The next morning, Ethan woke up, moved through the quiet space with a practiced ease that was starting to feel familiar, preparing tea.
Damien was already at the breakfast table, seated by the large window that overlooked a manicured but somber garden. He wasn't reading or looking at his phone. He was simply staring out, his profile sharp and pensive.
The events of the previous night—the unusual massage, the even more unusual 'tonic'—had created a fragile truce between them. The air was no longer icy with hostility, but held a cautious, watchful curiosity.
Ethan placed a cup of steaming tea in front of him. Damien gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod of thanks, his dark eyes flicking to Ethan for a moment before returning to the window.
Five days.
The number echoed in Ethan's mind, a cold, hard fact he had woken up with. He'd asked the system as soon as his eyes opened.
"How many days do I have left?"
Xixi's soft chime had been unnervingly cheerful. [Host, you have five days before the original plot point of your death.]
It didn't spark panic in him. Instead, it settled like a weight, focusing his thoughts. Panic got you killed. Strategy kept you alive. His plan was straightforward: make himself so useful, so integral to Damien's well-being, that his presence became a shield. It was a simple, human need—to keep someone who helps you close. He just had to amplify that need before Jamie fully clouded Damien's judgment.
"The car is ready, Young Master," the butler announced from the doorway, his voice perfectly neutral. "Your appointment at the corporate tower is in forty minutes."
Damien nodded again, this time to the butler. Ethan moved behind his wheelchair, his hands settling on the handles. It was a routine now. They moved through the grand, silent halls and out to the waiting black car.
The ride started in a silence that felt almost comfortable. Ethan watched the city slide by, his mind mapping out his next moves. Another treatment session tonight, perhaps. Something more direct. He needed to accelerate his progress. Across from him, Damien was lost in his own thoughts, his gaze fixed on the passing buildings, a faint line of tension between his brows.
Then the car slowed, turning into a narrower street lined with exclusive shops that catered to the cultivation elite—apothecaries selling glowing herbs, artisans crafting spiritual tools. It was a shortcut they often took.
And that's when Ethan saw him. His blood ran cold.
Jamie.
He stood in the middle of the road, surrounded not by three, but by seven cultivators. Their auras were visible distortions in the air, shimmering with aggressive intent. Yet, Jamie was the picture of calm. A faint, almost bored smile played on his lips as he moved, a blur of effortless grace. He wasn't fighting for his life; he was conducting a symphony of violence. A flick of his wrist sent a cultivator crashing through a shop window. A gentle sidestep was followed by a pulse of energy that sent two more tumbling to the ground. He was terrifyingly strong.
So this is it, Ethan thought, his mind going cold and clear. This is the inevitable meeting. No avoiding it.
He glanced at Damien.
The change was instantaneous and total. Every bit of the man's quiet contemplation vanished, replaced by a raw, frantic intensity. His body went rigid.
"Stop the car!" Damien's voice was a raw command, cracking through the quiet.
The car screeched to a halt. Before the driver could even put it in park, Damien had wrenched the door open. He ignored his wheelchair completely, using his powerful arms to haul his body out, stumbling against the car door for balance. His eyes were locked on Jamie, wide with a desperate fear.
"Damien," Ethan said, his voice low and steady. He didn't raise it. He didn't grab him. "It's a trap. Look at him. He doesn't need help."
His words might as well have been spoken to the wind. Damien was already lurching forward, a low, animalistic growl emanating from his throat. A dark, shimmering aura—the last remnants of his crippled power—flared around him, a desperate and futile attempt to protect the one person who clearly needed no protection.
Jamie's eyes flickered from his opponents to Damien. The bored smile transformed into something soft, genuine, and entirely for Damien's benefit. "Damy," he chided gently, even as he precisely dislocated another attacker's shoulder with a crisp sound. "You worry too much."
In that split second, as Jamie's attention was fully diverted, the remaining cultivators saw their chance. They lunged in unison.
Jamie's gentle smile for Damien didn't even flicker. He didn't bother to look at the men. A massive pulse of invisible force erupted from him, a concussive wave of spiritual energy that slammed into all four cultivators at once. They dropped to the asphalt, unconscious before they hit the ground.
The fight was over. The street was silent again.
Ethan watched from the open car door, his expression neutral. He had been utterly invisible. Completely abandoned. The message was as clear as it was painful: in Damien's world, there was only Jamie.
Before he could even process the full extent of his failure, Jamie was at Damien's side, slipping a supportive arm around him. "My foolish Damy," he murmured, his voice thick with affection. "Always my hero."
Damien, breathless and pale, could only lean into him. "I will always come for you," he breathed, the emotion in his voice so stark it was almost embarrassing to witness. The contrast to the cold, clipped tones he used with Ethan was a knife to the gut.
And then, they were all in the car, driving back to the villa. Ethan sat in the passenger seat, a silent ghost. The backseat was a world apart. Jamie held Damien's hand, his thumb stroking the back of it. Damien had his head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, looking more vulnerable than Ethan had ever seen him.
"You shouldn't risk yourself for me, my love," Jamie murmured, his voice a soft caress.
"I will always risk myself for you," Damien replied, the words simple and absolute.
Ethan found himself staring strangely at Damien's reflection in the rearview mirror. His mind, usually so focused on strategy, snagged on one bewildering point. The dude seriously wasn't going to ask? Where had Jamie been all this time?
Why had he left Damien at his lowest point? The lack of curiosity, the immediate, unquestioning acceptance… It was illogical. It was… human, in the most frustrating way possible. Love really did make people blind.
Back at the villa, Jamie seamlessly inserted himself into the life Ethan had been carefully building. He knew where the tea was kept, which blanket Damien preferred, the exact angle to position his chair by the window. He moved with an intimate familiarity that shut Ethan out completely. Ethan became a spectator in his own mission.
That evening, needing air, Ethan retreated to the back garden. The night was cool, the moon hidden behind clouds. He was staring at a dark rosebush when a smooth voice broke the silence.
"Xia Lan."
Ethan turned. Jamie stood there, backlit by the light from the villa. His smile was placid, perfect.
"I appreciate you keeping the seat warm," Jamie said, his tone congenial, as if discussing the weather. "But I'm here now. You can go."
Ethan met his gaze evenly, crossing his arms. "Damien is still recovering. My methods are helping him." He kept his voice flat, factual.
"Your methods?" Jamie's smile widened, but it was a cold, dead thing that didn't reach his eyes. "You mean your pathetic attempts to mimic real cultivation? A stray dog playing with tools it doesn't understand." The insult was delivered with the same gentle tone.
Before Ethan could form a cutting reply, Jamie moved. It wasn't a dramatic lunge. It was a single, fluid step forward. He placed his palm flat against Ethan's chest, right over his heart.
There was no sound. No violent impact. Only a sudden, deep coldness that spread inward, a frost that reached into his very core. Ethan's eyes widened in shock. He couldn't breathe. It felt like his meridians—the pathways of his life force—were being flash-frozen and then shattered from the inside.
It was a silent, internal annihilation, a technique designed to leave no mark but to utterly erase a person. The pain was absolute, a vacuum of agony that stole his voice. His legs gave way, and he collapsed onto the damp grass without a sound.
Jamie knelt beside him, his expression one of mild distaste, like a man who had just stepped in something unpleasant. He produced a small, beautifully carved jade vial. As the last sparks of light and warmth faded from Ethan's vision, a single tear of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Jamie collected it carefully.
"A unique bloodline, indeed," Jamie murmured to himself. "It would be a waste to let it vanish completely."
What's going on? Ethan's thoughts were slow, syrupy. Why was Jamie killing him? This didn't happen in the world's plot!
As if reading his mind, Jamie tilted his head, his smile turning predatory. "And don't worry, Damien would never find out the truth." He leaned closer, his voice a whisper. "Not that he will care anyway."
Darkness swallowed Ethan whole.
[Mission Failed.]
A new, different voice, ancient and echoing, spoke next.
[Celestial Ability: Karmic Reboot activated.]
Wait… a restart?!
Before the concept could fully form, he heard a final, decisive ding.
[Rebooting Timeline…]
[Chances remaining: 2/3.]
---
Ethan jolted.
The scent of car leather filled his nostrils. The firm support of the passenger seat was beneath him. Warm sunlight streamed through the window, glinting off the dashboard.
He took a sharp, involuntary gasp of air, his hand flying to his chest. His heart was hammering, but there was no pain. No cold. Just the steady thrum of the engine.
He looked out the window. They were turning onto the narrow street lined with spiritual shops.
Ahead, under the bright sun, Jamie was effortlessly and gracefully dispatching seven cultivators.
What just happened?! Ethan's calm, strategic mind fractured for a second, overwhelmed. Everything happened so fast! Wasn't this supposed to be an F-rank world? How did he suddenly just die?!
He had five days to live. And now, he had only two chances left.