"And if she wanted to leave?" Lina asked.
"She wouldn’t," he answered. "And what is love if not knowing soone better than they know themselves?"
He stepped closer now, a slow gravity between them.
"You see it as obsession," he said, voice like dark silk. "But I see it as devotion. I gave her the safest place I knew—my ho. My world. Where no one could break her. Not even herself."
Lina’s breath hitched. "And what about what she wants?"
Fredrich’s jaw clenched, just briefly. "She didn’t know what she wanted. She thought she wanted freedom. But that was before she understood what it really ant—before the betrayals, before the lies. I gave her certainty instead. I removed the burden of choice."
"And that’s love to you?" she asked, breathless.
"Yes," he said simply. "Unconditional. Ruthless. Complete."
He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind Lina’s ear. His touch was tender, but there was sothing beneath it—an unspoken promise, a warning.
"Do you understand now?" he asked, eyes searching hers. "The world doesn’t deserve fragile things. So I take them in. Keep them. Protect them from ever breaking again."
Lina swallowed hard. "Is that why you brought here? Because you think I’m helpless? You think I’m fragile?"
Was that what he wanted—soone weak, soone he could control? Did he have so twisted need for dependency, a fetish for fragile won that fed his ego or masked sothing deeper?
Fredrich’s expression didn’t change—but his posture softened, his shoulders slumping as though he carried a weight heavier than the world.
"Maybe," he sighed quietly, "but at least you’re protected here with . Stay with , Lina, and you’ll never have to face anything alone. I’ll take care of you."
His words hung in the room like a promise . . . or a threat.
The silence deepened.
Lina felt the gravity of the mont tighten around her chest. This was the breaking point—the fork in the road.
This wasn’t a ga. There were no save points, no do-overs, no undelete key for wrong choices. No mory cheat to help her chose.
One wrong word. One misstep—and it could all end.
Her mind flashed back through years of strategy, puzzles, diplomatic dialogues she’d navigated flawlessly in gad worlds. But here, in this world of flesh and fear, none of that ant anything.
"Fredrich . .." Her voice trembled, every syllable a fragile lifeline across the chasm between them. "This . . . this isn’t right."
It was the path she knew that always led to the best ending. She had fought for freedom before—to bring the darkness into the light, to pull others out of cages, to dismantle the walls around n like Christian.
She had survived by choosing the hard truth over the comfort of lies in all gas.
One deep breath.
"You have to let her go," she said gently, keeping her voice steady.
Fredrich’s face flickered—emotion like a candle in the ruins of a storm. But when darkness returned to his eyes, it was clearer, colder.
"Too bad," he said quietly. "I thought you would understand . . . seeing how the world hurt you. How a man hurt you. Here, you will be protected. Love."
He stepped forward.
Fear pounded in Lina’s throat, but she kept her voice calm.
"I appreciate—but this isn’t love. You need control. That’s not the sa."
His lips curled slightly—no longer a smile, but a curve of satisfied finality. He shook his head once, slow.
"And that," he said softly, "is your mistake."
Her whole body froze.
A tallic click. She barely processed the movent—too slow, too late. Like marble lting into panic.
The gun in his hand lifted into view, muzzle pointed directly at her chest. The world collapsed into silence, the only sound the rapid beating of her own heart.
"Goodbye . . . Lina."
A single shot echoed.
When the bullet fell, Lina’s world blurred. Her breath released in a shockwave, and she stumbled back—eyes wide, disbelief flooding her.
She didn’t have ti to cry, to rage, to run.
Her legs buckled and she hit the ground hard. Pain spiked—sharp, hot, imdiate. The breath left her lungs in ragged sobs.
Fredrich stood over her, face expressionless, eyes vacant as if he’d watched it happen a thousand tis before. Lina wasn’t the only won who stumbled in his secret and every ti, he was hoping that she would be different.
The room shook with the weight of silence.
Lina’s vision spun. Darkness seeped in through the corners of her sight. In those final seconds, there was only one thing in his mind.
SHIT!!
She chose wrong!
====
Lina blinked—and the world was gone. One second she was bleeding out dramatically on polished marble, and the next . . .
Nothing.
Just void once again.
A whole lot of floating nothingness, like she’d been unplugged from the simulation and dumped into so forgotten server room.
"Oh great," she muttered, sitting up slowly, "I’m in the death lobby. Again."
A familiar tapping echoed in the emptiness. She turned—and there, waiting with crossed arms and an expression that scread I told you so, stood the rabbit.
Not just any rabbit. The rabbit. White fur, waistcoat, pocket watch, and all the smug judgnt in the multiverse wrapped into one fluffball with resting disapproval face.
The Rabbit raised an eyebrow. "Well, that didn’t go well."
Lina was silent, motionless. Her hair hung down like a curtain, veiling her face as she slumped onto the non-existent floor. The dramatic ani-level collapse would’ve earned applause if there were any other souls around.
The Rabbit sighed. "You know, I warned you. ’Not ready,’ I said. ’Too unstable,’ I said. But nooo. You had to march into an A-Rank world like so overconfident boss battle NPC."
Lina didn’t move.
The Rabbit continued anyway. "System has officially deducted ten stars for catastrophic failure in a Rank-A scenario. Congratulations, you are now—wait for it—B-tier. Again." He smirked. "The demotion you never asked for, but very much earned."
Silence.
And then—
"The hell I will!" Lina shrieked, popping up like a possessed marionette.
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