<CHAPTER 2>
Opaque blue windows lined up in front of my eyes in a long cascade.
[Starting memory normalization.]
[<IERROR!> Deleted memory.]
[ Cannot be restored.]
[ Cannot be restored.]
………………What is this supposed to mean?!
[Only file required to maintain the world’s entropy will be restored.]
[Restoring memory…………….]
Before my brain could even process what I was seeing, an overwhelming flood of information poured in.
As if it had always belonged to me.
Did I just possess someone?
Inside a shut-down game?
The entire story of <Ending World> began settling into a corner of my mind like engraved history.
Another layer of flesh settled over the burning body that had lived as Shin Ji-an.
It mixed, melted, and fused at a frightening speed until it became reality.
After a long while, Apotheosis was naturally accepted as the world I lived in.
And in this world, “I” was—
[Laia – Synchronization Rate: 1%]
The so-called villainess.
[To restore the remaining memories, find the [Key Diary] and unlock the crematorium.]
[Ending synchronization.]
Ah. Seriously? You’re ending it like this?
Lamia.
An F-rank Saintess with barely a grain of innate holy power, wrapped tightly in inferiority.
She had been selected for the subjugation squad of the Hesen Kingdom alongside the Hero, but her pitiful stats constantly held the party back.
Despite that, she stubbornly clung on until she inevitably reached her limits—that was the tutorial.
Then the player entered as an S-rank Saintess, the savior substitute, and the game truly began.
After that, it was predictable.
Pushed out of the only healer position in the subjugation squad, Lamia grew jealous of the heroine, bullied her, and ultimately died alongside the Demon King when he was annihilated.
In short, a hopeless nuisance character—powerless yet obnoxiously loud—made to be hated.
Even I had cursed her in the chat window about once a day.
But that was only because there was affection underneath.
Villainess or not, Lamia’s design and modeling matched my exact tastes.
She was the ultimate culmination of everything I adored.
Bright orange hair that looked as if citrus juice would burst out if touched.
Sweet honey-colored eyes.
A boldly curved figure.
It would not be an exaggeration to call her a tragic character whose every stat had been dumped into appearance.
On the day the final chapter updated—the one where Lamia died trapped in her own schemes—there was only one positive comment in her evaluation window.
“Still, she’s pretty trash.”
And even that was written by me.
The rest were things like “Finally she’s dead,” or “She should’ve been ground into sweet potato mash.”
I had even sent a long, heartfelt email to the game company asking if she truly had no chance of redemption.
And now I had become that pretty piece of trash.
If I’d known this would happen, I would’ve pushed the redemption theory harder!
Of course, whether Saintess or villainess, none of that mattered right now.
More precisely, I couldn’t afford to care.
Because—
This is… a chest?
An undeniable presence rested squarely beneath my chin.
No matter how many times I shut and opened my eyes, the situation did not change.
The system windows that had filled my vision were gone, replaced by sharply divided shadows over firm muscle.
Holy shiiiiit.
I was lying face-down on someone’s abdomen.
Pressed fully against warm, living flesh.
“Ah—”
I immediately pushed myself up on my elbows, separating my upper body from the man.
And in that moment, I realized something else.
The abs were nothing compared to the presence below.
Of all things, why is there a snake living in my line of work…?!
He seemed to be asleep now, but who knew when he might wake.
I tried to pull away, but a heavy arm wrapped around my waist kept me firmly in place.
Why, why won’t this thing budge?
As I clenched my fist in flustered panic, my gaze fell on red, swollen marks around his neck.
Even against his deep olive skin, the scratch marks—raked and dotted like cherry blossom petals—were unmistakable.
Judging by the circumstances, that had clearly been my doing.
Of all situations to be thrown into!
Would a battlefield have been better?
Still, even if dragged into a tiger’s den, one survives by keeping a clear head.
I shot a quick glance around.
The air was warm and languid.
Light filtered through a translucent window, suggesting it was around noon or early afternoon.
I didn’t know whether this was before or after spending the night with him.
I prayed it was the latter.
If it’s before………………
As I nervously shifted my legs, the “snake” stirred in response.
Nope. A battlefield would’ve been better. Absolutely.
After taking a steadying breath, I slowly lifted my head, tracing the red line that ran from my neatly groomed fingertips upward.
A detached voice fell from above.
“You’re awake.”
The gray eyes that met mine were just as indifferent.
But they were not empty.
Rather, they carried the kind of numbness that comes from layers upon layers of accumulated experience—so dense one couldn’t possibly gauge its depth.
Put kindly, he was a decadently handsome man.
Put less kindly, he looked like a back-alley junkie.
“Doesn’t seem like it was a good dream.”
His abyss-like gaze gripped my insides and shook them.
I hurriedly lowered my eyes.
What was I supposed to say here?
If we’re in the same bed, lovers would be the obvious guess…
But Lamia only ever had eyes for the Hero.
So then what— a one-night fling?
Hero rebound?
While I frantically organized my thoughts, he simply watched me as if willing to wait forever.
His eyes were languid, yet piercingly steady.
Alright, pop quiz.
Q. What is the appropriate reaction when you wake up on a stranger’s stomach?
1. Who are you?
2. Act cute.
3. Run.
Option one was too far gone.
Option two required confidence I did not possess.
Option three demanded understanding the situation first.
Even if I didn’t know the right answer, I knew the wrong one.
The worst thing to do before a beast you don’t understand is act rashly.
Show your back without thinking, and your neck will be bitten.
After careful thought, I chose a compromise.
“Um………… what exactly were we doing?”
His right eyebrow lifted as if to say, *Isn’t it obvious?*
“Sleeping.”
I furrowed my brow to clarify.
“In the literal sense, or metaphorically?”
“Literally.”
His low breath brushed past with cool ease.
He was shirtless, but I appeared to be clothed.
It didn’t seem like a lie.
Still, I couldn’t remain in such an obscene position forever.
Using his solid abdomen as support, I pushed myself up fully.
Though it was meant as an attempt to escape him, the arm around my waist remained unmoving.
This time, I raised my eyebrow.
“We slept like this?”
“Why? Were you hoping for the metaphorical version?”
He gently unfolded my clenched fist as he asked.
The gesture was surprisingly delicate compared to his cold tone.
The contrast briefly dulled my awareness—until I noticed the pointed canine peeking between his lips.
It wasn’t extremely sharp, but too pronounced to be entirely human.
A beastman…?
I don’t see any animal ears though.
I tugged at his corded forearm and protested.
“No, I just meant… it must’ve been uncomfortable. Why sleep like this?”
“You were the one who burrowed in first.”
Oh please.
I swallowed the retort barely in time.
On my last two months’ salary, I would swear my sleeping habits were extremely polite.
My dorm roommate once checked my breathing because she thought I might be dead.
But yesterday’s Lamia?
That was another story.
She might very well have thrown herself at this decadent specimen first.
And there are suspicious scratch marks too.
In situations like this, a preemptive apology is best.
“Ah, I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience. Thank you so much for letting me rest so comfortably. I’ll repay you properly once I have money. I promise.”
Please don’t say I can repay you with my body.
I clasped my hands together both inwardly and outwardly.
Fortunately, perhaps moved by my sincerity, he dismissed it cleanly.
“No need.”
Well then.
“In that case, I’ll quietly take my leave now, so could you please let me go?”
A faint crack appeared between his brows.
“Leave?”
