Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time-Chapter 450 Self-Dividing Logic

The sky is absent. The earth is absent. Yet something still supports their steps—a structure unseen, formed by arguments battling over a love that requires no proof.

Fitran walks slowly. Sounds echo from all directions. He feels an unavoidable vibration, a sincere love, unbound by logic and claims—a love that exists only in experience.

(The tension in the air resembles a thin membrane, wrapping each step like an invisible fine thread. He senses how every echoing choir brings his community closer to the boundary between logic and emotion, a place where love and the awakening of feelings compete for hearts, dwelling in uncertainty yet preserving the beauty of feelings beyond all proof.)

"If this statement is false, then it is true—love does not depend on proof." "If everything is proven, then nothing is absolute—love flows unconditionally." "If you love her, why doesn't she love you back—must love be proven?" "If she doesn't love you, why don't you stop—a true love demands no reciprocation."

(Is love an art or a science? That question becomes like a shadow that never fades, haunting every second of silence. They realize that even in the coldest logic, an unexpected smile and a gentle touch can break arguments—there are spices of sincerity enveloping every interaction.)

Glyphs flutter. They are not static. They attack each other, like hopes meeting reality. Like wild beasts raised in a closed system—and now have no direction but to kill each other, yet behind all that, love remains, unaffected by chaos.

Beelzebub stands still, her eyes squinting, holding the secret of her love that needs no proof.

(In that tension, she feels the pulse of an unavoidable anticipation. Among every glyph that shatters, she contemplates—does sincere love require proof, or can it exist amidst this war? A love full of hope, unconditional, or merely an illusion of crumbling logic?)

"This is no longer a Labyrinth," she whispers. "This is a system that... begins to hate itself, trying to prove something that need not be proven."

Walls begin to form from incantations. Yet those walls immediately collapse under their own antonyms:

Love saves ←→ Love need not be sought

Sadness proves sincerity ←→ Sadness is part of sincere love, without proof

Even the glyphs usually used for healing appear—then burn as they are attacked by their own version in the ancient language of the Void.

(Amidst the waves of surging emotions, it crosses her mind that sincere love often looks like an unhealed wound. A paradox, where healing becomes poison, and every incantation made to ward off sadness only calls it back, as if sadness is part of love that needs no proof.)

Fitran staggers. This system is too harsh to accept whole, especially when love requires no proof. Everything wants to be the answer... And all answers kill the questions that truly need no answers.

One symbol appears before him:

(love) = desire ∧ flaw

The symbol bursts with light, proclaiming:

"Love is not pure. It is flawed, and it is precisely from that flaw that true purity emerges."

(However, he feels sincerity in that flaw—a beauty that can only be seen through the lens of a vulnerable heart. As if that flaw is the wings that carry him above the sky of uncertainty, freeing him from the burden of unnecessary proof.)

Fitran clutches his chest.

"I know," he says softly. "But only the flawed... can grow, feeling love that is not trapped within boundaries and rules."

The incantation explodes. Unable to withstand the acceptance of sincerity. Love does not require proof, his heart says.

Beelzebub suddenly halts her steps. Her hair billows—not due to power. But because her body is torn between two poles:

Herself as an entity that consumes will—who only survives if the system is in conflict.

Herself as a being who loves Fitran—who only desires togetherness without needing proof, without needing to explain to the world what their love means.

(In the silence, she feels the tension between desire and obligation. Love should always transcend cold rationality; it flows freely, like a river finding its way despite the barriers, implying that true love only needs to be felt.)

"Fitran..." she says almost like a prayer, "if I stay here too long, I will be consumed by the structure I created myself." "I... am not part of the love that endures, because true love does not require measurement. I... am part of the system that rejects wholeness, believing that sincere feelings need not be proven, only felt."

(Those words hang in the air, like the tail of a comet splitting the night sky, providing light while also depicting emptiness and hope for sincere love.)

Fitran turns.

"Then why do you stay with me?"

(The question in her gaze is like a window opening to a trapped soul, seeking light among shadows, but now that shadow need not be proven to be obtained.)

Beelzebub gazes at him, and for the first time... that smile is not a sly grin, but a smile that shows unconditional acceptance.

"Because if I shatter with you... at least I was never a lie."

(That statement flows in the void, like water bouncing off a stone, penetrating doubt and presenting honesty amidst the noise; love does not need to be proven, only felt.)

Suddenly, the entire space collapses into a spiral of logic. Fitran and Beelzebub fall into a vortex made of:

Questions answered too quickly, yet not eroding the warmth of feelings

Answers never asked for, and deepening mutual understanding

Love that wants to be proven too hard, yet ultimately finds silence in sincerity

Certainty that loses its purpose, transforming into a bond that requires no explanation or validation

(As if in that vortex, every element collides; the voice of the heart and the voice of reason murmur in a disharmonious symphony, challenging each other in an eternal struggle, debating the meaning of true love, which never requires proof.)

And in the midst of that vortex, a being emerges:

The Inverted Theorem.

A figure without a body. Her eyes blaze with all conflicting possibilities, yet there is one light brighter than the rest—the light of sincere love. She whispers:

"You want to save that which you cannot possess. Then prove: why her, not another? But remember, true love does not need to be proven."

Fitran closes his eyes. All the feelings within him press—every doubt, every wound, every sincerity that delves into his soul, vibrating in the awareness that sincere love needs no reason.

(Like a storm raging in the ocean of his heart, every emotion clashes in waves that never subside; waves filled with immeasurable love, transcending logic.)

"Because I cannot love another version; my love stretches unconditionally."

That utterance... is not an attack. Not a glyph, but a truth that needs no answer. A gentle sweep of sincere love escapes from arguments—unconditionally, without the proof expected.

And the system—which lives from the conflict between proof—cracks.

The Inverted Theorem begins to crumble, swept away by the power of love that cannot be confined by logic.

"If all this is not because of logic... then what are you?" "What is your purpose... if everyone forgets you?"

Fitran answers:

(He feels the weight of that question like a mountain, threatening to crush the foundation of his belief, yet he knows in every heartbeat, love never requires acknowledgment.)

"My purpose is not to be remembered. But to keep loving, even if I am lost." In my absence, this love remains alive, unbound by acknowledgment or proof.

The spiral begins to collapse, freed from the shackles of choices that force love to be proven.

Beelzebub pulls Fitran, taking him out of the vortex of proof that imprisons the heart.

"You must go before you become part of this system!" "If you stay, your love will become a theorem. Tested. Proven. Dissected. Used to justify another slaughter! But remember, true love does not require proof."

(Beneath her words, there is a desperation gripping hope; a fear of love trapped in the web of logic. Yet, sincere love is an escape from that complexity.)

Fitran gazes at her.

"And you?"

Beelzebub smiles.

"I do not want you to prove your love to me. Sincere love is enough." "But if you want to stay alive... love Rinoa. For me too. Love her without needing to prove it."

(Those words fly, leaving a mark in his mind, like the wind whispering new hope amidst the pain. A light illuminating the dark corridor of doubt.)

They leap together—out of the spiral, beyond the boundaries of logic and reasoning.

The logical system that split itself has been destroyed, not by magic, but by one decision:

To love... without proving. Love that is immeasurable, undefined by boundaries.

(Love, like a fire dancing in the dark, is sometimes hard to understand. It fills empty spaces with warmth, but also burns when not careful. In the hesitation between its reason and the voice of the heart, a question is born that always haunts: Can love endure without tangible proof? This is the natural paradox of love, which often needs no reason.)

(Amidst the emptiness of logic, he feels the burden of hope and fear sharing the same path. Now, every heartbeat feels like it represents two souls; one surging in certainty, while the other clings to ignorance, embracing a love that needs no validation.)