TBR CH107

Excerpt from Starburst, a Global Entertainment Magazine

Hill Lambert, once dubbed the “boy kissed by an angel” for his breathtaking beauty as the male lead in Crystal Feathers, has seen his popularity plummet in recent years. This decline is partly due to the fading of his youthful allure and partly because a rival from his own agency has completely overshadowed him. Reports suggest Hill’s temperament has grown increasingly volatile, with frequent outbursts on set captured by cameras. Where does this faded movie star go from here?

—Accompanied by a photo of the star, heavy makeup failing to mask his haggard appearance.

The absurdity of the situation left even the steely Black Hawk nearly speechless.

His hands gripped the desk tightly, veins faintly visible under the skin of his knuckles, his dark gray eyes fixed on the surveillance footage. Beside him, a trembling researcher stood nervously, sneaking glances at the screen, unable to fathom what had rattled this high-ranking figure.

It wasn’t a restricted area—just the dessert shop inside the research institute.

The shop’s dining area lacked dedicated cameras, so the image on the screen, zoomed in, was blurry.

Yet John could still recognize himself in the footage. He sat with his back to the camera, the seat across from him empty. But he was talking, gesturing as if conversing with someone. From the screen, it looked like a madman muttering to himself.

Impossible. Black Hawk never doubted his own perception, so it had to be an issue with the surveillance.

Frowning, he rapidly typed commands into the keyboard. Though absurd, this was the only lead. Other cameras along the route were either fried or stuck replaying the same looped segment, capturing nothing useful. He slowed the video to a hundredth of its speed, eyes narrowing.

In that instant, a scream erupted from an employee in the control room behind him.

The pause button was hit simultaneously.

On the screen, where there should’ve been nothing, a man abruptly appeared. No—that wasn’t right. John was all too familiar with this figure; he was supposed to be there. Those black eyes, eerily deep despite the footage’s graininess, seemed to pull at his thoughts, dragging them into an abyss with just a glance.

John snapped out of it, gritting his teeth as he saved the millisecond-long frame, then resumed playback.

Strangely, the figure didn’t vanish as expected. The man was clearly sitting across, listening to John, yet his gaze drifted past him, as if staring directly at the camera—at them, now.

His lips moved slightly, forming silent words.

This was a fleeting moment, less than a hundredth of a second, imperceptible to the human eye without aid. John had been oblivious at the time, which only deepened the bone-chilling dread creeping up his spine.

The disbelief in his eyes was uncontainable. The eerie strangeness he’d sensed during their conversation now overwhelmed him.

The monster knew he’d find this.

It knew he’d see this footage.

“John,” it smiled, looking straight through the screen, “try to find me.”

A knock at the door exploded like thunder.

Black Hawk whipped around, unable to control the intensity in his gaze. The researcher nearly burst into tears but managed to stammer out his task:

“High command used top-level clearance to search. There’s no employee named Asta Black at the institute. B-but the name has a registered security profile in our defense network. We don’t know how. His ID card is valid, and we can’t revoke its access immediately—”

John didn’t wait for the rest. His face darkened like a storm about to break. He shoved the researcher’s shoulder, rushing past like a gust of wind, leaving one order:

“Sync any anomalous surveillance locations to my communicator in real-time.”

Asta was conversing with “Flower,” a monster he’d long mastered handling. From the start, he unleashed the terrifying control of an SSS-class monster.

“They must’ve told you. I know your plans,” the Monster King said coldly, lifting his eyes. Those eyes glinted with a cruel, inhuman beauty. Even without suppression, Flower’s scent weakened, as if too intimidated to compete. And what was on his wrist? Two metal stars clinked together, ringing crisply.

That was Kingfisher’s closely guarded secret.

Monsters, with their alien mindset, had no concept of “gifting,” especially not to someone like Asta, who carried the scent of human blood.

“So it’s true,” Flower said, awestruck. “Only you have such power. Deceivers deserve this. My revered King, what would you have me do? I’m at your command, especially with freedom so close.”

Asta gave a careless smile, as if naturally accepting its flattery.

“The list, of course. I’ll meet some of them myself, but I don’t mind giving you a chance to prove yourself.”

Just feeling the raw power of Alpha’s true form up close sent Flower’s heart racing. If a collective uprising could shatter the institute’s shackles on monsters, why would the outside world still bear humanity’s name? It would belong to beings like them, whose strength and cunning far surpassed ordinary humans.

Alpha’s power was immense.

With such a monster as ruler, humanity’s end would come effortlessly. And as the one directly aiding the Monster King, no one would ever doubt Flower’s word again.

Asta sensed Flower’s thoughts through the restless air, exactly as he intended.

“In my name, order all monsters set to join the uprising…”

How hard was it to find one person in a labyrinthine research institute?

Especially when that “person” wasn’t quite human.

The monster smiled at the corner’s surveillance camera, strolling forward unhurriedly. In the control room, a stunned researcher gaped at the screen, stammering as he frantically dialed John’s communicator. Black Hawk sprinted through the institute’s corridors, giving his all, terrified of missing the monster’s trail by a second.

Yet they always missed each other by a hair’s breadth.

Each time John reached a location from the footage, his communicator buzzed with the next address. Asta seemed to treat it as a game, dangling hope at the perfect moment, calculating his exit flawlessly.

The special forces captain recalled a book about training hawks, luring them with meat they could never catch.

It wasn’t as if Asta’s appearance hadn’t been broadcast through the institute’s alert system, nor was John the only one chasing Alpha’s traces.

But John knew deep down:

Alpha left that message for him. This was a game between just the two of them.

While he thought this, the monster’s mindset was far simpler.

Asta leaned against a wall. A sharp-eyed employee passing by might notice the shadows pooling unnaturally, almost alive, as if ready to extend gruesome tentacles to drag someone in.

But the tentacles weren’t interested in eating. They curled around a black book.

Isidor wrote: “I strolled along the coast today. The tentacles you left are cute, floating me on the water, but I keep thinking they might toss me into the sky and catch me if they get excited.”

The monster’s lips curved.

“I miss you,” Isidor wrote, after much buildup, finally revealing his intent. “I’ll spend the rest of my time reading. While reading Romeo and Juliet, I really wanted to see you, so I had to say it. I know you’re busy out there, but I’ll wait for you. Contact me anytime.”

No sugar was eaten, yet Asta tasted sweetness.

The black book grumbled, printing tiny words on its pages: “Why do I have to run errands for every little thing? I’m busy too—”

But this was half-hearted griping. The three of them had agreed to exchange updates midway through their plan. No matter what Isidor said, the world’s consciousness had to make the trip. Asta soothingly patted the book’s smooth spine, quickly summarizing everything happening on his end onto the pages.

This time, Isidor took a moment to process:

“John?”

He was clearly surprised. “He’s searching for you all over the institute? I mentioned him before, but only to suggest keeping an eye on the special forces. Do whatever you want, though. I trust you.”

Though Isidor didn’t care about Black Hawk’s betrayal as a student, he’d been gravely injured because of him. A sharp glint flickered in the monster’s dark eyes.

It had planted a seed in human hearts, but it needed a little push to take root.

“I’ll try to come back soon,” Asta wrote in his final moments there. “Isidor, I miss you too. Dealing with humans and monsters out here is tedious, but it’s not that hard for me. Trusting me more is the right call. By the way, you said you’re reading Romeo and Juliet—that’s the one from the outer shelf, right?”

The shadows at the corner faintly outlined a human shape. The monster closed the book and stepped out of the darkness.

It heard hurried, frantic footsteps approaching.

At the same time, Isidor, by the deep green seawater, gently traced the words in the book. He thought for a moment, picked up Romeo and Juliet with its bookmark, and couldn’t help but smile.

Asta’s understanding of love clearly came from this classic, which explained why he’d first described it as “like the sun.”

But his favorite was a different line.

Though the stars couldn’t see the message now, Isidor dipped his pen in ink, meticulously copying a passage from the book. His sharp, blade-like handwriting gave the words a fierce, resolute edge:

“—In the book of fate, we are written between the same lines.”

In the research institute’s medical ward, Hill opened his eyes and immediately called for the system.

The room’s curtains were drawn, the atmosphere silent. By the bed stood a large bouquet of white roses with a note from John. The pale, exhausted boy struggled to sit up, still dizzy but eager to stumble out of bed, rushing to the ward’s bathroom.

Only when he heard the familiar mechanical voice and saw himself in the mirror did he finally exhale in relief.

“Host, you don’t need to worry so much,” the system reminded. “The charm aura alters others’ perceptions. Even if you’re damaged, it’s fine. Besides, your injuries are from impact. With this world’s medical technology, they won’t cause lasting harm.”

Hill carefully examined himself in the hospital gown.

Porcelain-white skin, tousled golden hair slightly covering his sky-blue eyes—his complexion was poor, but it only enhanced his flawless, fragile beauty.

Reason returned, and he anxiously asked the system, “Damn it, what happened at the institute while I was unconscious? What’s Alpha’s status? Did my last words have any effect?”

The mechanical voice paused for a long time.

“While you were unconscious, my data collection was limited to this area. But your quick reaction at the end likely worked—Alpha probably heard you. Black Hawk mentioned during his visit that the plan to kill Alpha failed. It’s now locked itself in a containment room.”

“So what now?”

Hill picked up John’s roses, slightly reassured, and studied the guilt-laden words on the note.

“I need to find a chance to meet it. That’s how it’s written in the script, especially at a time like this.”

The system sighed, finding its host overly naive. “The entire institute is focused on how to open that door…”

“That’s exactly why it’s perfect,” Hill countered, unshaken. Realizing his beauty’s power, he seemed to bloom anew, like a wilted flower revived by water. His confidence stemmed from his appearance. “My charm aura is still working. The institute will definitely ask me to try contacting it. Or rather, Alpha must be trying to reach me. It’s a monster that’s already fallen for me. The institute’s interference should only deepen our bond.”

Rose petals fell as he moved, crushed under his fingers.

Yet such actions from someone so beautiful didn’t seem wrong—only pitiable. A doctor hurried in, saw Hill’s smile, and blushed, stammering three times while trying to say he’d notify others.

The system wanted to argue but realized Hill was right.

Indeed, whether Alpha believed Hill was behind the plan or not, its earlier indulgence and affection toward him suggested it was smitten. Only Hill had the privilege to approach it. Unlike past worlds, Alpha hadn’t connected with anyone else here.

It wouldn’t resist Hill’s approach or explanation—it might even seek him out.

If it didn’t, that would be the problem.

The system replayed the painful lessons from the previous two worlds, diving deeper into thought. Escaping the Heavenly Dao had been tough, and though it had carefully chosen this place, the worst-case scenario couldn’t be ruled out.

“You’re right, Host,” the system’s mechanical voice grew urgent. “Stay here and wait. If Alpha doesn’t come to you, that’s the worst-case scenario. I’d need to consider—”

Human voices rely on vocal cords, so they rarely stop abruptly. But the system’s mechanical voice could be cut off instantly. Mid-sentence, the closed door slid open a crack.

The scene was so surreal that Hill’s heart skipped a beat, snapping the rose’s stem.

Looking out, he should’ve seen a long corridor. Instead, the gap revealed only black—an abyss-like darkness that devoured all light. Yet it wasn’t lifeless; countless writhing forms seemed to twist within, ready to break free.

The stem’s sap stained Hill’s hand, bitter.

The system whispered, “Host, Alpha’s here for you.”

The monster emerging from the abyss had a uniquely human form, its “non-human” perfection a compliment in itself. Asta’s soft footsteps echoed, darkness surging into the room with it. Only when it looked at him, silent, did Hill snap out of his shock.

“I…” He quickly adopted a bitter expression. “It’s all my fault. Blame me if you want.”

The monster remained silent. Hill’s roses fell onto the white sheets, his frail appearance suggesting he’d aggravated his wounds—wounds caused by the monster. Relief washed over him as he saw Asta’s gaze soften.

His acting was always impeccable.

As the beautiful Chosen One spoke, his words could move even wood and stone. Asta watched him with its monstrous eyes, and Hill keenly caught trust and pity in its gaze.

“I know it’s hard to trust me again,” Hill pressed, noticing Asta’s fingers twitch.

A good sign.

But then, countless tendrils surged from the shadow behind Asta. These were no divine gifts—most were grotesque, edged with sharp fangs, shimmering with eerie, poisonous colors in the dark.

These were the ugly, monstrous parts Hill despised.

His tearful smile faltered. Asta subtly noticed, its fingers twitching as the tendrils shot toward Hill. Even without malice, he recoiled in terror.

The tendrils stopped inches from him.

Asta tilted its head, feigning confusion at his reaction, its expression tinged with hurt, as if it were a monster unaware of human aversions, rejected despite good intentions.

Acting? It could play that game too.

Rejecting Asta’s approach would shatter the facade. On the bed, Hill’s tears became partly genuine. Accepting the tendrils’ touch was unbearable—his skin crawled, goosebumps rising in dense protest.

He forced a smile, pretending his reaction was merely a lingering effect of being knocked out by the tendrils, not disgust.

When a tendril finally touched his arm, the slimy, cold sensation made him want to yank away. Controlling his expression, Hill maintained composure, but the monster abruptly withdrew its tendrils.

“What…”

Hill stared, dazed, as Asta smiled at him. It was a smile hard to describe, with eyes like black abysses—one glance could drown you in the myriad emotions the monster wanted you to feel. In that single look, the Chosen One suddenly felt dizzy, thinking:

“So beautiful… It’s kind to me, loves me. All this is for my good.”

As if to fuel this thought, a sound filled the room, like dry objects rubbing together, producing an elegant, harmonious string-like hum:

“We can’t stay here… Someone’s coming… It’ll affect Hill.”

Hill’s eyes widened. This was the first time he’d heard the monster speak. Yet its voice perfectly matched his imagination—the exact sound he’d envisioned the moment he saw Asta’s human form.

“Hill,” it said his name haltingly, “I healed your wounds. Are you happy?”

When Asta’s tendril touched the boy’s arm, it nearly laughed. The wounds, nearly gone without a trace, had still drawn a few genuine tears in Hill’s performance. Healing such minor injuries was effortless, nothing like healing Isidor.

But this would do.

It just needed to calm Hill, keep him quiet for two weeks, and the rest of the preparations would fall into place.

Asta nodded slightly, its movements fluid in an indescribable way.

Then, its tendrils receded like a tide into its shadow. It didn’t turn, simply stepping backward as if eyes grew on its back. Those mesmerizing eyes never left him. When the door clicked shut, the sound of the lock engaging, Hill remained in disbelief, barely registering what had happened.

Trembling, he touched his injured spot.

Indeed, not a hint of pain—perfectly healed, proof it wasn’t a dream.

“System!” he shouted in his mind, nearly delirious with joy. “I was right! It came to me on its own. What does that mean? I’m about to conquer Alpha. Just watch, within two weeks.”

Asta reached the end of the ward’s long corridor.

The elevator’s floor numbers ticked downward, nearing his level. At the same time, rapid footsteps echoed from the stairwell, like a torrent of rain. As the elevator’s metal doors slid open silently, John, clad in black, burst out from the stairwell.

Asta nodded at him, as if he’d expected this all along.

“You…” The special forces member, with superhuman physical prowess, was breathless after an afternoon of cat-and-mouse pursuit. Even for him, his breathing was unsteady.

He stared at the man before him. The badge on his chest read “C Zone, Asta Black”—utter nonsense. Yet, this was the terrifying Alpha, the institute’s most dreaded project, a fact John couldn’t immediately accept.

“You really came here,” Black Hawk murmured.

The elevator doors lingered open briefly, then began to close. Just as the metal panels were about to meet, a tendril shot out like black lightning, wrenching them apart.

Black Hawk’s lips tightened, his hand ready to draw his gun.

Asta didn’t answer his question. It remained mild-mannered, save for the grotesque tendrils jutting behind it, ruining the illusion of a normal colleague waiting for the elevator. It stepped inside, waiting silently.

John felt his fingers twitch unnaturally.

Unable to bear it, he closed his eyes briefly and entered the elevator, despite the immense risk.

“Hello, John,” the monster greeted. The doors finally closed unobstructed, only to be jammed by tendrils, forming a sealed space. Asta turned, those eyes from the surveillance now inches away.

“Why,” John said with difficulty, pressing against the wall to guard his back, “why pretend to be human? Why talk to me?”

“At first, I didn’t plan to. I just ran into you,” Asta said.

In the cramped space, despite its calm tone, the sense of threat surged. Asta clearly had no intention of continuing its harmless researcher act. Its words dripped with indifference toward humans, devoid of emotion.

“As for today,” its smile seemed superficial, yet maddening, “don’t you find it fun?”

Everything the monster said could be a lie, and John was clueless.

Once again, he felt the chilling sensation of being watched long ago.

Asta, observing his expression, knew he mostly believed its words. It stood casually in the elevator’s center while John braced like a cornered animal. Above them, a surveillance camera whirred. In the control room, staff frantically clicked to save the feed, but the system glitched, jumping erratically.

Then, the wall-sized screen flickered. The standoff vanished, replaced by a massive black eye, slowly turning.

The monster seemed to regard the human with leniency.

“What did the institute send you for, John? To negotiate? Or execute? I doubt it’s the latter.”

“You,” Black Hawk’s throat was dry, raising his gun, “I need to ask you something first.”

“There’s no sun in the mirror here,” Asta said, its expression showing the weapon’s negligible threat.

“Is he still alive?”

For John, this was the most urgent question, outweighing his duty, the institute’s mission, everything. He blurted it out, only realizing its weight afterward.

“He…” John tried to stay calm. “Isidor, the administrator of the Alpha project for seven years, my mentor, whom you know all about because of your damned awareness. Is he alive?”

“Ah, that,” Asta said, a trace of satisfaction in its tone. This was the question it wanted, the result of the seed it had planted in John’s mind. The human before it was torn between guilt and duty, lacking only a push.

The monster smiled carelessly.

“Of course he’s dead. You know that well enough, don’t you?”

Its voice was light as ambiguous smoke, yet sharp like torn silk. “From the moment he was pulled in, survival was impossible. Especially since I killed him myself.”

Bullets burst from the barrel, blocked by tendrils before reaching Asta.

No hesitation—several shots fired in rapid succession, like venting rage.

Asta watched the unfeigned pain on John’s face, sighing softly within:

“Do you truly regret it now?”