Crusader King - Chapter 130: Beneath the Statue(16)

Jin-woo had never considered himself someone ordinary. Okay, that sounded like an arrogant thought to have, but he was definitely unordinary. He would always be reminded of this whenever he had to take his antipsychotic medication for his schizophrenia. It also didn’t help that he was starting High School with the whole school knowing this fact because of his little… slip up? Of course this comes with bullies targeting him, but that wasn’t new. Jin-woo was determined to do his best to avoid them and not draw any unnecessary attention to himself… But that was impossible as some God seemed to have cursed him to be in the same class as his bullies, and even that nosy popular girl who won’t stop talking to him in front of everyone. How many times did he have to say they weren’t friends, much less childhood friends for her to leave him alone?! However, what might be worse than being in the same class as your bullies and that annoying girl, was being in the same class as your bullies and that annoying girl, while being trapped in there because of a zombie virus outbreak… and somehow being the cause of it? Should he stay, or chance it with the hordes of zombies outside? What would you do?

“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.]

……………………………………………………………

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“Wang Cheng, we need to practice more!”

“No, I want to guarantee eight hours of sleep every day.”

…

“Wang Cheng, it’s almost nine o’clock, and you’re late.”

“Didn’t you go to work at nine o’clock? It’s still a minute away. Where’s the punch card machine?”

…

“Wang Cheng, what variety show do you want to be on?”

“Is there a fishing variety show?”

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