Astraea Continent, Percy Village. Margarita Percy sat on a tree branch, swinging her legs.
Her long white hair drifted in the breeze. On her face, which still carried a hint of baby fat, her features were etched with melancholy.
In her previous life, she had performed good deeds, saving a drowning child from danger, only to drown herself and be reincarnated into the galgame she had played over and over, 《Sword Dance of the Star-Spun Fates》. She had thought she could recruit teammates, adventure, and slay the Demon King just like in the main game, but she opened her eyes to find herself transported two years before the story began, in the role of the protagonist Joshua's childhood friend.
The protagonist, Joshua Percy, was set up as a vengeful hero whose hometown, Percy Village, was destroyed by the Demon Race. This meant that her village would be wiped out by demons on the protagonist's sixteenth birthday, and she would be unable to escape that doomed fate.
“I don't want to die!!” Margarita wailed, clutching her head.
Even though magic and swordsmanship existed in this world, Margarita had tried her absolute best. Whether it was because there was no place for a character named Margarita in the plot or some mysterious act of providence, she had experimented repeatedly following the contents of the books hidden in her basement, only to discover a harsh truth: there wasn't a single shred of mana in her body. She was nothing more than an ordinary, disposable extra.
After being depressed for half a day upon learning this, she went to pester the village's strongest hunter captain to teach both her and Joshua swordsmanship.
Unfortunately, Margarita had zero talent for swordsmanship either. Joshua, on the other hand, was learning quite well—he was the protagonist who would eventually become a Sword Saint, after all.
“Haha, then what am I supposed to do?” Margarita flashed a deranged smile once more. Of course, she didn't let anyone else see this neurotic side of her; after all, if she went around the village announcing, “Our village is going to be slaughtered by the Demon Race in a while,” she’d probably be locked in a small room to reflect on her actions by that afternoon.
Thus, Margarita kept this secret buried deep in her heart, becoming the most melancholy person in Percy Village.
At that moment, Joshua had just finished a special training session. He had short black hair and blue eyes just like Margarita’s. At first glance, he looked like a common background character with bangs covering his eyes, but his features beneath them were very regular and handsome; with just a little grooming, he would certainly become a remarkable heartthrob.
Margarita would come to take care of Joshua after every training session, something the people at the training grounds had long grown accustomed to.
“Joshua.” The hunter captain patted the boy’s shoulder and gave him a gentle nudge toward Margarita, saying with a smile, “Margarita is here for you again. Go on, then. We’re done for today.”
Joshua stumbled slightly from the push. When he looked up, the evening breeze blew back the black hair from his forehead, revealing blue eyes identical to Margarita’s. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning slightly red, but he still walked toward the oak tree where Margarita was.
“Margarita.” He looked up at her, his voice still carrying the characteristic rasp of puberty. “Today’s training is over.”
Margarita leaped lightly from the branch, her long white hair tracing an arc in the air. By the time she landed, she had already adjusted her expression; the Margarita who looked so melancholy she might burst into tears at any moment was gone, replaced by the childhood friend with a gentle smile on her lips.
“Good work.” She handed him a prepared waterskin and skillfully brushed the grass clippings and dust off his shoulders. “You practiced a bit longer today than yesterday.”
As Joshua took the waterskin, his fingertips accidentally brushed her hand, and he pulled back as if burned. Margarita noticed this detail, and her heart skipped a beat.
Ah, so that’s how it is.
In the game, Joshua did indeed harbor vague feelings for his childhood friend, but that was before the disaster. In the “original work,” the character of Margarita didn't even have a specific name; she was only mentioned in Joshua’s flashbacks as the “girl from the home village,” yet another victim who drove him onto the path of revenge.
Margarita had finished the game multiple times late at night. Her impression of this character was limited to: she has white hair, dies in the demon attack, and at the start of the game, Joshua says at her grave, “If only I had been stronger back then.”
That was it. Cannon fodder who didn't even have a character portrait.
So when she discovered she had reincarnated as this “girl from the home village,” her first reaction was to throw the game cartridge out the window.
Of course, that object wasn't actually at hand.
“The captain taught me a new sword technique today.” Joshua’s Adam's apple bobbed as he drank water. Margarita stared at that detail, calculating in her mind how long before the plot would begin. “He said if I can master it, I can try taking on low-level demons.”
“Is that so?” Margarita’s smile didn't waver. “You’re amazing, Joshua.”
But your future Sword Saint talent can’t save your childhood friend right now, you know.
She felt dejected inside, but on the surface, she simply took the waterskin back from Joshua’s hand and gently wiped the water droplets from the corner of his mouth. The action was so natural that Joshua’s ears turned another shade redder.
Haha, how interesting.
The setting sun cast their shadows long across the grass, overlapping with one another. Margarita suddenly felt the urge to grab Joshua’s hand and tell him the whole truth: “Hey, did you know? Our village is going to be gone soon. You might become a lonely Sword Saint who thinks of nothing but revenge, and you won't even get the chance to collect my body...”
But she only said, “Keep it up tomorrow too.”
Joshua nodded vigorously, his eyes sparkling. “Yeah! I’ll become stronger and then I’ll protect you, Margarita.”
You said those words in the game too. And then you went off to protect the whole world.
That night, Margarita lay in her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Moonlight slanted in through the window, casting a silver square on the wooden floor. She reached out, spreading her fingers against the moonlight, trying—trying so hard—to feel something.
“Mana, come... Mana, come from all directions...”
No response.
She wouldn't give up. Rolling out of bed, she pulled a yellowed notebook from under her pillow—it was a simple sensing ritual she had transcribed from a magic book in her basement. Following the steps, she lit a candle, drew a crude magic circle on the floor with chalk, and then sat cross-legged in the center, eyes closed in concentration.
Twenty minutes later, the candle had burned out, there was a ring of chalk dust on the floor, and Margarita herself sneezed.
“...What am I even doing?” She buried her face in her knees, her shoulders trembling slightly. She couldn't laugh; she really couldn't laugh.
It had been six months since she reincarnated into this galgame world. Every day for those six months, she had tried to break through this “no mana” curse, but it was as if she were locked in by some absolute rule. No matter how hard she tried, her internal mana circuits remained as dry as a desert riverbed, showing no reaction at all.
In a game, such a setting meant—“this character is designed as a magicless commoner.”
Margarita looked up. The moonlight shone on her face, reflecting those desperate blue eyes.
She stood up, stepped over the smudged chalk circle, and walked to the window. Outside, the night view of Percy Village was peaceful and serene; a few distant lights flickered in the night breeze. The people who had worked all day were likely enjoying dinner, children were probably pestering their parents for stories, and the hunter captain was likely wiping down his beloved hunting bow.
Before long, all of this would be crushed underfoot by the Demon Race.
“I don't want to die...” She leaned her forehead against the window frame, the tips of her white hair lifting in the night wind. “I finally managed to come back to life, I finally...”
In her mind, Joshua's expression from earlier today surfaced as he said, “I’ll protect you, Margarita.” He had looked so serious, so solemn, as if he were making a magnificent oath.
Margarita suddenly laughed—a bitter smile tinged with self-mockery and a hint of resignation.
“Fine,” she whispered. “Since I don’t have mana, I’ll just have to find a way to survive without it.”
“If magic doesn't work, I'll rely on physical force; if physical force doesn't work, I'll set traps; if traps don't work...” She paused, her lips twitching slightly. “I’ll just kidnap Joshua and run away early. A protagonist can't exactly starve to death.”
An owl's hoot drifted in from the distance. Margarita yawned and finally climbed into bed. Just before drifting off, she thought groggily: Right, the timing of the demon attack in the game was on Joshua’s sixteenth birthday...
And right now, Joshua is fourteen.
She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.
Two years.
...Wait.
Margarita suddenly sat up, all sleepiness gone.
She remembered clearly. The plot at the start of the game was “the village is attacked on the night of his sixteenth birthday,” but hidden text unlocked during the second playthrough mentioned that “the Demon Race began activity around the village six months before the attack, only waiting for the right moment for a certain purpose.”
That meant the time she had left to prepare...
Was less than a year and a half.
“Aaaaaah!”
She slammed her pillow hard against the wall.
A muffled shout from her mother came from downstairs. “Margarita? Having a nightmare again?”
“No!” she hollered back, then fell back onto the bed, pulling the covers over her head.
From beneath the blanket came a muffled, tearful voice. “Let me go back... I promise I’ll do good deeds anonymously from now on... I won’t play any more galgames, okay...?”
She rolled over and wrapped the blanket tight. The last thing she thought as she closed her eyes was that when she got back, she would definitely find that galgame’s producer and make him explain why the childhood friend didn't even have a character portrait.
Then her consciousness sank into darkness.
The moonlight still fell on the wooden floor and on the white tips of her hair peeking out from under the blanket. The night in Percy Village was as peaceful as ever, and the slight furrow in Margarita's brow as she slept was a weight perhaps too heavy for her age.
Rate on N.U.
