Rosalia — POV
The darkness was absolute—dense, suffocating, pressing in from every direction, every angle, until it felt like it was seeping into my very bones.
It wasn't just the absence of light—it was the kind of darkness that breathes, that listens, that waits for you to break.
Am I dead? What is this place? Where am I? The questions swirled in my head like restless ghosts, clawing for answers. I tried to whisper them, to give them form in sound… but nothing came. Not even the faintest vibration. My voice was gone—swallowed whole by the void.
I couldn't tell if I was alive or not. My body… it didn't exist. No warmth. No cold. No heartbeat. Just nothing. I couldn't touch it, couldn't feel it, couldn't even remember what it felt like to be.
Time became meaningless here. An eternity, or maybe only a breath—trapped in a place where all you have is your mind, gnawing at itself. And the longer it went on, the more that mind began to conjure shapes and whispers in the dark. Hallucinations so vivid they nearly convinced me they were real.
Until—
A sound.
A faint thread of noise in the endless black, weaving toward me. A voice. My name.
It drew closer… closer… until it was so loud it was no longer just sound—it was a physical force, a vibration inside my skull that made my eardrums scream.
> "Rosalia, you wretched little thing. You're just an orphan, a pathetic insect. So what if I took all your rice and snacks? It's not like someone like you, who doesn't even know who her parents are, deserves to live. You should just die."
The venom in the voice cut deeper than any blade.
Wh–what?
My eyelids struggled, heavy as stone, but finally, they parted. My mind was a foggy mess, my body weak and unsteady. But I had heard her. A girl.
Shapes swam into focus—a cramped, cluttered room. Not a bedroom, no. More like a cheap student dormitory: shared space, bare walls, mismatched furniture.
And there she was.
A girl in a short leather skirt and black leather jacket, her posture dripping arrogance. For a split second, I almost laughed—her fashion sense was so atrocious it reminded me of my little brother's hideous taste in clothes.
As my vision sharpened, pain stabbed into my stomach so sharply I nearly doubled over. But… why my stomach? I could still remember the cold steel rod that had pierced through my chest, the blood filling my lungs—
I had died.
Death isn't something you confuse with anything else. Once you've felt your soul being ripped from your body—once you've lived that agony—you know. And I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that my soul had left me.
And yet… here I was. Alive. Somehow. In this place.
"What's the matter, you stupid orphan? Don't tell me a little kick from my brother Mark already has you half-dead."
Her laugh was sharp, like glass shattering, her smirk curling with cruel delight.
"Rosalia, you can't blame me. Sure, you're my roommate and technically all the food was yours, but we're in the apocalypse now—monsters and zombies everywhere. What law is going to punish theft? This is a world where only the strong survive, and there's no place for weaklings like you. Even in a peaceful world, you were nothing more than a timid, bullied girl. Now? Starving to death is honestly the kindest fate you can hope for. At least that way, you won't end up a hideous, flesh-eating zombie."
Her words should have been absurd. Instead, they sank into my bones like ice.
Zombies? Apocalypse? What in the hell was she talking about?
"Anyway, goodbye now. I'm leaving with Mark—he's got fire abilities, so he can protect me. Obviously, as the most beautiful girl on campus, I can land an opportunity like this. But you? You pathetic little bookworm? No one's taking you in with those ugly glasses and that hair covering your face all the time. You look like some homeless beggar."
And then he moved.
The only other person in the room—a hulking man—slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close. His grin was a greasy smear of hunger and possession, his eyes crawling over her chest with shameless greed.
"Come on. Now that we've taken her food, we should go before the zombies gather. Besides, we've got… things to do, just the two of us. Isn't that right, my little darling?"
Ugh. That gut of his—honestly, I'd bet a woman in her ninth month of pregnancy would have a smaller belly.
I swallowed the thought before it could slip past my lips. Men like him didn't need much reason to turn violent.
Thank God I didn't say it out loud. He probably would have roasted me alive.
When they finally left, the air felt… different. Lighter. As though the room itself could breathe again. For the first time since waking up here, I let my mind work. Where am I? Why am I here?
The search yielded little: an old, slightly cracked cell phone, a folded newspaper, a few personal belongings of the girl, and some books.
And then—clarity struck.
I had transmigrated.
Yes—transmigration, ladies and gentlemen—transmigration. Just like in the romance and fantasy novels I devoured.
Only… fate had decided to drop me into the body of an ugly, despised orphan in a fictional world.
Why was I so sure it was fictional? Because the moment I glanced out the window, reality shattered like brittle glass.
Broad daylight. Dozens of figures wandering below. They were human… and yet not. Their skin clung to their bones, their movements jerky and unnatural—some limped, others crawled.
Blood covered them. Completely. And dangling from some of their mouths… were strips of raw, red meat. I didn't want to know where it came from.
Oh. The apocalypse. Understood.
Perfect. First, Cassel—my beloved—dies. Then I die. And now I've been thrown into a zombie apocalypse that just happens to mirror Cassel's world.
"Wait… wait a second," I breathed, my pulse spiking. Fear and hope tangled together inside me. "Could it be…?"
I lunged for the phone. Dead battery. Of course. No electricity to charge it.
"Damn my life. Damn my luck!"
I hurled the nearest object toward the wall—
Or… I almost did.
Because I realized I was holding the newspaper.
My breath stilled. My heartbeat thundered.
My trembling fingers smoothed the page as my eyes devoured the words.
"Entrepreneur Cassel Zancroft secures the Koran Project, sending Zancroft Industries' stocks skyrocketing once again. The nation's youngest CEO—and most sought-after bachelor—returns from abroad at last…"
I choked on my breath.
"No way—
I…
I've been transported into Cassel's world."
For once in my miserable life, the universe had given me exactly what I wanted. My deepest wish had come true.
But the joy was fleeting—snuffed out the moment I remembered his ending. His death.
No. Not this time. The apocalypse had only just begun. This was my chance—my only chance—to save him.
Cassel Zancroft. My favorite villain. My eternal love. My beautiful, doomed star.
And this time, I would not let anyone touch him. Not a hair. Not a breath. Not while I was still alive to stand between him and the world.
Even if I had to die again to do it.
To Be Continued...