I’m Really Not Targeting the Mages - Chapter 60

# HUSBAND-CHASING

Si Mi had been foolish in her past life. She aborted the child she had with her husband just so she could return to her first boyfriend, Fu Xing. Yet, Fu Xing had no intention of reconciling with her, and even ridiculed her for flattering herself. With that, Si Mi felt that she had been abandoned by the world. She wandered the streets dejectedly and was killed by a car that malfunctioned. As her soul floated in midair, she saw her stepsister secretly meeting up with the driver who killed her to give him a large sum of hush money. She even saw her stepmother, who had always doted on her, say, “That girl finally died. At least my efforts weren’t wasted in spoiling her to the point of being brainless and arrogant! My dear daughter, you can finally relax and be with Fu Xing now.” Finally, Si Mi saw her ex-husband attending her funeral, and then took revenge for her death. Her supposedly disfigured husband even removed his mask for the first time before her portrait. The man’s flawless appearance seemed to be a gift from the gods. Every inch of him was meticulously perfect, and he wasn’t as hideous as the rumors painted him to be.

Then, Si Mi lost all senses. When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a bed naked while a man rammed into her from above. It was her husband, Fu Zhen! She had just attended her own funeral moments ago as a wandering soul, so why was she in Fu Zhen’s bed now and making love to him? It seems that Si Mi was reborn back to the time when she had just married her husband. During this time, she had yet to abort Fu Zhen’s child, and hadn’t yet fallen into her stepmother and stepsister’s scheme! What perplexed Si Mi even more was that she now possessed the power of telekinesis after being reborn. Splendid! She swore not to be toyed with anymore in this life. She would also take revenge! More importantly… she had to compensate Fu Zhen for what she owed him. She would give her best to this man who once loved her deeply.

“I’ve been possessed into the controversial makjang drama ‘Gwangin’ (The Lunatic). Of all roles, I’m the omega secretary to an alpha with omega-phobia. It’s hard enough hiding my identity, but I’m also in charge of all sorts of annoying tasks: managing the protagonist’s diet, wardrobe, and house; coaxing and soothing the beta he loves. My goal is to survive until the ending where the protagonist meets the strange beta who thinks even his obsession is love, leading to a happy ending… I think I smell an omega somewhere.’ ‘That’s… impossible.’ If I speak carelessly, I die. If I mess up my work, I die. If I run away, I die. And if the fact that I’m an omega is revealed… I really die. ‘Right. It shouldn’t be possible, but that’s why I feel so f*cking awful, Secretary Kim.’ Will I be able to make it back alive…?”

“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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