A Mob Character Who Just Wants to Get Banished and Escape This Death Game vs. The Party Members Driven Mad by the Radiance of His Brilliance - Chapter 7

Sigh…

A heavy breath escaped from my superior’s lips.
Each time the pen tapped sharply against the desk—tap, tap, tap—my shoulders flinched involuntarily.

This was the underground command center, buried so deep not even a calamity-class assault could reach it.
And seated at its core, sunk into a shabby old chair, was a boy whose sharp glare pierced me where I stood.

“The entanglement between you and Isfana has become a tale of infamy at the ruins of Ogdanel Castle. Get it under control. At this rate, humanity will never win against the fae.”

It was a terrifying line—one I’d heard countless times while playing the game—and my face instantly turned pale.

I knew full well this was the one superior I absolutely could not afford to anger.

Agrastein Lorelei.

My personal nemesis, and the deranged little boy known as the “Fairy Hunter’s Pride.”

When I first met him in the game, he came across as oddly considerate while reviewing battle reports.
Back then, most players called him the game’s only voice of reason—and even found his behavior endearing.

But that opinion didn’t last long.

He started launching campaigns that paved roads with corpses, dissected hunters in secret, and never hesitated to abandon morality if it meant ensuring humanity’s victory.

Once he discovered the protagonist was the key to ending the war, he became a relentless, manipulative officer—resorting to every method imaginable to force the protagonist to fight.

Just how terrifying was he?
Well—roughly 40% of all bad endings in the game were directly caused by him.

Try to desert? He’d drug you into compliance.
Form a bond with a heroine? He’d take her hostage—and send back a frozen ear as a warning.
At that point, he wasn’t a commander. He was a straight-up mob boss.

And the worst part?
In every single bad ending, humanity still won the war.

That’s how fanatical he was—a mad boy who cared only for victory, no matter the cost.

Players eventually gave him a nickname: the Blitzed-out Shota.

“And you,” he continued. “You keep dodging her, only to give in completely just days later. Have you even tried speaking with Isfana directly?”

“I—I haven’t…”

Agrastein let out a sigh. I averted my eyes, ashamed. I already knew I was in the wrong.

Ever since I heard her crying that night, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to push her away.

I could still picture Isfana—on the verge of breaking down completely.

If I let go now, if I rejected her, her heart might shatter like delicate glass.
And I didn’t have the courage to do that.

“Even if we overlook the toilet, the shower situation is no laughing matter. I have no desire to speak of such foolishness, but this is the military—we do have standards of conduct.”

I couldn’t bear to meet Agrastein’s gaze.
The handcuffs on my wrists felt heavier by the second.

Isfana was terrified—genuinely terrified—of being apart from me.

With effort, I managed to convince her to at least allow doors between us when using the toilet or shower.
But the moment I suggested removing the cuffs, she became visibly angry and outright refused.

So, I’d been forced to lean awkwardly against the doors of toilets and shower rooms like some kind of fool.

In bed, she still clung to me. In fact, she was pressing closer than ever—almost clinging tighter with each passing day.

I knew things couldn’t go on like this.
But… I couldn’t bring myself to speak to her.

Agrastein—the infamous Blitzed-out Shota—sighed again.

“…You’re a soldier too, aren’t you? Then act like one. Fulfill your duties as her commanding officer.”

I bowed my head silently and pulled shut the heavy iron door.
The grinding echo of metal on metal reverberated through the corridor like a distant quake.

I spoke softly to the figure waiting nearby.

“…Well, there you have it. We’ve officially been scolded, Isfana.”

Isfana, who had been waiting beside the door in silence the entire time, turned her head away, saying nothing.

◆◆◆◆◆

Several days passed.

I tried to start a conversation.
But Isfana remained silent.

Normally, her sharp words and harsh tone would irritate me—but now?
I found myself missing them.

As usual, she was tightly clinging to my arm.
Half-resigned, I sat in the corner of the lounge, reading a wrinkled old newspaper.

Compared to how things used to be, life had grown oddly peaceful.

When I first enlisted, humanity was on the brink of collapse.
Newspapers were filled with lists of the dead and report after report of defeat.
Back then, our territory was far smaller than it is now.

But now?
The headlines were all about political scandals and vegetable shortages.

“Hard to believe how many hunters used to die back then.”

“Well, obviously. Hunters back then didn’t have half the magical talent I do. That’s why we kept losing.”

That incredibly tone-deaf comment hit my ears—and I instinctively furrowed my brows.

While reading an old war chronicle, a young man—likely a rookie hunter—laughed loudly, snorting through his nose.
He could only laugh like that because he had yet to face death on the battlefield.

But maybe that kind of naïve idiot growing up and joining the military was itself proof that humanity had managed to escape the despair of that era.

“Hey, don’t say things like that…”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? There were way more hunters back then, and yet they were still losing ground. That just means our generation’s magic is better.”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

I couldn’t hold back—I had to speak up and scold them.

The fae back then were absolute monsters.
Greater fae were everywhere. Calamity-class sightings were so common, they hardly warranted reporting. It was hell on earth.

They were forgetting that today’s fae are remnants—most of their elite forces had been wiped out during humanity’s all-or-nothing counterattack.

“See? Now you’ve gone and gotten us yelled at. Just shut up already.”

“I’m not lying. Come on—there’s a record of a modern hunter killing a faerie that took dozens of old-era hunters without even a scratch.”

Ignoring the protests of his party members, the rookie glared at me like he was trying to pick a fight.

“Maybe you’ve been fighting since back then, so it pisses you off to hear your old buddies get mocked. But from where I stand, they were all weaklings.”

Isfana’s hand clenched tighter around my arm.
Ridiculous. I sighed and shook my head.

“If you had been a hunter during that time, you would’ve been killed in moments. War with the fae isn’t something so easily won.”

“Nope. Back then, hunters just had weak magic, that’s all.”

I folded the newspaper and stood from the sofa.
Seeing my face clearly for the first time, the rookie’s party members panicked.

“W-Wait, seriously!? That’s Mikkanen! The hero—the one who took down a faerie that even dozens of hunters couldn’t scratch!”

“I don’t care if he’s Mikkanen or whoever. The hunters from back then were just a bunch of fools who died for nothing!”

That was the one thing I couldn’t let slide.
Images of my now-deceased comrades—the ones who once saved my life—flashed through my mind.

Even if I was a coward who once thought of deserting, there are still things I won’t let anyone mock.
Their honor is one of them.

For the first time, I looked the rookie straight in the eye.

“What’s wrong? You wanna fight?”

The rookie flinched, but it seemed he had no intention of backing down.

Then I noticed something.
Isfana was clenching her fists, grinding her teeth.

That in itself was rare. Isfana usually scoffed at others as mere commoners—beneath her.

“Wait, Isfana. What are you doing? Put your hand down.”

Her lips trembled as she looked away, eyes glistening as if on the verge of tears.
I glanced toward the rookie’s party members, who were now clearly distressed.

And then I cracked my knuckles.

I lunged forward and punched the rookie square in the jaw.

He collapsed with his eyes spinning, and I stepped on him as he lay on the ground.
With a smirk of pure satisfaction, I looked down at him.

“A situation like this?
It’s the commanding officer’s job to throw the first punch.”