A complete life—that was his only dream.
Yet across three lifetimes, not one had ever been whole. Each was fractured, blind, and fleeting, slipping through his fingers before it could become anything real. There were no worlds of magic, no paths of cultivation, no grand machines of war waiting for him. Only modern worlds—cold, familiar, and soaked in brutality.
And in every one of them, he found the same thing.
Massacre.
Since the first eight years of his very first life, Yug had never truly lived—not even for a single day. Existence became survival, and survival became instinct.
Now, Yug stands at twenty years of age—both in body and soul—yet his mind carries the crushing weight of sixty-five years of memories.
His first life ended at ten.
In his second life, he was reborn into a new body. But when he reached ten, the memories of his first life returned without warning, merging with his present. A child's mind was forced to bear twenty years of experience. He did not last long after that—his second life ended at fifteen.
The third life was no different, only heavier. The cycle repeated in another world. This time, the accumulated memories began to erode him from within. By fifteen, his mind had already begun to fracture. By twenty, he was gone—whether by death or disappearance, even he no longer knew.
And now, in his current life, everything has resurfaced once more.
Not gradually. Not gently.
It was a single moment—a life-or-death instant—that awakened it all. A primal instinct to survive, violent and absolute, tore open the seal on his past. Every memory, every death, every fragment of who he had been came flooding back at once.
Had that moment never come, perhaps he would have remained ignorant.
Yet the sudden return of memories was not the true curse.
What tormented him far more was his inability to forget.
Not a single fragment faded. Every trauma, every failure, every desperate cry—every plea for mercy, every birth, every agonizing death—remained etched into him with merciless clarity. Time did not dull them. It preserved them.
Perfectly.
"This life will be different."
His voice carried quiet resolve, but his gaze stayed lowered, fixed on the floor as if the weight of those words alone could anchor him.
"It won't be like the others."
A brief silence followed before he spoke again, slower this time, more deliberate. "This world… it's connected to a comic I read a long time ago." The memory was distant, buried beneath decades of suffering, yet unmistakable.
"I know the protagonist." His fingers curled slightly at his side. "I found that story in my first life." For a moment, his voice faltered. "But after I was taken… everything changed."
A shadow passed through his eyes.
"I don't even remember what it felt like to have a proper meal after that." The past surged forward—uninvited, unrelenting.
A fragment.
A moment.
The exact instant everything had been stolen from him.
Yug pushed the memory aside and rose from the bed. His movements were controlled, deliberate. He crossed the room, adjusting his clothes, running a hand through his hair, restoring order to what little he could control.
He exhaled slowly.
Steady.
Composed.
Right on cue—
Knock. Knock.
He stretched his lips into a practiced smile, forcing a natural curve his exhausted face resisted. After a quiet sigh, he drew in a slow, steadying breath and pulled the door open.
Though a thick blindfold covered his eyes, he didn't need sight to know who stood before him.
The scent reached him first—crushed roses laced with sharp woodsmoke. Familiar. Distinct. Unmistakable.
Then came the rhythm of her breathing—tight, uneven, edged with anger.
Even in darkness, he could feel it.
Kruti's glare.
Dropping the last traces of fatigue from his posture, Yug stepped forward, closing the distance between them as if drawn by instinct.
"Kruti, I've missed you so much," he murmured, his voice warm, carefully shaped—soft enough to sound genuine, precise enough to hide everything beneath it.
Inside, there was no hesitation.
My girlfriend is the protagonist of this world.
The thought settled with cold clarity.
His plan was brutally simple.
If he wanted to reach the end of a complete life—something he had never been allowed—then his fate had to be tied to hers. Bound to the center of this world's story. To its certainty. To its protection.
To her.
It was his only chance to experience something resembling kindness… or at the very least, survival without constant ruin. And even if she tried to leave him—Even if she pushed him away— He would not let go. He would stay.
No matter what it took.
A faint scent of blood reached her. Kruti stilled. It wasn't fear that crept into her bones—but dread. A quiet, sinking certainty that her worst suspicions had been right.
Something had happened to him.
"Yug… you've gotten thinner," she said, her voice softer than she intended.
She had been the one to inform his family about his whereabouts. The unease had refused to leave her, gnawing at her thoughts until she couldn't ignore it any longer. What if something had already gone wrong?
So she came earlier than she had told him. Much earlier.
At first, she had been ready to hit him—to vent the frustration, the worry he had caused her without a word. But now, standing before him, that impulse vanished without a trace. His condition said enough. Too much. The anger drained from her, replaced by something heavier.
Right now, there was only one thing that mattered.
Him.
***
The tension in the room was thick enough to suffocate.
Yug and Kruti sat side by side on the bed, their fingers loosely intertwined, a quiet intimacy that only made the atmosphere heavier. Across from them, Vidyut occupied the lone chair, his posture stiff, his face locked in a bitter scowl.
The awkwardness was entirely his fault.
He had arrived at the worst possible moment—just as Yug pulled Kruti into an embrace. Acting on pure, unfiltered impulse, Vidyut had lunged forward, fist clenched, ready to strike.
It lasted less than a second.
The blindfold.
That single detail halted him mid-motion, his body freezing as the realization struck.
But his hesitation didn't save him.
Kruti's hand did not falter.
The sharp crack of the slap echoed through the hallway, clean and unforgiving, snapping his head to the side. And somehow—despite that—he still had the audacity to follow them inside.
Now, Vidyut sat there, staring, his mind struggling to piece together what he was seeing. None of it made sense. Kruti—flawless, radiant, untouchable.
And beside her—Yug. Pale. Thin. Fragile. A body that looked like it might give in at any moment. The contrast was absurd. Unreal. It grated against everything Vidyut believed to be true.
His gaze flickered again and again to the blindfold, as if it held the answer. It had to. Because nothing else did. In the end, his bruised pride settled on the only explanation it could accept—They had to be siblings.
"I'm not blind. You don't have to stare," Yug said, breaking the suffocating silence. "I'm completely fine. The doctor just told me to wear this for a few days."
The lie came effortlessly.
He had no idea what stood between Vidyut and Kruti—no awareness of the tension, the history, or the meaning behind the man's presence. To him, it was just another moment to manage, another detail to control.
Beside him, Kruti turned slightly. Her fingers tightened around his, a quiet, instinctive gesture.
Worry.
It showed in her eyes—deep, unguarded.
At her touch, Yug's lips curved into a faint smile.
"What happened to you?" she asked softly. "Why did the doctor say you need this?"
Across the room, Vidyut watched.
And saw nothing.
To him, her expression remained the same as always—cold, distant, perfectly composed. A face that never shifted, never softened, never betrayed anything beneath it.
He didn't see the concern.
He didn't see the way her grip lingered.
He didn't see her at all.
Vidyut gave a small nod, silently urging Yug to answer, his attention fixed, expectant.
But Yug hadn't planned for questions.
The excuse had been instinctive—the simplest lie he could reach for in the moment. Now, faced with her gaze, he paused. Just for a second. Enough. Instead of answering, he shifted the focus.
"Who are you?" Yug asked, cutting through the air and leaving Kruti's question unanswered.
The shift was abrupt.
Intentional.
Kruti's fingers tightened slightly in his, the earlier warmth in her touch now edged with irritation. The memory of that moment—the hug—flared again in her mind.
Yug rarely initiated anything.
He was too aware, too distant, too controlled to indulge in something as simple as affection. That brief closeness had been rare—unusually so.
And Vidyut had ruined it.
That alone had been enough to earn him the slap.
The sudden question caught Vidyut off guard, but only for a moment. He straightened almost immediately, pride slipping back into place as a confident smile tugged at his lips.
Certain of his assumption, he spoke without hesitation.
"I'm her rival… and her admirer," he said, lifting his chin slightly. "I've always wanted to be just like her."
For a brief second, something in Yug stilled. A quiet discomfort. Subtle, but unmistakable. The words didn't sit right.
There was something off in the way they landed—something he couldn't immediately place. But instead of pursuing it, he let the thought go, deliberately loosening his grip on the instinct to analyze.
Not important. Not now.
Across from him, Vidyut seemed to drift into his own thoughts. His posture relaxed, his expression softening as his gaze shifted toward Kruti.
There was a faint, unguarded warmth in his eyes. Almost hopeful. Despite the reality before him—Kruti was staring back at him with a glare cold enough to freeze the room.
"You're getting the wrong idea, you trash," Kruti hissed, her voice laced with open disgust. There was no restraint in it. No ambiguity. Just pure rejection.
In that instant, the final piece fell into place for Yug. So that's why. The intent behind the stranger's presence, the earlier aggression—it all aligned. The almost-punch hadn't been random. It had been personal.
"Hey," Yug said, his voice flat, stripped of any visible anger. "You're flirting with my girl."
The words landed cleanly. He didn't raise his tone. Didn't shift his posture. And yet—Vidyut froze.
His thoughts stumbled, struggling to catch up as he stared at Yug. The image in his mind cracked—the fragile, blindfolded invalid he had dismissed moments ago.
Gone.
In its place stood something else. A rival. Someone who had already taken what Vidyut hadn't been able to reach. His earlier assumption shattered instantly.
Not her brother.
But then—why do they look alike? The confusion flickered for only a moment before arrogance rushed back in to fill the gap.
"You should learn your limits before you talk like that," Vidyut said, rising to his feet.
He stepped forward, closing the distance without hesitation, invading Yug's space as if to assert control. His hand came down on Yug's shoulder in a firm, almost patronizing pat.
"Take my advice," he added, voice edged with confidence. "Forget about Kruti. It'll be better for you."
The room tightened.
And then—Yug moved.
No warning.
No buildup.
A sharp swing cut through the air. Vidyut reacted just as fast.
His hand snapped out, catching Yug's wrist mid-motion, stopping the strike with effortless precision. The clash ended before it could even begin. But the message had already been delivered.
"Hm. Not bad," Yug said calmly.
There was no anger—only quiet confirmation. He had already sensed the gap between them; the blocked strike simply proved it.
"STOP!" Kruti's voice cut through the tension, halting everything instantly.
She wasn't about to let this escalate.
But Vidyut, still clinging to his pride, sneered.
"I'm better than him, Kruti. You should be with someone who can actually see—someone who can protect you. Not a burden."
"Leave."
Her voice turned to ice. No hesitation. No emotion. Just a command. She pointed to the door, her gaze cold enough to finally pierce his delusion. Vidyut's jaw tightened. He bit down on whatever he wanted to say—and backed off. Then he turned and stormed out.
"I'm sorry, Yug."
Her hand gently covered his. He stilled but kept his expression blank, letting the silence linger.
"It's my fault," she whispered. "He only came because of me. I should've been stricter."
"I think he's the better choice for you, Kruti," Yug said smoothly. "He's not wrong. I can't protect you… and danger will come."
It was a gamble. "Please, think it over—"
"No! Please don't leave!" Her voice broke.
What? Yug froze. It worked? No—this was too fast. The shift was abrupt, almost unnatural, leaving him a step behind his own actions.
Before he could make sense of it, the stoic protagonist broke down. Tears slipped freely as she threw her arms around him, clinging tight—desperate, almost afraid. It shattered the structure of everything he thought he understood. This wasn't the controlled, distant Kruti he knew.
Why was she crying?
Back then, when they lived in the same city, she had always been cold. Distant. He had tried, over and over, only to convince himself she wanted nothing to do with him. That belief had driven him away.
And yet now—she held him like losing him wasn't an option.
***
Vidyut stormed out of the room and came to an abrupt halt in the hallway. The empty hotel corridor stretched ahead, silent and indifferent, only feeding the heat rising in his chest. His fists clenched as his glare hardened, anger twisting into something sharper.
"You're making a huge mistake, Kruti," he muttered bitterly. "I rejected everyone else for you. I waited… and this is what I get?"
The words barely left his mouth before they were interrupted.
"Excuse me—"