MTL - Hao is Also a Kind of Life - ~ One hundred and forty-eight: Teacher's home visit

If you could return to the day you met, what would the two of you do?

“Ah! Fate is unfathomable like that. Never would anyone be able to guess that such an ordinary encounter could lead to such an extraordinary future. Although our encounter that day contributed to a resplendent future, I sometimes find myself reminiscing about ordinary days. If time could be rewound, would I choose to step foot into that tavern where we met… Ah, no! Even if that tavern had not existed, we would definitely have met anyway, because our encounter was indispensable fate!”

– Bard

“With my blade, I’ll cut the tavern, destiny, and this bastard in half all at the same time.”

– Red Cloak

Female Warrior details the 1st generation of the Twelve Holy Knights from .

A pill, a tiny capsule encased in a biologically harmless water-soluble shell; A shell whose very existence is a result of a century of research and technological advancement. A manmade synthesis of Chemicals and product of complex processes.

And in the end, a means to an end.

A way to deliver a concoction of other Chemicals for an agenda; Vitamins for nutrition, medication for treatment, or… perhaps more.

We trust that what we eat won’t do us harm, and trust that those who are responsible for its creation had the best of intentions. But in the end, it is difficult or perhaps impossible to truly tell what lies within a pill.

That is until one day I entered a research institution as a test subject. All I did was swallow a pill I was told to be a health supplement.

“Whose child is it?” Winston and Yu-jin were once passionately in love, but due to a misunderstanding, they separated. Even now, Winston believes Yu-jin was involved in an affair with his father. After being cruelly abandoned, Yu-jin struggled to survive alone while raising his daughter, never expecting to cross paths with Winston again. Then one day, a fire forces Yu-jin out of his apartment, leaving him and his daughter homeless. At his lowest point, he learns that Winston’s father, Harold Campbell, left him an inheritance in his will. Desperate for any help, he decides to visit the Campbell estate. When they meet again, Winston still despises him, while Yu-jin only wishes to collect his inheritance and leave. To his surprise, Harold has left him far more than expected—but with one condition: he must marry Winston and bear another child within a year. Yu-jin tries to refuse, but reality is harsh. Fueled by resentment over Winston’s continued cruelty, he agrees to the marriage out of spite. Winston, on the other hand, makes it clear that their union is nothing more than a formality to fulfill the will. Yet, despite their intentions, an undeniable pull keeps drawing them back to each other. Both insist it’s nothing but lust, desperately ignoring the emotions that refuse to fade…

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

Dear readers! Without any ads, maybe you will prefer .