I Got Reincarnated as the Game's Villain-Chapter 53: The Legacy of the Fallen [9][Edited]

This face…

… It’s not mine…

… It’s not the face I remember as Erin…

… That mirror, the face it showed…

… That’s the Erin I remember. So who is this?

Wait.

I looked down at his abdomen, and my mind froze.

Dead.

This child is dead.

Then…

Wait, no, this can’t be real.

No.

It can’t.

It just can’t be.

That’s right. This is probably the creature—whatever it is—trying to mess with my head.

This isn’t real.

It just can’t be real.

Crack!

I saw flames.

And then…

Scatter!

Everything before me shattered into pieces like glass, and the next thing I knew…

I was…

… here.

My diary.

I looked at the book in front of me.

It was the same book I had written many of my thoughts in, back when I was little.

Sigh.

I looked around the room.

It was the room I had lived in as a child, at least before… the incident.

How long has it been since I last saw it?

10… 12 years?

I can’t remember.

There was a bed at the center of the room. The sheets were the same as I remembered them. I turned to the table by the window, but the window was sealed by a wall. The only source of light here was the bulb on the ceiling.

On the table, there were various action figures of my favorite TV show characters from when I was growing up as a child.

I turned to look opposite the table and saw a wardrobe.

Hm.

I turned back to the diary staring at me and opened the first page.

"Dear Diary."

That was the only thing written on the first page. Nothing else.

I turned to the next page.

"Dear Diary."

It said the same, but there was nothing written beneath it.

What?

I flipped to the next page, but… nothing.

"Dear Diary…"

I flipped again, and again, and again…

"Dear Diary."

"Dear Diary."

"Dear Diary."

"Dear Diary."

"Dear Diary."

That was all I could see.

And then, finally, I saw something after countless pages.

"Dear Diary.

After so long, I have finally completed the story.

I don’t like the ending, but…

… I just couldn’t write anymore.

I felt the loneliness he felt.

At every point in time, I tried to end the story. I tried to kill him.

But that woman…

She keeps telling me it’s not yet time.

She says she wants a better ending for Erin.

But I can’t write it.

I don’t know why, but anytime I grab my pen to continue the story… the only thing I feel is… sadness.

And I transfer that sadness to Erin when writing his life.

I have finally decided to end it all.

I wrote an ending, and I don’t care what that woman wants anymore.

I don’t like the ending I wrote, but I just can’t seem to write a happy ending.

I just…

… killed him.

He died with a bullet in his head."

Wait.

What the hell is this?!

I never wrote something like this.

I can’t… remember writing something like this!

But…

Why…

Why do I feel like…

… I wrote it?

I began flipping through more pages, and it continued in the monotonous pattern of "Dear Diary," without anything written underneath.

Beneath some of them, I saw pen marks, as though something was about to be written but the person stopped.

And then…

… I saw something again…

… but it was at the end of the diary.

Dear Diary,

I had the dream again. I saw her.

She said…

She…

At that moment, I noticed wet marks on the page, as if someone had been crying.

She said…

I had the opportunity to change the outcome of…

… the story, but…

… I didn’t.

She said…

… she said…

That Eren’s life…

Eren’s life would become my life.

As I am Eren…

… and Eren is me.

But if that’s true, then the first tragedy of Eren’s life will soon befall me:

The plane crash.

The crash that started it all.

I first killed Eren in that crash when I began the story because I…

… I didn’t know what to write at that point.

But… she told me…

… she told me to continue. She wanted a better ending, and that’s why I made him the only survivor of the crash.

But…

I don’t want to become Eren.

I don’t.

I pleaded with her.

I told her I…

… I would try to write a better ending.

But…

… she said it was always meant to be this way.

She spoke of a cycle.

I don’t know what she meant, but…

… I think it’s true.

Because…

… Mom just told me…

… we’re going on vacation.

"What the… what the hell is all this?!" I threw the diary to the ground and began panting.

When did I write all this?!

Is it…

… is it still the creature messing with me?

I don’t…

I don’t know anymore.

But…

… the story.

I turned to the drawer beneath the table and pulled it open.

It was filled with toys and pens. Nothing else.

Wait.

I looked up and noticed a crumpled piece of paper.

I unfolded it, and what I saw made me FREEZE.

It was a sketch of a young boy. Beneath the drawing, a name was written:

Eren.

This boy…

Wasn’t he the one I just saw in that plane?

Then… was that the first ending I wrote?

No.

This can’t be happening.

WAIT!

I…

… I HAVE TO FIND THE STORY HE WROTE.

I HAVE TO FIND IT.

I searched the room frantically, looking for a place where a book might be hidden. Finally, my eyes fell on the bed.

I grabbed the pillow, and underneath it, I found it:

A book.

It was a simple, eighty-leaf exercise book.

I held it tightly, then opened the first page.

The title read:

Life of the Gamer: Eren.

What?!

Just seeing that made my heart pound faster and faster.

I flipped the page and saw it—

The handwriting of a child. It matched the diary.

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"Arcs," I muttered, staring at the table of contents.

Each line was written in a different colored pen, as though updated after every new arc was added.

The first line:

The Plane Crash.

The second line:

Lonely.

The third line:

The Fire.

The fourth line:

The Monster.

The fifth line:

Finding a Friend.

The next line:

Losing a Friend.

The next line:

Burning It All Down.

The next line:

Betrayed.

The next line:

Taken Away.

The next line:

The Gamer.

The next line:

The Stranger.

The next line:

The Game.

The next line:

Death.

"Hah… ha… haah," I panted as I read the final line.

But there was one more.

The last line—written in a hurried, sloppy scrawl—read:

Resurrection.

BOOM!

The book slammed shut on its own.

"You’ve seen enough," a voice said.

I spun around and saw a man seated on the bed.

His hair was white, and a blindfold covered his eyes.

"How did you—WHO ARE YOU?!" I yelled, summoning my frost sword.

"… The Weaver… or so he called me," the man replied.

Suddenly, the world around me cracked, forming a spiderweb-like pattern.

"WHAT’S HAPPENING?!"

"You are still too weak to know. You must not remember," he said.

"Damn it!" I lunged at him.

"The time is not now, my friend…" he murmured.

The ground beneath my feet shattered like glass, and I fell.

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" I screamed as I plummeted, while he remained suspended in the air.

"The Fates watch earnestly. We cannot talk here… When the time comes, find me, and I will tell you everything."

"Find you where?!"

"Stolen time," he said as my consciousness faded.

"Remember, to escape, you must kill the weakest of them," was the last thing I heard before my eyes shut tightly—only to open again.

I was on my feet, standing.

Before me was the same… box.

What?

What was all that?

Was… was that all a dream?

I looked around, then back at the box.

That box.

Behind me, the door was still there.

But…

… no windows.

It was just as before.

BAM!

A loud noise came from the box, like something trapped inside, trying to break free.

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

I turned back to the door and ran toward it.

SHINK!

I slashed the door, breaking it open, and stepped into the kitchen.

Sigh.

It seems that was all in my head.

I dashed forward to the door leading to the living room, but—

BOOM!

What the hell…?!

A hand shot forward to grab me.

I twisted to the right just in the nick of time, barely dodging it.

Oh, fuck.

The meat that had been strung up—

It began merging together, and I could already see the face of a nasty creature forming.

I glanced to the right.

The door.

It was slammed shut.

Sigh.

"Let’s get this over with."

Suddenly, that chilly feeling engulfed me.