Chapter 44

A soft warmth seeped into my eyelids, tugging me gently from unconsciousness.

They felt itchy—like I’d cried too much or slept too long—so I blinked slowly, and the world turned white with sunlight.

“—..-.—.-.–.-!”

Someone shouted, panicked, but it sounded like I was underwater.

Tap, tap, tap.

Footsteps approached fast.

A man—blurry at first, then slowly sharpening—appeared in front of me. He looked young, maybe my age, dressed in a tidy brown robe. A doctor?

With a serious expression, he started poking at me. Then he held my face and… opened my eyelids?

…Excuse me?

He stuck out his tongue.

Wait—was that a cue?

I hesitated, but eventually mirrored him and stuck mine out too.

Apparently, that wasn’t good enough, because the next thing I knew, he grabbed my tongue and pulled.

“Ugh!”

Sticky fingers. Wet. Bitter.

Herbs. The overwhelming grassy taste snapped me fully awake.

I jerked my head away, and he finally let go, scribbling something onto the paper next to him.

We stared at each other in silence.

Neither of us knew how to start a conversation.

Eventually, he pointed to the sunlit window, then folded his hands and rested his cheek on them like a pillow.

Was… was that sleep?

I watched his awkward charades, eyebrows raised. Then he mimed stretching, picked up a bandage, and wrapped his own arm.

“…Ah. You want me to change the bandage in the morning?”

I mimed the same motion. He clapped like I’d solved a riddle.

“—.-.—.-!”

Cheerful gibberish. I think that meant “good job.”

Kind guy. Patient, too.

He held up three fingers.

Three times a day. Got it.

Then he fake-yawned.

Go to bed early.

Then he smiled. Shook his head gently. Furrowed his brows with a bit of concern.

Don’t stress.

A universal prescription. One I’d heard a hundred times in clinics.

I smiled politely and bowed my head.

He beamed, gesturing that I should come back tomorrow. At least, that’s what it felt like.

Click.

The door closed behind him.

Silence.

I finally looked around.

The room was stone and leather and warm—like a medieval fortress that someone had tried to make cozy. Rough walls, thick carpets, a crackling fireplace.

Outside the window, it was blinding white.

Snow-covered peaks had frosted the glass, muting the whole world into silence.

Inside, though, the fire warmed the air. I wrapped my hands around my neck, still feeling the lingering heat that had spread from his touch.

The snowfield. His red mask. That impossible warmth.

It all came rushing back.

I slowly pulled the blanket down and looked at what I was wearing—an oversized tunic that draped to my fingertips.

A man’s tunic.

I already knew who brought me here.

Number 3. The third male lead.

I raised my hand to touch my cheek—ouch.

Pain shot through my arm. I rolled up the sleeve.

Bandages, stained deep red.

The memory of fangs, claws, torn cotton—my body tensed. I curled up instinctively.

This game is a horror movie in disguise.

I blinked back tears.

Why is it always me?

Then I took a breath. Forced it deep.

“…At least I’m alive.”

That’s not nothing.

I shuffled to the window in my oversized slippers. The room must’ve been high up—outside, I could see the entire demon village.

Clustered rooftops. A towering ice wall at the edge. And carved into that wall…

A figure.

A beautiful, androgynous figure facing away from the village, etched into the ice like a god watching over its people. The detail was unreal—so delicate, I almost expected her to move.

Sixteen robed demons surrounded her, their faces hidden behind twisted wooden masks.

Upturned mouths. Downturned eyes.

Joy and grief fused into something uncanny.

Sacred and deranged all at once.

“Sacred to demons… That’s a hell-worthy thought.”

I muttered it under my breath and sighed.

Then, through the fogged glass, something familiar caught my eye.

“…Ah.”

There he was.

Even from behind, I’d know those shoulders anywhere.

White hair catching the sun. Nam-joo.

The physician was jabbering in front of him, wildly gesturing.

Wrap, wrap, shake head. Hold up three fingers.

Definitely reporting on me.

Nam-joo frowned, probably telling him to stop flailing so much.

The physician smiled awkwardly and lowered his arms.

The whole scene made me laugh.

For beings supposedly so dangerous, demons weren’t that different from the people back home.

Then the doctor’s gaze flicked up.

To me.

He stiffened. Nam-joo followed his line of sight.

Our eyes met.

Those cool, bored blue eyes locked onto me—and I froze.

I faked a stretch and quickly turned away from the window, inching back like a guilty criminal.

I sat on the bed and looked at my leg.

No pain.

No bruise.

Healed.

“…Did he realign my bones?”

I leaned back against the headboard.

Demon territory. Glitched system. Radio silence from the AI.

“I don’t understand anything.”

No map. No data. No direction.

“What do I even do right now?”

I called out.

“Operator?”

Silence.

Just my own voice bouncing off the stone walls.

I slapped my cheeks. Tried to reframe it.

Maybe I just… finish the game here. Choose a male lead. Wrap it up.

But what if the bug breaks even that?

What if I can’t upload the ending? What if I hit [End] and it never logs out?

I curled up. Again.

“I don’t even know if I can win.”

A knock at the door snapped me out of it.

“…Come in.”

I used the softest tone I could muster. Hopefully it sounded like permission in demon-speak.

The door creaked open.

And there he was.

Nam-joo.

He’d changed clothes. No more robe. Just a simple shirt, fitted and clean.

He was carrying a tray.

Soup.

He pulled over a small chair, sat in front of me, and rested the tray on his knees.

Then, without a word, he scooped up a spoonful and held it out.

I blinked.

“…You want me to eat?”

I just stared at the spoon, unsure.

Maybe he thought I was refusing, because he pulled it back slightly.

At that exact moment, my stomach growled.

A loud, awkward rumble that echoed between us.

Of course my stomach would embarrass me in front of a male lead.

Because this is that kind of story.