I Became the Cute One in the Troubleshooter Squad

Just before Akashmir’s crimson lightning struck, a thought crossed my mind.

I’m still far too weak to fight against someone truly powerful.

It was an undeniable truth.

After all, I had only awakened as Yuria a mere three months ago.

Even if I kept growing, catching up to such opponents someday, I simply didn’t have enough time yet.

At this rate, that massive, merciless lightning would pierce through me and leave nothing but ashes.

Even if by some miracle I survived, it was a fate already decided—unchangeable.

‘I trust the story, not any supposed gods.’

In that fleeting moment, my thoughts turned to Tesseract.

Could I heal Greg, much like how Tesseract had restored both me and Anser before?

No. Even if Greg were restored to full strength, he couldn’t defeat Akashmir.

Not only was the matchup unfavorable for him, but the gap in skill alone was staggering.

What about weakening Akashmir instead?

Unfortunately, Tesseract required proximity—at least close enough to touch—to work its effects.

Logically possible, yes, but in this life-or-death situation, utterly unfeasible.

I needed to think differently. How had Drakel used Tesseract?

He had reverted to his prime self, centuries younger and untouched by age.

But no matter what he did, Drakel couldn’t become his current self without aging.

That version of himself simply didn’t exist—neither as a reality nor as a possibility.

Tesseract brings forth possibilities. Drakel could summon his past self because that possibility existed. So… what about a future that hasn’t happened yet?

I envisioned a version of myself, strong enough to rival even Raven.

If such a future existed in even one worldline, then I wouldn’t lose.

“…!”

A crimson bolt of lightning crackled, illuminating the dark storm clouds that smothered the pale moonlight.

With a rush of overwhelming sensation, as if something were spilling out from within me, the very fabric of the world seemed to distort.

***

The scar of red lightning lingered in my vision, its power fresh and sharp.

The bolt, faster than sound, had torn through the air like a devil’s saw, rending everything in its path.

Its devastating power could reduce a human to ashes in an instant. This was the true might of the Seven Sins.

Greg, gritting his teeth, forced himself to press his knee to the ground, keeping from collapsing.

Despite his battered body, he refused to falter with Yuria standing before him.

The sheer stubbornness of his determination filled his crumbling form with strength.

‘Wait, but… why am I still alive? Why can I think so clearly?’

The realization dawned on him.

A bolt of that magnitude should have killed him outright. At best, he would have been clinging to life with critical injuries.

So why was he, who had been caught in its vicinity, still so lucid?

Greg slowly opened his eyes and looked toward where Yuria had been standing moments earlier.

At the same time, he heard the sound of something light clattering to the ground.

‘…Who is that?’

Before him stood a woman he didn’t recognize.

She was slightly taller than Greg, even with him kneeling.

This was no longer the diminutive Yuria he had come to know.

And yet, the soft, flowing white hair that framed her figure stirred an achingly familiar feeling within him.

‘No way.’

The woman, her hand extended skyward, tilted her head back and met his gaze.

Greg inhaled sharply, his eyes widening.

The figure before him was breathtakingly beautiful.

Her delicate, serene expression paired with a slightly wistful gaze evoked an inexplicable sense of longing.

Her face was otherworldly, with flawless features and a striking presence that seemed almost divine.

But that wasn’t why Greg was stunned.

It was her violet eyes—reminiscent of blooming flowers—that carried a tender gaze, as though looking at someone precious.

Her lips curled into a faint, familiar smile, and the curve of that expression sent waves of recognition through him.

“Yuria… is that you?”

“…?”

The woman tilted her head in confusion, as if asking, How did you know?

Realizing she wasn’t wearing her usual mask, Yuria leapt in surprise.

Had she been too focused on deflecting the lightning to notice?

A bit flustered, she scratched her neck sheepishly before bowing slightly to Greg with an awkward smile.

‘Is this the first time you’ve seen my real face? Nice to meet you.’

That’s what her actions seemed to say.

Greg let out a dry chuckle.

Even with her appearance completely transformed, her consistent mannerisms left no room for doubt.

‘What is this? Is this what Yuria really looks like? Or is her usual form the real one, and this the fake?’

Confusion swirled in his mind, the countless unanswered questions leaving him bewildered.

But Greg shook his head, casting those thoughts aside.

They didn’t matter now.

There was only one thing he needed to focus on:

Maybe, just maybe, with Yuria’s power, they could fight Akashmir.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Greg looked up at her and asked, “Yuria, do we stand a chance?”

“…!”

Hah, is that even a question?

Yuria chuckled softly, spinning around with an air of unwavering confidence.

Her condition was perfect—better than it had ever been. Right now, she felt as if she could overturn the world itself.

As she turned back to face Akashmir, the shift in atmosphere was palpable.

The tables had turned. Yuria was now the composed one, exuding a calm poise, while Akashmir’s face twisted in irritation and disbelief.

“You… What are you? Your appearance suddenly changed, so you’re clearly not human. But you don’t have any mana, so you’re not a magic-wielding species either. What the hell are you?”

“….”

“Ha, so you think I’m not even worth answering? Argh, so annoying… so infuriating! Maybe I’ll burn that smug face of yours to a crisp and see if you talk then, huh?!”

Akashmir’s agitation was plain as day.

First, her full-powered lightning magic had been effortlessly blocked.

Second, Yuria’s transformed appearance and lack of response—though she physically couldn’t speak—came across as insolent disregard.

To Akashmir, Yuria’s composed silence was the ultimate insult.

“Disappear! Corridor Fulminis!”

Crackle!

Akashmir chanted an incantation to summon the Corridor of Lightning, a high-level magic of her world.

Her spell hungrily devoured mana, shaping the space before them into a vast arena of crackling electricity.

Then came the storm—a deluge of countless crimson bolts, each one sharp as a needle and powerful enough to tear apart anything in its path.

“This is…! High-tier magic!”

Greg, overwhelmed by the oppressive force of the spell, felt a choking weight pressing down on him.

But Yuria stood calmly, arms crossed, raising a single finger as if amused.

This is straight out of the original storyline.

Yuria recognized the spell instantly, and unfortunately for Akashmir, Yuria also knew how to counter it.

‘Let’s see… something like this should do it.’

Whizz!

From the tip of Yuria’s finger, a pure white wave shot upward, resembling an arrow.

It was raw, unrefined telekinetic energy—a concentrated burst of sheer force.

To the Yuria of just a few minutes ago, such an extravagant expenditure of power would have been unthinkable.

But the white wave surged upward, pushing aside the descending crimson bolts and breaking through the dome of the lightning corridor.

The spell, designed to trap and obliterate its target, shattered like glass.

It was a display of overwhelming power—a stark contrast to the struggling Yuria Greg had seen earlier.

“What… how did you… destroy the Corridor so easily…?! You, you miserable little—!”

“….”

Boom! Crackle!

Akashmir unleashed a torrent of lightning spells in rapid succession.

Each one was powerful enough to blacken the ground, obliterate walls, and leave everything scorched in their wake.

But Yuria countered with surprising ease.

She hurled chunks of debris to intercept the bolts or twisted their trajectories, redirecting them harmlessly away.

Her telekinesis had grown exponentially—its range, precision, and raw output were incomparable to before.

“This… this can’t be happening! There’s no way I’m losing to some nobody!”

Rumble!

A massive wave of electric current surged across the ground, transforming everything it touched into ash.

Even Greg, who had faced countless life-and-death battles, swallowed nervously at the sight of such devastation.

But Yuria remained calm, exhaling deeply as she focused her power.

She extended her palm forward, gathering telekinetic energy, and then unleashed it in a single, massive pulse.

Fwoosh!

From her hand bloomed a wave of pure white force, scattering petals of energy as it expanded.

The white wave surged forward, crushing everything in its path, including Akashmir’s crimson lightning.

When the dust finally settled, the victor was clear.

Akashmir lay on the ground, clutching her abdomen in pain, while Yuria stood tall and unscathed.

“Cough… ugh…!”

“….”

With a flick of her hand, Yuria brushed her snowy white hair back over her shoulders, revealing a bright, playful smile.

Despite her mature, elegant figure, the innocent expression on her face radiated a youthful charm that felt almost mischievous.