Rolls.
SIGHS.
A well-deserved sigh escaped my lips as I stared out at the passing scenery, my eyes focusing on absolutely nothing. At this point, I'd recovered most of Anderson's memories, and now... now I could really grasp just how utterly screwed I was.
'Argh!'. I bit my lip hard enough to keep the rage from boiling over.
The whole goddamn situation was beyond shit.
ALL THIS WORTHLESS PIECE OF TRASH DID HIS ENTIRE LIFE WAS FUCK ANYTHING THAT MOVED.
Yeah, literally. Every single thing in a skirt he could get his grubby hands on—and I use the term "thing" because I'm not even sure some of them were actually female. That was it. His whole freaking existence: wake up, eat, debauchery, eat, sleep, shit, repeat. That's all the memories this waste had to offer me. REALLY?!
Come on! Throw me a bone here! What the hell am I supposed to work with? How is knowing the daily routine of some spoiled brat going to help me?
IT WON'T.
Not one damn bit!
I've got vengeance to serve—that royal family still owes me blood. And there's this keeper breathing down my neck, though I still can't figure out what the bastard wants from me.
To pull off anything worthwhile, I need power. Raw, overwhelming power.
The kind that makes people think twice before crossing you.
SIGHS.
Another frustrated exhale. I ran fingers through my hair—pink, apparently—and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to center myself. No point crying over what's already done, even if it makes me want to punch something.
Not that I have much choice in the matter.
But... buried in that 95% pile of useless garbage were a few actually helpful details. Like information about the fiancée who got him into this clusterfuck in the first place. Some ice-cold sadistic nutjob who was straight-up psychotic. Now I understand why he was desperate enough to risk everything to break that engagement—she'd mind-fucked the poor bastard so thoroughly that he'd do anything to escape her, consequences be damned.
Still, thinking he could take on Owen was pure delusion. How do you convince yourself you can beat someone with a sypha—not just any sypha, but one with that kind of affinity? Plus the guy's a complete battle maniac. The sheer stupidity of it all!
"SIGH!" Another one for good measure, or I might actually choke on my own spit from pure frustration. There wasn't a single bright spot in this disaster.
Well, except for one persistent memory that keeps surfacing—one from Larson's past lives.
I'm pretty sure the keeper planted this one deliberately. More than that, he made it impossible to ignore. It's from a lifetime where Larson was some politician's spoiled son. During that particular incarnation, he'd bought a gaming console that came with a specific title from the store.
'Surviving in a Fantasy World.'
An eroge game, naturally.
Larson—no, I—wasn't typically into the romance aspect, not after experiencing so many lifetimes of that bullshit. During that particular life, with all that inherited wealth, I just wanted to enjoy myself.
So then, why the hell did I even play it?
Well...
The sales guy wouldn't shut up about it. Kept insisting I'd love it if I was into games like GTA, except this time it was like playing Franklin dropped into a fantasy setting. He went on and on about player freedom, massive world-building, everything I would love to have in a game—though I suspected he just wanted to pad his commission.
I grabbed it along with a bunch of other titles that day, and honestly? The guy undersold it. The game delivered everything promised and more.
Sighs.
The reason this keeps eating at me is this nagging suspicion I can't shake... I'm trying to dismiss it, really trying, but the names, the kingdoms, the academy—it's all too familiar. Combined with the fact that this particular lifetime memory is crystal clear while others are fragmented, and that's definitely not coincidence. So... what if... JUST WHAT IF...
I'm actually inside that damn game.
...
...
A/N- MC's personality is still messed up from countless iterations. So yeah... He might have a little screw missing in the head.