Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 149: Complications

Cecilia began with her analysis about what Ruby truly was.

"Perhaps we’re inclined to believe that all time travel looks the same," she started. "We go to the future or the past with our current body, our memories, our capabilities. We land, and we try to change something. To affect the timeline."

She took a steadying breath, her fingers tracing the grain of the wooden table. "As our current self."

Her gaze lifted, touching each of them, tracing the lines. "What we see in Ruby... she certainly didn’t return to the past as her future self. If she had, there would be two of her, one much older. It’s a possibility we can’t entirely dismiss..."

She trailed off, then shook her head. "But the Ruby we’ve known and observed looks exactly as she should for her age. And she has always operated alone. No double."

"So, rather than a classic ’travel,’ there are two more plausible possibilities."

Her eyelids drooped. "The best-case scenario... is a regression." She let the term settle. "And the worst-case scenario... is a time loop."

A regression. Only the soul returning, possessing the younger self, a single overwrite. A time loop. A cycle, resetting to a fixed point upon a trigger, often death, a prison of recurring history with the potential for infinite do-overs.

"This is what I had theorized," she said, "the first time we found out she had prophesied Arkai’s death with such... detailed knowledge."

The three men frowned, the gears turning in their minds. They had suspected Ruby possessed more than divine foresight, some stolen knowledge of a ’what if.’ But Cecilia’s speculation was more structured. It gave names to the monsters.

"I’ve considered both," she continued, "weighing one against the other. For now, it’s safest to assume she is not in a time loop." Her voice grew quieter. "However... if it is a loop, and the trigger was her death... and if she only died and triggered it once, later in her original life..."

Infinite possibilities. A foe who could, even unknowingly, reset the board upon her death. A puzzle with no solution because the rules could change with a single, fatal mistake. It was a strategic nightmare Cecilia’s brilliant mind could not brute-force without more data.

"Is this why you’ve been refusing to just kill them all?" Eastiel interjected, rubbing his temples as if to soothe a sudden ache. "You’re being... cautious."

"But this knowledge doesn’t explain your breakdown," Arkai countered. His dark eyes were sharp. "You’ve already been pondering this. You’ve planned around it, moved pieces with this uncertainty in mind. This isn’t new."

"You must have just found out something else," Eastiel pressed, the two of them arguing to force the hidden truth to the surface. "Something concrete."

"Yes," Cecilia nodded. "I was just explaining it so you understand why... we must not kill her. No matter what. Not until we know exactly what mechanism she’s operating under."

But the preamble was over. The dam was crumbling. She had to tell them why the vase had shattered this morning.

"And about what I found out..." she whispered.

"It’s... it’s like how we know what would’ve happened if Arkai died in that volcano..." Her voice hitched. "I—"

A sob ripped through her, sharp and sudden. Her composure, so carefully reassembled, cracked. She turned her face to Oathran.

The dragon’s face, which had been calm, instantly fell. The color seemed to drain from it, leaving his features stark.

"What happened to me, Saintess?" he asked, his voice impossibly gentle.

He didn’t wait for her to find the words. He saw the direction of her anguish, the target of her devastated wrath. He immediately pulled her into his embrace, tucking her head under his chin. "What happened to me..." he murmured into her hair. "...in that timeline?"

Cecilia broke. She sobbed into his chest, the sound muffled and wretched. "I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—"

"It’s okay," Oathran whispered, his hand stroking her back in slow, steady circles. His own heart was cold in his chest, but his voice was a warm shelter. "I’ve just finished guessing. It’s horrible, isn’t it? It’s fine. Tell me."

"I can’t..."

She choked a whisper against Oathran’s chest. She couldn’t voice the horror—

CREAK—BLAM—!

Chaos from the hallway shattered the fragile silence. Shouts, the scuffle of boots, a woman’s voice rising in furious, uncouth command. Before anyone could react, the double doors to the dining room were breached. They slammed inward with violent force, rebounding off the walls with a thunderous crash.

Angela stood in the doorway, a hurricane given human form. Her hair was a wild, black mane, her eyes blazing with a fury. "Baby!"

Cecilia flinched violently in Oathran’s arms. The three men were on their feet in an instant, muscles coiled.

Behind Angela, Eastiel’s most elite lion-kin guards were in a state of panicked, respectful paralysis, their hands hovering, clearly having tried and utterly failed to stop the force of nature that was the imprisoned princess. They looked to their king for guidance, their faces full of distress.

"Fucking bitch, I’ve heard. Come here," Angela snarled. She charged across the room, her arms spread wide. Cecilia, with a ragged, hiccupping sob, pushed herself from Oathran’s embrace and stumbled into them.

They collided in a fierce embrace, Angela’s arms locking around Cecilia like iron bands.

"Gigi—hic—why are you here?" Cecilia wept into her shoulder.

"You used my network and expected me not to find out? What the fuck is even that slut who calls herself a saintess, huh?! What the fuck?!" Angela roared. She held Cecilia so tightly it looked like she was trying to absorb the pain straight from her bones.

She had come fresh from the deepest, darkest dungeon of Iondora. And following right behind her, was Stevan, the Chief Warden himself.

Both were clad in nondescript black cloaks, the fabric still carrying the chill and damp of subterranean stone. It was a hasty disguise against the light of the world above.

To smuggle the Princess out of her cell, past the dungeons, and through the palace itself undetected, only the Warden in charge could have managed it.

Stevan offered a stiff, deeply apologetic bow to the three beast lords, his posture screaming of a man who had chosen treason for a cause he couldn’t refuse.

Only after Eastiel gave a sharp, curt nod to his hovering guards did they finally retreat, pulling the doors closed.

"Your Highness," Stevan said helplessly, his voice a low rumble aimed at Angela’s back.

"This is a matter of national security!" Angela snapped over her shoulder, not releasing Cecilia. "You better sit down and not disturb me when I’m saying I fucking hate that bitch!"

She turned her blazing gaze back to the room, her eyes landing on Oathran.

"You’re alive, I see. So you didn’t die in a ditch and have that fucking tiger prince harvest your remains to be made into weapons?" she sneered.

"Gigi!" Cecilia tore herself back, her tear-streaked face was hurt. "Why would you say that?!"

"Why would you marry a man who was prophesied to be dead?!" Angela shot back, her own voice cracking on the last word. Then, the furious dam broke. The anger melted, and her own tears, hot and furious, spilled over. "Cece—sob—!"

That was the moment Arkai and Eastiel sharply turned to Oathran, who stood frozen in place.

They understood now.