Common Sense Manipulation App-Chapter 32 - Betrayed that Warmth

Karl wasn’t the type to gawk, but exhaustion made it harder to maintain his usual filter. His brain, still fried from work, was running on fumes, and for some reason, Chilie Jean’s voice echoed in his head like some omniscient narrator.

"Ah, My Lord, have you encountered a noblewoman in the wild? A rare sight indeed."

Karl internally groaned.

Shut up, Chilie.

Still, he found himself glancing her way again. She looks like she came straight out of an expensive office... or a divorce settlement.

The thought made him chuckle under his breath.

Unfortunately, she must have caught the sound because, to his horror, she looked up.

Their eyes met.

For a split second, Karl considered just jumping out the window.

But instead of the "Why is this random guy looking at me?" reaction he expected, she smiled.

Not just a polite, dismissive smile—a real one.

"Long day?" she asked, her voice smooth and warm.

Karl blinked, caught off guard. "Uh... yeah. You could say that."

She chuckled, adjusting her coat. "Fast food?"

He raised an eyebrow. "How’d you guess?"

She gestured toward his uniform. "The smell gives it away."

Karl sighed, slumping deeper into his seat. "Yeah... that tracks."

She laughed softly. "I’ve been there. Used to work at a diner when I was younger. Grease sticks to your soul."

Karl smirked. "So there’s no escape?"

"Not unless you burn your clothes and cleanse your spirit," she said playfully, crossing her legs.

Karl chuckled, shaking his head. "Good to know."

A comfortable silence settled between them. Karl wasn’t sure if it was just his exhaustion or something else, but she had a presence about her—calm, confident, effortlessly elegant.

It was... nice.

"Name’s Karl, by the way," he found himself saying.

She glanced at him, her lips curving slightly. "Samantha."

Samantha.

The name suited her.

Karl nodded, his eyelids growing heavier. "Nice to meet you, Samantha."

She hummed in response, returning to her phone.

And with that, Karl finally let himself relax, the hum of the bus and the lingering warmth of an unexpectedly pleasant conversation lulling him closer to sleep. freewёbnoνel.com

Karl jolted awake as the bus came to a sharp halt, the brakes screeching against the quiet of the night. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, his brain sluggish from exhaustion.

Samantha was already standing, adjusting the strap of her purse over her shoulder.

"Well, this is my stop," she said, offering him a small smile.

Karl straightened in his seat, rubbing his eyes. "Ah—yeah. Right."

She hesitated for a second, then tilted her head slightly. "Try not to let the grease consume your soul, alright?"

Karl smirked, shaking his head. "No promises."

Samantha chuckled softly before stepping off the bus, her heels clicking against the pavement as she disappeared into the dimly lit street.

Karl exhaled, slumping back in his seat. That was... unexpectedly nice.

---

Karl’s stop came not long after. He dragged himself out of the bus, his legs aching from hours of standing, and stepped into the apartment lobby. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, casting a cold glow on the polished tiles.

The elevator doors slid open, and Karl stepped inside, pressing the button for his floor. He leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. Despite the exhaustion, there was something oddly light about his mood. He couldn’t quite place it.

Maybe it was the brief conversation with Samantha. Maybe it was just relief that his shift was finally over. Or maybe, after everything—after the insanity of the past few days—normalcy felt... refreshing.

Then, just as the elevator doors were about to close, a hand slipped in, forcing them back open.

Karl blinked.

Rebecca.

She stepped in, carrying a shopping bag, looking like she had just returned from a late-night grocery run.

Karl’s stomach twisted slightly.

Right. Rebecca.

The woman he had—well, done things with.

Things that, thanks to the Common Sense Manipulation App, she didn’t remember.

But what did she remember?

"Uh, hey," Karl muttered, awkwardly pulling out one of his earphones—despite not actually listening to anything.

Rebecca sighed, shaking her head. "You still wear those even when they’re off, huh?"

Karl let out a short, nervous chuckle. "Guess it’s a habit."

The elevator hummed as it ascended, but Karl barely noticed. There was something strange about the way Rebecca was looking at him—like she knew something he didn’t.

"I bought a lot today," she said casually, lifting her grocery bag slightly. "Stocking up before my husband and son come back from their holiday."

Karl nodded, unsure how to respond.

Then, before he could think of something, Rebecca tilted her head slightly, her gaze studying him in a way that made his skin prickle.

"Karl," she said gently, "you’re still pushing yourself too hard, aren’t you?"

Karl blinked. "What?"

Rebecca sighed, shifting her bag to one arm before resting a hand on his shoulder. "You don’t have to keep everything bottled up, you know."

His pulse quickened.

She... wasn’t talking about that, was she?

"You can talk to me," she continued, her voice filled with an almost motherly concern. "Like yesterday. Don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone about you crying in my arms."

Karl’s blood ran cold.

What.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

What the hell kind of memory reconstruction she had?!

Karl felt a strange mix of horror and relief. On one hand, she didn’t remember what actually happened. But on the other hand...

Now she thought he had cried in her arms?

"Uh..." Karl swallowed. "Right. Yeah. Thanks for that."

Rebecca smiled warmly, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Just take care of yourself, okay? And if you ever need to talk again, I’m here."

The elevator dinged as they reached their floor.

Then, with that same warm, motherly energy, she gave him a small wave and walked down the hallway, disappearing into her apartment.

Karl stood frozen in place, his brain struggling to process what had just happened.

Karl staggered into his apartment, shutting the door behind him with a hollow click. His brain was still buffering.

He walked to the sink and splashed cold water on his face, gripping the edges of the counter as he stared at his own reflection.

Crying in her arms?

His face was a mix of exhaustion and exasperation. Rebecca’s memory had been rewritten, but instead of erasing the event completely, it had twisted it into some bizarre mother-son bonding moment.

Chilie Jean’s voice echoed from his phone.

"Perhaps her maternal instincts shaped the reconstruction. She sees you as a son, My Lord. And you... you betrayed that warmth."

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