Khon stared at the ceiling of his 1K apartment. It was peeling.
At thirty-five years old, this was his kingdom. A cramped room smelling of fabric glue and instant ramen, the walls plastered with posters of 2D girls and 3D heroes.
But the biggest poster belonged to Hakke.
Hakke was the God of Cosplay. A man who could wear a trash bag and make it look like high-fashion armor. He was rich, talented, and beloved by millions.
And then, there was Khon.
"Honorable Mention," Khon muttered, tossing a cheap plastic ribbon onto his desk.
It was the polite way of saying, 'You tried, old man. Now go home.'
Khon was a part-timer at a Cosplay café, pouring tea for customers who treated him like an NPC. Every yen he earned disappeared into wigs, contacts, and EVA foam. He starved himself to fit into costumes. He pricked his fingers sewing until they were callous.
But talent? Talent was a skill tree Khon hadn't unlocked.
He was just... Khon. An introverted, awkward mob character trying to be a protagonist.
"I'm done," he whispered, feeling the hot sting of tears. "I'm thirty-five. I have no savings. I have no future."
He reached for his phone to delete his cosplay accounts. But then—
Buzz.
A notification slid across the screen.
[GLOBAL ANNOUNCEMENT: Casting Call for 'LADS' Immersive Theme Park!]
Khon froze.
LADS? Love and Death Special?
Even non-gamers knew it. It was the legendary R18 Otome game known for its sadistic difficulty, dark plotlines, and insanely handsome characters.
"Position: Official Character Cast. Permanent Role."
"Contract: 7 Years."
"Salary: 20 Million Yen / Year + Luxury Housing."
Khon's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. Twenty... million?
That wasn't just a job. That was a winning lottery ticket. That was a life-changing amount of money.
He scrolled down the character list with trembling fingers. The sparkling Prince? No. The rugged Knight? No. Khon's face was too sharp, his eyes too narrow and tired.
Then, he saw him.
[Target Character: Kevius Von Svoboda]
Role: Main Antagonist / The Tragic Villain.
Kevius. The "Walking Death Flag." The character who died in every single route so the Heroine could have her happy ending. He was the most hated man in the game lore, yet the most obsessed-over character in the fan polls.
Khon looked at Kevius's character art.
Pure white hair. White eyelashes. Blood-red narrow eyes. A face that screamed 'arrogance' and 'suffering.'
Khon looked in the mirror. He pulled his cheeks in and narrowed his eyes.
"...I can do this."
"Three months," Khon muttered, a fire lighting in his dull eyes for the first time in years. "I have three months."
It was a crazy thought. But it was his last hope.
The Grind
Khon didn't just prepare. He transformed.
He quit his job the next day. He emptied his bank account.
[Day 1]
He downloaded LADS and played it for 20 hours straight. He didn't skip the dialogue. He analyzed the frame data of Kevius's animations.
Why does he twitch his left hand? Ah, the Cursed Mana pain.
[Day 30]
Khon stopped eating carbohydrates. He lived on protein shakes and vitamins. He needed to be gaunt. He needed to look like a man whose body was eating itself alive.
[Day 60]
He bought a custom wig and hand-threaded every strand to match the game's physics engine. He practiced sword arts—a mix of rapier fencing and heavy broadsword—until his muscles screamed.
[Day 89]
He wasn't Khon anymore. When he looked in the mirror, he didn't see the loser part-timer. He saw the Duke's son. He practiced the laugh—a hollow, mocking sound that originated from the back of the throat.
Heh. Heh. Heh.
He had memorized every plot twist. Every heroine's secret. Every mob character's backstory. He knew this world better than the developers.
The Audition
The convention center was packed. Thousands of pretty boys and professional models lined up.
But when Khon stepped out of the dressing room, the hallway went silent.
He walked... no, he glided.
His skin was painted a deathly porcelain white. His contacts were glowing crimson. His outfit, the black military coat of House Svoboda, fit him like a second skin.
He walked onto the main stage. The blinding lights hit him.
"Name?" the judge asked.
Khon didn't answer immediately. He turned his head slowly, looking down his nose at the judges. His expression was a mix of boredom and absolute disgust.
He placed a hand on his chest, wincing slightly—a perfect mimicry of the character's chronic pain.
"You summon me... for this?"
His voice was a deep, velvet baritone. Not the voice of a nervous cosplayer.
"I am Kevius Von Svoboda. State your business, mongrels, before I lose my patience."
The silence stretched for three seconds.
Then, the venue exploded.
"That's him!"
"Is that a 3D hologram?"
"It's perfect!"
The Aftermath
"Congratulations! You're hired!"
Khon stood backstage, holding the contract. He had done it. He had beaten the world. The 20 million yen, the fame, the legacy of becoming the next Hakke... it was all his.
"I... I did it," he whispered, a real smile finally breaking his villainous mask.
Thump.
A massive shockwave hit his chest.
His vision blurred. The contract slipped from his fingers.
Ah... right. I haven't slept in four days. I haven't eaten a solid meal in weeks.
His knees hit the floor. The sounds of panic around him faded into a dull buzz. He felt cold.
He had poured his entire life force into this one performance. He had achieved perfection. And the price was his life.
Is this... the Bad Ending?
As his consciousness faded to black, his last thought was of the character he loved so much. At least... I died as Kevius.
"Lord Kevius! Wake up!"
So noisy.
"My Lord! The ceremony!"
Khon groaned. The pain in his chest was gone. Instead, there was a strange heat, a throbbing power circulating through his veins.
He opened his eyes.
This wasn't the backstage floor.
He was lying in a bed the size of a small car. Red silk canopies hung from above. A magical chandelier glowed with mana stones.
"What...?"
He sat up. He looked at his hands.
Pale. elegant. Strong.
"Mirror," he commanded instinctively. His voice was deep, commanding, and utterly familiar.
A trembling maid handed him a golden hand mirror.
Khon looked into the glass.
White hair that flowed like moonlight. White eyelashes framing sharp, blood-red eyes. A face of tragic, devastating beauty.
It wasn't a wig. It wasn't contact lenses.
He clenched his fist, feeling the raw, chaotic magic—the Curse of Svoboda—burning under his skin.
"No way..."
He grinned. It wasn't Khon's shy smile. It was a predator's grin.
He had died in Japan. But he had respawned in LADS.
He was Kevius Von Svoboda. The Villain. The Death Flag. The most powerful, tragic figure in the game.
"A seven-year contract?"
Khon—no, Kevius—stood up, throwing the silk sheets aside. He looked out the window at the fantasy world he had memorized down to the last pixel.
"Looks like I got a lifetime extension."