CHAPTER 149: 149. PURPLE HAIRED GIRL

I woke up the next morning, eyelids fluttering open as a thin stream of sunlight slipped past the blackout curtains and gently prodded me awake.

But what really snapped me out of my groggy daze wasn’t the sun or the hangover of fatigue clinging to my muscles.

Nope.

It was the soft weight on my chest—and the sight of Kaelira, peacefully asleep, nestled against me like I was some oversized body pillow.

Her arms were wrapped loosely around my torso, her breath brushing faintly against my collarbone, her legs tangled with mine like a warm, overly attached octopus.

’What the hell is this? A romcom cliché? Should I squeal like a teenage girl or sweat bullets like a guilty protagonist caught red-handed?’

Neither suited me. And more importantly, I hadn’t moved her here. I wasn’t about to deal with the volcanic eruption of her nagging if she woke up and assumed I had been groping her in my sleep.

So, I did the smart thing.

With the precision of a bomb disposal expert, I gently—gently—lifted her off my chest and repositioned her to the far side of the bed.

That’s when I noticed it. Just a flicker.

The faintest tint of red dusting her cheeks.

’...She’s awake?’

The corners of my mouth twitched. That little flush of color, the way her eyelashes trembled just slightly—she was pretending to be asleep. Embarrassed and trying to save face.

Bad move.

Because if there was one thing I never missed, it was a chance to bully someone. I didn’t even let my older sister off the hook. What made this woman think she’d be spared?

I let out an exaggerated groan and "accidentally" rolled.

Thump.

Our positions reversed—again. Now she was back on top of me, cheek pressed against my chest, her breath tickling my neck.

I sighed dramatically. "Ugh. I’m too damn tired for this. Might as well sleep more."

And I did.

Hugging her.

Like a real romantic sap.

The blush on her face deepened, spreading like wildfire across her cheeks and ears, but she didn’t move. Didn’t open her eyes. Just... shifted slightly, nuzzling her head into my shoulder like it was her damn personal pillow.

And for a moment, just a brief one, the world felt still.

But all good things had their limit.

After enjoying the scene for longer than I should have, I figured I’d had enough fun. Time to start the day.

I gently tucked her into her side of the bed, making sure the covers didn’t fall off. Then I dragged my body to the bathroom, took a long, scalding shower that slapped the grogginess out of my bones, and finally returned to reality.

A few taps on the room terminal, and the royal catering was ordered—nothing short of the best. The hotel didn’t hold back. Silver trays, aromatic steams, stuff that looked like it belonged in a banquet for nobles instead of two tired murder-hobos who happened to win a glorified battle royale.

I switched on the news while waiting.

Unsurprisingly, we were all over it.

Our faces, names, ranks—every digital billboard and stream had the two of us on a loop. Cassius Lancaster and Kaelira, the surprise winners of the 345th Royale. Overlays of our kill counts flashed alongside dramatic music and analyst commentary.

But amidst the exaggerated recaps and flashy edits, one news piece caught my eye.

A strange sighting.

A purple-haired, crimson-eyed girl. She appeared everywhere—across different servers, games, forums, even security footage.

No matter the genre. Turn-based RPGs. Dating sims. Horror survival. Tactical shooters.

She was there. Pixelated. Faint. Almost like a glitch that shouldn’t exist.

Theories exploded all across the web—some claiming she was a new AI experiment, others calling her a ghost code born from corrupted data. A few went the crazy route: interdimensional traveler, goddess of the net, or the second coming of the digital apocalypse.

I was halfway through buttering my toast when Kaelira stirred.

Her voice, thick with sleep, came from the bed. "Isn’t that the same pixelated chick I saw back at the terminal?"

She yawned and stretched, then lazily shuffled closer to the screen, her hair a bird’s nest of wild strands.

I nodded, chewing. "Yup. I saw her too. In a turn-based RPG I was playing a few days back. Popped in for a frame from time to time and disappeared."

She blinked at the footage, then turned to me. "So? Got a theory yet? Come on, Mr. Cold-Logic-Bloodhound-Brain. I know you’ve thought something."

I scoffed, sipping my black coffee. "You’ve known me for what, not even a month? Don’t flatter yourself. Claiming you know me is a stretch."

"Uh-huh," she deadpanned, voice still groggy but sharp. "Stop dodging. You’ve got a theory. Spill."

"Nope," I said bluntly. "This sort of mystery solving isn’t my style. I kill people, not chase ghosts. Not my lane."

"Liar," she muttered under her breath, eyeing me with an expression halfway between amusement and annoyance. "You absolutely have a theory. You’re just not telling me."

I shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I think she’s a corrupted AI from a failed beta test gone rogue. Or maybe she’s a digital hallucination made by overworked programmers."

"You so have a theory," she said again, grinning now.

I ignored her.

The truth was, I did have a few theories. Some of them very plausible. Others... terrifying.

But I wasn’t ready to say them aloud. Not yet.

So I leaned back, forked another bite into my mouth, and looked at her with a casual smirk. "Tell you what, you win another Battle Royale, I’ll tell you one theory."

Kaelira narrowed her eyes.

"Make it three wins," I added with a grin.

She chucked a pillow at my face.

...

After that little back-and-forth, Kaelira went to take a shower.

I stayed sprawled across the couch, half-watching the news, half-scrolling through the endless edits being made of our Battle Royale highlights.

Clips of me tearing through enemies with precision and no mercy. Of Kaelira blasting opponents into pixels with sheer style. Background music, flashy transitions, slow-motion kill cams—we looked like damn demigods.

’Not gonna lie,’ I thought, head tilted against the couch, ’when all this is over, I’m settling in the Western Continent. That place has everything a guy like me could ask for—games, internet, social media and isolation.’

It was just a vague thought, the kind you tuck into a dusty corner of your brain for "future-you" to deal with. Still, it lingered. Especially since I hadn’t made a single move toward reforming the protagonist yet—Leon. The original "hero" of this game-world.

Instead, here I was, playing solo and basking in personal glory while the others ran around trying to piece together Amelia’s mother’s location.

The only saving grace? My relationships with the others had improved. Slightly. Marginally. And only because I wasn’t acting like a total bastard anymore... but even that was questionable.

’Seriously, Lust makes you do the stupidest things,’ I mused with a dry chuckle. ’Hah... either way, I need to collect my damn prize, and more importantly, kill that bastard Vaylin before he tries to do something shady.’

Right on cue, Kaelira returned from the shower, her presence snapping me out of my internal monologue.

She stepped out with damp hair falling like a silk curtain around her shoulders, water droplets still clinging to her tan skin like shimmering gems. She wore a black crop top that hugged her figure, a loose grey hoodie over it, and matching grey sweatpants. It was a reverse of what she’d worn yesterday.

Effortlessly casual. Effortlessly beautiful.

I jabbed a lazy finger toward the food still on the table. "That’s all yours. I already ate. If you want something hot, order it and slap it on my tab."

She waved me off, shaking her head. "It’s fine. I don’t mind it a little cold. It’s not that bad."

Then she sat down across from me and picked up a fork.

"Besides," she continued between bites, "when are we visiting Vaylin?"

I stretched, popping a few joints before answering. "Right after you eat. No point dragging it out. The more time I give that asshole, the more chance he has to fortify. I don’t wanna walk into his mansion only to find ten Rank: ★★★★ waiting to jump me."

I gave her a dry look. "You’re my type, Kaelira—but not enough for me to martyr myself over a one-night stand."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Just focused on her food in silence.

When she was done eating, I’d apparently passed out. Just a quick nap, a little recharge. I hadn’t meant to sleep, but there was this strange fatigue creeping in—like something heavy pressing down on my soul.

That’s when she woke me.

At first, I thought she was shaking me just to say, "Let’s go."

But the moment I opened my eyes and saw her face—her fear-stricken face—I knew it wasn’t that.

Her hand trembled as she pointed toward the monitor in front of us.

I followed her gaze.

And I froze.

A woman—no, something that looked like a woman—was staring at us through the screen.

Purple hair. Crimson eyes. Skin so pale it looked like death itself carved her from frost.

But the worst part wasn’t the appearance. It was the way she stared.

Unmoving. Unblinking. Unnerving.

One eye fixed squarely on me. The other—impossibly—on Kaelira.

There was no sound. No glitch effect. No dramatic music. Just raw silence, so thick it clogged my throat.

And dread. Real, palpable dread.

Every instinct in my body screamed to move, to do something—but I couldn’t. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak.

She just stared.

’Why the fuck won’t she move?’

Kaelira, trembling, inched closer to me.

And then—

SLAP.

She slapped me across the face so hard I rolled off the couch like a ragdoll.

I jolted up—

And suddenly, I was back on the couch.

Sweating.

Panting.

Heart racing like I’d sprinted ten kilometers.

Kaelira was still there. On top of me, hand raised mid-slap, her eyes wide and filled with something more than fear.

It was confusion. Real confusion. Like she didn’t know if she was awake or still dreaming.

I blinked. "Why are you so scared?"

She didn’t answer. Just stared for a second—then threw her arms around me.

And hugged me tight.

Really tight.

Tears began falling silently from her eyes.

And that’s when I looked up.

That’s when I saw it.

The monitor.

It was broken.

Not glitched. Not flickering.

Shattered.

A long, jagged crack ran down the middle, like something had burst through from the inside.

And from that broken corner of the screen...

An eye was staring at us.

Bloodless. Pale. Crimson.

Unblinking.

I didn’t move.

Kaelira didn’t either.

We just sat there—her clutching me like a lifeline, and me staring back at the impossible thing inside the broken monitor.

’That wasn’t a dream, was it?’