Extra's Perfect Ending

Chapter 140: Room

Theia trembled, her memories flashing before her. In those memories, Kuron had black hair—short, and something he treasured dearly. But why hadn’t she noticed this glaring change sooner?

"Miss, are you alright?"

The door swung open, and Kuron stepped into the room. Theia instinctively hid the box of hair behind her back. She looked closely at his face, and suddenly, it hit her—she didn’t recognize him at all.

Who in the seven hells is this?

She tried to appear natural, but Theia had never been good at acting. Her heart raced, and her body felt frozen. The man who called himself Kuron walked closer, placing a hand on her forehead.

"Miss, have you caught a cold?"

The more she looked at him, the more terrified she became. She shook her head, denying that she was sick.

"Your face is all red, and you don’t look well," he said, his voice calm but unsettling. "Come, I’ll take you to bed."

Theia wanted to refuse, but she couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. Deep down, she was scared—scared of what this man might do if he realized she knew the truth. She followed him to her room, where he gently placed her on the bed and tended to her with a damp towel.

But all she could think about was how to survive. This Kuron was no longer the man she thought she knew, but a stranger, an imposter posing as him. She remained quiet all afternoon, pretending to be ill, hoping the imposter wouldn’t suspect anything. Eventually, he left to fetch her food.

When he returned, the soup he served felt hollow—just like the care he was pretending to give. There had always been so much food in the kitchen, but now he only brought her small, meager portions. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. The only thing Theia knew for certain was that she needed to figure out what was happening.

After the meal, when the imposter put her to bed with sweet words, Theia forced herself to stay awake. She waited until the middle of the night before quietly slipping out of bed, determined to uncover the truth.

The hallway stretched out before her, as empty and silent as ever. Normally, she would have been relieved that no one was around, but now it only fueled her fear. Kuron wasn’t Kuron, and suddenly, the emptiness of the mansion felt suffocating.

She crept along the carpeted floors, heart pounding in her chest. When she reached the kitchen, she was glad to find it empty. But the familiar rooms of the mansion now felt foreign, as if something sinister lurked in every shadow.

As her mind wandered, a chilling realization hit her: she hadn’t seen anyone else in days. Not a single servant, aside from the imposter Kuron. Just herself, her dying father, and him.

Cold chills raced down her spine as she pieced together the puzzle. Why had she been so fixated on the idea that the servants were mocking her? Why had she imagined they were stealing from her when, in reality, there had been no one left in the house? There were once many maids and staff, some of whom had been loyal to the family for years. Why weren’t any of them here anymore?

What’s going on?

Theia massaged her temples, trying to suppress the rising panic. Now was not the time to lose her nerve. If the fake Kuron discovered that she was onto him, it would be over. She searched the mansion from room to room, but it was empty. The servants’ quarters were abandoned, and all the usual places were eerily vacant.

The realization hit her like a blow: no one else lived in the mansion. It was just her, her bedridden father, and the imposter.

She pressed her hand to her forehead, trying to steady herself. The stress was unbearable, gnawing at her like the most insidious poison. It was worse than any of the discomfort she had felt before, more painful than the hollow meals she had been eating.

What is happening?

She didn’t know what to do. At that moment, her father’s words echoed in her mind, urging her to assess her options. She could only think of two: ambush the fake Kuron when he returned, or search his room for answers.

The second option seemed safer. It only required her to sneak into his room at night and search for something—anything—that could reveal his real identity. She decided to go there under the cover of darkness.

Theia arrived at the knight’s quarters. To ensure Kuron wasn’t inside, she knocked softly. After hearing no response, she pushed the door open.

The room looked exactly as it had the last time she’d been there. The night was quiet, so she would hear Kuron if he returned. She wasted no time, searching the entire space for clues. The bed, the wardrobe, the worktable—she combed through every nook and cranny, desperate to find something out of place.

But there was nothing. No sign of who this fake ’Kuron’ really was.

Eh?

A sudden creak echoed beneath her feet as she stepped onto the floor. Panic surged through her, and she quickly stepped off, afraid it might alert someone. Silence followed, and she breathed a sigh of relief. But a question lingered in her mind: Why did that particular floorboard creak when the others didn’t?

Curiosity gnawed at her. She felt around the floor with her hands and discovered that this floorboard was lighter than the others. Her fingers traced the edges, and she realized it wasn’t nailed down like the rest.

Her interest piqued, and she carefully wedged a small rock between the cracks, prying the floorboard loose. After some effort, it lifted. Darkness greeted her, along with a putrid smell—like something had died beneath the floor. A dead rat, perhaps? she thought, considering the mansion’s size.

Grabbing a nearby oil lamp, she lowered it into the dark pit, but what she saw made her instantly drop the lamp.

"AGHHHHHHHHHH!"

Inside the pit were human remains, half-decomposed and horrifying. Theia couldn’t contain her scream, her body recoiling in terror as she crawled away from the gaping hole. Her heart pounded in her chest as her mind raced—she had made a terrible mistake, and now she needed to cover it up.

The fake Kuron must have heard me by now!

Steeling herself, she forced her trembling hands to reach back into the pit. She fumbled for the oil lamp, which had landed among the remains. With one swift motion, she yanked it out, intending to quickly replace the floorboard and hide the evidence.

But as the lamp’s light flickered, it illuminated something in the darkness—a face.

A skull, resting against the side of the pit, its hollow eye sockets seemingly watching her.