The moment his blade shattered, I felt my own chest tighten. In Regret? It's the Apocalypse!, every crack in that weapon mirrored the fracture in his soul. The silver-haired commander didn't just fight monsters—he fought fate itself. And when the glasses-wearing scholar screamed through tears, I swear I heard my own voice echoing in that ruined street. This isn't action—it's emotional warfare with lightning and claws.