𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

Whatever It Takes

"Host, this world's mission is super easy," Bee Wee-Wee chimes in, its tone unnervingly chipper for what it's about to suggest. "The system has calculated everything, and all you need to do is ensure Ulso is killed off. Once Layza becomes Chieftain, the world will stabilize. No dramatic twists, no surprise betrayals from some side character ruining your plans like Sara Chuay did in the last world. Aren't we the coolest?"

I stop in my tracks, the weight of its words sinking in.

"Wait, I have to kill someone? Isn't that, you know, against the rules?"

"Technically, yes," the system admits, far too casually. "But this is an exception. It's the mission for this world. And you don't necessarily have to do the deed yourself. You could manipulate someone else into doing it. The goal is simple: Ulso has to die. And Layza has to be made Chieftain."

The matter-of-fact way it delivers the statement makes my fur stand on end. I narrow my eyes-or at least try to. With a kitten's face, I probably just look mildly confused.

"That sounds... suspiciously harsh. What if he could be reformed? Redemption arcs are a thing, you know. Didn't Wilde also get reformed?"

There's a brief pause before Bee Wee-Wee responds, its tone turning slightly patronizing. "Host, Ulso isn't Wilde. Wilde had circumstances. Ulso? He's straight-up evil. The higher ups have determined there's no point wasting time trying to save him. And even if there were, this mission isn't about redemption. It's about prevention."

I chew on its words-or metaphorically, since all I've got is a mouthful of tiny teeth now. The idea of ending someone's life, even a villain's, sits uncomfortably with me. But the system's confidence in its plan leaves little room for argument.

Still, I can't help but mutter under my breath, "Easy mission,' my paw. You're asking me to take down a future dictator, not fetch a ball of yarn."

Thinking of Villain-sama sends a sharp pang through my chest, one I force myself to ignore—just like I always do. Just like I’ll always have to. It’s too late to reverse time, to undo the mistakes, to rewrite the story.

"Host, it’s not your job to think so much," the system interjects, its voice devoid of sympathy. "You’re just the executioner."

Executioner. The word feels heavier than it should, a blunt reminder of my role. I know the system is just stating facts, but somehow, it cuts deeper than that. It pulls me back to the lingering ache I’ve tried so hard to bury—the ache of how things could have been different.

If I hadn’t been just an executioner, would things have turned out differently between me and Wilde?

Wilde.

The name echoes in my mind like a haunting melody, one I can’t escape.

Wilde.

What’s he doing right now?

Where is he?

The questions press against my thoughts, insistent and unrelenting. The memories of him rise unbidden, swirling like a storm I can’t outrun. For a moment, I falter, my steps slowing on the grassy path.

But what’s the point of wondering? Wilde is gone, out of reach, just another chapter in a book I can’t reopen.

And yet… why does it still hurt like this?

"Host, each host is required to successfully complete at least two missions before they’re allowed to access the mission histories of past worlds. It’s usually very easy for others," the system explains, its voice grating, like glass scraping against concrete. "Honestly, I expected it to be easy for you too, considering your life back in your original world. But I guess I overestimated your potential."

The words land with a sting, sharper than I’d like to admit. Two successful missions? That could take forever. I don’t want to wait that long.

And then, unbidden, a whisper snakes its way through my thoughts: You miss him, don’t you?

I shove the thought aside and turn my focus back to the scam of a system. Before I can press it for more information, its voice takes on a suspicious tone, one that reminds me of sleazy salesmen peddling fake miracle products door-to-door.

"But..." it begins, dragging the word out just enough to pique my curiosity. "There is another way to speed up the process."

My instincts scream at me to ignore it, but the warning bells ringing in my head can’t stop the question from slipping out. "What’s that?"

The system practically preens at my interest, clearing its throat with exaggerated flair, as though about to reveal the world’s most groundbreaking secret. "You can access the mission histories after completing just one mission successfully. But," it pauses for dramatic effect, "you’ll have to pay lifepoints. Or in your case, buy lifepoints using real-life money from your world. With enough lifepoints, you can compensate for the mission you haven’t completed yet and unlock the histories after just one success."

The smugness in its tone is unbearable as it adds, "But knowing you, even completing one mission might be a bit of a stretch."

It chuckles, and my claws instinctively dig into the soft earth beneath me.

One mission. Just one mission. I think back to the exorbitant prices the system charges for lifepoints and, for the first time, it doesn’t seem outrageous.

The warning signs are all there, flashing red and loud in my mind, but my emotions have already overridden my better judgment.

I don’t care if it’s impulsive. I don’t care if it’s reckless.

I have to complete this mission. Whatever it takes.

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