From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 675: Kuudere-kun?!

The winter in Isatis City had settled in without mercy.

The wind no longer brushed past people; it cut through them. The air was so cold it felt sharp in the lungs. Micah stood outside the bakery with his shoulders slightly hunched, breathing into his hands. Pale mist puffed from his lips as he cupped his fingers together, rubbing them briskly to chase away the sting of the cold. Even through the scarf wrapped around his neck, the chill slipped in and nipped at his skin.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other while waiting in line.

The bakery in front of him was famous online. For weeks people had been posting photos of its limited-edition Christmas cakes, white frosting like fresh snow, red berries placed carefully on top, delicate chocolate ornaments shaped like tiny reindeer. The reviews were endless. Micah had quietly saved the address the moment he saw it.

He wasn’t here for himself.

Zhou Ruyan had been confined to the hospital for over two weeks now. At first, she had endured it calmly. She had even joked with the nurses, telling them stories from decades ago. But recently, her smile had begun to thin. The longer she stayed in that sterile room, the more her spirit seemed to fade.

She wanted to go home. Every day she asked. Every day Albert Ramsy and his children refused.

They were afraid. Terrified, even. Zhou Ruyan’s heart had become unpredictable. If something happened at home, they might not reach the hospital in time. None of them could bear that risk.

So she remained in the white hospital bed, staring at the same ceiling, listening to the same beeping machines.

Micah had watched her that morning as she gazed out the window at the grey sky. He could tell she was tired, not physically, but mentally. Christmas was coming, yet the room felt nothing like a holiday.

He wanted to do something. Anything. If he couldn’t bring her home, at least he could bring a piece of warmth to her.

The line finally moved forward.

When it was his turn, Micah stepped into the bakery, the bell above the door chiming softly. Warm air wrapped around him at once, carrying the scent of butter and sugar. His eyes softened.

He was bundled up tightly, wool hat pulled low, scarf covering most of his face. Only his eyes were visible, bright and clear above the fabric. In this weather, no one found it strange. Everyone else was just as covered.

He was thankful for that.

Recently, going out had become more troublesome. More and more people were beginning to recognise him. His movements were restricted in ways he had never expected. Even simple errands required caution.

All because of one advertisement. He still found it absurd.

Compared to real celebrities, people with years of fame and massive fan bases, he considered himself nothing more than a passing face. A brief interest. Something that would fade once the next trending topic appeared.

But the public seemed to disagree.

"Two Christmas sets, please," he said quietly.

The cashier smiled brightly and handed him the carefully packed boxes. Micah took them with both hands.

"Happy Christmas," he added casually, his voice gentle and offhand.

He turned, ready to leave. Then...

"Oh my god!"

The sharp cry made him pause mid-step.

A girl had leaned forward from behind him, staring straight at his face. Her eyes were wide, her phone nearly slipping from her hands.

"You’re Kuudere-kun, aren’t you?!"

Micah blinked. "...Huh?"

Kuudere-Kun? Since when was he Japanese? And wasn’t "kuudere" some anime term for emotionally constipated pretty boys?

The girl was trembling with excitement. She hurried over, fumbling with her phone. "Can we take a picture? Please! I’m such a big fan! I bought all your merchandise!"

Merchandise? Micah stared at her, confusion deepening. He was almost certain she had mistaken him for someone else.

"I think you’ve got the wrong pers..."

He stopped. Her phone case caught his eye.

Printed clearly on it was his own face, the version of him from the advertisement. Long white hair flowing down his back. A fitted white one-piece suit clinging to his figure. The dramatic makeup. The distant expression.

He stared at it.

"That’s... me," he thought blankly.

"No way! I’d never mistake you!" the girl insisted.

Her voice carried. People around them began looking more carefully. A few whispers rose. Someone gasped.

"Is that really him?"

"It is!"

"Oh my god, it’s Kuudere-kun!"

Who even came up with this nickname? It was cringey! Could you at least call me with my name?

Before Micah could process what was happening, more people gathered. Phones were raised. The bakery’s cozy space became crowded in seconds.

He was stunned.

Since when had there been merchandise? Who had approved that? He had been so busy lately, between hospital visits, family matters, and everything else, that he hadn’t paid attention.

Clearly, Clyde’s team had. They were efficient. Ruthless in timing. They knew exactly how to profit while the trend was hot. The team Clyde assigned to manage the company had clearly taken advantage of even the hype surrounding the boss aka Micah to make money.

And now he was trapped in a sea of fans.

Micah tried to remain polite, nodding awkwardly, unsure how to escape without causing a scene. Just as the crowd began pressing closer...

A firm voice cut through. "Please make way."

Clyde’s assistant appeared out of nowhere, stepping forward with professional calm. He moved efficiently, creating a path with steady pressure and practised ease. "Excuse us."

Within seconds, Micah was guided out of the bakery and into a waiting black car with tinted windows. The door shut behind him, sealing out the noise.

Silence.

Micah sat there in a daze, cake boxes still in his lap.

Clyde looked at him from across the seat, his expression somewhere between helpless and amused.

"You know you’re famous," Clyde said. "And you still do things like lining up alone?"

Micah swallowed. "But... I’m not even on a minor celebrity’s level, not even on par with an influencer..." he muttered.

Clyde’s gaze dropped to his hands. They were red.

Without a word, Clyde reached over and took them gently into his own. His palms were warm. He rubbed Micah’s fingers slowly, trying to restore the circulation.

"Why didn’t you wear mittens?" he asked quietly.

"I forgot..." Micah mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

Clyde exhaled softly and spoke to the front. "Turn up the temperature."

"Yes, sir," the assistant replied immediately.

Warm air began filling the car.

Micah did not even try to question how Clyde knew where he was. Recently, this had happened more than once. Truthfully, he had missed Clyde too. So these out-of-the-blue encounters made his heart flutter. He turned toward the window. "Where are we going?"

Clyde looked at him carefully. "You know it’s Christmas Eve, right?"

His grip on Micah’s hand tightened slightly.

Micah tilted his head. "Hmm? What about it?" He feigned ignorance as if he had no idea what couples would do on that day.

Clyde held his gaze. "We’re dating. Aren’t we?" He asked, deadpan. "Or you forgot even that?"

Micah’s lips curved into a faint smile. "I was teasing you earlier," he said lightly. "I even bought a cake for us. See?"

He lifted one of the boxes slightly.

Clyde raised an eyebrow.

He knew very well who Micah’s priority was. The second cake was likely an afterthought. Still, he didn’t comment.

Both of them were too busy. Meetings. Works. Final exams. Hospital visits. Rumours online.

They hadn’t had time to experience something ordinary, like a proper date.

The car eventually stopped at a hotel.

Clyde led Micah up to the restaurant on the top floor. The entire city stretched out below them, lights glowing warmly against the dark sky, streets shining faintly under winter frost.

In the centre of it, a table was set. Candles flickered gently in the warm air. Soft music drifted from hidden speakers.

Micah froze for a second, caught off guard. Then he smiled.

They were alone in the entire restaurant. For once, no cameras. No rumours. No responsibilities. Just the two of them.

Micah relaxed visibly as the dinner went on. He drank a little champagne, warmth spreading to his cheeks.

Clyde noticed quickly and took the glass from his hand. "That’s enough."

Micah tilted his head but didn’t argue.

In their previous lives, they had never experienced something like this. Everything had been filled with conflict, misunderstanding, and regret.

Tonight felt peaceful.

Clyde’s fingers brushed against something in his coat pocket. He hesitated. When should he give it to him? His gaze shifted to Micah’s wrist. The watch he had given him before rested there, hugging his pale skin. Micah wore it every day without fail.

It brought Clyde quiet comfort. There was a GPS hidden inside.

In their last lives, he and Darcy had never found the person who had targeted Ilyas. From the moment the ad went live, Clyde had been watching for any signs. But there was no news. The thought that the same danger might shift toward Micah haunted him.

Micah opened the box’s lid and brought out the small cake. He looked at it for a moment before snapping a picture of the cake in the middle of candles. Then he took one of Clyde.

Clyde’s expression softened. "Want to take a picture together?"

Micah paused, thinking they had no picture as a couple. He nodded.

Clyde called over a waiter to take their picture.

Micah found the distance between them unpleasant. He dragged his chair and sat beside Clyde.

The waiter snapped photos quickly and handed the phone back to Clyde.

Micah snatched it, checking the pictures.

Meanwhile, Clyde cut the cake and put a piece on a plate in front of him. Micah was too busy looking at the phone, muttering about their expressions and how they looked.

Affection danced in Clyde’s eyes. He began feeding Micah instead. The young man ate happily while forwarding the best shots.

Micah leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach. "I’m so full!"

Clyde withdrew his fork from his mouth. "Want me to rub it for you?"

Micah sat up instantly. "No, no. I’m fine. Let’s go. I want to bring the cake to Grandma."

Clyde hid the small flicker of disappointment. Because of the online gossip, they had been forced to limit their meetings. Micah had even moved back into the Ramsy mansion to block further slander.

Physical contact between them had dropped to almost nothing.

Clyde struggled with it more than he showed.

He didn’t want to become the version of himself from their first life: obsessive, suffocating, frightening. In the back of his mind, he still feared that Micah had once been afraid of him. So he restrained himself.

When they arrived at the hospital, Micah reached for the door. "Good night," he said softly.

Clyde caught his wrist.

Micah turned back, confused.

Without hesitation this time, Clyde pulled him gently forward and wrapped an arm around him. He lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to Micah’s lips.

Micah stiffened for a heartbeat. Then he melted into it.

The kiss deepened naturally, both of them giving in to the longing they had been holding back. The world outside the car disappeared.

When Clyde finally pulled away, Micah’s breathing was uneven. His eyes were slightly unfocused.

Taking advantage of the moment, Clyde slipped something around Micah’s right wrist.

Micah blinked and looked down.

A string of wooden prayer beads rested against his skin, identical to the one Clyde always wore.

He looked up in confusion.

Clyde gently wiped the corner of Micah’s mouth with his thumb. "I got it from the temple," he said quietly. "It’s for protection."

Micah blinked again, then blurted, "Protection from libido?"

Clyde stared at him.

Micah coughed awkwardly. "I thought yours was for suppressing... primal urges."

Clyde’s lips twitched.

In a way, Micah wasn’t entirely wrong. The bracelet had originally been given to him to help control his violent temper and unstable emotions.

But hearing Micah interpret it like that...

He sighed softly and ruffled Micah’s hair.

"Go," he said. "Call me when you’re ready to go home."

Micah scratched his cheek and nodded.

He stepped out of the car, holding the cake carefully in his arms.

The cold air met him again as he walked toward the hospital entrance, the wooden beads resting quietly against his wrist.