A girl wakes up in the world of her favorite otome game, convinced she'll stay out of the spotlight, observing her beloved characters from a quiet distance. But as she tries to blend into the background, she can't shake the feeling of being watched...
This story is simply fictional. If you're in a toxic relationship please leave it. I don't condone yandere relationships at all.
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Certain people deal with shittier hands in life than others, and unfortunately, you're one of those people.
Life has never been easy for you. Your only goal in life has been to pay back the massive debt your parents left you, who are as good as dead to you. All they did was make reckless choices and run away when they couldn't handle it, leaving you to clean up their mess.
You work as a full-time worker, which, considering your luck, is a wonder in itself. You waste away your life in a tiny workspace, working overtime every day. It's still not enough, and sometimes, the pressure of money crushes you, leaving no time for your passion though you suppose you never were a dedicated person.
Nothing sparks your interest, and it's already hard enough scraping through the day. It's exhausting, and sometimes you feel the urge to give up, but against all the odds, you persevere.
"...Hello? Y/n? Are you listening?" an impatient co-worker stares down at you, her tone clearly unpleased.
You let out a sigh in your head, knowing full well that she was about to hand over her work to you. Honestly, if they paid you properly for all your work, you doubt you'll even have the massive debt on your back anymore.
You plaster a fake smile at the co-worker and reply, "I'm sorry, my mind was a bit occupied" by the work you dumped on me, you think bitterly, but it won't change the fact that you needed money— desperately.
"Honestly, Y/n," your co-worker huffs, rolling her eyes dramatically as if she's the one dealing with the world's weight. "I don't know why they keep you around. You're always zoning out."
You swallow your irritation and keep that smile plastered on your face. "I'll make sure to focus harder," you lie smoothly, hoping she'll just go away.
She doesn't, of course. Instead, she drops a stack of papers onto your already cluttered desk, the slap of them hitting the surface as harsh as the reality of your situation. More overtime, less sleep. The cycle never ends.
"Have these on my desk by the end of the day. Thanks." She flashes a smile that's all teeth and walks off, leaving you staring after her in disbelief. The clock above the door ticks away your last slivers of sanity.
You don't even know how you got here. Your dream job? No. This was supposed to be a temporary fix, something to get you by, but years had slipped through your fingers like sand, and here you are—still stuck in this suffocating cubicle, still drowning in work that isn't yours.
When you finally leave the office, the moon is already high in the sky, a distant, mocking reminder of how late it is. You drag your feet home, feeling like a zombie, devoid of life, energy, or any sense of purpose. As you collapse onto your bed, you wish—just for a moment—that you could disappear, if only to escape this mundane existence.
