Chapter 1: Shattered Reflections

The Hollow was alive with chaos. Ethereal beasts screeched and howled, their unnatural forms twisting through the shifting terrain. The Victoria Housekeeping team stood at the heart of the fray, their movements fluid, precise, and deadly.

The protagonist—inhabiting the body of Ellen Joe—darted forward, giant scissors glinting with frost as they cut through an advancing beast. Ice formed along the edges of the wound, spreading outward until the creature froze mid-lunge. They staggered back, panting. The scissors felt heavier with each swing, the strain in their arms growing unbearable.

This is harder than it looked in the game, they thought, dodging a clawed swipe.

"Focus!" Rina's voice rang out like a bell, sharp and commanding. Electricity crackled around her hands as she unleashed a torrent of lightning at a cluster of enemies. The smell of ozone filled the air.

To the left, Von Lycaon moved with calculated ferocity. His prosthetic legs slammed into the ground, sending shards of ice rippling through the terrain. The beasts froze in place, giving him the perfect opening to deliver a bone-crushing kick.

"Cover me!" Corin shouted from behind, her chainsaw-like broom humming to life as she charged into the fray. The protagonist hesitated, their grip tightening on the scissors.

"Move, Ellen!" Von barked, his voice snapping them into action.

They lunged forward, slashing at an enemy that had broken past the line. Ice erupted from the wound, sealing the creature's movements. Corin finished it off with a decisive swing, the broom's teeth tearing through its frozen flesh.

"Nice save," she muttered, giving them a shaky smile.

"Yeah," the protagonist replied, their voice unsteady. "No problem."

When the last Ethereal fell, the team regrouped. The protagonist leaned against a rock, their breath coming in shallow gasps. The giant scissors hung loosely at their side, the frost coating them beginning to melt.

They stared at the shards of ice littering the ground. Each fractured surface reflected their new face: sharp features, piercing eyes, and the unmistakable sway of a shark tail behind them.

They touched their cheek, their hand trembling.

This is me now, they thought, a cold knot forming in their stomach.

"You look like you've run a marathon," Von said, his voice laced with bemusement as he approached.

"Felt like one," they replied, slouching dramatically. "My legs are killing me."

Von raised an eyebrow. "You're not usually this winded."

"I'm tired, okay? School, work, monster fighting—it's a lot."

Von didn't seem convinced, but he shrugged it off. "Fair. Just don't let it slow you down."

Rina joined them next, her electric-blue eyes scanning the field for any lingering threats. She turned her attention to the protagonist, her expression unreadable.

"You fought well enough," she said, her tone neutral. "But you hesitated more than usual. Are you unwell?"

The protagonist forced a smile, stretching lazily. "Nah, just running empty. Late nights, you know how it is."

Rina's gaze lingered a moment longer before she nodded. "Ensure it doesn't affect your performance again. We rely on you."

The words stung more than they should have.

Back at headquarters, the protagonist collapsed onto Ellen's bed. The neatly organized room felt like a mockery of their fractured state.

They stared at the shark teeth jar on the windowsill, their thoughts spiraling. The memories of their past life were fading, replaced by Ellen's instincts and habits. Every yawn, every slouch, every lazy excuse—it was as though Ellen's personality was consuming their own.

"Who am I now?" they whispered into the quiet.

The pressure of living Ellen's dual life was suffocating. High school assignments piled up alongside Hollow missions, leaving little room for rest or self-reflection.

Over the next few days, the protagonist leaned heavily into Ellen's tired persona. They yawned through briefings, dragged their feet during chores, and used homework as an excuse to avoid extra responsibilities.

"Ellen, you've been lazier than usual lately," Corin said one morning, her tone tinged with concern.

"I'm fine," they replied, waving her off with a lazy smile.

Von smirked from across the room. "You sure? I've seen you nap during worse shifts."

The protagonist forced a laugh, but Rina's sharp gaze didn't waver.

Another tiring and role playing week for our protagonist passed.

The gentle hum of Victoria Housekeeping Co.'s headquarters was a far cry from the chaos of the battlefield. The protagonist, still grappling with their new reality as Ellen Joe, slumped at the common room table, a homework sheet half-filled and their head propped on their hand. Every muscle in their borrowed body ached—a mix of Hollow exhaustion and lingering tension from keeping up the facade.

Across the room, Rina observed quietly, her sharp eyes flicking between the protagonist's sluggish movements and the stack of uncompleted paperwork beside them. She didn't miss the slight hesitation in Ellen's usual routine or the uncharacteristic lack of energy.

Moving like a ghost Rina leaves the room without drawing the attention of our tired protagonist. Seeing this as a serious matter that needs to be taken care of she goes to Lycaon's office to make a request. Rina sat opposite Von Lycaon in his office, her graceful posture a stark contrast to the tension in the room. Von, ever the composed leader, leaned back in his chair, his mechanical legs crossed in a show of casual confidence.

"Have you noticed Ellen's performance lately?" Rina began, her tone measured but probing.

Von tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze meeting hers. "She's been slower. Sloppier. I thought it might just be fatigue from the last few missions, but it's persisting."

Rina nodded, her hands folded neatly on her lap. "Exactly. It's unlike her. She's hesitating in the field and showing signs of exhaustion outside of it. That's dangerous for the team—and for herself."

Von's ears twitched subtly as he considered her words. "Ellen's always been lazy when it comes to chores or paperwork, but she never lets it affect combat. If that's changing, it's serious."

Rina pressed on, her voice tinged with quiet urgency. "I propose we give her a week off. Allow her to recover and recuperate. We can manage without her for that time, and it might give us clarity on what's troubling her."

Von didn't answer immediately. He steepled his hands, his claws tapping lightly against each other as his eyes narrowed in thought. "Giving her time off could help," he admitted, "but it might also mask the problem. If there's something deeper at play, she could retreat into herself rather than addressing it."

"That's why I suggest we keep her lightly involved," Rina countered. "We can check in daily and call her for backup if absolutely necessary. That way, she doesn't feel abandoned, but she has the space to rest."

Von sighed, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "Ellen's young," he murmured, almost to himself. "Balancing high school with this line of work isn't easy, even for someone as capable as her. Maybe we've been pushing too hard without realizing it."

Rina tilted her head slightly, a moment of curiosity breaking through her usual poise. "You sound like you've been in her shoes."

"Not exactly," Von replied with a faint smile. "But I know what it's like to carry more than you should at her age. Fine, let's do it. She gets a week. But make it clear she's still part of the team, even if she's not on missions."

Rina rose gracefully, a satisfied glint in her eye. "Understood. I'll inform her."

When Rina delivered the news later that day, the protagonist felt a mix of emotions. Relief, certainly—but also a gnawing sense of inadequacy.

"A week off?" they echoed, trying to mask their unease with a lazy stretch. "You sure you don't need me for anything?"

"You'll remain on standby," Rina replied, her expression calm but firm. "But otherwise, rest. That's an order from Lycaon."

The mention of Von's name made the protagonist pause. Despite his reserved demeanor, Von had a commanding presence that made it hard to argue. They nodded, forcing a smile. "Got it. Thanks, Rina."

Rina gave a slight nod, then turned and left, her heels clicking softly against the floor.

The protagonist sank onto the couch, rubbing their temple. "A week," they muttered. "What am I supposed to do with a week?"

Back in his office, Von sat alone, staring at the roster displayed on his tablet. Ellen's name glowed faintly at the top of the list, a reminder of the trust he placed in her.

"She's slipping," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "And it's not like her."

His thoughts drifted to her earlier years with Victoria Housekeeping. Ellen had always been a paradox: sharp and capable in battle but prone to bouts of laziness when it came to mundane tasks. Still, her strength had always shone through when it mattered.

So why now?

Von glanced at a photo on his desk, taken during a rare moment of levity. The team stood together, Ellen grinning mischievously while holding a mop like a weapon. Her energy had been infectious back then.

"Did we miss the signs?" he wondered aloud.

He tapped the edge of the tablet thoughtfully. "A week off might help her reset. Or it might reveal something we've been overlooking. Either way, we'll be ready."

The protagonist stood in Victoria Housekeeping's shared locker room, a simple duffle bag resting on the bench beside them. Packing Ellen's things felt oddly intimate, a strange reminder of how deeply they'd slipped into her life. A few casual outfits, her sketchpad, and some schoolbooks filled the bag—enough to keep up appearances during the week off.

As they zipped up the bag, the door creaked open. Corin peeked in, her broom tucked under one arm and a faint look of concern on her face.

"You're really leaving for a whole week?" she asked hesitantly, stepping inside.

The protagonist forced a lazy grin. "Just for a bit. Gotta recharge, you know?" They swung the bag over their shoulder, adding a casual shrug for good measure. "Don't miss me too much."

Corin frowned, her brows knitting together. "I don't think we've ever done missions without you. It's... weird."

Before the protagonist could reply, Von Lycaon's voice echoed from the hallway. "Corin, let her go."

Von stepped into the room, his towering presence commanding attention. Behind him, Rina followed, her usual composed expression softer than usual.

"You've earned this break," Von said, his voice calm but firm. "Use it wisely."

The protagonist gave a mock salute. "Yes, sir. Lots of naps and... more naps, probably."

Von's ears twitched, and a faint smirk played at the edge of his mouth. "Just make sure you answer your phone if we call."

"Of course," the protagonist replied, their tone light but their heart heavy with the weight of Von's trust.

Rina stepped forward, a neatly wrapped package in her hands. "For you," she said simply, handing it over.

The protagonist blinked in surprise, taking the package. It was heavier than expected, the faint scent of lavender wafting from the elegant wrapping.

"Uh, thanks," they said awkwardly.

"It's tea," Rina explained. "Good for relaxation. I expect you to use it."

"Noted," the protagonist said with a small chuckle, tucking the package into their bag.

As they made their way to the door, the rest of the team had gathered in the hall. Even Anastella, who rarely spoke, gave a shy wave.

"Take care, Ellen," Corin said, her voice unusually soft.

"Don't slack off too much," Drusilla added with a teasing tone.

The protagonist waved back, their chest tight with unexpected emotion. They care more than I thought, they realized. They really think of me as Ellen.

The walk back to Ellen's apartment was uneventful, the streets of New Eridu bustling with the usual mix of humans and Thirens. For once, the protagonist didn't feel the usual tension of being on high alert. Instead, they focused on the small things: the way Ellen's boots clicked against the pavement, the scent of food stalls wafting through the air, and the faint hum of distant Hollow activity.

When they finally reached the apartment, the silence inside was both a relief and a reminder of their isolation. Dropping the bag by the door, they flopped onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

"A week," they muttered. "I can do this."

But as they closed their eyes, the weight of Ellen's life—her responsibilities, her relationships, and the reality of living in her skin—settled over them like a storm cloud.