The sky above the Colosseum was still that same lifeless gray-white, the air cold and decayed, the ground rough and hard.
Genichi's figure appeared out of nowhere in this space.
His mind hadn't fully cleared yet, but his body had already reacted on instinct.
The instant his feet touched the ground, his body twisted and distorted, and his entire figure vanished into thin air.
At the same time, the shadow beneath his feet spread violently outward.
A pitch-black humanoid figure peeled itself away from the darkness and stood motionless on the gray-black stone.
Shadow Replacement.
Genichi's true body had already slipped into the Shadow Space, leaving only a decoy behind as bait.
After being dragged here so many times, he had long since learned the rules of the Colosseum.
In this place, there was no such thing as being too cautious.
Even if the person brought here was half-dead again, even if they looked completely harmless, he would never grow careless.
Because careless people were already dead.
Inside the Shadow Space, everything was pitch-black.
Genichi floated in the darkness and perceived the outside world through the decoy.
Then he saw it.
Beneath the gray-white sky, lying atop the gray-black rock, was a figure.
The man was covered in blood.
His white Daoist robes had been soaked crimson, their original color almost impossible to distinguish.
His face was pale as paper, his lips tinged purple, his eyes half-open, his pupils already beginning to lose focus.
There was a hideous wound in his chest, as though a chunk of flesh had been gouged out.
Genichi didn't rush to act.
He observed first.
The man's breathing was already extremely weak, the rise and fall of his chest almost imperceptible.
His fingers twitched faintly, as though making one final struggle.
His lips slowly opened and closed, as though trying to say something, but no sound came out.
He was already on the verge of death.
Even if Genichi did nothing, he wouldn't last much longer.
Genichi stepped out of the Shadow Space.
The decoy dissolved into darkness and merged back into his shadow.
He walked over to the dying figure, crouched down, and looked at the face that was identical to his own.
Blood and grime covered that face.
His eyes were half-open, and Genichi's reflection appeared faintly in his fading pupils.
His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say something, but still no sound came out.
His fingers lifted weakly, then fell back down.
"I'll avenge you."
Genichi's voice was soft, like a promise.
He wasn't sure whether the other man could still hear him, but he said it anyway.
Then he raised his hand.
The shadow behind him transformed into a pitch-black hand and reached toward the man's neck.
Its movement was gentle and steady.
Almost like a caress.
Almost like a farewell.
Then it suddenly tightened.
Crack.
The man's neck was cleanly snapped.
His body twitched once before going completely still.
His eyes remained open, reflecting the gray-white sky, but there was no longer any pain in them.
No unwillingness.
Only relief.
The corpse began to disintegrate.
Starting from the limbs, it slowly broke apart into countless tiny motes of light that drifted through the air like fireflies.
More and more lights appeared, growing denser until the surrounding space was illuminated.
Then, as though drawn by some invisible force, they surged toward Genichi and poured into his body.
Knowledge.
Memories.
Emotions.
Abilities.
Everything that belonged to this other version of himself was seized, devoured, and merged into Genichi's soul.
Genichi closed his eyes and felt the information burst open inside his mind.
At first, the memories were normal.
Cultivation.
Meditation.
Sword training.
Studying Daoist arts.
That Genichi had been the chief disciple of a prestigious sect.
His talent was exceptional, his cultivation profound, and both his master and fellow disciples had placed great expectations on him.
He had a beautiful master, three junior sisters with completely different personalities, and one junior brother.
Everything looked perfectly normal.
Perfectly pleasant.
Then the memories began to rot.
Genichi's brows furrowed slightly.
From a certain point onward, those originally normal memories began to turn strange, like a stone being dropped into a calm lake and sending ripples spreading across the surface.
His master began favoring the junior brother.
The sect's resources flowed toward him like water.
The junior sisters' gazes also began to change.
Admiration became distance.
Warmth became coldness.
Then came the accusations.
The junior brother claimed Genichi had stolen the sect's treasure.
He said Genichi intended to betray his master and destroy his own sect.
He said Genichi had colluded with the demonic path.
One accusation after another was piled onto him like mountains, crushing the breath from his chest.
He defended himself.
No one listened.
He resisted.
No one believed him.
He refused to confess.
Someone confessed on his behalf.
His master looked at him coldly.
His junior sisters looked at him with disgust.
Only the junior brother stood behind the crowd, a faintly triumphant smile curling across his lips.
Finally, the punishment came.
His master personally struck him down and imprisoned him in the dungeon.
The supreme spiritual root that had been praised since the beginning of his cultivation as something seen only once in ten thousand years was forcibly dug out of his body.
Then it was transplanted into the junior brother.
That pain wasn't merely physical.
It was pain that reached the soul.
He could feel his foundation being destroyed.
His cultivation being stripped away.
His future being crushed into nothing.
And his master simply stood there, expressionless.
His junior sisters stood there too.
There was even satisfaction in their eyes.
Genichi's eyes snapped open.
They were filled with anger and disgust, and his complexion had turned green as though he'd swallowed poison.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
His entire body looked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, ready to explode.
"What the hell is going on today? Did I stumble into a nest of female-oriented romance worlds or something? Another version of me from one of those places?"
The words came out through clenched teeth, thick with irritation.
He had now encountered three Genichis from female-oriented romance worlds in a row.
A modern urban romance world.
An ancient romance world.
And now a cultivation romance world.
One after another.
Like they were standing in line to die.
He had thought he'd gotten used to it.
Thought he'd gone numb.
Thought his stomach had become strong enough to digest any amount of disgusting nonsense.
He had been wrong.
It hadn't.
He still got angry.
He still felt disgusted.
He still wanted to curse.
Every time he saw those absurd memories, every time he felt that despair born from injustice, every time he was forced to process logic that made absolutely no sense to him, he felt like he was going to vomit from sheer disgust.
Genichi took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.
He shook his head and suppressed those useless emotions.
Then he stood up and brushed the dust from his clothes.
No trace of the corpse remained on the gray-white rock.
Only a few wisps of black smoke still drifted through the air, proving that this other Genichi had ever existed at all.
Genichi raised his head and looked toward the Colosseum's gray-white sky.
Complicated emotions welled up inside him.
Three Genichis from female-oriented romance worlds.
Three absurd stories.
Three worlds that made him sick.
Each story was like a mirror reflecting the ugliest side of those worlds.
He had heard before that such worlds could be strange.
But he had never imagined they could be this strange.
"A spiritual root ripped out. Cultivation crippled. Framed. Betrayed. Abandoned by everyone..."
Genichi murmured quietly, almost to himself.
"And then what? The junior brother becomes a genius, while the master and junior sisters all live happily ever after? That's the ending you people wanted?"
(End of Chapter)
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