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Chapter 40

Chapter 40

“Are you running away from me again?” he asked, his tone a mix of disbelief and disappointment.

I hesitated, caught off guard by his directness. “No, it’s not like that,” I replied quickly, though my heart raced in my chest. I could feel the tension between us, thick and suffocating, as Zayne studied my expression, searching for a truth I was unsure of myself.

“Ms. Lanaya, please,” he urged softly. “You don’t have to keep avoiding me.”

I looked away, trying to gather my thoughts. The truth was, this was awkward. Our past shared moments—filled with camaraderie, laughter, and a connection I couldn’t quite place—now felt like a tangled web of emotions. With him staring at me, I felt uncomfortably exposed. And I still remember the accident where the wild one used his faced.

“Can we just... talk for a second?” he pressed, his voice earnest and sincere. There was something in his eyes that made it hard to ignore the pull I felt toward him, no matter how much I wanted to resist.

“Okay, just for a moment,” I finally conceded, unable to deny him any longer.

Well obviously I’m f****

Zayne’s expression softened, and he gestured toward a nearby table. “Let’s sit then.”

As we settled into our seats, I accidentally dropped the coffee I had been holding. In a moment of instinct, I offered him the cup. “You like this, right? Why are you giving it to me?” he asked, surprise flickering across his face as he handed it back to me.

Here we go again. He seemed to know my preferences better than I did. Yet, the familiarity of our dynamic made me uneasy. Our relationship was strange—he was my boss, yet we had formed a friendship during that vacation.

Leaving him with just a letter had felt rude, almost like a betrayal. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he still have some disappointment toward me.

Axel Point of View

La-La is running late, as expected.

And I am dead worried about her.

Why?

Because it’s all my fault.

From the moment I first laid eyes on her, my life twisted into a knot I can never seem to untangle. If I could turn back time, if I could undo that fateful meeting, I would—because watching her suffer has been like living through a personal hell. Every tear, every painful moment etched into her face has cut deeper into me than I ever thought possible.

The day we met is seared into my memory like a brand—unreal, yet so vivid it feels like a dream I can’t wake from.

Flashback

Another job, another day of soul-taking.

This endless, sickening cycle—people’s lives reduced to pleas for forgiveness, as if I could give them back the life they lost. It’s laughable, really.

Even the seniors kept badgering me over this damned face that the higher-ups gave me—like some twisted joke.

The higher-ups didn’t even bother telling me what I did wrong, but here I am, being punished for some cosmic sin I’m not even aware of.

I’m tired. So damn tired. I wish I could just... stop.

But stopping isn’t an option for someone like me. Harvesting lives is what I do, even if it makes me sick to my core. Listening to their arguments, their desperate blames—it's enough to drain the will out of anyone. The guilt they throw at me, as if their deaths are my fault, wears me down day by day.

What’s the point of all this? Is there even one?

I’ve considered quitting more times than I can count. But quitting isn’t so easy when your entire existence revolves around death and as if I can quit. And here I am, standing among the stench of mortality, watching people laugh and celebrate as if they aren't already living on borrowed time.

Thousands of them. They’ll all be dead soon.

And they’re none the wiser, enjoying the fleeting moments they have left, while I choke on the futility of it all.

But wait. What’s that?

A child.

She’s standing there, untouched by the death aura that clouds everyone else. She doesn’t belong here—she shouldn’t be here. A flicker of concern stirs in me. Should I help her? Could I even if I wanted to?

You should—

That voice again. A woman’s voice, distant yet familiar, echoing in my mind. And just like that, an image flickers before my eyes—a memory, a shadow of someone I once knew, someone who once mattered.

No. It couldn’t be.

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But before I can make sense of it, I feel a soft bump against my arm. Someone’s collided with me.

I turn, ready to brush it off, but when I look down... my heart stills.

Her.

She’s standing right in front of me, her voice a soft apology, but I don’t hear the words. I can’t. All I can do is stare at her, at those black eyes that once held so much light, at the small mole near her eye, at the way her hair is tied back just the way it used to be.

Time freezes, and in that stillness, everything inside me unravels.

I’ve missed her.

The regret, the pain—it crashes into me all at once, threatening to swallow me whole. I never should have met her, but now, seeing her here again after everything we’ve been through...

I can’t help but think, I’m sorry. For everything. I wish I could undo it all.

I want to fall to my knees in front of her, beg her to take this pain away, to make it right, but I know it’s too late.

It’s always been too late.

But why am I feeling this though and way? I don’t know her at all.

As she stared up at me, her eyes lingering longer than most, I couldn’t help but smirk. I’ve seen this reaction before, but it never gets old. The silence between us grew thick, so I broke it.

"I know I'm handsome, miss. No need to look at my face that much," I said, my voice casual, teasing.

She blinked, clearly taken aback. Did she not realize? "I beg your pardon? What did you just say?" she asked, her tone laced with confusion.

But before I could answer, the crowd’s noise grew louder, swallowing her question. Without thinking, I grasped her wrist and pulled her out of the chaotic throng. I didn’t ask for permission; I didn’t need to. She tried to resist, tugging against me, but I held firm. It wasn’t a matter of strength; it was just that I couldn’t let her slip away—not yet.

As we moved through the crowd, her resistance waned, though I could feel her unease radiating from her. I could tell she was both drawn to me and unsettled. This strange connection between us—something that shouldn't exist—was making her nervous, though she’d never admit it.

When we finally broke free from the masses, her eyes locked onto mine, frustration clear in her expression. "What did you just do?" she demanded, her voice sharp.

I met her gaze, my own brow furrowing as if I truly didn’t have an answer. "I don’t know either," I replied, and for once, I was being honest. This wasn’t how things normally went.

"Reaper, right?" she asked, her voice cutting through the moment like a blade. It startled me—how did she know?

"How did you know?" I couldn’t hide my surprise, but a strange sense of relief followed her recognition.

"I'm also an MT, a love hunter," she explained, and I nodded slowly. That made sense. She was in the business of emotions, and I was in the business of endings.

She pulled back, but I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. "Do you have any particular business with me by pulling me out of the crowd?" she asked, still eyeing me warily.

I raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk tugging at my lips again. "No, it seems that you have the business for me," I said, watching her confusion flicker in her expression.

"Huh? What do you mean by that?" she asked.

"You stared at my face for almost ten minutes," I pointed out. “Ten minutes. That’s a long time for someone like you, isn't it?”

She blinked in disbelief, clearly not aware of how much time had passed. "Ten minutes? Really? Is that long?"

"You're the first one to be so mesmerized by my looks for that long. Can you believe that?" I added, my voice laced with amusement.

She narrowed her eyes, clearly annoyed now. Good. Annoyance was better than the confusion I saw earlier.

"I don't know where you got your confidence from," she shot back, "but I apologize for looking at your face. If I really stared for that long, shouldn’t you have said something instead of staring back at me?"

That caught me off guard. She was sharp, I’d give her that.

"Well," I started, feeling a bit defensive, "it seemed rude to interrupt."

She rolled her eyes. "Ah."

I didn’t want her to leave. Not yet. Something about this whole encounter felt off, like we weren’t done. I reached out and grabbed her wrist again as she tried to walk away.

"Do you have business with me?" she asked, her voice exasperated.

"Why are you avoiding me so easily?" I asked, not quite sure why it bothered me. "Is it because I’m a reaper? Aren’t you being a bit discriminatory? You didn’t even give me the chance to accept your apology."

She sighed heavily, clearly at her wit's end. "Racist is for discriminating against people based on their race. You’re a grim reaper—that’s your job, not your race."

That made me pause for a second. She had a point, but I wasn’t going to let her leave on that note.

"Look," she continued, "as I said, I have work to do. I'm a love hunter, and time is precious to us." She slipped her wrist free from my grip, but I could tell she was still watching me.

"I already apologized for staring at your face. Isn't that enough?"

"Yes," I answered, not hesitating.

She stopped and turned, her disbelief clear. "Are you serious?"

"Well, you weren’t sincere," I said, my tone flat. I wasn’t messing with her—I actually meant it.

"Sincere? You've got to be kidding me," she said, exasperation coloring her voice.

"No. Looking at my face for that long is against the law," I said, my voice deadly serious.

She blinked, incredulous. "What law are you even talking about?"

I didn’t miss a beat. "The law of art. Of God."

She stared at me like I was insane. Maybe I was. Who knows at this point?

"Mr. Reaper," she started, but I interrupted her.

"Axel," I corrected. If we were going to keep talking, she might as well use my name.

"Fine, Mr. Axel," she said with a sharpness in her voice. "I know you're handsome—yes, I'll give you that. But can you just mind your own business? I have a job to do."

"Where?" I asked.

She looked at me like I was some kind of child. "Here. In this crowd."

My voice dropped to a cold whisper. "You mean this crowd, where a lot of people are going to die?"

I watched her face pale, her eyes widening in shock. "What did you say?"

"They’re all dying," I said calmly. It was the truth, after all.

She glanced back at the crowd, scanning their faces. None of them knew what was coming.

"You’re joking, right?" she asked, desperation creeping into her voice.

"Why would a reaper joke about death?" I said, my tone devoid of humor.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper now.

"Yes."

Her gaze sharpened. "Then why don’t you intervene? Save them?"

I almost laughed. "I can’t. I’m just a reaper."

Then the bomb exploded.

End of Flashback

The memory played out in my mind like a vivid nightmare, a moment etched into my soul. It had been traumatic for her, a wound that wouldn’t heal. Yet, despite all that pain, the day I met her felt... different. Everything was both chaotic and exhilarating. Her presence had a way of making even the darkest situations feel lighter, as if life with her was a whirlwind of unpredictability, balancing between tragedy and a strange sense of joy.

But I never thought it would come to this—watching her die right in front of my eyes. That day, her light had flickered out, and for a moment, the world felt colder. And now, somehow, she’s returned. Human. Vulnerable.

And I fear it more than anything else.

What if she can’t go back to what she was before? What if this fragile human form is all that’s left of her? Worst of all... what if I’m the one who has to take her soul? The very thought of it twists my insides into knots. I’ve taken many souls, but hers? That would break me.

I hope—no, I pray—that day never comes.