Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 112: Threads of Truth

[Leif’s POV —Midnight,ThorenVald Estate]

Sleep did not co gently.

It dragged under like cold water, sudden and heavy, yanking the ground out from under my feet. One mont, I was sinking into blankets... the next—

Darkness.

Except... not empty.

Gold threads wove through the black, strands of light like veins in stone. They pulsed, slow at first... then faster. Faster. Until they were beating in ti with the marble that used to sit against my chest.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

The darkness tore open like paper.

—And I stood sowhere else.

A hall. Vast. Endless. Columns stretching up into a sky of stars, not a ceiling. Light pooled beneath my feet, each step rippling across a mirrored floor. My breath stead like cold winter, even though no air stirred.

My breath fogged in the air as if I stood in winter’s mouth.

And then—

"Renji..."

I froze. My real na. Again. I turned slowly.

She stood there again—the sa frail old woman, the sa cat eyes, the sa gentle smile that never reached the bottom. A stray piece of her hair curled like smoke. Her green eyes glead too intelligently.

"How are you, my child?" she cooed.

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Is this a recurring subscription? Because I don’t rember signing up."

She laughed softly, that sa old "Ohohoho..." that sounded ancient and amused.

"Oh, you look so tired," she said, clasping her hands. "Did Luminael exhaust you already?"

I stared. "You knew about the divine sword?"

"Mm." She tilted her head. "After all... it was I who nudged him toward his sister."

My stomach dropped.

"Nudged," I repeated. "So the... other Leif—the hooded one—ca because of you."

"Mm-hm."

She smiled wider. That smile was too gentle. I took a slow step forward.

"Grandma," I began carefully, "I don’t like riddles. Never have. I didn’t like them when teachers gave them as quizzes, and I don’t like them when omnipotent cat-grandmas give them as answers."

"My child, you’re so honest," she giggled.

"Tell the truth." Her smile didn’t move. "The real Leif. The original owner of this body. Is he... dead?"

The hall fell silent. Even the stars seed to hold their breath. She looked at for a long mont before answering.

"His soul," she said at last, voice soft, "has been dead for a very long ti."

The room tilted.

"...His soul?" I echoed.

"His flesh survived. His heartbeat continued. But the person you think you replaced?" Her eyes glead. "He burned away ages ago."

My throat tightened.

"Ages?"

"Ages," she repeated gently, like she was comnting on the weather, not casually dropping existential grenades.

The word echoed through the hall, bouncing off columns of starlight.

Before I could swallow that, she waved a fragile hand.

"I called you here to remind you, my child," she said, her voice drifting like smoke. "The marble has found its heart again. The Divine Sword has awakened."Her smile widened, proud and terrible."And this ti... it is you who must defeat and chain the Devil. Again."

Sothing inside my spine turned to ice.

"...Again?" I whispered.

She nodded once, as if discussing grocery lists."Yes. Again."

I stared at her.

I stared through her.

"What... what exactly is going on?" My voice cracked with every syllable. "Why is everyone acting like I’m supposed to save the world? Why is a jealous sword screaming purity laws in my brain? Why do I suddenly have divine heart-light installed in my ribcage like a fantasy pacemaker?"

My breathing quickened; words spilled too fast.

"I was just an office worker," I choked. "A normal guy. Who died face-down in a trash bin because the universe decided slapstick death was hilarious. And then I woke up in this stupid novel—this fake world—"

Sothing snapped in my voice."...but why does it feel real?"

The silence that followed swallowed whole.

She did not blink.

She did not breathe.

Then, quietly:

"And why," she asked, tilting her head, "do you assu this world is fake, my child?"

The question hit harder than any divine prophecy.

My confusion tangled into knots. "...Because it’s a story. I read it. I know the plot. The nas. The... tropes."

She humd thoughtfully."Stories are rely worlds you have glimpsed from another angle."

"What?"

"You call this world fiction," she said softly, "only because you did not witness its beginning."

I took a step back. "That’s—No, that’s not—It’s literally ink on a page."

Images flickered in the edges of the hall—real wars, real flas, real kingdoms crumbling. Too vivid to dismiss.

"Are you certain?" she whispered.

The question unraveled sothing in my spine.

Around us, the edges of the hall flickered—like soone was clicking through realities too fast. War. Fla. Ruins. Screams swallowed by silence. A crown burning like dawnfire. A throne buried in ash.

Too real.

Too detailed.

Too painful to be imagination.

My voice went thin. "... Are you saying this is a real world, Grandma? Not... not just a story soone wrote?"

She smiled without warmth. "You answered yourself, my child. Who told you humans are the only ones who write?"

My blood chilled. Before I could respond, the hall trembled. A crack split the mirrored floor beneath my feet. Starlight bled through the seams.

"It’s ti to wake," she said.

"Wait—no—"

She raised a hand, and the golden threads began unraveling like pulled embroidery.

"And rember..." Her voice dropped, carrying an ancient weight. "The Devil has already stepped inside your ho."

My breath stopped. "My—my ho? Here? How?!"

She nodded, unblinking. "He wears no horns. He bears no fangs. But his hunger never sleeps."

The columns around us shattered like glass.

"Grandma!" I shouted, panic rising. "At least tell about the real Leif—what happened to him? Why was he—"

"Patience," she crooned, already fading. "Answers co to those who survive long enough to ask them properly."

The last of the dream sky peeled away. Her shape drifted like ash.

"Oh—one last thing, my child."

"WHAT?!"

She winked. "Congratulations on your marriage, my child."

"I’m not married yet—!"

Crack!!!

The throne split. Light imploded inward. And I was falling.

***

[Leif’s Chamber —Backfrom the Dream]

GASP.

Air tore into my lungs. The room slamd back into existence. Warm blankets. Sunlight bleeding through curtains.

And—arms.

Strong arms wrapped tight around .

Alvar’s embrace pinned gently against his chest, his breath steady where it ghosted the top of my head. He held like I might vanish if he loosened his grip.

I blinked, disoriented, cold sweat cooling on my skin.

He shifted.

"You’re awake?" his voice rumbled, still thick with sleep.

I looked up. His blue eyes cracked open, imdiately sharpening when he saw my face. His brow tightened.

"...You’re sweating," he murmured. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Kind.

Soft.

Worried in a way he didn’t show anyone else.

I let out a shaky breath. "Kind of."

He didn’t ask for details. He didn’t pry. He just pulled closer, tightening his arms around my shoulders, his chin resting on my hair.

"It’s alright," he said quietly. "Nightmares fade when morning cos."

I closed my eyes at the warmth of his voice.

God.

God.

My face heated, and I stared up at him again—really stared. The gentle crease between his brows. The faint scar across his lip. The warmth in his eyes was only reserved for .

Until now... I thought he was a character. Just a handso male lead who is ant to shine extra.

Paint on paper.

But this?

Him?

He was real. He breathes. He fears. He hopes. He loves.

And I had been treating all of this like a ga. Like a story that would end one day.

My stomach twisted with guilt.

"...You’re staring," he murmured, a half-smile forming.

I blinked. "No, I’m not."

"You definitely are."

"Shut up."

I felt his thumb brush gently under my eye, catching another tear before it could fall.

"You looked like you were about to cry," he murmured. "That’s not sothing I ignore."

My voice hitched. "...Am I crying?"

He wiped my cheek with careful fingers. "Yes," he said quietly. "And I hate seeing you cry."

Don’t cry.Don’t lose it now.Don’t unravel.

"...I just... realized sothing," I whispered.

He humd softly, his thumb tracing slow circles into my shoulder. "And what’s that?"

I stared into his eyes—blue, steady, and painfully real. "That you’re real."

He blinked once. Confusion flickered across his face. Then he furrowed his brows and leaned closer, arms tightening around .

"...Leif," he murmured, voice dropping warm and low, "did you think I was so kind of monster?"

I didn’t answer. I just pressed myself into his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt with trembling fingers—as if anchoring myself to a world I finally believed existed.

His breath softened against my hair.

"I’m real," he whispered into the crown of my head. "And I’m here."

I hid my face against him, my voice barely a breath. "...Good."

His arms wrapped around tighter.

As Outside the window,

the morning sun finally broke across the horizon.