Was she going to cry and apologize now?
That would've made it all the more hilarious. It would've made everything feel even more fake.
But instead, Emma just smiled. "That's good to hear. I'm glad."
Was that mockery?
Lucas tried to catch even a hint of derision in her eyes.
Just moments ago, 'Emma'—or whatever this echo of her was—had shown a very human reaction.
But this? What the hell was this?
"Don't you have anything to say?" Lucas asked.
"Do you?"
What?
What kind of indifferent question was that?
Did he have anything to say to Emma? To his mother?
Of course he did.
Plenty.
All the ways she'd been cruel, selfish, shameless, inhumane, obscene.
The worst curses sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to explode into a rage—
"Why did you leave me?"
—but what came out was barely a whisper.
No reply. No reaction.
And when Lucas looked up, that same smile remained on Emma's face. That's when it hit him.
This wasn't really her. It was just a shadow, an echo left behind by some pitiful, broken memory.
A fragment of a stupid past he'd tried to crush and forget.
"You already know the answer," she said gently.
"Was it because Dad was cruel to you? Because he didn't satisfy you? Because he didn't make enough money? Because that damn tycoon forced your hand?"
Each question made Lucas feel smaller, as if his entire body was shrinking.
"Was it because I was a bad kid?"
"You're rambling."
And she was right.
This strange regression—this childlike state—was affecting more than just his body. His thoughts were slipping too. Logic was unraveling.
He didn't even care anymore that his body had shifted into something smaller, younger. Or that his mind felt clouded with old fears and childish rage.
There was no distance between them now. No furniture. No boundaries.
Emma stood in front of him, close.
"I'm not rambling!" Lucas's voice cracked into a shout, and he couldn't stop the tears that rolled down his cheeks. "You're the one who's messed up! You're the one who doesn't make sense! You had everything! You had us! You had me! So why!?"
Emma stepped forward and rested her hand gently on his head.
"You know I can't answer that."
Lucas knew. He understood. But still—he didn't care.
"Listen… you've gone through hell. I wasn't there for you. I know that. And for that …" She paused. "I'm not going to say sorry. I don't think I deserve to."
"You don't."
"But … look at you. You made it through. You're alive. You survived. That counts for something. That's impressive."
"That's not impressive. Are you blind? I smoke. I drink. I work a dead-end job for crap pay and spend my time fantasizing about lives I'll never live. I'm trash. People look at me and spit and call me names."
"People will always have something to say,"
Lucas froze.
Emma's fingers brushed through his hair again.
"… but hey, you tried, like really hard. From an ex-con to someone with a steady job—that's not a bad progress, isn't it?"
"Still not a really good progress," Lucas muttered, echoing a memory he didn't want to remember.
"Maybe not. But progress is progress, isn't it?"
This time, no phone rang to interrupt them. No blush flickered across her cheeks. No shadows of shame.
Emma just looked at him—really looked—and Lucas felt like a child again.
"This isn't real …" he whispered, pathethically, desperately. Maybe to himself.
"It isn't."
"You're just saying the things I want to hear."
"Maybe…" Before he could argue, Emma took his hand.
"But everything you said—all your pain, your scars, your struggle—that's real. I know it might sound hollow, especially coming from someone like me, but… please, let me say this."
She leaned in, voice soft and steady.
"Thank you. And I'm sorry—for everything."
Lucas froze. Bit his lip so hard it stung. "What the hell—"
The space around them started to collapse, and Emma began to break apart into glowing fragments.
Just before the last of the dream vanished, her voice followed him into the dark:
"… and take care of yourself, okay?"
#
Lucas opened his eyes.
No tin ceiling. No dreamscape. Just a familiar canopy above his bed.
The dorm room of Kael Vyle.
And beside him … Ellaria, slumped over in sleep, half-sitting.
She was still here?
Who knew how long this healing process would take?
Maybe longer than he thought.
Caught in that fog of uncertainty, Lucas—now Kael again—heard a soft chime.
[Mana synchronized!]
[Origin Magic obtained: Catharsis]
Of course—this was why he'd set his sights on entering the Dream of Fate in the first place.
The emotional whirlwind stirred up by meeting 'Emma' had thrown him off just enough to almost forget his true prize.
A rare magic that converts pain into Karma Points.
Karma… what?
[Karma Points are a currency the Host can now exchange.]
Lucas hadn't finished The Heavenly Bond in his past life, but being active in the fan community meant he knew a lot about its secrets.
Easter eggs, major side quests, obscure events—he was familiar with them.
But Karma Points?
That was new. And since when did Origin Magic come with an interface like this?
Only one possible explanation made sense:
A cheat ability.
Something only transmigrators got.
But wait. Pain? Not experience points?
[Pain is a universal language. Across all worlds, it is shared by all living things. You, Host, are granted a unique privilege—to convert pain into power. Not by repressing it or lashing out—but by transforming it into currency.]
So what, I'm supposed to become some kind of masochist to grow stronger?
Kael scoffed. After everything I've been through… and I get this trash?
But in some strange, ironic way, pain and he had always been intimately acquainted.
And maybe—just maybe—this trash system wasn't as trashy as he thought.
"Alright, fine. What can I buy with this so-called currency?"
The interface paused… then replied.
[Interesting things.]