Her eyes widened in an instant. The truck drove forward for more than five meters, leaving her in a cold sweat.
It took her a long time to get out. Her legs felt like lead, her hands shaking against the door frame.
With fear etched on her face, Chloe and the priest alighted from the truck. The night air hit her skin, cold and sharp, but it didn't clear the ringing in her ears.
There they saw a woman lying in a pool of blood.
She could see the woman fighting to stay alive.
She could see her breath fading, shallow and ragged against the silence of the road.
With shaking hands, she felt for the woman's pulse. Seconds passed, but she felt nothing.
No pulse.
No heartbeat.
No breath.
No warmth.
Feeling the warmth slowly leaving the stranger's body, realization finally hit her like a physical blow.
The person was dead. And it was because of her distraction.
"No need to look. She's already dead," the priest's voice said. Of all times, why make himself useful now?
She looked at him with resentment. Hadn't he always preached about the future? He always told her he could foresee the so-called future.
Fuck the future!
Now she was going to jail without even experiencing marriage.
Dread finally crept in. It started in her chest, cold and heavy, and spread until her fingers went numb. She started regretting everything. The shortcut she'd taken. The argument she'd ignored. The second she'd looked away from the road.
The priest was her bane. She hated him, right? Then why did she allow him to follow her? Why did she get distracted by him when she knew very well she was driving? Why was she careless?
She felt anxiety for the first time. Raw, choking anxiety. The fear of being labeled a murderer. She dreaded going to prison. The thought of steel doors and cold floors made her stomach turn.
As she was contemplating what to do, hurried footsteps echoed — like someone chasing or being chased. She raised her head from her crouched position, her expression panicked. There she saw them: the people who would change her future.
Two men dressed in all black. The only thing visible was their eyes and the guns in their hands.
They looked at Chloe and the priest first, then at the body lying in a pool of crimson blood.
The leader — who looked like one because of the five marks on his badge — took out his phone and called someone.
"Hello, sir. We were following her, but she was hit by a truck and she's dead… two people, sir… a man and a woman with red eyes, sir… noted, sir." Before ending the call, he'd already fired his gun.
The gun was aimed at the priest, and with one shot to the head, he was dead.
"Sorry, Priest. Even though I hate you, I never wished for your death. But as of now, let me fight for my life," Chloe cried silently.
She didn't know what was said on the other end of the line, but looking at the priest's end, she knew she should run. And that's what she did.
She made sure her phone was secured in her bra's pocket — all her bras had an attached pocket — before sprinting into the woods. The undergrowth tore at her ankles, branches snapping back against her face, but she didn't slow down.
The forest looked uninhabited. There were no sounds of birds chirping.
No animal footprints.
No human footprints.
It looked still. Too still.
The trees were thick and tall but still allowed tiny streaks of sunlight through. Everything around it screamed _dangerous_. The silence was deafening, pressing against her eardrums until she thought she might scream just to break it.
There were times she wanted to give up. Maybe dying at the thugs' hands was better than the unknown, but an invisible force kept pushing her forward. Something in her gut refused to stop moving.
As she neared the end, she saw it. The river.
A strange river. It looked deep and not deep at the same time. Like an abyss pretending to be shallow.
One could see the other side, but the water… it was transparent. Too transparent. It didn't ripple, didn't move.
The water was still.
Panting, she stared at the river's strangeness. _Mother Nature did it again._ She'd always said that when things got too weird to explain.
She looked back. The goons were nearing her. Looking at the river, hesitating, she felt something—or someone—push her.
Flailing her hands, she struggled to keep herself afloat as she inhaled as much oxygen as she could, her body exhausted from all the running.
.
.
.
As the goons neared the riverbank, they saw their prey—Chloe—already on the other side.
"Are we letting her escape just like that?" the goon asked the other with a frown.
The leader looked at Chloe receding into the distance, lost in thought, and at last he replied. "Leave it to fate. We've already done our part. Besides, anyone who crosses that river has never come out alive. Let her face her fate."
.
.
.
Chloe didn't know how she did it, but she managed to pull herself from the water. She dragged herself forward on her elbows, coughing, her eyes straining as the dry land on the riverbank a few feet away became her only focus.
She didn't even realize that the water had returned to normal and the shore she came from was no longer there. It was disappearing at a speed visible to the naked eye, the bank crumbling inward like it had never existed.
Finally, she reached the bank. Her body ached from everything that day, but she couldn't afford to rest. In this strange environment with the darkening sky, she needed to find shelter.
As she moved forward with her exhausted body, she tripped on something.
Her body had reached its limit. Hunger and exhaustion from running and swimming made her collapse on something soft… like… someone.
Before her mind logged off, she heard a strange mechanical voice.
[Host consciousness detected. Initializing soul and body merge: one percent.]
.
.
.
After some time, the woman in the bed opened her eyes. The first thing she saw wasn't the larger-than-life trees with thick trunks and sprawling branches, but a pink ceiling, pink walls, pink sheets, and pink everything.
"Strange. Why is everything pink? And where am I?" she mumbled weakly.
Memories assaulted her—of the past, present, and future. They came in fragments, sharp and disorienting. A truck. Blood. A gunshot. A voice calling her _Host_.
As she skimmed through the new memories, one thing she could say for sure was that she was either back in her own world or had transmigrated to a strange one.
The dream and reality became one. Despite her efforts to remain calm, the reality was harsh. She couldn't accept this. She needed to venture into the forest to see if she could return.
[Host… Host… Host, can you hear me now? How was your adventure? Have you broken free from the plot's fate? Did you perhaps get married? Have you brought any treats for taking care of your body for twenty-two hours? And Host, why do you look like a statue?]
She was shocked by everything.
The system's anxious, childish voice.
The rules of the plot.
And how could she not be shocked?
{Where am I?} She asked the system to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.
[What! Host, you can't remember your own world?]
{Shut up and just answer.} She snapped in a deadpan voice.
[This world is called Novearth. The word itself was derived from 'novel' and 'Earth', Host.]
'Novearth,' she repeated the word silently. It felt wrong on her tongue. Too deliberate.
{You said earlier that you'd been taking care of my unconscious body for twenty-two hours. And what was that about breaking free from the novel's plot?}
[Yes, Host. You died in your first life. In your second life, you were reborn at a young age. At eighteen, you found out that everything was still going as it did in your first life, even though you tried to change it. You received a mysterious note at twenty-two telling you to go to the Black Forest to break free from your fate.]
_Now everything made sense,_ she thought.
The priest who used to talk about fate.
The reason she lived on Earth for twenty-two years while unconscious on Novearth for twenty-two hours. It all made sense.
One hour in Novearth is a day on Earth.
No wonder she felt connected to the Villainess. She'd read that life like it was her own.
"You are awake." A deep voice was heard.
She blinked at the owner of the voice.
The man was very feminine. His hair was a deep shade of red. Big red eyes, straight nose, and plump lips. His face was expressionless.
_He's too pink. Wait! Is he not the male lead in my dream? And who is he, System?_
[Your first husband, Cassen.] It replied flatly.
"CASSEN!" She shouted inwardly, failing to notice Cassen's abnormal reaction.