I am not a Yandere chapter 118

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Chasing after an illusion he could never obtain was not something Cha Dowon should waste time on.

Surely, after realizing that any action was pointless in front of his creator, he’d give up on revenge.

Pressing down someone like Cha Dowon wasn’t hard for Roran in his current state.

It felt like using a cheat code—too easy, too dull.

Just as he was about to find a new source of amusement, Yeongdeok’s voice echoed behind him.

“Ever since I learned the truth about this world, I’ve had only one goal: revenge on you.”

Roran turned back, his hairs standing on end, taken aback.

Despite everything he had just gone through, there was no fear in Yeongdeok’s eyes.

“That hasn’t changed. Even if I die today, I’ll stand against you to the end.”

When Yeongdeok returned to a previous point in the story, he had vowed that if the author interfered with the plot to revert it repeatedly, he’d ruin it every time. He had sworn it.

At Yeongdeok’s words, Roran sneered.

Did he even realize that his obsessive devotion to a single goal was part of Cha Dowon’s design?

Roran shrugged.

“Oh? And what exactly will you do? You can’t hit me, kill me, imprison and torture me, incite people online against me, ruin my life… you can’t do anything.”

Roran was right. Yeongdeok was powerless before the god-like author.

He couldn’t even decide to die if Roran wished otherwise. But even so, he had no intention of simply giving up.

“I’ll make your arrogant mind understand.”

“Understand? Understand what?”

Roran’s gaze grew curious, anticipating Yeongdeok’s answer.

Yeongdeok placed a hand over his chest.

“That this world, and I, are no longer just your dream.”

For a moment, silence lingered.

But it didn’t last.

Roran burst into laughter, his cackling filling the room.

“Pfft, puhahaha! Really? That’s your revenge? What, are you planning to make me act out of character, go against my yandere tendencies?”

“…”

“Honestly, Cha Dowon, I’m curious to see what you’ll do. Go ahead, give it your best shot.”

Wiping a tear from his eye, Roran turned away again, leaving the room.

Yeongdeok watched him go, deep in thought.

“…PetitRorang.”

When PetitRorang had come to Yeongdeok’s shop, he had controlled the customers, clearing them out of the store—except for one person.

Seo Jihoon had remained by Yeongdeok’s side.

Strange, wasn’t it?

Why hadn’t PetitRorang controlled Jihoon?

Using him would have been far more effective in tormenting Yeongdeok.

Or… was he simply unable to?

Yeongdeok thought it might be connected to PetitRorang’s inability to control him.

If PetitRorang’s power wasn’t perfect, there might be a way to counter it.

Yeongdeok resolved not to lose hope.

He’d live solely for revenge against PetitRorang.

By the time Yeongdeok left the exhibit, the fan signing event had long ended.

Late at night, he sat at his kitchen table, absent-mindedly staring at his phone before searching for PetitRorang online.

The search was full of joyful posts, recounting encounters and selfies with him, turning Yeongdeok’s stomach.

Not surprisingly, there wasn’t a single line about the supernatural phenomena Yeongdeok had endured.

He had reaffirmed his resolve to seek revenge on PetitRorang, but he was drained.

His mind felt foggy, unable to think clearly about what to do next.

He needed to focus, but PetitRorang’s smug words and detestable face kept haunting him.

With his head bowed, Yeongdeok pressed his fingers to his temples, then picked up a notebook and pen.

He began theorizing why PetitRorang couldn’t control his or Jihoon’s perceptions.

Was it because they were main characters?

Because they defied the original work’s course?

Or was it the unique “Cha Yeongdeok” variant of the novel that kept Jihoon by his side, affecting things?

Revenge.

PetitRorang.

Revenge.

Yeongdeok’s pen scrawled across the page, pouring out his hatred.

“Forget your ridiculous revenge and keep living as you were. You can’t have any effect on me, after all.”

“You can’t hit me, kill me, imprison and torture me, incite people online against me, ruin my life… you can’t do anything.”

Yeongdeok kept repeating PetitRorang’s words, as if savoring them like a bitter meal.

Since he could do nothing… was he supposed to die quietly?

Yeongdeok remembered the moment he had faced death—the murmurs of people, the feeling of his insides tearing apart, the blue sky that didn’t match the scene, the blood…

Suddenly, his nose felt hot, and dark red droplets fell onto the paper, staining it.

Yeongdeok stared at the color, momentarily startled, his pen coming to a halt.

Blood from a sudden nosebleed kept dripping down.

Yeongdeok grabbed his nose, searching for something to wipe it with.

Consumed by his revenge, he hadn’t noticed the sunlight streaming through the window.

Morning had come.

When he checked the time, it was well past noon.

He hadn’t realized so much time had passed.

He grabbed a tissue, wiping the blood from his face, and closed the notebook.

For now, he figured he needed to go to his shop.

It might seem strange to worry about his business in this situation, but for Yeongdeok, running the chicken shop was part of his revenge against PetitRorang.

He had started it with the intent of ruining PetitRorang’s novel.

After washing his face and brushing his teeth, Yeongdeok changed into fresh clothes and got ready to head out.

Stepping outside toward the parking lot, he spotted his truck parked perfectly within the white lines.

It hadn’t been long since he thought about the moment he nearly died under a truck.

Now, he briefly overlapped the image of that truck with his own.

“Ridiculous.”

Clicking his tongue, Yeongdeok opened the car door and climbed into the driver’s seat.

To think he’d let his own truck remind him of the vehicle that almost killed him was absurd.

From a rational standpoint, it was a pointless thought.

As he approached his store, he saw through the truck’s window a group of people huddled together like a school of fish beneath the “Yeongdeok Chicken” sign.

Was it customers lining up before opening?

He briefly thought, but something about the mood seemed somber.

Yeongdeok quickly parked the truck and walked toward them.

Wondering why people had gathered there, he realized as he neared the store.

At the entrance, someone had defaced it in red marker, scrawling vulgar messages.

“Disgusting chicken.”

“Hope Yeongdeok Chicken goes under.”

“Screw that rude owner.”

“F*** f*** f*** f***.”

It looked like the kind of juvenile prank a kid would pull.

Clearly, this was the extent of Roran’s harassment methods.

As Yeongdeok measured Roran’s mentality, he overheard muttering from the crowd.

“Look, the owner’s here. That’s him, right?”

“Look at him, stubbornly running his tasteless chicken joint.”

“Bet he’s cashing in on that awful chicken.”

“Guess good looks make opening a business easy, even without talent.”

Ignoring the unreasonable insults, Yeongdeok entered his store.

After all, they were merely pawns under Roran’s influence.

He had no reason to crumble over their words.

To steady his mind, he decided to focus on his work.

Grabbing ingredients from the fridge, he took out a knife to prepare everything before the day’s business began.

The repetitive sound of the knife against the cutting board filled the kitchen.

But as he continued, unwanted thoughts crept in.

Roran’s face, his words, lingered in his mind.

“Do you really think you’re human?”

“Your arrogant tone, your background, everyone around you, even this world—I created it all. And yet, can you confidently say you’re a real, living human?”

In a split second of distraction, the sharp blade nicked his finger.

“…….”

He set down the knife, examining his finger.

Blood oozed from the cut, its vivid red hue unmistakable, accompanied by a faint sting.

It throbbed, almost like a burn.

What was this pain, this feeling…?

Furrowing his brow, he heard a familiar voice shouting from outside.

“What’s wrong with you people? What’s with this graffiti? Was it you?”

The voice threatened to report them for obstruction.

Soon, the door opened, and Jihoon entered, fuming.

“Yeongdeok, what’s with all that writing out there? And those people gathering outside?”

Approaching the kitchen, he noticed the blood dripping from Yeongdeok’s finger and hurriedly grew frantic.

“Did you cut yourself? It’s not like you to make a mistake like this…”

Jihoon quickly searched under the counter, found the first aid kit, and began disinfecting Yeongdeok’s wound with gentle movements.

Watching Jihoon tend to him, Yeongdeok felt a strange sense of calm.

The sharp pain he’d felt moments ago faded, replaced by the warmth of Jihoon’s touch.

When Jihoon finished applying a bandage, he finally let go of Yeongdeok’s hand.

“All done. Be more careful when using a knife next time.”

Though his tone was reprimanding, it was full of genuine concern.

Perhaps due to that kindness, Yeongdeok felt his anger subside slightly, his mind returning to a more balanced state.

Jihoon looked at him with worry.

“You okay?”

“It’s nothing. This little cut will heal after washing it; all this fuss was unnecessary.”

“You never accept help gracefully, do you?”

Clicking his tongue, Jihoon glanced toward the entrance.

The crowd had mostly dispersed after Jihoon’s earlier words, but the graffiti remained, leaving a scar on the storefront.

“So, what exactly happened?”

Yeongdeok met Jihoon’s gaze.

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