EX: Nightmare

The next three days were peaceful in a way Vexia hadn't expected.

Waking up in the morning, eating breakfast, watching TV with someone leisurely, going on an afternoon walk, coming home, gaming, and at night—sleeping beside someone else.

She had become a lap pillow.

And she didn't mind.

Not one bit.

In fact, it made her feel safe—like never before.

The chatbot Westen introduced her to had helped more than she thought possible. Within just a day, she realized things about her emotional state that she'd never noticed. She also realized something deeper:

She was using Westen as her emotional anchor.

If he hadn't been there, she might've spiraled—fallen deep into PTSD, or collapsed under the emotional weight of what she'd been through.

But because he was there—because she had someone to turn to, to lean on, to bounce back from—she remained intact.

She was still… herself.

When she thought about it, she didn't quite know what to feel.

But somewhere in her heart… she realized—

Westen had become part of her life.

Her daily life.

And she liked it that way.

***

On the fifth night, something a little funny happened.

Vexia was holding back her pee.

She had forgotten to go to the bathroom before bed.

Westen had wrapped around her like a snake—like a sleepy koala. His arms and legs tangled around her, hugging her close.

She didn't want to wake him.

Didn't want to move.

But she really, really had to go.

Worse—she was scared of being alone in the hallway. She didn't want to go to the common bathroom, and Westen had forbidden her from using his shower.

The pressure was reaching its peak. She was about to leak.

Then, without opening his eyes, Westen gently released her from his grip.

"I said don't use my shower,"

He murmured, half-asleep,

"but I never said you can't use my toilet. Flush properly after."

Vexia blinked, stunned.

She always thought he was a deep sleeper, the kind that wouldn't wake for anything.

But even though she had tried her best not to move, he had felt it. Not only that—he had guessed why she was frozen.

Her face burned with embarrassment.

Still, she got up quietly, handled her business, and made sure to flush properly. When she returned, she slipped under the covers and obediently snuggled back against Westen's warmth.

She stared at his sleeping face.

She never believed in fairytales—never believed that magic could suddenly enter your life and change everything.

But Westen…

Westen was a kind of magic.

One moment, she was drowning.

The next—she was breathing again.

Just as her thoughts began to drift, a voice pulled her back.

"You're going to drill a hole through my face if you keep staring."

His eyes opened slowly—bright crimson irises gleaming in the dark.

Her heart skipped.

She flushed red, embarrassed for so many reasons she couldn't count. But Westen simply shifted closer, draping his arm and leg over her again like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then he drifted right back to sleep.

Vexia didn't fall asleep for a long time after that.

But eventually… she did.

***

The sixth day was much the same—except for one thing.

There was tension now. Westen's parents were coming home.

And… he hadn't told them about her yet.

He told her she would be introduced as his girlfriend from another country.

They met online.

Fell in love.

She came running to receive his love.

It sounded like a cliché. Something about the story felt off. But she couldn't put her finger on it.

Still… Westen said they were going on a date tomorrow.

Even if it was fake, even if it was all just part of the cover…

She couldn't help but feel a little excited.

And maybe… a tiny bit of anticipation.

***

After six nights of sleeping together, Westen had to admit one undeniable truth—he'd found the most comfortable, versatile, and dangerously addictive lap pillow he'd ever known.

His own backup lap pillow, once cherished, now felt lifeless in comparison. Too small. Too cold. Too... soulless.

Vexia, on the other hand, hit every note just right. Warm, instinctively moldable, and strangely reassuring. His sleep had never been better. But comfort didn't mean he had forgotten his goals.

He wasn't the kind of man to abandon progress just because there was a pretty girl he could rub against in his sleep.

That wasn't Westen.

He made sure to sleep only until Vexia was awake. If, after a short while, she remained up, he'd forcibly lull her back to sleep—using suggestion, thought interference, and a light spiritual nudge.

He couldn't use his Soul Core or any advanced soul-based attacks—not yet—but simple mental influence? That he could still manage. Especially while in close contact. And with how they clung to each other at night, it was easy.

Once she was asleep again, Westen would gently release her, rise, and sit cross-legged at the center of the room. Each night, he began the arduous process of recalling the scattered remnants of his soul back into his glabella.

It took six nights.

The reasons were obvious. First, the ambient mana was pitiful. The atmosphere was dry—starved. It would take a decade before the Fourth Mana Apocalypse flooded the air again.

Maybe less, given the timeline shift from regression. Not that it mattered. He'd make it work.

Second, his own inexperience. He'd only had a Soul Core for two years in his last life. And even then, he'd only gathered it once.

Still, by the sixth night, he succeeded. His soul was whole again.

As for why he didn't attempt this during the day—and why he always ensured Vexia was asleep—it was simple. Trust.

He didn't trust her.

Not fully.

She had enemies. And in protecting her, he'd inherited them. If she ever turned on him… if she ever betrayed him and leaked even a sliver of his secret—his soul would remain hidden. A trump card. A secret weapon no one would expect.

Still… he could see the changes in her. How she clung to him. How she began relying on him emotionally, letting go of her defenses. She was slipping down a slope—one she might not come back from.

And Westen? He let her fall.

If she was becoming what he suspected she might be, it worked in his favor.

A loyal follower. Unshakably devoted.

'A yandere.'

He thought with a quiet chuckle.

That night—the final night—he had already eased her into sleep. His thoughts drifted, briefly, to his parents.

They were returning soon.

And he didn't want to deal with the inevitable confrontation.

He sighed and shook his head.

'I'll just move out.'

He decided.

Simple. Clean. Final. That was Westen now. The pre-regression version of him would've worried. Would've considered their feelings. Not anymore.

Now, he was more selfish. More centered. More... hollow?

He didn't hate them. He'd still provide. He'd still protect. But emotionally? That cord had long since snapped. And even he sometimes wondered—how had he let go of those feelings so easily?

He chalked it up to his Destruction affinity. Maybe it had consumed those emotions. Or maybe his soul had evolved, strong enough to suppress sentiment entirely.

Or maybe… he'd simply become numb.

Numb enough that even his parents couldn't stir anything inside him.

And you know what?

He didn't care.

With a long exhale, Westen silenced his thoughts and focused. The task at hand was still incomplete.

Tonight, he would finish it.

-To Be Continued