Flower Stealing Master - Chapter 589: A Secret Betrothal

The devil would love you only in his own way: “Remember, don’t look at me, don’t hold me, and don’t kiss me! Turn your face away, as long as you lie down obediently and quietly! ” Just lie down obediently? What did he take her for? An inflatable wife?

- Description from Novelupdates

In her previous life, the woman that her husband cheated on dug out her beautiful eyes, told her that her child was not her husband’s and then tortured her to death. Her six year old son, Tiantian, was harmed by the adulterer while her parents were brutally murdered…

Konominato Aoi, who had been learning Kendo at her family’s dojo since childhood, had a dream of becoming the best in Japan in Kendo, as her father wished. However, that dream didn’t come true. Disheartened by the failure of her student dreams, Aoi became a high school teacher with a new dream: to make her own students the best in Japan in Kendo.Facing numerous challenges and feeling pessimistic, Aoi lost consciousness on the spot and found herself transported to a different world. The one who helped the now-younger Aoi was Owen Millers, an elven mage. Out of curiosity, Owen decided to impart his magical knowledge and research results to Aoi. Inheriting Owen’s skills and knowledge, Aoi became a mage and, under Owen’s guidance, became a teacher at the world-renowned magical academy.However, the academy was filled with the entanglements of aristocratic society, discrimination based on magical power, and individuals exploiting noble students. Aoi found herself dealing with various situations as she navigated through these challenges. This is the story of Aoi Konominato, a female teacher later known as the strongest archmage and the witch of the academy.

“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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