Becoming a God Starts with Acting - Chapter 197: [The Infinite Train] – Degenerate’s Part (7)

I became the fiancé of the tyrant male lead, a character who becomes a villainess because she was obsessed with the beautiful tyrant.

Of course, in the end, she was killed by the tyrant.

Still, this all happened before the original story began.

After diligently performing a dozen or so actions that would cause me to be dumped by him, I succeeded in becoming a sound friend of the tyrant, who turned out better than I had thought.

“How was it?” asked the female lead, who he saw for the first time.

“Hmm?”

“I meant your meeting with Miss Diel (female lead), Your Majesty.”

He tilted his head slightly. Hey, don’t pretend you aren’t interested.

It is said that he fell in love at first sight, but I saw it all.

Hehe. I chuckled and poked his arm with my finger.

“You know what? Please let me know if you have someone you like.”

“Why? So you can kill her?”

Heh, do you think I’m like you?

I smiled sincerely and answered him. “Well, I’ll break off our engagement at the right time.”

“Miss.”

The smile on his face disappeared in an instant.

I somehow became speechless after my gaze met his glaring eyes.

He stared at me and laughed quietly in a slightly husky voice. In a subdued voice, he then said, “Don’t make a joke like that.”

His hand stealthily and gently brushed off the strand of hair on my cheek.

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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