The Boss Wants to Die - Chapter 51

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The boss wants to die.
Episode 51
“Handle your lovers’ quarrel on your own.”
Michael said it coldly.
In the past, I would have dismissed the phrase “lovers’ quarrel,” but now it rang with peculiar significance.
I deliberately turned away from Aktr and shot back.
“Who are you calling a lovers’ quarrel?”
Michael exhaled a long breath and rubbed his face.
“I’ve had enough of dealing with someone more stubborn than myself.”
He said it while looking directly at Aktr, then used a Teleportation item and vanished in an instant.
“Wait……!”
Whoosh.
A chill wind blew past.
It was the wind that swept between Aktr and me, leaving not a sound.
As if he’d crossed continents, I found myself staring emptily at the space where Michael had stood, now gone without a trace.
‘I feel like I’ll die from how awkward this is.’
His relentless gaze felt like it was boring holes through my back.
I wanted to shut my eyes tight and flee.
‘Why doesn’t he feel any shame? He’s the one who got exposed!’
As if he’d long since graduated from such adorable feelings, he remained composed!
And he didn’t just look at me with an attitude that said everything was the truth.
It only made me more mortified.
I managed to announce with feigned indifference.
“I’m going to the Inn first. Don’t summon me. I won’t budge from my room.”
“Wait, what about meals…….”
“I don’t need any.”
“Should I leave something outside your door?”
Ugh, really!
I ignored Aktr’s words and left my seat.
‘Since it’s come to this, let me distribute party points and complete some Favorability quests.’
If I got absorbed in watching hidden stories, quite a bit of time would pass.
‘Then I’ll have some breathing room.’
But I realized in just ten minutes that this was nothing but wishful thinking.
“Breathing room? How could there be any breathing room like this!”
I pressed my hands to my sides and tousled my hair in irritation.
“So this ‘hidden story’ thing—you don’t just watch it, you actually experience it?”
Like a trailer or video that plays during a game.
I thought it would be something like that, but I was wrong.
I dropped my shoulders in disappointment.
Even until I lay down on the bed intending to rest and recover, I’d been grinning with the thought of getting proper sleep.
That was because when I completed the Favorability quest, a notification appeared as if it were about to play a video.
[By investing Party Points, Michael’s Favorability has reached 80!]
[The quest “Reverence for the Demon God” has been completed!]
[As a completion reward, a hidden story has been unlocked!
※ The time spent viewing a hidden story does not count toward actual gameplay time.]
But when I actually received the reward, I wasn’t comfortably watching a video—I found myself as the protagonist of the hidden story.
‘I can’t rest like this!’
“There’s no easy way out of anything.”
I clicked my tongue and looked around.
“Where am I?”
I stood in a clearing amid a dark green coniferous forest, densely covered with thin grass like moss.
Pale greenish turf spread softly before me, giving off a storybook atmosphere.
The white building visible in the distance added to the surreal mood.
The glowing white domed structure somehow made me think of Michael.
‘Could that building be the Sanctuary?’
I’d never actually seen the Sanctuary, but if it existed, it would look like that.
White, majestic, solemn.
Every building had been meticulously designed with the obsessive aesthetic particular to religious architecture.
I began walking slowly.
If I just stood still, the hidden story event wouldn’t end.
‘Something needs to happen for this to move forward.’
As I glanced around searching for something unusual, the sound of quick footsteps striking the earth reached my ears not long after.
Beyond the gently rolling hill, a small child with white hair came running toward me, locks streaming behind them.
The storybook-like forest sprawling behind the child seemed to blend with their translucent, milky-white hair like a painted backdrop.
“Sister……!”
I stared at the child in bewilderment.
It was clear they knew me.
Pale-faced, with eyes as dark and small as a beetle’s carapace, the child gazed up at me, their pupils gleaming.
‘This kid…….’
I forgot my confusion and studied the child’s appearance more carefully.
The clothing was stiff and spotless, starched carefully, but the body beneath it was far too thin—skin stretched taut over bone.
‘They dress them so well, yet starve them like this? Something doesn’t add up.’
I tilted my head and examined their face more closely.
Cheeks that should have been round and plump with baby fat had hollowed inward along the line of bone.
Because of this, their already large eyes bulged out like a frog’s.
‘Are they not sleeping well?’
I studied the deep shadows beneath their eyes and managed to pull my lips into a smile.
“Hello there.”
In any case, I needed to match their pace.
From experience, I had learned that the story would only progress if I spoke with the child.
The child was new to me, and it felt overwhelming at first, but once I committed to conversation, the words flowed with surprising ease.
“Have you been well?”
I patted the child’s head and asked after them.
It seemed they were a supporting mechanism for story progression.
I spoke with a familiarity that felt natural.
“You seem to have more energy today than yesterday.”
The child’s cheeks flushed and they nodded.
“Mm-hmm.”
“But why is your forehead like that?”
The swollen forehead caught my eye.
The moment I brushed their white hair—fine as straw—back behind their ear, I frowned.
‘This is the mark of a blow from someone’s hand.’
Against the white canvas of their forehead, dark bruises stood out sharply.
Though the child was still young and their skin delicate, someone had struck them without mercy—the flesh clinging to bone had swollen in a perfect circle.
The child’s small hand reached down and pulled my hand away.
Their large, gentle eyes wavered back and forth as they searched for an appropriate answer, and when the awkward silence stretched too long, they blurted out whatever came to mind.
“I fell.”
Their gaze, fixed on the ground, flickered upward to study my expression.
“Just. Playing alone…….”
‘They don’t want to talk about it.’
I had no intention of pressing them. I smiled gently.
When was the last time I smiled like this?
I was somewhat surprised that I could still produce a human smile.
I turned the smile over in my mind and took the child’s hand.
It was very small, damp with sweat, and trembling slightly.
“Next time, be careful not to fall.”
“Okay.”
“Shall I put some salve on it? I have some in my room.”
The child, who had been following behind me, stopped in their tracks.
“I can’t. If I leave here, I’ll get in trouble…….”
I reflexively checked the ground beneath my feet.
A white line, the same color as the distant white building, curved around the clearing in a perfect circle.
‘A Barrier Field.’
Precise power was woven tightly along the Magic Circle’s path.
It was an extraordinarily sophisticated barrier.
What purpose could such a thing serve?
‘But this place seems so peaceful.’
As I gazed out across the broad expanse of grass, the child tugged at my hand and murmured uncertainly.
“I, I’m not supposed to leave, you know that already…….”
“I’m sorry.”
I pulled the child away from the barrier field and apologized.
“Let’s use something cold instead of ointment to bring down the swelling.”
I had a bag slung across my back.
Opening it, I retrieved a Lunch Box and Water Bottle that anyone could see were meant for a child, their design childishly cute.
When the child spotted the one with the rabbit drawing, his face flushed with pleasure.
I opened the Lunch Box lid.
The sweet scent of fruit drifted out in waves.
I pressed an animal-shaped toothpick into the child’s hand and wrapped the Water Bottle in a handkerchief, pressing it gently against his forehead.
“Does it hurt?”
The child nodded his head.
“You can eat, if you’d like.”
Watching me cautiously while eyeing the fruit sideways, I picked up a slice of watermelon and fed it to him myself.
His sunken, sickly cheeks finally puffed out like a child’s should, working contentedly as he chewed.
The child took the Lunch Box lid and fiddled with the picture on it.
He seemed delighted by the rabbit drawing.
Eleven years old, perhaps?
‘Like a real younger brother.’
But did I have a younger brother?
My chest tightened.
I felt a dull ache and rubbed at my heart.
It felt as though someone had squeezed my heart in both hands and then released it.
‘What is this…….’
It was a familiar sensation.
I was feeling sorrow.
The child, who had been quietly playing house with the Lunch Box, grew still and looked up at me in alarm before asking:
“Sister? Are you crying?”
“Hm?”
I panicked and touched my face.
Lukewarm tears streamed down my cheeks.
Even as I wiped them away so hard on my sleeve that my skin reddened, they continued to fall, and I gave up.
“Why do you always cry whenever you see me? You cried before too, when you saw me…….”
So this body’s original owner grew sad at the sight of this child.
I carefully catalogued the information and smiled at him.
“Dust got in my eyes.”
“But last time you said grass got in them…….”
The child lowered his head.
Thinking he was sulking and preparing to coax him, the child whispered in a nasal voice instead:
“I’m sorry, sister.”
I bent down to meet the child at eye level.
“Sorry for what?”
“I… I think I’m making you sad…….”
I lifted the child and set him on my lap.
Only then could I see his face, trembling with suppressed tears.
His small head was flushed red as a cherry tomato from holding back his crying.
“It’s not your fault. I was thinking of something else and cried alone.”
“Something else?”
“Yes. A sad thought.”
I brushed it off vaguely.
The child plucked a bite-sized piece of watermelon from the Lunch Box with his finger and held it out to me.
‘Is he trying to cheer me up?’
I smiled faintly and opened my mouth.
Unaccustomed to using his hands, his small, fern-like fingers—sticky with juice—reached right in.
‘He’s so thin. I can feel every bone.’
The child trembled like a kitten unaccustomed to being held.
The deficit of affection showed in every small, hesitant action.
His constantly watchful gaze was far too timid.
Like an unloved dog checking its master’s expression.
‘Now that I think about it…….’
Did this child resemble Aktr a little?

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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