Kapitel 4: A sticky situation

"What was her name?"

"Who?" Lorelle asked, striding down the crowded hallway. Around him, students dressed identically bustled past, their chatter blending into a noisy backdrop.

[The one who made you this… WEAK.]

"I've told you before—stop talking about her," he muttered, trailing behind the others. He had no clue where the classes were held, so he simply followed the flow.

[Fine… But did you take the name Ryan in this world just so she could recognize you?]

"Shut up."

[You are truly one of the most foolish humans I've ever known. How can you let emotions rule you like this?]

"I said, shut it," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the din. His shoulders stiffened, and his fists clenched so tightly it seemed his nails might pierce his skin.

[You are WEAK and will remain WEAK unless you abandon this fantasy and accept who you are—accept your destiny.]

'And die?! My destiny, my so-called fate, is to die! SO DON'T PRETEND YOU UNDERSTAND A THING!' Lorelle screamed internally, his mental walls beginning to fracture under the pressure.

[Spare me. You could change that future if you tried. Your vision is pathetically narrow.]

"Narrow," he chuckled hollowly, shaking his head as he joined a throng waiting for the elevator.

[You can take control of your fate, or it will control you. I've warned you countless times, but you keep running. Mark my words—if you persist, the destruction you fear will find you.]

Lorelle said nothing.

A soft chime announced the elevator's arrival.

As the doors slid open, Lorelle stepped inside with the others, slipping to the back and leaning against the cold metal wall. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm his jumbled thoughts.

[Corruption. That's what you fear, isn't it? But in truth, you're just running—from the truth you've known since the moment you woke in this world. You are the villain. You were destined to be hated.]

"Can you just shut it?" he hissed, his voice low and strained, fighting not to let the words seep in.

[You fear what she would think of you if you accepted your destiny—if you became who you were meant to be.]

Lorelle remained silent.

[But how sure are you that she even exists in this world?]

"She… she has to be. That's what the woman said. She promised. She said I'd find her here," he whispered, more to himself than the voice. It sounded like a plea, a desperate attempt to cling to hope.

But doubt lingered.

Three years of searching, enduring every hardship, every torment, had yielded nothing. No sign of her.

And that doubt had festered, growing into an unbearable certainty.

Perhaps she wasn't here.

But if not, why was he? What purpose did he serve in this world? Why endure the agony, the endless suffering?

Why...?

[Do you think the gods are benevolent?]

"You knew that woman?"

[I only glimpsed her through your memories. She's a higher god, one of the primordial overseers of the celestial realms.]

"...." His jaw tightened as he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

The truth was glaring now: he had been deceived. Sent here on false promises, burdened by a cursed fate, to chase a goal that was never meant to be fulfilled.

Perhaps she truly wasn't in this world.

"No…," he muttered, forcing himself to take deep breaths, to steady his crumbling resolve.

I can't let him get to me, he thought, shaking his head as if to dispel the voice.

[Alright, let's say she is here—the reason for everything you've done. But what if she's one of the children of destiny, fated for the son of the WILL?]

"Haa… hah…" Lorelle panted, the possibility crushing him. He'd considered it before.

And it terrified him.

If she was destined for this world's hero… what was he supposed to do?

[Since you're too afraid to accept your fate, maybe you'll also accept losing your beloved to the son of the WILL.]

"I SAID SHUT UP!" he roared, his ash-white eyes flashing amethyst for a fleeting second before dimming.

"I… I…"

A frightened gasp reached his ears. Turning, he saw a girl staring at him, wide-eyed.

The elevator had gone silent.

Everyone was staring.

Including a familiar face—someone who looked at him with pure disgust.

'Well fuck me.'

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