The Villainous Me Turned the Losers into Blackened Bosses – Chapter 298

Iaar stood there.
The ice on the ground reflected the reflection of her maid shoes, clean little leather shoes were very beautiful, and also carried a little bit of reflected light from the door.
Her voice trembled, and her body trembled, filled with sincere guilt in her choked apologies.
In her left hand, she held pliers, and in her other hand, a small bowl—clearly, the bowl Will had been using since he was a child, filled with steaming porridge, emitting white mist in the cold basement.
“Iaar, you… what are you doing here now…”
Will spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse.
“I’m sorry… I’m truly sorry… Iaar doesn’t know what to do. Iaar’s heart is a mess, a complete mess.”
Her leather shoes made clear sounds on the ground.
“But Iaar remembered what Young Master taught me. Iaar thinks she understands what to do.”
Iaar wobbled towards Will.
“Just… do what you want to do, say what you want to say, and it will be fine, right?”
Although it was only a few steps, it felt as if she had walked an extremely long distance.
“…I can tell, Young Master seems… seems very down…”
Iaar had naturally noticed Will’s “dejection.” She crouched down and gently placed the bowl aside.
Tilting her head, she met Will’s gaze.
Only then could Will clearly see Iaar’s expression.
She was smiling.
An excited smile, but not at all like she was “happy,” nor was it the classic “yandere smile” he had taught Iaar before.
“You’re decadent, as if you’ve completely given up on yourself, a Young Master who doesn’t want to do anything.”
“You won’t keep moving forward like before…”
“Here like a piece of trash who can’t move, giving up on your current situation, Young Master…”
She smiled naturally, even licking her lips—a gesture he had never seen Iaar make before.
It was as if the Will lying on the ground was a delicious delicacy she could feast upon.
“…Truly, I’m so sorry.”
“Iaar…”
“I like this Young Master so much.”
“—Look, just like Young Master taught me, I shouldn’t hide my affection, I should say it all.”
A sense of danger.
Will felt a terrifying sense of danger erupt from her, permeated the air, making his hair stand on end.
She reached out and lifted the chair. Even with the chair and the person, it was effortless in her hands.
“…So weak, you need Iaar’s help to sit properly in the chair? That’s wonderful.”
She tightened the ropes binding Will, making him more secure in the chair.
Will then noticed that Iaar seemed to have intentionally applied some kind of consolidating magic from the Ice Array to the rope to prevent him from escaping.
At this distance, Will noticed a black ribbon tied to her right wrist.
It looked familiar…
A black ribbon.
Was it the one he had used when demonstrating to Iaar before?
Or was it just similar? After all, this place had been abandoned for so long; things left behind from before couldn’t possibly still exist.
“Young Master, then Iaar will have to do something a little out of the ordinary.”
Iaar didn’t continue speaking. She untied the black ribbon and then, facing Will’s somewhat dazed eyes, tied the cool ribbon.
His nose, in this damp environment, for the first time, besides the smell of moss, Will caught the fragrant aroma of Iaar on the ribbon.
Darkness.
If it was the ribbon Will had prepared for Iaar before, its translucency was actually quite good.
But in this basement, where the light source was already insufficient, such a thin, black ribbon was completely incapable of transmitting light. The moment it covered his eyes, he was plunged into darkness.
At the mercy of…
Iaar’s manipulation.
“Hoo…”
As his mind calmed down, he heard Iaar stand up and go to get the “tools.”
In the darkness, he listened to his heartbeat.
His heart had been beating fast when Iaar first wrapped the ribbon around him, but now, his heartbeat had slowed considerably.
When his perceived “hope” vanished, and he made one wrong move after another, getting himself entangled in this vortex of fate; now that he was in darkness where he couldn’t see anything…
He began to contemplate the reasons for all his “failures.”
Perhaps…
There were no reasons.
Because he was here, a pathetic pawn unable to decide his own fate, and even if he resisted, he would ultimately be a cannon fodder who would be “backlashed.”
Without the “foresight” the original work provided him, he was like this, fumbling in the dark.
What was the use of the favorability transferring to him? What was the use of him understanding the blackened versions he had created? What was the use of him harboring the hope of making them see him?
When events exceeded his control, they also led him down another, worse path.
And he had to admit…
Perhaps he couldn’t bear the heavy and profound “love” like theirs. Wasn’t that natural? Because fate playing tricks was like that. He himself wanted to create a profound, pathological love that was unacceptable to others, so perhaps he himself… couldn’t escape it.
He felt his state of mind had truly returned to that snowy afternoon when he buried that silly dog.
However, at that time, he was distressed and frantic because he realized he had no control over “fate.”
And now, it was because he discovered that broken fate meant he didn’t have any advantage in this “story” at all.
For some reason.
After calming down, he seemed to recall a fragment from his “past life.” It was a past life that was very, very far away from him, yet at this moment, it surfaced before his eyes, rarely.
After a meeting, he seemed to have experienced a similar feeling of “powerlessness” from trying hard yet achieving nothing.
That day, he walked out of the meeting room.
Then, he walked through the office of the game company, always painted with various colors and plastered with various cute logos, filled with a festive atmosphere.
He opened the heavy fire-safe door and, under the concerned gaze of the security guard, slowly walked out.
He stood in the old corridor, which also exuded a damp smell, and the air he inhaled carried an aroma that did not belong to the outside.
Then…
Although he didn’t sit down, he took off his glasses.
Leaning his head on his arm, standing, his back against the cold cement wall, he closed his eyes.
When working, it always seemed… there were always moments of breakdown, he had done everything, yet gained nothing.
Even at that time…
In that corridor, no one would embrace him or pat his shoulder when he was weak…
Telling him he had worked hard.
…
To put it bluntly, it was no different from his previous life.
He couldn’t become the protagonist then, and he couldn’t here either.
Born into a family that constantly put pressure on him and always expected him to be exceptional, he always enjoyed the atmosphere of high pressure.
Constantly studying, constantly studying, he could never surpass the geniuses in his class who could achieve good grades by just flipping through a few pages of books.
He thought he could find a job that fit his interests, but he chose the wrong project and ended up working on the most basic IP adaptations.
That’s how it was.
Even here, he could only recall pathetic fragments of his life that were uninspiring and distressing.
…However, speaking of which…
What kind of meeting was it back then that made his past self so upset?