Hours passed in stillness. The hum of the lab dimmed into a low vibration, broken only by the faint rhythm of Kang Woo's breathing.
Then—Makima's eyes opened. But something felt wrong. She wasn't lying down anymore. Her body hovered a few inches above the futon, hair flowing weightlessly, while her physical form still rested beside Kang Woo, perfectly still. Her awareness drifted, untethered from flesh.
Makima stayed quiet, letting instinct and intellect keep her steady. Her gaze moved slowly toward the air in front of her—where a figure floated, watching her.
It was a girl. Pale as moonlight, with white hair that shimmered faintly like frost and eyes the color of fresh blood. She wore dark silver clothing woven with a regal sheen, and on her head rested a small, delicate crown that caught the faint lab light.
The girl said nothing. She only smiled—softly, endlessly—and raised a hand, waving with a playful gesture that didn't match her ghostlike presence.
Makima, half curious, half unnerved, returned the smile.
The girl tilted her head, then held out her hands—fingers poised—ready to play. Rock, paper, scissors.
Makima blinked once, then gave a small nod and joined her. In silence, the two began to play—one move after another, soundless and strange—the crowned girl giggling each time, though no sound escaped her lips.
Makima didn't yet realize what she was seeing. That the girl before her wasn't a ghost, or an illusion—but the fusion of the five million souls that had gone missing. A soul-born child, born from the overflow of the Demon King's power—watching her with the innocent eyes of something impossibly new.
Makima felt a strange peace as she played with her. Each round of rock, paper, scissors carried an odd warmth, like playing with a reflection that wasn't her own. Whether it was a dream, an illusion, or something else entirely didn't matter. She simply enjoyed the moment.
After a few silent rounds, Makima smiled faintly. "I'm going to name you Nayuta Two," she said softly. "You're very similar to my future self."
The floating girl's smile didn't fade, but she slowly raised one pale hand and turned her thumb downward, arms crossing afterward in a quiet, graceful refusal.
Makima blinked, a small laugh escaping her. "Terrible name, huh?" she murmured.
The girl nodded once, still smiling but keeping her silence.
Makima tilted her head, thinking. "Alright then… how about Ghost Girl?"
The pale girl lifted her hands again, forming a tiny cross with her fingers, then shook her head—another silent, wordless no.
Makima fell quiet, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. The silence between them stretched, soft and weightless.
Then, before her eyes, faint glowing words began to form in the air—letters made of pale light, floating gently like dust motes.
First name will be: White.
But the second name must start with the letter A.
Makima nodded slowly, her gaze calm but intrigued. "White… and something with A,?" She tapped her chin lightly, thinking aloud. "How about… Alya? White Alya."
The pale girl smiled, lifted her hands, and made a small, deliberate gesture—thumb and forefinger close together—as if to say almost. Then she waved her fingers, shaping another wordless sign: That's good… but make it better.
Makima chuckled softly, her eyes thoughtful as she studied the glowing figure. "Alright… let's see then. What name would suit you—someone born from lost souls since your skin is white , yet pure enough to smile like that?"
Then it came to her like a quiet spark of revelation. "Albeda," she said slowly. "Your name will be White Albeda. Not Albedo—Albeda, with an A at the end. It feels more alive that way."
The pale girl's expression brightened instantly. Her eyes shimmered with red light, and she clapped her hands several times in delighted approval, small ripples of energy fluttering through the air with each motion.
Makima smiled gently. "I'm glad you like it, White Albeda."
Without warning, Albeda floated closer, her motions graceful and soundless. She gestured for Makima to follow, drifting toward the corner of the lab where an iron bucket sat—the one filled with the dark, failed remains of her Philosopher's Stone attempts.
Makima hesitated but followed, bare feet brushing lightly against the floor.
Albeda turned toward her and lifted both hands, fingers weaving through the air to form silent words in glowing script.
Why didn't you ask Kang Woo to give you souls?
He has plenty.
You could've won against the Black King easily.
Why do you keep struggling with only your own single soul?
Makima composed herself, her expression steady though her tone carried a quiet edge of suspicion. "How long have you been watching me?"
White Albeda didn't move her lips. Instead, she lifted her hands and shaped words from shimmering light that floated between them like drifting snowflakes.
Only recently. I've been watching the moments that define you… and the truth of what you are.
Makima's eyes narrowed, her gaze sharpening as she studied the girl's every movement, every ripple of her aura. Her mind worked in silence—measuring, testing, searching for deceit. Was this creation touched by the Black King? Or worse, a whisper of an Outer God's influence? Even if the entity Kang Woo kept was only one fragment of the Black King's original , it was still enough to warp entire realities..
Yet… she sensed no malice. No corruption. What she felt instead was something eerily familiar—like kinship. A faint reflection of herself, not hostile but curious, perhaps even protective.
Finally, she spoke, her voice calm and commanding. "Then tell me—what are you? Why ask a question you already know the answer to?"
White Albeda's expression remained unchanged. She raised her hands again, weaving another strand of light through the air.
Because that's what confuses me.
The letters pulsed softly before continuing, her gestures slow and deliberate.
The Makima everyone knows would have used every person at her disposal. She would have controlled them all. If given tremendous power, she would have rejoiced—and demanded more.
Makima stood silent, her hair falling slightly forward, eyes catching the pale glow of the words.
White Albeda continued, movements precise and graceful, each gesture carrying childlike sincerity.
But you've changed. You still have that possessive streak—the need to claim, to control—but it's no longer absolute. You feel sympathy. You spare what you could have taken.
Her final motion stilled, the words hanging softly in the dim air. Why?
Makima exhaled slowly, her eyes lowering for a brief moment before she answered. "I've felt love… and intimacy—the very thing I sought for so long. Kang Woo gave that to me." Her voice wavered slightly, not from weakness but from reflection. "But now, as I prepare to face the Black King again, I want to create something greater—a Philosopher's Stone that embodies more than power. Something I can't quite describe."
She looked down at her hands, fingers curling faintly. "I can't put it into words… because the word itself is missing."
For the first time, White Albeda's lips parted. Her voice was soft, delicate, almost musical. "Feeling," she said. "That's the word you're looking for."
Makima's eyes widened slightly, then softened with realization. "Yes… feeling," she echoed. "The feeling to be better. And this time, it's personal. I'll prove to Kang Woo—and to the Black King—that they're both wrong about us."
Her tone grew firmer, the quiet flame of conviction burning behind her eyes. "We're not lesser beings that gods can toy with. We can reach their heights. We can stand where they stand."
White Albeda tilted her head, her crimson eyes glowing faintly. "Very good," she said calmly, her voice carrying a faint echo, almost melodic. "But that still doesn't explain something, Makima. Why do you want the Player System to be yours ? Not even gods understand it. Only a handful of beings ever knew it existed—and it's reserved for those far above the divine."
She lifted one hand, and from the empty air, a chair of silver light materialized beside her. With a gentle motion, she gestured for Makima to sit.
Makima hesitated briefly, then smiled and sat down beside her. The chair was warm—strangely alive, like it welcomed her presence.
After a short silence, Makima glanced at her, curiosity flickering across her face. "How can you talk now? You couldn't speak just minutes ago."
White Albeda turned her head slightly, her voice calm but tinged with wonder. "Names are powerful," she said. "When you named me, you imprinted a code into my being. You could say… you gave me existence. And with it, the ability to speak."
Makima only nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She leaned back in her chair, resting her arms quietly, and for a moment, the two of them simply sat together—no tension, no battle—just the quiet comfort of something that felt almost like sisterhood.
Then Makima spoke, her tone playful but tinged with quiet sorrow. "Are you… Kang Woo's twin sister? You feel like a large piece of his good side. Because the more strength he devours, the more of his goodness fades away."
White Albeda's expression softened, her voice gentle yet distant. "I wish that were true. But beings like him chose their paths long before you were ever born ."
Makima turned her gaze toward the floor, her voice low but steady as she finally answered Albeda's earlier question. "I want the System for the same reason Kang Woo uses it—to control his fate. But not for conquest. I want it so I can stop him. One day, I'll tell him his endless crusade for power is enough. I want to be able to draw the curtain on his games and show him he can live a normal life again."
She paused, her tone softening. "I've seen how his system keeps breaking—it can't even keep up with his growth anymore. I don't want to be left behind. And my truest reason…" Her eyes flickered with warmth and sadness. "…is to slow him down. Just enough for him to see the small things that matter."
White Albeda watched her carefully, her expression unreadable. "Fascinating," she said at last. "A being born of this lower world, trying to grasp the soul of her husband—a malfunctioning inhabitant reaching beyond her parameters."
Makima's eyebrow twitched. "Malfunction? That's a rude way to describe me—as if I'm some kind of program."
White Albeda smiled faintly, unbothered. "The moment Kang Woo arrived here and made your life spiral into chaos, your destiny was rewritten. You could say he's the user—and he's capable of changing everything."
Makima gave a quiet, knowing smile. " Kang Woo once told me my future was terrible—that I was destined for a miserable end. But he already changed that. At the very least, I found what I'd been seeking… just to be with him. Though I didn't expect that along the way, I'd gain this much strength simply by walking beside him."
White Albeda's expression shifted, her crimson eyes deepening like endless light. "Then let's be serious now, Makima. Without Kang Woo's help, you have no chance against the Black King."
Makima's breath caught, but she stayed silent, listening.
"When every being dies," Albeda continued, her tone calm but heavy, "their souls return to him—the Black King. you're challenging is the ruler of souls itself.. Every extinction strengthens his dominion."
She folded her hands in front of her, the glow from her crown dimming slightly. "And I'm certain of one thing: he can summon those souls whenever he wishes . If he wanted, he could forge a true Philosopher's Stone from their essence alone."
At that same moment, far beyond her awareness, Kang Woo stirred. His closed eyes flickered faintly—his senses brushing against something subtle, alien. A faint echo, like a whisper of two souls speaking somewhere outside the fabric of reality. He focused, and instantly detected a small rift: a pocket of existence folded away from the world—a personal dimension, soft and luminous, crafted from astral residue.
Inside that place, Makima and White Albeda sat together. But as Kang Woo's perception brushed against it, the entire plane began to collapse like mist under sunlight.
Makima turned instinctively toward him, sensing his awakening, but when she looked back to where White Albeda had been, the girl was gone. No trace of her remained—only faint, glimmering dust dissolving into the void.
A quiet sadness filled Makima's chest. I wish I had an imaginary friend like Kang Woo and the Black King, she thought. But one that isn't parasitic. Someone who simply stays.
The thought lingered as her consciousness slipped back into her body. Her eyes fluttered open.
"How long have I been asleep?" she asked softly.
Kang Woo, sitting upright beside her, didn't turn immediately. "Six hours," he said, his tone calm but distant. "Though I wonder…"
His gaze lingered on her, faint light flickering in his irises as his Authority of the Beholder activated, scanning her essence. Yet what he found made his brow tighten.
Strange. Five million souls should've been inside her. But the reading shows nothing—no trace, no echo. It's like they never existed.
Kang Woo leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing. Did she consume them unconsciously? Or did something else take them?
Makima shifted beside him, her tone cautious but steady. "Kang Woo… did you hear my conversation with a ghost girl? The one with the crown on her head—and I just named."
Kang Woo said nothing. His expression didn't change, but his thoughts stirred sharply beneath the calm. So I did miss a moment there… something hid itself between time.
He closed his eyes for a second, power beginning to rise behind them—his Almighty preparing to unfold, to scan every branch of the future he had skipped.
Makima noticed the shift in his face, the subtle ripple in his aura, and her heart tightened. I know that look, she thought. He's searching again. Kang Woo is so sharp, so dangerously aware, that sometimes I wonder if anyone could ever keep a secret from him.
She hesitated, then made her choice. "Kang Woo," she began quietly, "I… I should tell you. I had a strange dream. I met a—"
Before she could finish, Kang Woo exhaled and the light behind his eyes faded. The Almighty receded.
He looked at her with a strange, calm wisdom that didn't quite belong to mortals. "No," he said gently. "Don't tell me."
Makima blinked, caught off guard.
"In that small moment," Kang Woo continued, "whatever happened—keep it for yourself. Treasure it. Because the decision you make in the next few hours will be crucial. That moment, might shape it."
His gaze softened slightly. " focus. Complete the Philosopher's Stone. Don't think about me, and don't worry about losing. Just do it your way—without forcing it."
From the futon beside them, Kobeni stirred. She brushed her eyes gently, still half-asleep, blinking at the dim light of the lab.
Makima turned toward Kang Woo, her movements fluid and graceful, like a dancer reaching for a hand that had always been there. She raised one arm, her palm open, and her voice carried the tone of a vow. "Can I ask you, Kang Woo—my Demon King, my chaotic husband who's lived for ten thousand years—to guide me once again?"
Kobeni froze, her mind catching on that one part. Ten… thousand? Her eyes went wide as she looked between them. He's ten thousand years old? She folded her arms tight across her chest, a nervous little huff slipping out. I'm only twenty… that's like being married to a myth.
Kang Woo stood without a word, his expression unreadable as he extended his hand to Makima. His voice came low, almost teasing. "Do you want to take the lead this time, then—in the grand opera you've created?"
Makima smiled faintly, shaking her head. "No. I just want you to trust me this time , no matter how humiliating it becomes… promise me one thing. When I face the Black King's challenge—don't interfere. Don't tip the balance in my favor. I want to win fair and square."
Kang Woo's gaze lingered on her for a long, silent moment. Then he spoke, his tone even but edged with warning. "That might be a good way to declare your resolve… but understand this, Makima. There's a high chance the Black King will summon at least twenty million souls just to put you in your place—to remind you what he thinks lower beings should be. Are you sure you want to face that alone?"
Makima met his eyes without wavering. "I'm not facing this alone," she said quietly. "You've already guided me this far. I may have been the one who escalated things, but now I'm asking you to trust me. I'm going to show you that there's a better way to create the Philosopher's Stone—and I'll give you something you've never seen before."
Kang Woo stepped closer, resting his hand gently on her head. "You already did that once—in Aokigahara Forest," he said with a faint, wry smile. "Though it caused me to fail one of my hidden quest systems." His tone softened. "But it's not about that."
As his hand lingered, his thoughts turned inward. This girl… she's planning to use her single soul to forge a complete Philosopher's Stone. Alone.
He withdrew his hand slowly, his expression unreadable. "Let's see it, then," he said at last. "Show me what you can do."
Then his voice grew quiet, almost solemn. "But know this, Makima—if things go south and your soul burns out… if you fall into the Black King's domain or the afterlife because you've exhausted everything you are, I won't stand by. I'll interfere. I'll bring your soul back myself."
He paused, his eyes heavy with a truth few could bear. "Because losing your soul… is far more painful than dying."
Makima nodded slowly, warmth flickering in her chest. Her yellow, ringed eyes shimmered faintly—filled with gratitude, devotion, and something deeper that only he could draw out of her. "Trust me," she said softly, her voice steady but glowing with emotion. "When that moment comes, it'll surprise you… even after all the years you've lived."
Kang Woo studied her for a long heartbeat, the faint hum of the lab echoing around them. Then, without a word, he nodded once—quiet, absolute.