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ArabicHonkai Star Rail: My Death Feeds Their Madness — Chapter 22
Chapter 22: 1 Day
“Mr. Kagashi, shouldn’t you tell your teacher?”
“My teacher is a Long-Life Species. A hundred years or so is but a speck of dust in her existence. In her long life, I am merely an insignificant passerby. also… she does not like to be disturbed.”
Clarice’s face showed no surprise. That was exactly the sort of thing Mr. Kagashi would say.
Even standing on the absolute precipice of death, he refused to inconvenience his master. Perhaps to her, he truly was just a fleeting shadow. But to him, his teacher was the center of his entire world. Living in quiet seclusion deep within the mountains, never marrying, leaving behind no children—almost every breath he took was dedicated to her. He regularly cleaned her solitary home, carefully trimmed the overgrown paths leading to her door, tended to the Plum Grove year after year, and brewed exquisite wine just to send it her way.
Aside from those quiet acts of devotion, he never once disturbed her peace.
It all proved that the weight she held in his chest surpassed everything else in creation. If even the news of his own passing was considered a disturbance, wasn’t that a deep cruelty? Was it not too heartless?
Clarice could only wonder in silence.
“Is there anything you haven’t finished… I can help, Mr. Kagashi.”
“…There is a bottle of medicine in the hidden pocket of my white coat. Please pour out four pills and bring them to me. Thank you.”
Clarice looked toward the white coat hanging on the nearby rack. As she reached inside the hidden pocket to retrieve the glass bottle, her fingers brushed against a small, delicate plum blossom embroidered into the inner lining.
She fell silent for a few long seconds, tracing the thread, before pulling out the medicine. Returning to his bedside, she carefully tipped four pills into her palm and gently fed them to Kagashi.
The effects took hold with startling speed. In less than two minutes, beneath Clarice’s watchful gaze, the heavy toll of time peeled away, and Kagashi regained his youthful vigor.
However, he only offered a helpless, quiet smile.
Previously, the medicine hadn’t even taken half a minute to work…
Looking at the incredibly familiar face of the man she cared for, Clarice could no longer hold back her tears. The dam broke. Unable to suppress the overwhelming surge of grief, she threw herself into his chest, sobbing loudly into the fabric of his shirt.
Kagashi raised a hand, instinctively wanting to wrap his arms around her trembling shoulders and offer comfort. Yet, his arm ultimately stopped in mid-air, hovering for a brief moment before silently dropping back to his side.
At this point, how could he fail to see the young girl’s feelings?
If he could not offer her a single promise or a future, it was far kinder to never start at all. If a dandelion seed never fell into fertile soil, it would never take root and sprout, eventually drifting away harmlessly on the wind.
Kagashi remained perfectly still, allowing Clarice’s hot tears to soak through his clothes. Sadness was her right and her freedom; he possessed no authority to strip that away from her.
He turned his head away, looking out the frosted windowpane.
It had started snowing again, the heavy white flakes falling in a dense curtain. He checked the time, only then realizing he had been completely unconscious for nearly an entire day.
After an unknown stretch of time, Clarice’s sobs gradually subsided into quiet hiccups, though she kept her arms wrapped tightly around him in the silence.
“I will take you home later. Ms. Durand will be worried if you do not return overnight,” Kagashi said, his voice gentle and smooth.
“…Mother has already returned to her hometown…”
“I see.”
“Mr. Kagashi, let me stay with you until the end. Please, do not refuse me.”
Because… this is the only thing I can hope for… The girl dared not lift her face from his chest, terrified of seeing eyes that spelled rejection, and even more afraid of hearing those subtle, distancing words.
“…Okay.” Kagashi replied with a single, soft word.
[Remaining Lifespan: 1 day 02 hours 24 minutes 41 seconds]
Deep inside the folded space, a humanoid machine floated quietly in the center of Kagashi’s assembly area.
His ten fingers flew across the holographic control panel, his afterimages blurring together as he prepared to finalize the ultimate program. He extracted a digitized backup of his own Remembrance, implanting it directly into the mechanical core before hardcoding an inviolable meta-directive.
Clarice stood off to the side, silently watching the entire process unfold. She knew exactly what this machine was meant for, and she knew it had not been purchased from the Interastral Peace Corporation.
Fluid light pulsed through the assembly bay. Across the machine’s metallic surface, synthetic tissue rapidly generated, weaving together as if bone were growing flesh. In mere moments, it transformed perfectly into Kagashi’s exact likeness.
Kagashi paused, his fingertip hovering just a fraction of an inch above the final confirmation key.
“Mr. Kagashi… can you change its appearance?” Clarice asked suddenly.
Even if it was his own creation, she could not bear the thought of looking at another identical face once he was gone.
“Using someone else’s biometric data isn’t good; it would infringe on their portrait rights. Using my own is the most convenient and risk-free.”
For once, Kagashi offered a dry, understated joke. He reached out and pinched the puppet’s synthetic cheek; the texture and warmth were almost indistinguishable from a real human being.
However, that face remained entirely blank and expressionless. Its gaze was dull, devoid of any spark of emotion whatsoever.
Kagashi didn’t need it to feel. It only needed to faithfully execute its meta-directive.
Should he delete the language module or keep it? He hesitated for a fleeting second.
Clarice secretly sighed, choosing not to speak again.
The next second, she witnessed a phantom of the past overlapping with reality. It was the memory of Kagashi carefully building this mechanical puppet from scratch.
In that singular instant, she deeply understood the deep weight of her mother’s words—
‘Life is a winding maze; besides Remembrance, we have nothing.’
Then, she recalled Kagashi’s own interpretation of that phrase, and the cruel, quiet short story he had once shared with her. She remembered… the answer she received when she had asked Mr. Kagashi if he was willing to remember her.
—He had said: Naturally willing, and without needing a reason.
Now, she also wanted to remember him, to carve every single detail of his existence into her soul. Likewise, without needing a reason.
Clarice understood everything.
If even she forgot Mr. Kagashi, then he would truly be erased from the universe. Every time she thought of him, he would live again through her, as if he had never died at all.
“Cycle self-check complete. Let’s begin.”
Kagashi lightly tapped the confirmation key, his calm voice pulling Clarice’s thoughts back to the present.
He had chosen to keep the language module.
The puppet’s artificial eyes gradually lit up with a faint, steady glow. It slowly rotated its neck, testing the servos in its limbs. Its initial movements were somewhat stiff and mechanical, lacking the natural grace of a living human. However, as the seconds ticked by, the internal processors adapted, making its motions increasingly fluid and natural.
All of the pre-set simple actions passed the diagnostic inspection perfectly. A steady synthetic voice echoed in the room, its pitch and timbre rapidly shifting until it perfectly matched Kagashi’s own voice.
“Meta-directive confirmed, protocol complete. Please specify the first test content.”
Kagashi gave a slight nod. He transferred the puppet from the suspended assembly area down to the solid floor, gently pulling Clarice back a few steps to give it space.
“Within three seconds, completely mimic my behavior pattern.”
The puppet’s gaze locked onto Kagashi.
The very next moment, its posture shifted. The angle of its shoulders, the distribution of its weight, and even the habitual, slight curve of its index finger became entirely identical to Kagashi’s.
If not for the persistently expressionless face, it would be almost impossible to distinguish the creator from the creation.
Kagashi issued the second test command. “Switch to attack mode. Target: virtual targets ahead.”
As his voice faded, several holographic bullseyes instantly materialized across the folded space.
The puppet’s figure blurred into motion. Its right arm lashed out like a steel whip, tearing through the air with a sharp, violent gust of wind. It dashed continuously, each crisp, precise, and elegant strike shattering a target into pixels of light.
Kagashi stared intently at the glowing data screen, watching the various performance indicators rapidly fluctuate and stabilize.
The attack mode’s action logic was flawless, and its reaction time exceeded the preset parameters, meeting his rigorous requirements across the board. A puppet lacking highly autonomous intelligence naturally required formidable self-preservation capabilities to survive.
“Next, it is time to test the energy attack methods. We cannot do it in here, so follow me.”
Kagashi turned on his heel, and the other ‘him’ faithfully followed a step behind. Clarice trailed after them in silence.
Out on the quiet, vast expanse of the snowy field, the puppet raised its arm and fired a concentrated energy cannon. The blinding blast struck the earth, instantly vaporizing the snow and blasting a fifty-meter diameter area into a deep, smoking crater. The ground trembled slightly beneath their feet.
Kagashi was highly satisfied with the destructive output. It was more than enough to deal with ordinary thieves or wandering beasts. After all, its original purpose was never meant for slaughter.
“It is cold. Let’s go back.”
“Mr. Kagashi… there is one day left, right…?” Clarice asked, her mood sinking to an absolute low.
Kagashi paused in the snow, then chuckled softly.