Happy Evil Heartbreaker [Modern LitRPG]

Dematero's expression of incredulity was unmistakable as he read the familiar words "Xanthia".

From some point onward, all his words were written for her, and all his feelings had been poured into those words.

Xanthia had long replaced Elena, becoming the most cherished girl in his remaining life, the perfect incarnation of pure white moonlight.

Now, with a sense of unease and impatience, he tried to click on the trending topic "#XanthiaPassedAway#", but the Synomilia Social server's crash prevented him from immediately learning the truth.

He started to deceive himself again, or perhaps to console himself.

After all, "Xanthia" was such a common name; there were so many people with the same name in the world. He refused to believe that fate would arrange all sorts of unfortunate coincidences to befall him!

Yet, accompanying the trending topic "#XanthiaPassedAway#" was the completely mismatched phrase "#HeiressOfAWealthyFamilia#", among others.

He couldn't imagine a high and mighty heiress would ever tenderly spoon-feed him or treat him with eternal gentleness.

This wasn't a romantic fiction anymore; it was more like science fiction.

However, the more he tried to console himself, the more uneasy he felt.

Because he suddenly realized that he had never cared about her familia background, who her father was, who her mother was...

When they were high school classmates, he never met her parents or attended any parent-teacher meetings; she seemed like an abandoned orphan.

At that time, in his extreme rebellion, he even envied Xanthia's "freedom". After all, his own parents never supported his path of writing; they only hindered him, adding to his negative emotions for no reason.

He was deeply puzzled as to why his once open-minded parents had turned into such people, pushing him into a corner where he could only depend on Xanthia.

As time went by, his inner conflict grew heavier. The deeper his love for her, the less he wanted to hold her back. Perhaps one day, when he truly succeeded and became famous, he would muster the courage to...

Now, his increasingly popular serial novel "Gods" had already shown him a glimmer of hope.

In this world of fabricated memories, time was blurry, timelines were disjointed, like a dream yet vividly real.

Thus, Dematero felt as though Xanthia had left him long ago, that they had been out of touch for a long time, yet he also felt as if she had just left him yesterday.

He remembered clearly the day when Xanthia had looked at him with complete disappointment, maintaining her dignity as she smiled and walked away.

He watched her disappear down the path leading to the distance, unable to hear her familiar footsteps anymore, unable to see her graceful figure...

"Moonlight spilled over the road like scattered salt."

He knew that he hadn't forgotten anything, but there were things meant only to be cherished, not spoken of, not thought about, yet impossible to forget.

He opened his cherished notebook and saw the words he had written on that day, filled with heartache and overwhelming guilt—

 

No one can compare to you, from the moment I loved you.
You are like a vessel, holding boundless tenderness.
The same moonlight drifts over the same trees, but we from days past are no longer here.
How do I begin, how can I forget, I love you here.

I am a barren land, and you are my last rose.
Why does your name resemble April's rose, why do all stories flow like September's river.
I am someone who had nothing, yet once had everything.
I wish with all my might to live this ordinary life well.

I wish you happiness.

 

When Xanthia left his side, it had profound implications for Dematero's subsequent path as a writer. They say, "Fate hates those who are too talented," or perhaps, "Poets are unfortunate, but poetry endures."

The works he produced afterwards were so compelling because he often found himself in frenzied anguish, crafting words imbued with a kind of magic.

He adored her deeply, yet due to his own character flaws and overly sensitive artistic tendencies, he watched her leave with wide eyes.

And then he started to self-congratulate, believing fervently that he had done the right thing and that she would be happier in the future.

He would shoulder all the pain.

 

Turning around, the wind tousles black hair;
Looking back, snow blankets white heads.
The next time you pass by,
I will be gone from this world...

 

He even felt that the ending he had orchestrated with his own hands was too beautiful. He had perfectly enacted the purest form of love:

 

If you love her, let her go.

 

If his readers knew these thoughts, they would surely scoff. A bullheaded, pseudo-intellectual who loved writing screaming, scratching drama plots actually dared to dream of pure love!

In the end, he was just a coward, endlessly weak. In all his future works, those ethereal heroines were undoubtedly shadows of her.

In reality, all the sadness and regrets remained, and he could only seek solace through his writing.

From the initial excitement, passion, and the sorrowful pain of parting to the joys and sorrows faced in the end, he believed he could live his life like a detached observer, letting it pass by.

One day, he would hear her name without feeling a spiritual ache. He would hear her voice without trembling. He wouldn't change his course just to avoid running into her on the street. Emotional reality gradually became psychological reality, submerged in indifference and forgetfulness, like waves leaping in the sea.

One could only say that all this was his naive self-assurance.

At this moment, the Synomilia Social server finally resumed normal operation. Having prepared himself psychologically, Dematero, calm and composed, finally clicked on the trending topic "#XanthiaPassedAway#..."

And there, he saw the girl he could never forget from his memories, his true White Moonlight.

Every picture of her was breathtakingly beautiful. After emerging from her cocoon, she possessed impeccable beauty and a perfect figure. He hadn't foreseen her immense potential back then.

However, despite her smile still being beautiful, her voice still enchanting, alas, the person was already gone.

Dematero's mind buzzed loudly, flooded with countless memories associated with her.

And the most profound impression seemed to be from their time as deskmates before he "fell into darkness". At that time, their relationship was the most innocent and beautiful, one could even say the most equal. Unlike later, where he owed more and more.

In reality, the true reasons lay in those memories that had actually happened. As for everything that followed, those who understood, understood. He himself couldn't break through.

He simply couldn't accept the reality that she was gone!

How could she have died?

Clearly, in his presence, she was always positive, joyful, and full of vitality. He, who was so full of negativity, was always healed by her smile...

Suddenly, he remembered again. Before they became desk mates, she often fell ill, had a low frequency of attending school, and even at school, she was always accompanied by medicine.

Clearly, her health had never been good. "Early demise" seemed to be her destined fate.

Why had he overlooked such a crucial detail?

Why?!!!

Dematero bit his lip tightly, blood flowing, and then, like a madman, he continued to search for more information about her.

Certainly, his pain output began to rapidly escalate.