* * *

What kind of cliffhanger even...?

Never really crossed into my mind that I would have faced her, out of all people, while could’ve been dying in any minute.

Apparently, I wasn’t sure whether I could’ve forced a stalemate either.

Selene couldn’t even help, let alone used her power. Meaning I was engraved to a trap.

A trap that was already designated for me from the beginning. To eat me alive.

How did I even miss and not realize anything about this? Idiot.

Selene probably noticed this already. She was that acutely observant, after all.

And she must have been wondering about that acrobatic movement earlier, or whether it had something to do with my existence on this world. No, more like her world instead.

Anyway, for info-dumping sake...

De-authorship doesn’t work like an instant stripping away of someone’s power. Instead, what was removed is... right, her identity magic code a.k.a DNA.

Just think about an empty vessel.

Soul is just like that. You are floating without anything until the blueprint was planted then imprinted inside of you. Which means you are granted by this genetic as some kind of talents... as explained before in many times ago. Or scenes with me here, who knows.

The effect of me stealing this integral property of hers should be quite crucial: She lost her sense of self. She no longer remembered the books she wrote in the past, no longer remembered who she was before, let alone how qualified she was as an author.

All she knows is her current self: Valeria Augusta Christie. Nothing else.

So, I hope no one would mean it that way because this story couldn’t get even intriguing without any kind of that too overpowered ability anyway.

But that doesn’t mean she is no longer dangerous: That attack was initially shaped for my body. I could see the blueprint of my body when I leaned back into the wall, meaning it was quite specific. And when I dodged for the second time, it happened again too.

The attack should have stopped now, and I’ve got a few quick seconds to consider it.

Anyway, I still stood on my ground but it could collapse soon, depending on whether I would take the risk to do this or not. So, who knows-

"Still talking inside your head, you little thief? On the brink of your death, really?"

Yep, now that’s irritating. I’m 24 years old. Not just a mere child.

I really wanted to say that but for the nostalgic sake, let me tell her something honest.

"Okay, I will give it back to you."

And as expected, her reaction was of amusement.

Her eyebrow was raising its level, as if doubting my words.

"Oh, my... another pity attempt? I will give you a lesson."

She then approached me, step-by-step. Close and closer... it was suffocating, so much so I couldn’t breathe. Her pathway seemed like it was slowly but sure choking my whole body.

She then whispered something I would never want to hear in my entire life.

"Liar.

Heartless.

Edgy.

That’s what you are, Kairi.

You have no qualms for others. Your heart is empty. You never feel for anyone, not even yourself. You are nothing but an emotionless bastard who is a jerk to many others."

"And what I mean by anyone..."

No... stop!

"it includes Selene."

I looked into Selene. and possibly for the last time.

She looked to be in distraught.

I stared into Valeria’s eyes as she whispered those words, her breath smelling of old parchment and decaying ink. Liar. Heartless. Edgy.

She thought she was revealing a secret. She thought she was breaking me by stating the obvious.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even blink. "You’re right," I said, my voice barely audible over the ringing in my ears. "I am a jerk. I am empty. I’ve spent so long transcribing everyone else’s stories that I forgot to write a single line for myself. And Selene..." I glanced toward my sister, seeing the distraught, fractured expression on her face. It twisted something inside me that I didn’t want to admit was still there.

"She deserves a better sister than a ghost in a child’s body."

Valeria smirked, thinking she had won the psychological ground. She thought she had found the crack in my armor.

"But here’s the thing about empty vessels, Valeria," I continued, my voice gaining a sudden, terrifying coldness. "They can be filled with anything. Even the things you’re too afraid to look at."

The "equal payment" I had promised wasn’t just about stripping her DNA. It was about the transfer. If she wanted her identity back—if she wanted to feel like a "person" again—I would give it to her. But I wouldn’t give her back the genius. I would give her the void.

I reached out and grabbed her wrist, my small hand locking like a vice around her ancient, wrinkled skin.

"You want to know what it feels like to be an emotionless bastard?" I hissed.

I opened the floodgates of my Transcription. I didn’t pull her power this time; I pushed my own hollow existence into her.

Every year of being a "liar," every moment of feeling like an "edgy" intruder in a world that wasn’t mine, every ounce of the numbness that protected me from the trauma of my 24 years of surviving—I dumped it all into her DNA.

Valeria’s eyes went wide.

The smirk vanished.

She tried to pull away, but it was like trying to pull away from a black hole. She started to scream, but no sound came out—just a dry, hollow wheeze. She was feeling the "nothing" I felt. She was experiencing the absolute silence of a soul with no blueprint.

But I was reaching my limit. My ground was collapsing. The strain of holding both her identity and my own void was tearing my physical form apart. I could feel the "blueprint" of my 14-year-old body flickering, threatening to dissolve into raw data.

I looked at her, my vision blurring, and I did the only thing a "heartless bastard" could do to end a story that had gone on too long.

"Finish it," I whispered, not to Valeria, but to the air.

I leaned closer to Valeria, my forehead almost touching hers. I was done with the games. I was done with the info-dumping.

"You said I have no qualms for others," I muttered, a single, genuine tear of exhaustion tracing a path through the dust on my cheek. "So, prove it. Kill me, Valeria. Take the last of this ’nothing’ and end the script. If you want your legacy back, you have to kill the one holding the pen."

I let go of her wrist and stood there, arms open, an "empty vessel" waiting for the final blow. I didn’t look back at Selene. I couldn’t. Because if I saw her face one more time, I might actually feel like someone worth saving—and that would ruin the ending.