Elias Kane froze for a moment, then let out a soft ugh, his voice dropping into that practiced, honeyed gentleness he reserved for when he needed to defuse something fragile. "I was just messing with you, baby."

  *Oh… oh…*

  The system's response came out ft, mechanical as always—deliberately stripped of affect to keep from influencing operatives—but beneath the monotone there existed something that learned, something that absorbed sng like PUA tactics and internet memes the way a sponge takes in water, even if it could never truly feel the wet weight of them. It had no body, no nerves to prickle, no pulse to stutter, and yet right now, hearing Elias say it like that—soft, teasing, almost fond—it registered something uncomfortably close to being caught off-guard, hands metaphorically fumbling in empty air.

  Elias tilted his head slightly. "Continue."

  *Affirmative…*

  And so it had gone on.

  Yvonne Quinn had seized complete mental dominion over Elias Kane, and physically she had gone far beyond excess—she treated him like a doll without sensation, without limits, the guiding principle unmistakably "as long as it doesn't kill him, fuck him to the edge of death and keep going." Fortunately Elias was the protagonist, his body's regeneration factor absurdly cockroach-like; otherwise, even with Yvonne's bug-tier medical expertise, the sheer brutality of what she did would almost certainly have produced a corpse.

  But unbreakable flesh did not mean unbreakable mind. It didn't take long before the pain overloaded every circuit, pushing him right to the brink of total colpse—one more push and he would have been left a drooling, vacant shell.

  So Yvonne erased every memory of that stretch of time. Not out of mercy. She simply didn't want the hassle of caring for a vegetable who couldn't even wipe himself.

  Elias, even in the bnk aftermath: …Funny how you suddenly mind the trouble now, when you didn't mind it at all while you were riding me raw on that table.

  The amnesiac Elias became her perfect toy—or pet was the more accurate word. Come when called, dismissed when boring, fwless obedience wrapped in vacant sweetness.

  Until finally even the other women couldn't stomach watching it anymore.

  One day, while Yvonne was away performing surgery, her neighbor, Seraphina Hale—known to fans and friends alike as Sera—slipped in and took Elias away.

  It wasn't pure coincidence. All five of the trash women owned properties in this district; Serena Bckwood had several, though she never actually lived in any of them.

  Sera Hale lived up to her name—genuine gentleness, a pure lotus untouched by the filth of the entertainment industry's swamp. Among the five she ranked highest in basic human decency.

  Retively speaking.

  Her damage to Elias was in no way lesser.

  Out of kindness she rescued him, sheltered him, bathed him in the kind of soft protection he hadn't tasted in years. During that period the memory-wiped Elias—innocent, wide-eyed, disarmingly pure—managed to genuinely touch her. Their closeness bloomed naturally, no coercion, no hidden agendas, nothing like the calcuted predation of the others.

  Yet perfection is fragile.

  Despite every precaution, paparazzi still caught shots of them together. As a reigning film empress, Sera Hale's fanbase was a terrifying machine; countless outlets and rivals were salivating for her first real scandal.

  That very night Elias's entire background was doxxed.

  Orphan. Foster mother chain-smoked, drank, gambled. Foster father dying of a chronic illness… The kind of profile that made normal people back away slowly. Even if he'd been fwless otherwise, in the eyes of her rabid fans he would never be worthy.

  Overnight Sera Hale was pinned beneath an avanche—fan outrage, parental disapproval, agency pressure—all of it crashing down at once.

  But that still wasn't the final straw.

  The final straw came when Serena Bckwood, Giselle Frost, and Yvonne Quinn showed up at her door together and id out the "truth."

  Elias Kane was a man who sold his body for money.

  Elias: Oh ho.

  Predictably, he was discarded again.

  The blow shattered the memory block. Everything Yvonne had erased flooded back in vivid, nauseating color. He wanted revenge—burning, bone-deep revenge—but every single one of those women was an immovable force he could never overcome. In the bck pit of despair he decided to go to a club, drink himself blind, fuck whoever looked at him twice, then walk off a roof somewhere quiet.

  That was when Liora Voss—always watching from the wings—finally stepped forward.

  "Since you've got nothing left to lose," she said, voice cool and reasonable as though discussing weather, "why not make one final contribution to society before you go?"

  Contribution: organ donation to Lucien Hart.

  Lucien, her unattainable white-moonlight, had been vegetative for years now, body riddled with cascading failures—several organs teetering on total shutdown.

  Liora's logic was characteristically warped. Elias and Lucien looked so eerily alike; perhaps the compatibility would carry over to tissue level. And since Elias was pnning to die anyway… why not try?

  To sweeten the deal—or rather to make refusal impossible—she "kindly" revealed one st secret.

  Elias wasn't actually an orphan.

  Years ago human traffickers had stolen him. His birth mother, desperate to spare her husband further grief, had repced the lost baby with another infant who looked simir enough.

  That repcement baby had been Lucien Hart.

  The person Elias had spent his entire life envying—the perfect, untouchable ideal everyone adored—was the thief who had stolen his real life.

  Something inside Elias broke cleanly in half.

  In total self-annihition he agreed.

  In the end he didn't die.

  Lucien only needed certain partial organs; Elias donated what was required and kept enough to stay alive—barely.

  He survived as a ruined body, secretly kept by Liora like a living comfort object, a pale substitute for the man she could never truly possess.

  "Ptooey—!"

  "Hey hey hey, don't spit in the car!" The driver whipped around, then froze solid the instant his eyes nded on Elias's face.

  "Time freeze."

  Everything stopped.

  Elias looked through the windshield at the car ahead, inches from collision, brake lights frozen in angry red.

  "Almost ate it," he murmured, fishing through his jacket for the gsses while letting out a small, derisive hum. "See that? I can still make people stare into space without even trying. Isn't that the whole million-fan halo thing…?"

  *That… your charm halo is currently in the off position.*

  "Just turn it on then."

  *Unable to comply.* The system's monotone carried the faintest edge of strain. *All skills are currently locked.*

  Elias's fingers stilled on the frames. "Bug again? Report it. Now."

  *Dispy reads: Your current assignment requires capture of all targets with zero access to any system-granted skills or enhancements.*

  Silence. Long, thick silence.

  Elias narrowed his eyes behind the half-raised lenses, lips curving into the smallest, coldest smile. "This is my retirement mission?"

  *…Yes.*

  Such a terrifying host.

  "The Intervention Division doesn't want me to retire? Fine. Then I won't." Elias ughed, light and pleasant.

  Then the tone shifted, razor-sharp. "From now on, in every single world, I'm going to make sure the heroine's beloved white-moonlight ends up in pieces so small they'll never scrape together a full corpse. I'm going to make her crawl on her knees and lick the soles of my shoes clean. I'm going to—"

  The system vibrated with synthetic terror.

  *Host! The Trash Trope Intervention Division has just transmitted emergency authorization—skills are now live!*

  Only then did Elias slowly open his eyes the rest of the way, the green behind the lenses ft and gcial. He smiled again, colder this time.

  "They already agreed. Then they tried to screw me right before the finish line. Thought I had no temper? Had to wait until I was actually furious before crawling out to apologize. You people really are…"

  "Pathetic."

  After saying that, Elias Kane thought of something and added one more line: "I wasn't talking about you. I was just cursing out the Intervention Division."

  The system was still trembling: *Um…*

  It was the first time it had ever seen an employee dare to talk back to the Trash Trope Intervention Division like that! Wasn't the retionship between the Division and its operatives supposed to be strictly hierarchical? How did the host even have the guts?

  At that moment, the system recalled something its predecessor, Echo, had once told it: "Whatever you do, don't piss him off. When he gets angry, even the Division doesn't dare provoke him."

  Ace operative?

  Only now did the system truly grasp how much weight those two words carried—and that was probably exactly why the Division was so reluctant to let him retire.

  Suddenly, another message from the Division came through, and the entire system went dead silent.

  Elias noticed the shift immediately, tilting his chin up slightly: "What did the Division say this time?"

  The system replied slowly: *Although your skills have been reactivated… you may only select one…*

  What difference was that from having no skills at all!

  The system could practically see the host's temper fring again.

  But Elias only nodded faintly: "I already looked into the retirement details. The retirement mission does restrict you to one skill. I don't want any special treatment. This is fine."

  The system let out a metaphorical breath of relief, voice dropping low: *The Division also said that, as an apology, once you complete this world, you'll be granted unrestricted access to enter and exit any world at will.*

  Elias's brow arched: "What's the point of that? Do they think I'm like some people, obsessing over characters I've captured before? Those women… never mind. Fine, whatever."

  For an organization as notoriously stingy as the Intervention Division, this was basically bleeding them dry—a genuinely sincere apology.

  The system: *Which skill would you like to select? The million-fan charm halo?*

  Elias shook his head: "Let me think."

  If he could only pick one, the charm halo wasn't strictly necessary anymore. Through certain methods, he could still achieve simir effects anyway.

  "Pain Conversion."

  The skill that turned pain into pleasure—absolute delight for certain lettered enthusiasts.

  The system: *Don't you need something to boost your acting? Like Exquisite Heart or…*

  Its predecessor had lectured them in training that this was supposed to be a must-have for every host.

  Elias gave a soft ugh: "Next time you ask a question, think it through properly first." He didn't answer directly.

  He slid the gsses back on: "Release the freeze."

  Time flowed again. The driver blinked, wondering if the lighting had just been too dim—how had he thought this young man in the back seat was stunningly handsome a second ago?

  He turned fully around, face paling, and smmed on the brakes!

  Elias sat in the rear with legs crossed, utterly unmoved.

  Every character who wore gsses experienced this effect after putting them on—much like Superman's disguise: once the lenses were in pce, the face turned utterly ordinary, forgettable.

  Elias, who had once used this exact trick to evade authorities after a kill by slipping on gsses and vanishing into a crowd, highly recommended it.

  He stepped out of the car and entered the campus, but instead of heading straight to the dorm, he strolled leisurely around the grounds.

  Too bad—he'd hoped to run into Giselle Frost by chance, but she didn't seem to be around.

  Only then did Elias return to the dormitory. The moment he opened the door, a sarcastic voice drifted down from the upper bunk: "Back so early today? Business slow?"

  Elias slowly removed his gsses, revealing that breathtaking face. The expressionless features filled with exhaustion in an instant, as though he hadn't caught the mockery at all. He forced a weak smile toward the speaker: "Mm."

  Timothy "Tim" Reed froze. Why was Elias suddenly acknowledging him?

  Before he could process it, Elias spoke again, voice carrying a hoarse edge: "My dad's condition got worse again…"

  The words hit like a bomb. Tim blurted: "Your dad's in the hospital?"

  Elias didn't reply. He sat slowly on his own bed, hands braced on his knees, the skin around his eyes already reddening.

  Tim wanted to sp himself. He scrambled down from the bunk, hovering awkwardly in front of the visibly upset Elias: "Your dad's sick—why didn't you tell me sooner?"

  Only after saying it did he realize how stupid that sounded. Who would casually share something like that? Especially with someone he wasn't even friends with.

  "Sorry… I didn't know your family was going through… that." Tim muttered, head low.

  He'd assumed Elias was just some vain kid who worked those kinds of jobs for the money and the thrill.

  Elias shook his head, still silent, and simply drew the privacy curtain closed, retreating into his bunk like he was hiding from the world.

  This should keep Tim—and the other two roommates—feeling guilty for quite a while.

  In an instant, Elias dropped the act, face smoothing back to calm.

  He'd never liked wasting time on anyone outside the capture targets. Some tensions were better resolved early.

  Of course, he was only being this gentle because he figured Tim and the others might prove useful ter. Otherwise he would have just…

  Elias gnced at the faint silhouette beyond the curtain, lips curving in a soundless smile. His mouth moved silently: "Get lost."

  But of course, that was just a thought. He was the most reasonable person, after all.

  The system was utterly floored by the maneuver—witnessing just how freakishly effective Elias's tactics were on ordinary people. Inducing guilt took him mere seconds.

  *When do you pn to return to the main plotline?*

  Buzz!

  The phone in his pocket vibrated. Elias pulled it out, saw the unknown number, and his lips lifted in a faint curve: "Speaking of which…"

  Serena Bckwood had moved faster than he'd expected. Looked like she was waiting for him tonight.

  Elias answered.

  "Is this Elias Kane?"

  "It's me. What's up?"

  "Your father's condition has deteriorated. He may need to be transferred to a better facility. Please come to the hospital right away."

  "Okay. I'm on my way."

  The call ended. The curtain was suddenly yanked open. Tim's face was full of worry: "What happened?"

  Elias bit his lower lip lightly, voice cracking near tears: "I have to go to the hospital…"

  Tim's eyes widened: "Your dad… I'll go with you?"

  What the hell for?

  Elias kept his head down, shaking it slowly. After gently pushing past Tim, he bolted from the dorm like he was fleeing.

  The moment he stepped out of the campus gates, he saw a luxury car idling there. Liora Voss sat in the driver's seat, her peach-blossom eyes fixed on him—enchanting and wanton in the night.

  Elias: This level of coincidence makes it really easy for people to suspect your hand in Arthur Hale's transfer, you know.

  Liora spotted him and feigned surprise: "What a coincidence?"

  Zero points for acting.

  The luxury car was far too conspicuous. In just those few seconds, it had drawn countless stares—many of them nding squarely on Elias.

  Liora's casual greeting practically screamed that there was some shady transaction between them.

  Elias gazed at her steadily, catching the precise emotion flickering in those smiling eyes.

  Amusement.

  In the original plot, Liora had always maintained this exact detached, spectator stance—watching Elias get toyed with by the other women like it was the most entertaining stage py imaginable.

  He'd always thought of her as a pure chaos enjoyer.

  Elias broke into a radiant smile. Even with the gsses on, that once-ordinary face gained a sudden touch of alluring beauty.

  Ignoring the gathering crowd of students, he strode toward Liora's car and tapped one fingertip lightly against the windshield.

  Liora's heart gave a small tremor—as though that finger had prodded directly against her chest.

  Elias leaned down slightly, smile soft and gentle: "Quite the coincidence. So… could big sister give me a ride?"

  No problem at all.

  He'd make sure she ended up as one of the performers on stage.