Chapter 37

“Ha... so I’m trash to you again, is that it?”

“If you’re going to hit me, could you at least make it quick...?”

Dezeb scoffed. Slowly, deliberately, he sank his teeth into her skin, trailing from her ear down the line of her jaw.

“Erabelle, if you keep treating me like such a bastard, you’re going to hurt my feelings.”

He ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) moved to her collarbone next, his bite leaving no mercy there either.

“I-I’m sorry...”

“How was the SDP I sent you? I heard they expanded the save spell on that version.”

“F-From the eleventh file onward, the memory function got... unstable...”

He clearly had no intention of letting her go. The interrogation continued. So did everything else.

She genuinely thought she might die.

Fortunately, just before the last thread of her sanity snapped, her consciousness gave out instead. Dream or reality, it made no difference. Erabelle welcomed the merciful darkness with open arms.

Ah... ahh, my back.

She was going to die. Or wait—was she already in the afterlife?

Doubting her own vital signs, Erabelle glared at Dezeb, who lay asleep beside the bed. She didn't dare look for long, though—she was too terrified.

Even in sleep, his beauty was entirely inhuman. Raven-black hair tumbled in artful disarray, framing skin like white porcelain glazed with a soft, ethereal sheen. Long eyelashes cast delicate shadows over closed eyes. The faint flush at his lips and the corners of his eyes, the elegant sweep of his throat, the fine, taut muscle locked like precise machinery beneath his collarbones... He was flawless.

This is so twisted.

Erabelle shivered as something warm trickled downward. She hated this. Being left to tremble alone over a drop-dead gorgeous man made her feel like a complete degenerate.

The more she pondered it, the more deeply unfair it felt. Man or woman, whoever ended up on the bottom always got the raw end of the deal.

At least the signum channel was quiet for once. That was something. Even if her back felt shattered, her tailbone actually was shattered, and her whole body wouldn't stop shaking... and even if she still felt like a total degenerate.

Compared to that terrifying noise, this was nothing. That sensation of her limbs slowly going numb—like being trapped under full-body anesthesia while her mind remained wide awake—was infinitely worse.

Dragging herself forward like a slug, Erabelle let out a low grunt. There had to be an easier way to endure this.

“...Ugh...”

Her meds. She needed her meds.

Staggering out of the bedroom, she found the injection inside her backpack in the hallway. She jammed the needle directly into her spine, then slumped against the cold wall, gasping for breath.

“...Ah.”

I might actually live.

Erabelle rubbed the dull ache near her spine and let out a long, slow exhale.

Well... all things considered, he had gone easy on her. At least she could still move. In the original story, the Imperial Prince couldn’t even drag himself out of bed for three days. And that was with a level 9 body. Then again, the prince had his insides completely torn apart, so maybe that made sense. At least her sacrifice hadn’t been in vain. She would press forward... and become the world's most accomplished leg-spreader.

Unlike the prince, whose intestines might have been wrecked but whose life was ultimately safe, Erabelle enjoyed no such guarantees—not for her guts, and certainly not for her life. This was her thirteenth year in another world, and survival remained her sole objective.

After resting her forehead against the cool hallway wall for a moment, Erabelle stood up and made her way to the bathroom. Once she had cleaned up and showered, she went straight to the kitchen.

If she wanted to maintain peak performance, she had to look after her condition. And nothing restored a person quite like a massive intake of sugar. Stress was a killer, after all.

She poured a generous serving of chocolate cereal into a large bowl and drowned it in milk. Warm sunlight washed across the marble island countertop, bright enough to make her squint.

It was a peaceful morning—the kind of tranquility unthinkable in a active conflict zone. The contrast was jarring. No turret fire, no beasts tearing each other to shreds, no distant wailing of undead legions. Just a warm, quiet, luminous morning. It only came around once every three months, but it always felt surreal.

Erabelle followed the patch of sunlight across the kitchen floor, munching on her cereal while tapping away at her pad screen.

Several personal and work-related emails lined her inbox. She deleted the ones she had already reviewed, set aside those requiring replies, and began prioritizing them by urgency.

Another shipment delay... Unit 121, naturally.

She shoved another spoonful of cereal into her mouth and winced. What the—? Her throat stung. Did something scratch it?

“Having cereal?”

She was just about to pull up the pad’s camera to inspect her neck when Dezeb emerged from the bedroom, clad in nothing but a sleek, fluid silk robe.

“Yes. Would you like some?”

“I would.”

Erabelle set the pad aside, retrieved a clean bowl from the shelf, and filled it for him. As he set a pot of water on the stove for coffee, he spoke in an unexpectedly gentle tone.

“Have you ever heard the theory that a man's sex drive is directly linked to his hunger? They say the neural pathways overlap—when a man is hungry, he gets aroused.”

That won’t do at all, Erabelle thought, and promptly dumped a mountain of extra cereal into his bowl.

“Though in my case, I think I only feel the urge when I’m already full. If I’m hungry, I should just eat.”

Fair enough, Erabelle thought again, and immediately scooped the extra cereal back into her own bowl.

Dezeb let out a soft chuckle, his shoulders rolling with quiet amusement at her swift reaction.

Well... as long as he’s in a good mood.

It seemed his temper had cooled. If he was already looking for lighthearted ways to tease her this early, the worst of last night’s storm had likely passed. Something had driven him edge last night. The kind of night that left her feeling like she had sacrificed her body for the greater good of galactic peace—and it utterly sucked.

“When did you wake up?” she asked.

“A little while ago.”

Dezeb reached out, effortlessly pulling her onto his lap. Given the stark difference in their frames, her legs dangled awkwardly in the air.

He pressed a soft kiss to the nape of her neck. The sharp sting she had felt earlier flared into a low, simmering warmth. Dezeb was fond of these quiet, physical touches; even outside the bedroom, he carried himself like a devoted lover.

And that was precisely the most dangerous thing about him.

His lips lingered against her neck, pressing softly before pulling at her skin with a teasing suction.

He was the Chosen.

Erabelle bit her lower lip as the prickling heat deepened where his mouth had been.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured, his eyes glittering with mischief at her flushed face. “Eat first. We can do other things after.”

“Y-Yes...”

Even without having washed his face yet, he looked infuriatingly flawless. Gazing at his perfectly messy black hair and sculpted profile, Erabelle couldn’t help but think: Even if this man didn’t wash his hair for three months straight, people would still call him a god. Hell, he could go completely bald and people would build temples to him.

“You’re thinking about something strange again.”

Erabelle quietly turned her head away and resumed eating her cereal. Dezeb let out an amused snort and tapped on his own pad, quietly handling a few routine tasks—much as she had done moments before.

Surprisingly, he was a busy man. Unlike her, whose schedule was bloated simply because endless tasks were dumped onto her desk, Dezeb genuinely enjoyed his work. If he didn't, the world would probably be a far more peaceful place... but therein lay the dilemma.

His pad vibrated. He took the call, engaging in a brief, terse exchange.

“It’s fine. No need to delay.”

Duty called outside.

“Be ready in twenty minutes,” he said, wrapping up the call. “I’m heading out.”

Even though they only saw each other once every three months, he never spent an entire day with her. He was far too important, and even during these rare windows, he frequently had to step away.

“I’ll be out for a while. Take it easy while I’m gone.”

And that—that was the ultimate dilemma. She knew nothing good ever came from the work he did. Yet the longer he was away, the more time she had to herself. Against her better judgment, she found herself looking forward to his absence. Morality and convenience were always pulling her in opposite directions.

He really is an environmental hazard of a human being.

“Strange thoughts again.”

His narrowed eyes caught her off guard. Erabelle dutifully lowered her gaze in silence.

Dezeb snorted once more, then turned toward the dressing room to change.

While he dressed, Erabelle finished the last of her cereal and returned to her original task. Opening the camera on her pad, she inspected the back of her neck. All she could see was a dark red bruise left by his kiss. But it had definitely stung earlier—almost like a scratch.

She lowered the pad with a quiet sigh and stood up to clear the dishes.

Dezeb emerged a few moments later in casual, lightweight attire—tailored gray slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a sleek metallic watch. He didn't look like he was heading out to execute anyone today. Light colors were usually a good sign.

“I’ll be gone for about half a day,” he said.

Erabelle walked him to the doorway. Even after the heavy door clicked shut, she remained in the entryway for several minutes, listening intently until his footsteps faded into complete silence.

She stood there like a loyal hound abandoned by its master.

Only when she was certain he was truly gone did she slowly turn around, her face breaking into a wide grin.

Yes! Freedom.