Staying Alive Cautiously in the Celestial Realm and Becoming the Strongest - Chapter 1388 - 1386 Blood Moon (28)

When Yohan woke up in the morning, he had a beauty in his lap and in his bedroom. It was like a dream come true for him until reality struck him.

It was then he remembered that he had been cursed by a goddess in the game he had been playing before sleeping. In his sleep-deprived state, he had offended the goddess and as a result, he had been cursed to become a 'no-good' man who could only provide 'support' to the 'heroines' of this world.

Thinking nothing of that curse beforehand, Yohan went to sleep, only to find his world-changing from that day onwards. His normal and mundane life was no longer going to be as such as more and more fantasy creatures began to show up.

And a female voice awoke him with a notification

*Ding dong ding.

Congrats on unlocking the fiction system. From here on, the user will experience the full scope of the logic of the fiction world. May the user use his PP and conquer everyone.*

And it was then Yohan realized - he was no longer in a world governed by science but one that followed the laws of magic. And the only way to survive was to utilize these so-called 'laws of fiction' to his advantage.

And the best and worst part of it all? The more he let his desire go, the stronger he became.

A girl who calls herself a demon appeared before a timid student named Fumio Kijima. The girl claims to be a campaign girl from the demon world and she gives him the ability to “summon a room” from nothing but thin air.

At first he doesn’t abuse his power and uses it as a convenient ability in his every day life. But one day he is bullied by his classmates under a false pretext and is made to suffer. In the past he would have wallowed in misery and cried himself to sleep, but now he had a power to call upon.

“I will make them regret it!”

Using his powers to summon his “room”, he begins his era of confinement and brainwashing to achieve his goals.

“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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