Terminally ill, I signed a quick transmigration contract.
The System said that if I completed seven lives as a cannon-fodder character, I could get my health back.
It sounded like a pretty good deal. Cannon fodder didn’t have to follow the plot, so I just had to keep my head down until the mission ended.
But no one told me that the male lead in every world would go crazy over me.
In a school story, I only wanted to transfer quietly, but the musical prodigy kept my records from me: “Your playing is for my ears alone.”
In a Republican-era tycoon’s household, I happily signed the divorce papers, but the business magnate retaliated by buying up the whole street: “If money can’t buy you, I’ll try another way.”
On the run across the stars, I disguised myself as a good-for-nothing healer. The pirate captain and the Imperial Marshal both issued the same order: “Wanted throughout the universe, alive.”
In a Western fantasy world, my blood spilled across a seal and awakened the slumbering Demon King. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and smiled. “You’re both my medicine and my doom.”
They all said they loved me.
They loved me enough to break my wings, chain my ankles, and destroy the world rather than let me go.
The System screamed inside my head: “Run! You’re not an important character according to the plot!”
I shouted back as I ran: “Do they look like they care about the plot?!”
Later, I discovered that all those unhinged male leads were fragments of the same soul.
And my real mission was never to be cannon fodder
it was to help the Quick Transmigration Bureau retrieve its strongest mission-taker, who had gone out of control.
Now he’s about to wake up.
The obsession from all seven worlds is about to merge.
The System gave me its final warning:
“Choose to repair him, or become his eternal prison.”
I smiled.
You chased me through seven worlds?
This time, let’s see how you like being the one who’s chased.
