After the Fake Young Lady Stole Everything from Me, I Became the World’s Sweetheart - Chapter 439 - Four-Hundred Thirty-Nine: Toast

All I know is this is just wrong. I was just reading the latest chapter of One Piece in my computer. And an annoying survey popped up asking me if I want to play One Piece new beginning. Thinking nothing of it I said yes.And selected ‘Realistic’ difficulty.There was a game loading screen. Loading gibberish, and warning me that the world has a lot of surprises in store for me. Not all things are same, because I had to choose the ‘developer’s time-line’.And then telling me to brace for Character Synchronization. And before I knew it, I was no longer your average Joe. And this wasn’t earth either… no this was One Piece.And, I was Monkey D. Luffy. The future King of pirates.I mean what could go wrong? If Luffy could do it, so could I.But this wasn’t the same One piece world I remember. Some changes are small like Kuina being Zoro’s rival… who’s alive.While others were huge. Like… did you know, Whitebeard had an actual beard?! Man looked like Santa Claus on steroids. Jaked and shit!Just what did I get myself into?But does it matter?No.Because I’m going to have the time of my life. This was going to be one heck of an adventure.

After getting shot, Lucas, a serial killer, reincarnated into the novel world as a tragic villain with the same name, Lucas Ciffer.

Lucas Ciffer was supposed to be the Holy Kingdom's successor to the throne, but his demonic appearance and the powers he possessed terrified the entire kingdom. A white-haired boy with red eyes and pale skin, together with his dark powers, got persecuted and exiled by his own family. Not to mention that in the future he was destined to die by the hand of the hero.

Lucas fell from holiness, and, with the serial killer's bloodlust and knowledge of the future, he decided to prove the world right.

Yes. I could be a villain; no, in fact, I WILL BE THE VILLAIN.

“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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