The F-Class Healer Omega is a Villain [BL] Chapter 52: It takes a lot to terrorize me

System. Activate mind corruption.

For now, he needed to get as far away from this man as possible. Cheon Areum began to crawl back slowly, his eyes never leaving the figure before him. But the man’s gaze tracked him unblinkingly. Just two steps into his retreat, a cold hand brushed against his back. Narrowly evading the grip, Cheon Areum rolled to the side and sprang down from the piano in one swift motion, landing with a thud.

The man behind the keys hadn’t moved an inch—still standing, still crying—but now, another version of him lood at the far end of the piano. Identical. Both figures stared at Cheon Areum with the exact sa empty eyes, staring all-consumingly as he called out the system again.

"System, activate the skill: Mind Corruption."

Again, no response. Cheon Areum cautiously stepped backwards, withdrawing, but the man didn’t seem like he would let him go so easily. His back hit soone. Knowingly turning, he saw the sa man standing there, as if he had been there all along.

"Hello..."

Cheon Areum spoke in a low voice and bolted, his legs moving faster than his thoughts. He dashed toward the grand staircase leading to the second floor. Reaching the top, he pushed open the nearest door and slipped inside, slamming it shut and twisting the lock in place. Facing the door, he stood there silently. His system wasn’t responding to anything, nor could he open his inventory or any panels, which wasn’t possible unless he was in an illusion.

The faint sound of piano music could still be heard through the doorfra—the sa lancholic lody from before. It hadn’t stopped playing. It was exactly the mont he heard him playing the piano.

Of course.

No wonder he couldn’t control him.

That man wasn’t just strong—he was powerful enough to drag even an S Class like him into a hallucination without him noticing.

The previous ballroom had been real—that’s why his commands had worked flawlessly. But this... this twisted replica was nothing more than an illusion. Here, his system was useless. A cage dressed in grandeur by the music. He needed to break that damned piano.

Cheon Areum twisted the lock open. He didn’t bother glancing over his shoulder—he already knew what face would greet him if he did. There was no need to look. Instead, he stepped out into the hallway. It was empty, unnervingly pristine, the silence humming with invisible eyes. The mont his foot touched the floor, he could feel it. He stepped toward the railing that overlooked the ballroom below. The sensation of being watched clung to his back, but he didn’t care.

This wasn’t real.

In an illusion, the man couldn’t harm him physically—it would just be breaking him ntally. He could see the piano and the man from up here.

Should I just jump down?

The thought crossed his mind when the ballroom suddenly overlapped—just for a split second—but long enough—with another version of it. The golden columns cracked down the middle, their gilded shine dulled by splashes of blood. Craters and scorch marks marred the marble floor. In the middle of it all was Yoon Seoyul, his fist buried into the man’s face as he slamd him rcilessly into the ground.

And then—nothing.

The image vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. Yoon Seoyul was trying to make the man break the illusion. It had worked for a second there. Cheon Areum turned to go back to the staircase when he was t with an army of the sa man plastered everywhere. The only space left was the one he was standing on. The entire hallway was filled by that sa depressing and creepy man, but there was a difference—the clones didn’t cry like him. They just had a dreadful expression, as if they might just cry right now.

"This isn’t nearly enough to make feel threatened, to be honest."

The clones didn’t say a word, or maybe they couldn’t talk either. Cheon Areum squeezed into the crowd and descended. He leisurely walked to the piano, and his fingers brushed over the polished surface before he grasped the heavy lid and lifted it. The hinge creaked faintly, and inside, the keys continued to move—playing themselves with precision.

"Cry."

Unlike the clones, the man who was weeping for no reason could speak.

"Why do you want to cry?"

Cheon Areum asked, but the man didn’t reply. He just gave him a look that made him seem pathetic.

"Are you a sadist? If you wanted to see cry, you should’ve pulled Yoon Seoyul into the illusion with . He’s the only one who can make cry, you see."

He kindly spoke as his fingers curled around the tightly stretched strings—then yanked. He ripped out the cords with force. The lody shattered mid-note. The surroundings began to glitch.

"You’re wrong. You used to cry a lot without needing him."

"Well, that’s news to ."

Cheon Areum spoke as he ripped out the last few wires, and the false ballroom peeled away, unveiling the real one in all its devastation. Cheon Areum jolted awake atop the piano, still lying across its fractured surface. Only this small island beneath him remained remotely intact. Around him, the ballroom was a shell of what it once was—walls half gone, debris scattered across the floor. It looked like a war zone... or like a wrathful god had swung a wrecking ball straight through it.

"Yoon Seoyul!"

Cheon Areum called out cheerily. By the entrance of the shattered ballroom, Yoon Seoyul stood tall amidst the ruin. He had the man’s limp body gripped tightly by the front of his shirt, holding him up like a dummy. The man’s head lolled backwards, clearly unconscious—if not worse. Yoon Seoyul looked untouched at first glance, prim and proper if you just ignored his fists drenched in blood, streaks drying across his knuckles and wrists.

Only he could look so calm while standing in the eye of destruction.