The moment you hear Gauche scream, you know something has gone horribly wrong.

You barely have time to register the shattered pieces of plastic under you—the once-pristine, handmade action figures of Marie—before a wild burst of mana erupts from the other side of the room.

“How dare you break my precious action figures of Marie!” His voice cracks like thunder, vibrating with manic fury.

You turn slowly, your gut dropping, and there he is: Gauche, trembling with rage, blood still trickling faintly from his nose, eyes wide and unblinking with obsession and heartbreak.

He holds up Marie’s cracked plastic arm like a sacred relic, disbelief warping into madness.

Then, all at once, his grimoire opens with a violent gust of wind. You see it before you hear it— “Mirror Magic: Reflect Refrain!”

A blinding light erupts, and you’re forced to leap behind the couch as a mirror shard the size of a dinner plate tears through the air where your head was just a second ago.

You don’t speak. Can’t. Not with Gauche in this state. Any word might only fuel the fire.

You just move—swiftly, silently—as more mirror shards shoot across the room like deadly glass bullets.

They reflect off the walls, curving toward you with cruel precision. Your only thought is survival.

The living room is a war zone now. The coffee table explodes. A wall is cracked. The air is thick with smoke and light and the endless echo of Gauche’s screams.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!”

You dart behind the bookshelf. A mirror slams into it, splitting the shelves apart in a blast of splinters and manga. Another mirror slashes past your arm, tearing your sleeve.

You don’t cry out. You don’t whine. You just keep moving.

Gauche floats now, his magic lifting him off the floor, his body glowing faintly from the surge of emotion and energy.

The picture of Marie is still clutched in one hand—his trembling fingers smeared with blood and dust.

“You will fix her… or I’ll mirror you into so many pieces, even Finral won’t be able to portal all the bits back together!” he screeches, his voice breaking under the weight of heartbreak.

You know reasoning is off the table. This isn’t about logic. This is about Marie. This is about Gauche’s entire fragile universe being crushed—literally—by your oblivious backside.

A mirror blasts through a lamp beside you, the room now cast in a flickering hellish glow. You roll to the side, your boots scuffing against broken wood and glass.

Another barrage comes flying. You weave through them with instinct alone, sweat beading on your brow. But something shifts in your mind.

You spot the shattered pieces—Marie’s painted face cracked but not destroyed. A plan forms.

You lunge mid-dodge, scooping up the broken figure head as a mirror shard flies past your cheek, nicking it.

You hold the piece aloft, carefully, still without saying a word, hoping that maybe—just maybe—the gesture alone can speak louder than anything you could say.

Gauche halts mid-air, panting, his eyes snapping toward the figure in your hand. His lips tremble. ”…Marie…”

The room finally falls into a tense silence. Magic crackles around him like static. His fury hasn’t cooled—but it pauses.

You carefully lower the head into your pouch, pulling out a small magic adhesive vial from your coat pocket.

It’s not much. But it’s something. And you kneel—offering the broken pieces in both hands like a sacred offering.

Gauche lands slowly, glaring daggers through you, but his magic fades. His hands tremble as he steps forward to collect the shattered pieces from your open palms.

Still, you don’t speak. You know better.

Not a word passes between you. Only your silence. And the very loud, very furious sound of Gauche stomping off toward his room, shouting to himself about rebuilding her… better than before.