How to Save a Time-Limited Heroine

Deltain moved swiftly.

He dealt with the remaining street urchins, hunted down the drug addict next, striking him down.

Then, he set the gang’s bar ablaze and used the stolen gun to shoot Verdi between the eyes.

A total of 37 attempts.

That was how many it took to reach this point.

The result? Failure.

In that moment, Deltain felt blank.

The reality that the mission he had painstakingly completed after 37 repetitions was wrong.

The first emotion to arise was doubt.

Next came anger, and finally, a sense of futility.

‘Why?’

Why was this a failure?

He had confronted and overcome everything that had tormented him that day, yet why hadn’t he proven himself?

Thud.

Deltain slumped to the ground outside the starting point, the clothing store. He stared up at the sky.

Damn white Christmas.

The sky was pouring snow as if to mock him.

Snowflakes brushed his cheeks, melting away.

Trickling down and seeping under his clothes.

It was cold. It was unpleasant.

But he had no time to care about such things.

‘What’s the problem?’

No matter how hard he glared at the interface, no answers came.

No, only more questions arose.

Deltain gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

He brushed away the crumbling snowball from his hand and stood up again.

‘Don’t mess with me.’

He couldn’t leave it like this.

He hadn’t come this far just to be trapped in some dream.

Deltain began to move again.

‘Again.’

Maybe something had been overlooked.

With that thought, Deltain faced his trauma even more thoroughly.

31 attempts.

That was how much it took to beat the street urchins so thoroughly they would never walk again.

12 attempts.

That was how much it took to stab an approaching drug addict through the heart.

Another 77 attempts.

That was how much it took to burn the gang’s hideout, then shoot every fleeing gang member one by one with a gun.

Finally, one more attempt.

Crack!

Deltain crushed Verdi’s skull with an iron pipe.

But once again, it was a failure.

Back in front of the clothing store, Deltain’s eyes were dark with exhaustion.

While his physical fatigue vanished, his mind was a different story.

158 total attempts.

Considering each attempt averaging about 5 hours, it was clear how long Deltain had been awake, repeating this process.

Even with superhuman mental strength, such prolonged repetition was taking its toll on him.

Deltain felt his brain tighten painfully, and he staggered.

He leaned against the clothing store window.

‘… dangerous.’

He could sense it.

If he pushed his brain any further, his cognitive abilities would be at risk.

Determined to avoid that, Deltain surveyed his surroundings.

‘Two runs… no, at least four runs. I need a break.’

Though his body was restored, he was still in a child’s body.

If he could find a place to sleep, he’d rest as long as needed.

Crunch.

Deltain began walking.

Even taking in visual information felt overwhelming, so he shut his eyes tightly and moved.

Heading in the opposite direction this time.

Toward the bustling downtown.

If he walked for about 30 minutes, he’d reach Midtown, where he planned to rest.

Crunch. Crunch.

Each step made his head throb, it was almost unbearable.

The cold compounded the rising headache.

“Sniff.”

Deltain sniffled, the chill making his snot run. He sniffed hard and grimaced, before blowing his nose forcefully.

This also gave him a headache, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with it again for a while.

He walked on.

Out of Harlem, into Uptown, and from there down to Midtown.

Deltain’s stumbling figure began to draw the attention of passersby.

“A kid?”

“An Asian kid? Did he come from Koreatown?”

“What’s a kid doing here alone?”

Deltain blocked his ears from the murmurs and glared at the onlookers.

Some were families, others were couples, and some were friends.

Out enjoying Christmas night, no doubt.

‘Lucky bastards.’

Meanwhile, Harlem above them was still a war zone.

Mocking them silently, Deltain trudged on.

In Midtown, Deltain found a decent spot to sleep.

A pile of sacks in front of a dumpster.

Above was a building’s overhang, shielding him from the snow.

Midtown’s safety was leagues better than Harlem’s, so he could sleep here without worry.

Rustle.

Deltain draped a sack over himself.

His body shivered from the cold, having come this far in thin clothes, but it was enough to sleep.

Or so he thought. Even if he died, he’d just return to the clothing store in Harlem, so it didn’t really matter.

As he closed his eyes, seeking sleep.

The alarm flashed, and Deltain’s consciousness faded.

When he came to his senses, he was back in front of the clothing store in Harlem.

*

“… damn it.”

He cursed, but nothing changed.

The headache showed no sign of easing, and the gaps in Deltain’s fractured reason began to be filled by raw emotions.

His body started trembling violently with anger and frustration.

Deltain collapsed where he stood, his bloodshot eyes glaring at nothing.

‘I need to sleep.’

That was the only thought left in his mind.

Ignoring everything, even the possibility of being hit, he closed his eyes.

And then.

Once again, time rewound, and he found himself standing before the darkened clothing store.

Deltain didn’t care.

He collapsed and tried to sleep again.

The cycle repeated.

The incessant ringing of alarms was ignored.

Each time the time rewound, he let his body collapse immediately, desperate for rest.

Ring. Ring.

The unbearable sound pierced his mind, and mental exhaustion finally dragged him into a fragile sleep.

Three minutes.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

The alarm started ringing like crazy.

Deltain gasped, clutching his head as if it might split open.

‘Ugh…!’

He fell to the ground, rolling in agony.

“Gahhh!”

It felt as though someone had jammed an electric wire into his skull and sent shocks coursing through his brain.

Heat, pain, and static overtook him.

Leaving his reason drained and his body froze.

Tears, snot, and saliva poured uncontrollably, soaking into the snow beneath him.

He crawled through the mess, his body spilling more as he moved.

Despite the searing pain, his wide, bloodshot eyes darted around.

It was instinctive.

He was searching for help.

‘Why…!’

But there was no one.

The passersby on the dark streets only glanced at him briefly before hurrying away.

“Ugh…?!”

Grinding his teeth, Deltain dragged himself forward.

‘It… it’ll work…!’

Regret clouded his mind, and his thoughts fragmented, thinking about how to stop this alarm.

Thud.

His heart clenched painfully.

Deltain gasped, trying to breathe.

But his lungs refused to move.

His heart truly stopped. It wasn’t a mere metaphor.

In less than ten seconds, Deltain’s consciousness faded.

When he opened his eyes again, he was back in front of the unlit clothing store.

Staring at the dark glass with deep circles under his eyes.

He let out a scream.

“AAAAHHHH!!!”

Crash!

He broke the window with a stone.

*

Agnes jumped up from her seat in surprise.

“Kuh… aaah….”

Deltain was convulsing violently.

His body shook as if electrocuted, drool dripping from his mouth.

Tears streamed from his tightly shut eyes.

“Deltain.”

Agnes gently stroked his cold, trembling cheek.

The room was warm, yet Deltain’s body felt as though it had been cast out into the freezing night.

Panicked, Agnes glanced around.

The hounds were scouting the area.

The chieftain and Olga were elsewhere.

Hornlake…

‘… useless.’

It was useless.

Agnes bit her lip and turned back to Deltain.

Her face pale with worry.

‘Is he dying?’

Was Deltain dying?

No. He wouldn’t die.

He’d be trapped in this tormenting trial forever instead.

But then, what was this reaction?

‘Is he… breaking?’

Was Deltain’s mind collapsing?

The thought came to her.

Virtually, it was similar to being dead.

The thought chilled her to the bone.

The man who once burned so brilliantly was now crumbling before her eyes.

“… no.”

No.

This couldn’t happen.

Deltain Hebron had to remain eternal, like an unshakable truth.

Anything less was unacceptable.

Agnes climbed onto the bed, crawling under the covers.

Pulling the blanket over both of them as she embraced him.

She shared her warmth with him.

Futile as it felt, holding him close and stroking his cold cheek.

It was all she could do, and the helplessness tore at her heart.

She knew this feeling.

The numbness of facing an inevitable catastrophe. The icy dread that froze her breath.

The lingering pain in her chest that time could never erase.

Agnes’s voice quivered.

“… don’t die.”

The words escaped her lips unbidden.

“Don’t die, Deltain.”

She repeated the plea, burying her face in his hair.

Her whispers took the shape of a prayer.

“You can’t die. You mustn’t.”

Agnes curled.

Her breathing quickened.

Her hands were trembling.

“Don’t… don’t…!”

As Deltain’s body grew colder, her mind flooded with memories, locked away and now spilling forth.

Fear etched itself into her expression.

The more she tried to push the memories away, the more they constricted her.

Still, she didn’t stop.

The more overwhelming they became, the harder she whispered.

“Don’t…”

Time passed unnoticed by Agnes.

Her thoughts clouded by turmoil, blinding her from the trajectory of time.

For a long time.

At last, Deltain’s tremors subsided.

Agnes noticed the change belatedly.

“Deltain…?”

Lifting her head, she looked down at him blankly.

His trembling and tears had eased.

Though still cold, his body seemed to have recovered to a degree.

Agnes felt her strength left her.

But one question lingered.

‘What on earth…’

What was he experiencing?