I lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling in the dark. My mind was full of thoughts, but the loudest one was:
Why did I react that way?
Closing my eyes, I decided to dive deep into my memories. It had been years since I'd last engaged in self-reflection—something I once did routinely during my earlier days as a killer. Back then, it was a way to understand myself better, assess my weaknesses, and devise ways to improve.
Let's break this down.
I recalled the events. My body had still been recovering from the pain, and my breathing was irregular. Her words triggered something inside me, making my mind race uncontrollably. The more I tried to process them, the harder my heart pounded, accelerating my breathing. My chest felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on me.
When I couldn't calm myself, the panic worsened. My chest began to ache, and every breath felt like a battle. In desperation, I resorted to shock therapy—slapping myself—and it worked, snapping me out of the spiral.
Those were the events as they unfolded. Now, it's time to dig deeper—to uncover the root cause of my rapid heartbeat and rough breathing.
I experienced a mix of emotions, but the strongest among them were jealousy, anger, and fear.
Jealousy. Toward the previous owner of this body. The life he had, the connections he built—everything he took for granted was a life I had once longed for. I felt envious of myself, or at least the version of me who existed before I took over.
Anger. Directed at him and at fate itself. He had been handed a life I would've killed for. And fate? Fate had mocked me, giving someone who didn't care all the things I had yearned for.
.
.
But as I thought more deeply, I realized my anger was misplaced. Humans tend to look at others' lives and think, If I had that, I'd do better. We judge from our perspectives without understanding the circumstances of others.
The truth is, the previous owner of this body didn't know me or my struggles. He lived his life according to his environment and experiences. That wasn't wrong. It just… was.
Fear. This was the most surprising emotion of all. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt genuine fear.
But now, I feared many things—accepting these emotions, these relationships, and most of all, losing myself.
After my last girlfriend died, I swore never to open my heart again. The pain of losing her had been too much, so I closed myself off from the world. Every relationship I formed after that became a calculated move—a means to an end. I reduced people to mere tools, stripping them of their humanity. In the end, it was this cold detachment that led to my downfall. But I don't have regrets about that.
But ever since I entered this body, old feelings had resurfaced. I couldn't suppress them. I could count the number of times I'd acted impulsively because of emotions rather than logic. And that scared me. If I continued like this, I'd lose the person I once was—the cold, calculated version of me. I'd become emotionally vulnerable, and that was dangerous. Vulnerability could jeopardize my plans.
.
.
.
.
But then another thought surfaced: I thought I was starting fresh, leaving the past behind, but it seems some things still linger.
If the previous owner of this body was essentially me, then doesn't that mean I now have everything I ever wanted? A life filled with the possibilities I'd once dreamed of? I could take this life and shape it into something better.
Sure, the system or quest was not in line with my thoughts, but even that played to my advantage. The system's quest was to create and run a cult. Beyond that, there were no requirements or constraints. The quest was more like a destination, but the path to get there was mine to choose.
That gave me freedom. The quest might influence my life, but it wouldn't define it—not if I played my cards right.
I took a deep breath, letting my thoughts settle.
A soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts as I prepared to drift off to sleep. I sat up slightly,
"Come in."
The door creaked open, and Mira stepped inside, her figure highlighted by moonlight streaming through the window. She wore a nightdress, a pillow clutched tightly in her arms. A faint blush dusted her cheeks as she asked hesitantly, "Did I wake you?"
"Nah," I replied, shaking my head.
Her gentle curves were accentuated in the pale moonlight, and an ethereal glow enveloped her.
"If… you don't mind…" she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
Before she could finish, I smiled softly and said, "Sure."
I shifted my pillow to the side, making space for her beside me. She hesitated for a moment before shyly stepping closer. Sitting down on the bed, she faced the wall, her back stiff and her movements uncertain.
I lay back, waiting for her to lie down, but she remained seated, still as a statue.
"Are you planning to sleep sitting up?"
"No," she murmured, almost inaudibly.
Slowly, she lay down on her side, keeping her face turned away from me. Her posture was tense, her shoulders slightly hunched. Without thinking, I wrapped an arm around her from behind, pulling her into a gentle embrace.
"W-what are you d-doing?"
"Didn't you come here expecting something like this?" I asked,
"I… I just…"
I turned her toward me so we were face to face. Her eyes, wide and vulnerable met mine in the dim light.
I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Don't worry," I murmured. "I'll take it slow."
She nodded, the tension in her body melting away. Resting her head against my chest, she whispered, "Good night."
"Good night," I replied, smiling as I closed my eyes. "Love you."
"Me too," she whispered back, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the night.
Hearing those words, a warmth spread through me, and my smile deepened.
This is my life now. I just need to be stronger—and make the people around me stronger with me—so I don't have to worry.
With that thought, I let the weight of the day slip away. Something changed and maybe… just maybe… that wasn't such a bad thing.