Thanks," Amy murmured.
She picked up a slice of apple and bit into it.
It tasted real. Crisp, sweet, cold.
Immediately after biting into it, she trembled—not only physically, but mentally too; her conviction faltered.
Because if the apple tasted real, and the table felt real, and her mother did, and so did Mira, and Mrs. Henderson. And this fucking village, and her sins were all gone, and her father and mother lived happily now. And just thinking about this all made her heart ache, begging her to stay and forget about everything.
Libris would definitely understand—no, if anything, they would support her, just like they had always done.
Her teeth hesitated on the second apple bite.
If everything here was fabricated, designed, conjured… but I'm happy, then what does it matter?
Being in reality or in an illusion, it doesn't change the fact that I'm acting. With the exception of Libris—who is now gone—nobody knows me. I'm all alone. So why the fuck does it matter if I stay here?
A fake person eating fake fruit in a fake world.
Her heartbeat thudded dully in her ears.
Wouldn't it be better for someone fake to exist in a world of fakeness rather than reality?
She shoved another slice of fruit into her mouth, chewing harder than necessary, as if the act could drown out the thought.
Because suddenly the idea couldn't stop repeating in her mind—
"Amy?"
Her mother's voice cut through the spiral.
Amy flinched, looking up sharply. She forced her expression into something neutral.
"Y-Yeah?"
Her mother was watching her with a worried furrow between her brows. "You're eating like you haven't had a proper meal in days." A small laugh. Soft. Concerned. "Is everything alright?"
Amy opened her mouth to lie. But her throat locked.
Something crawled upward inside her, almost like vomit but not quite. A question. It was a question that had been clawing at her since the moment she stepped into this too-perfect house.
Her pulse raced.
She swallowed.
She bit her lip.
But the words spilled out before she could stop them.
"Mom… do you ever… resent me?"
The kitchen went silent.
Her mother's breath caught—audibly. The wooden spoon in her hand stilled mid-stir.
Amy froze.
Too late. Way too late to take it back.
The fake mother slowly set the spoon down, her posture shifting from casual to concerned. She stepped toward the table, pulling out the chair across from Amy and sitting down carefully, eyes never leaving Amy's face.
"What… what makes you ask something like that?" she said gently.
Amy's foot began jittering uncontrollably under the table.
"I—I didn't," she stammered, heat flooding her cheeks. "I just—forget it. I didn't mean anything."
But the woman across from her only folded her hands, leaning in with that too-soft, too-perfect concern, reminding Amy this wasn't truly her. "Sweetheart. You can tell me anything. You know that."
Amy's nails dug into the underside of the table.
But her mouth wouldn't obey.
The fake mother waited, patient, the way the real one never had. That made it worse…so much worse.
Amy exhaled through her nose, preparing her next words. It was too late already, so might as well just…
"…You always told me I could," she muttered. "But that doesn't mean it was true."
A flicker crossed her mother's face—confusion? Sadness? It was so many emotions that it was hard to tell.
Amy hated how convincing it was.
"What happened, sweetheart?" her mother asked softly. "Did someone say something to you? Or did I…?" She hesitated. "Did I do something to you…?"
"You—"
.
"—didn't. It's just…" Amy's fingers clenched together, knuckles whitening. "I just… Some time ago, I overheard—"
"—how I wasn't meant to be born. That I was a mistake, and you and Dad had me by accident. That all the rumors of you being a gold digger began because of me."
Silence. A heavy, crushing silence that made Amy's ears ring.
Her mother didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't blink for a moment too long.
And then—
"Oh, sweetheart…" she whispered.
That was worse than agreeing, denying it, or even getting mad. Worse than anything Amy had prepared for.
Her mother reached across the table, slow enough that Amy could have pulled away a dozen times. Then, her hand reached Amy's shoulder. It was warm.
"I'm so, so sorry you ever heard something like that," her mother said. Her voice broke, cracking like thin ice. "But that wasn't the truth."
Amy's breath hitched, and she couldn't help but bite her lip in frustration.
But her mother continued, despite her wishes.
"You weren't a mistake," she said firmly. "Not ever. Your father and I… we loved you. We love each other. And we had you completely willingly. You are the best thing we've ever done."
Of course. Obviously, she would say that. She was perfect, her life was perfect, their love was perfect, and even their past was too.
Amy stared at her mother's hand on her shoulder, feeling its warmth seep through the fabric of her uniform.
The warmth felt true, but the woman didn't.
It was such a simple realization, yet it hit with enough force to shake every emotion she had previously felt.
Staying here was impossible for her. Not because staying in this perfect illusion was a form of hiding herself from her problems—though it was. Not because her real companions needed her—though they did.
But because she would know. She would always know they were fake.
Libris would understand, yes. They'd probably even support her choice.
But Amy wouldn't.
And that understanding brought with it a familiar sensation—that cold, comfortable numbness that had been her companion throughout this entire nightmare. Only this time, it didn't just settle over her like a blanket; it consumed her entirely.
The warmth of her mother's hand on her shoulder became distant and abstract. The concern in her eyes turned flat and meaningless. Even the ache in her chest, the desperate wish that any of this could be real, faded into static.
It was like someone had reached into her head and turned a dial all the way to zero.
Her face shifted subtly. The tension in her jaw eased. Her shoulders relaxed. When she looked up at her mother again, there was something apologetic in her expression, tinged with embarrassment.
"I'm sorry," Amy said, and her voice came out perfectly pitched; not too emotional, not too flat. Just right. "I knew it was fake the moment I thought it. I don't know why it affected me so much."
Her mother's hand tightened slightly on her shoulder. "Fake?"
"The rumor," Amy clarified smoothly. "About you having me by mistake... you know. I knew it wasn't true. You and Dad have always been happy together." She forced a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I guess I've just been overthinking things lately. School stress, probably."
She watched her mother's face carefully, tracking every micro-expression. The concern was still there, but it was mixed now with relief. The woman wanted to believe her daughter was okay, and Amy gave the woman exactly what she wanted to see.
"Are you sure?" her mother asked, her voice gentle but probing. "Because if something's really bothering you, we can talk about it. Your father and I are always here for you."
"I know, Mom." Amy reached up and patted her mother's hand, which was still resting on her shoulder. The gesture would read as reassuring. "Really, Mom. I'm fine. Just a weird mood. It's already passing."
Her mother studied her face for a long moment, searching for cracks in the facade.
She wouldn't find any. Amy's acting had always been good, and recently, with the whole mana thing, she'd had a lot of practice with it.
She had always been good at it, but now, after all she had gone through, she was flawless.
"Alright," her mother said finally, giving Amy's shoulder one last squeeze before pulling back. "But promise me you'll talk to me if something's wrong. Even if it seems small or silly."
"I promise," Amy said, making a show of smiling with an embarrassed expression.
Her mother returned the smile and stood up. "Good. Now, let me get you that curry. You're still too pale, and I bet you're hungrier than you're letting on."
Amy nodded, forcing a grateful expression onto her face as she watched her mother return to the stove.
The woman moved with a bit of hesitation, but still moved. She ladled curry into a bowl, adding rice, and arranging it just so.
A few seconds later, her mother set the bowl in front of her. It smelled good.
"Eat up," her mother said, settling back into her chair with her own bowl. "And tell me about school. How are your classes going? Are you getting along with everyone?"
Amy picked up her spoon and took a bite. "School's going well," she said after swallowing. "Classes are fine. Everyone's nice enough."
Her mother smiled, launching into a story about her own school days, something about a teacher and a mishap with a science project.
Amy nodded in the right places, made small sounds of acknowledgment, and even smiled once when it seemed appropriate.
But her mind was elsewhere.
The garage. The gasoline cans would be there, just like they always were. Dad kept them for the lawnmower.
And the keys, she also needed the keys. Had to lock them up so they couldn't escape.
Her mother was still talking.
Amy observed.
They're not real, she reminded herself while she lifted another spoonful of curry to her mouth. None of this is real.
She wasn't doing anything wrong.
None of this was real. She could never forget that.
Everything she did was to save people. This was the morally correct action. These people weren’t real, but the ones that would die if she stayed here and did nothing were.
They weren’t real.
They weren’t real.
-————- ■ -————-
They weren’t real.
The fire proved it. She could see it now, clearly.
The flames didn’t consume the house the way real fire would. Instead, they dissolved it. The walls melted like wax, the roof crumbled into pixels of light that drifted upward and vanished. Wherever the fire touched, reality fractured—cracks spiderwebbing through the air like shattering glass, revealing pure blackness behind it.
Just like in the vision Libris had shown her.
Amy sat on the curb across the street, next to a tree. Unlike the vision, she had chosen a spot far enough away that she couldn’t hear the screams—if there even were any left to hear.
People had gathered. Fake people. The baker’s son stood among them. And just like the burning house, he too was disappearing.
Everything around her was fading. Houses, people, the grass, the sky, the moon… even the asphalt beneath her.
None of it had ever been real.
If only the woman next to her would disappear too…
“Well,” a female voice said beside her, “I genuinely didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
Amy didn’t turn. She already knew who it was.
The Goddess sat on the curb beside her, still wearing that ridiculous school uniform. Amy still couldn’t reconcile the fact that this loser was the root of all her suffering.
“Fun fact,” the Goddess continued as they both watched the fire, “you could have passed this trial without anyone dying.”
Amy’s eye twitched. Her gaze slid toward the creature beside her.
“It would have taken more than a day, though,” the Goddess added, tilting her head. “Maybe even a week. Someone with your… personality would’ve had a hard time passing it the slow way.” She paused. “But you chose the quick route. Burned it all down in a few hours. Truly impressive.”
Amy’s jaw tightened briefly, then relaxed.
The Goddess seemed intrigued by her reaction. She tilted her head again.
“I expected you to be more agitated by this information. Why aren’t you?”
Amy sighed, looked at the fire, then at the woman.
Isn’t it obvious?
“Because it doesn’t matter,” Amy said, voice flat. “None of this was real.”
The Goddess regarded her for a moment before responding with a simple. “I see.”
A sigh left her and she gave Amy a toothless smile while gently shaking her head. Then turned her head back to the flames.
Silence stretched between them as the world continued dissolving. The last of the fake people faded into particles of light.
In the darkness, the Goddess reached into her uniform pocket and pulled out something glowing softly—a golden sphere, about the size of a tennis ball, pulsing with warm light.
“Congratulations,” she said, holding it out. “You passed, and gave me some good material for the manga. So here is your reward, personally given by me.”
It was one of the orbs needed to open the Library, alongside the golden key. With this, her trial was finally over. Once the others completed theirs, they would finally be able to enter the damn Library.
Amy took the sphere wordlessly. It was warm in her palm, almost alive.
Around them, the last fragments of the village collapsed into nothing. The street, the tree, the sky—all dissolved into the void. Only the yellow door from the beginning remained, standing a few feet away in the darkness.
The Goddess stood, brushing off her skirt despite the lack of dust. She looked at the emptiness with an expression Amy interpreted as boredom, then stretched.
“All right then~ See you next year or so. Try not to die.”
She turned as if to leave, but paused. Something flickered across her face—so fast Amy wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it. But then it appeared again.
It was indescribable. Amy had no idea how to label the emotion—if it even was one. The woman looked as inexpressive as ever, yet Amy could sense something underneath.
“You know,” the Goddess began, drawing Amy’s full attention, “your mother had a talent for finding value in the worst situations. For digging through all the dirt and…” She gestured vaguely at the sphere in Amy’s hand. “…extracting something worthwhile. Even when everyone else only saw a mess. Despite how you might feel about her, that ability to change the meaning of an insult—well, it was admirable.”
Amy’s fingers tightened slightly around the sphere. She looked back at the Goddess, who was smiling faintly.
“A word of advice, little mistake. Keep digging. You might be surprised by the amount of value you will find buried in all that filth. Only that way will you achieve your goal—and so will I.”
Amy stared at her, confused.
The woman stared back, then added with a slight grimace, “Either way, your nightmare is almost over,” she said, suddenly flashing a radiant smile. “Just a little more.”
Almost, Amy thought as the Goddess’s form began to fade. But not quite.
They stared at each other a moment longer.
“I’ll be watching,” the Goddess said. “So don’t disappoint me.”
And then she was gone. No shimmer, no echo, no light—just absence.
Amy remained seated in the void, alone with the warm golden sphere in her hand, Libris still sleeping in her satchel, and the door waiting beside her.
She stared into the darkness, then down at the sphere.
She had done her part. Now it was the others’ turn.
And Abaddon? He would be gone. One way or another. She had promised Libris she would deal with him.
This nightmare… it was the perfect moment; he was at his weakest now.
She had once thought it impossible. And not much had changed since then—her power had grown stronger, yes, but nowhere near Abaddon’s level.
Yet she didn’t think it mattered. Strength wasn’t what she’d needed all this time—conviction was. This trial had made her realize that.
She had dismissed the thought before, never truly considering it, even though she had known—deep down—that she’d eventually have to.
This whole trial had shown her what she lacked; the reason why things were as precarious as they were now.
Killing him. She had never seriously thought about it. Never had the conviction.
But now that she had… she realized she could. Abaddon was leagues above Zayd’s uncle in divination, but even so, he read fate. She directed it. She was his worst possible matchup, just like she had been with Kaelen. Despite him being a teacher, she had beaten him.
With everyone’s help—especially Crow’s—they might be able to do it…maybe…
Amy stood and slipped the sphere into her satchel beside her companion.
The door waited.