PREVIEW

... Junye also euphemistically expressed that they have something at home and they need to deal with it. Qiuli understood what was going on as soon as she heard it, and after thinking about it, she took Bai Jue and followed.

Although Su Jingke felt a little regretful, he didn't force them to stay, and sent them away after saying New Year's blessings.

"Jinyu, it's just the two of us now." After seeing off the others, Su Jingke felt a little bit lost, which was rare.

"Do you sudd ...

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Cosette really wished that the novel would never end despite that she was terminally ill.

But after three years, The Devil’s Den finally came to an end. With a reader as invested as Cosette, she had mixed emotions about the ending. Not that the ending was disappointing, but what disheartened her was the ending of her favorite character; the villain Maxen Devilsin.

One year later, Cosette took her last breath only to wake up in the body of the stunning Cosette Blac; the villainess of the novel The Devil’s Den, her second favorite character after the villain.

Granted with the opportunity to live in the world of her favorite novel before the main story starts, Cosette had a plan.

That was to simp over the characters and save her favorite characters whilst hoping that the female and male lead still have their happy ending.

In a world that was already written and events that were expected to happen whether or not they wanted to, can Cosette change the course of their lives? Was overwriting the characters' fate could save them? Or would it just give them a much worse ending than what the author had given them?

Watch Cosette as she tried to become the superfan and give the dark-themed story some light.

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“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.”

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*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.

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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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