This Curse Is Just Awesome - Chapter 17

She is one of the best thieves that the world has seen in the 24th century. However, not even in her wildest dreams had she imagine that she’d be reincarnated as a good-for-nothing orphaned Seventh Miss of the Vermilion Bird Family. She finds herself stuck in a family that mistreats her, as well as an unfamiliar place with no support system.

In a land where ancient families are as common as the stars, the weight of millennia-old legacies brings not only honor but also the chains of rigid traditions. Here, bloodlines are the cornerstone of power, the unyielding foundation for climbing the ladder of authority.But what hope does the descendant of a mere hunter have in such a world? How can they claim a seat at the table in this grand feast of ambition and betrayal? Is it through the fragmented remnants of a cheat ability from the game For Honor, now warped and unrecognizable? A fleeting glimpse into an uncertain future? Or perhaps a stroke of intangible, invisible luck?The stage is set, the pieces are moving—will this unlikely contender rise, or will they become just another casualty of the Game of Thrones?

“Be better”

Peter was cursed by those words, the very last words of his dying mother.

Cursed to be better. To be above the small squabbles... And so, the last five years of his childhood, he spent as a target of bullying, both in school and in his adoptive, step-family.

But it all changed, when a portal to another world appeared in the middle of his shed!

……………………………………………………………

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

“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 .