Death Judgment Delay Bug

The door didn't open. It was only natural. I stood in front of the iron door and pulled the handle for the third time.

Clunk. That was it. The iron door didn't budge an inch, as if mocking me. The imperial crest engraved on its surface pulsed faintly with blue light. Every time that light flickered, my mana attempting to stretch beyond it tore apart in midair.

Mana seal. Access restriction. External communication block. And probably an escape prevention barrier to boot.

The princess is serious about this.

I let go of the handle. The cold touch of the metal lingered on my palm.

The chamber was quiet. Too quiet—my own breathing sounded unnecessarily loud.

A spacious room. Red carpet. Thick velvet walls. No windows. One iron door. One bed. One small table. One silver pitcher. One untouched plate of fruit. And the faint afterglow of the Black Record Slate lingering in the air.

I glared at it.

"Disappear."

Of course, it didn't. The Black Record Slate had just shown Arielra the scene of me drinking the poison in her place. Me, vomiting blood yet insulting her—the past version of myself. It had kindly exposed how the system twisted my true intentions, leaving Arielra staring at me with a utterly broken expression.

Recalling those eyes sent a chill down my spine.

I'm truly screwed.

Arielra hadn't killed me. That was a good thing. The problem was that instead of killing me, she'd locked me away.

It would have been easier if she'd hated me. Familiar if she'd loathed me. If she'd come at me with a sword, at least I could have responded.

But this Arielra was different. She hated me. And she regretted it. Those two emotions had tangled together into something too dark and heavy to call love.

Obsession unmeasurable, too.

I slumped onto the bed and clutched my head. The system window still hovered before my eyes.

It didn't make sense even looking at it. Favorability was clearly at rock bottom. That was the result of ten years of me gritting my teeth to make it so. So she'd hate me. Despise me. Not shed a single tear if I died.

That's how I'd made it.

So why does obsession unlock now?

I let out a short laugh in the darkness. More like a hollow breath than laughter.

"They made this game a real piece of shit."

It really was. But the bigger problem was that it no longer felt like a game.

I looked down at the back of my hand. The spot where Arielra's tear had fallen. The warmth still seemed to linger.

In a game, there'd be no such sensation. The heat of tears touching skin. The sting of nails digging under my chin. The faint scent of fatigue and anxiety mixed behind the princess's rose perfume when she drew close.

This world was too vivid. Too alive.

"……."

I bit my lip. It hurt. Even that was vividly clear.

It hadn't always been like this. When I first transmigrated, the world still felt somewhat like a game. System windows popped up, choices appeared, event flags triggered forcibly. Characters spoke their set lines from fixed positions.

There was pain, of course. But I thought I could endure it. Because it was a game. Because it would end someday. Because if I died, I could respawn.

So I used bugs. To survive. To avoid dying.

The original Leon Hart was a doomed extra who died. Avoiding that fate normally was impossible. So I had to use abnormal methods.

The Death Judgment Delay Bug. Among hardcore players who'd delved into this hellish difficulty dark romance game, it was fairly well-known.

Right before a death judgment in certain events, if you simultaneously glitch the character's position and dialogue flag, death gets delayed by a few seconds. And if you fulfill the event end condition within those seconds, the system can't process the character as dead.

Simple in summary. In a death scenario, delay only the death judgment. Then end the event to shift to survival.

In the game, it was a hilarious bug. Not here in reality.

While poison burned my heart, I was dying. While the curse devoured the stigmata, I was going mad. When the magic sword's madness crawled into my head, I wanted to bite my tongue off.

The bug erased only death. Not the pain. Not the memories.

That's why I still have those dreams sometimes. Poison sliding down my throat. My body turning ice-cold right before my heart stopped. The system window flashing before my eyes, death judgment countdown ticking down in numbers.

And I always thought the same thing.

Please.

I didn't want to die. And yet, in front of Arielra, I laughed. It was the system forcing it, but ultimately, it was my face that laughed. That was the most horrific part.

"Enough thinking."

I stood up. No time for regrets. The most important thing now was escape.

This was the Princess's Secret Chamber. If Arielra truly had no intention of killing me, I could survive here for a while. But the longer I stayed, the worse it got. The Black Record Slates were multiplying one by one. Right now, it was just the princess's record, but who knew what the next one would reveal.

The saintess's curse. The witch's forbidden tome. The knight's magic sword. The duke's daughter's ruin. The demon princess's seal.

If even one opened, it was over. Arielra alone had done this to me—what if the other heroines learned the truth?

I didn't want to imagine it. Really didn't.

So I have to get out now.

I scanned the room again. The door was no good. The mana barrier was too strong. Frontal breakthrough impossible. That left bugs.

Imperial Palace secret chamber. I remembered this map. Specifically, it was an event space from the late Arielra route in the original game. After the princess faced an assassination threat, she hid here in a secret safe room. If the player picked certain choices, an intimate conversation event with the princess triggered.

And this room had a famous bug. The wall-clipping glitch.

I slowly walked along the velvet wall. Left wall. Golden rose pattern. Candelabrum below it. Three steps right from the candelabrum. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seam in the red wallpaper slightly misaligned.

"Here."

I stopped in front of it. In the game, this spot was the issue. Collision detection between the wall and decorative object glitched, so angling the character right let you slip into the empty space outside the map.

Of course, normally useless. But I'd used it. To ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠survive this game, I'd memorized every bug available.

It'll work. It had to.

I positioned myself in front of the wall. Lowered my left shoulder slightly, tilted my body at an angle. Steady breathing. Move like the character on the game screen. Precise angle. Precise position. Precise timing.

Once.

I shoved my shoulder into the wall.

Thud. A dull impact reverberated through my shoulder. It hurt.

I gritted my teeth.

It's fine. Not a one-try bug.

Second time. Thud. This one deeper. A sharp twinge inside the shoulder bone. Breath caught for a moment.

I glared at the wall. Normally, the character model would jitter here. Half-buried in the wall, screen shaking as collision glitched.

But the wall didn't move. Just a wall. Thick, solid, frustratingly real.

Third.

I drew a short breath.

"Please."

I muttered softly. Then threw myself at it.

Bang. In that instant, something in my shoulder shifted wrong.

"Ugh."

A cry escaped. I didn't pass through. Instead, I bounced back, knees hitting the carpet.

My left shoulder burned like fire. Bone wasn't broken. But it felt like torn muscle. Even slight movement sent sharp pain racing up to my neck.

I clutched my shoulder with one hand.

"Ha, haa……."

Cold sweat beaded on my forehead and trickled down. It hurt. For real. Incredibly real.

I looked up at the wall. Still perfect. Velvet unmarred, golden rose gleaming arrogantly.

"……It won't work."

My voice cracked. Obvious words, but they felt strangely heavy.

Wall-clipping bug failed. It wasn't just escape failure. It meant the game's rules were crumbling.

No. More precisely, the game's rules were being overwritten by reality's.

I sat slumped on the carpet, catching my breath.

This world is becoming reality.

My fingertips trembled. Before, system windows explained everything. Favorability. Choices. Events. Death flags. Bugs. Save points. Proof this was a game.

But now? Obsession unlocked below favorability. Record slates etching deleted logs into reality. Bugs failing. Walls were walls, pain was pain.

"You're kidding……."

I muttered a low curse. Then the system window appeared.

I stared blankly at the text. Realityfication Rate. First time seeing it.

"What the hell is that?"

No answer. Instead, another window.

"You should've said that first."

I gripped my shoulder and ground my teeth. Always like this. This damn system always dropped important info late. Choices right before death, conditions after irreversible points.

Same here. I learned after getting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hurt. Using bugs now really injures me.

I slowly stood. Left arm wouldn't rise properly. Pain intense.

Trouble if Arielra sees. That thought came first. Pathetic. More worried about the princess seeing my injury than the injury itself.

Arielra was already unstable. She saw me as "the guy who'll sacrifice himself if left alone." If she found escape attempt marks? Over.

Maybe really tied to the bed.

I quickly checked around. Water pitcher on the table. Clean cloth beside it. Too pristine and luxurious for a bandage, almost a shame.

No time for shame. I grabbed the cloth and pressed my shoulder. No blood. Good. But swollen. Pain worsened with movement.

Hide it.

I looked down at my clothes—not a dress, my black formal wear. Not the bloodied one from the ending. Someone changed me. Probably palace attire. Neat-looking, but shoulder fabric twisted. Hard to hide.

"Ha."

I exhaled shortly. Escape methods weren't one. Wall-clip no good? Find another. Like inventory.

I reached into the air.

"Inventory."

Nothing.

"Status window."

No response.

"Settings."

Silence.

"Log out."

Obviously nothing. I went silent for seconds. Then whispered very softly.

"Please?"

The system stayed cruelly quiet.

"……You're really too much."

I sat back on the bed. Pain cleared my head bit by bit. Strange. Pain dulls sometimes, but forces hyper-awareness of reality other times. This was that.

I was no longer a game character. Or maybe never was. I ate, slept, bled, felt pain here. Heroines weren't dolls with fixed lines. Arielra cried. Her tears were hot. And she imprisoned me.

"The more I think, the worse it gets."

I leaned back against the bed. Shoulder throbbed. Closing my eyes briefly brought back the Black Record Slate scene. Me vomiting blood. Insulting Arielra. And below it, the system text.

I didn't want to see it. Better if only my words remained. Cruel words. Cold attitude. Insulting expression. She'd have kept hating me. No guilt. No imprisonment.

That was my desired ending. But the Black Record Slate tore down every lie I'd built. In the cruelest way.

"Why now, of all times."

I stared at the ceiling. The chandelier's dim light swayed. No—the afterglow of the Black Record Slate was rising again.

I froze. In the room's center, the black stone slab I'd thought gone reappeared faintly. Not fully formed. Unstable, like shattered glass fragments.

Text floated above it.

"Don't."

I said lowly. The slate ignored me.

Before the next line, I held my breath. This really couldn't happen. Physical pain was one thing—mental state log no.

What I thought that day. How terrified I was as poison spread. How many times I thought I want to live. Couldn't let that show. Especially not to Arielra.

Text appeared on the slate.

I gritted my teeth.

"Disappear."

"I said disappear."

The slate's black light deepened. Suddenly, past sensations surged up my throat. Poison's taste. Fishy blood smell. Burning scrape inside my throat. Lungs not expanding even when inhaling.

I gripped the bed edge. Fingers trembled. I wasn't strong then. Didn't want to die. Really didn't.

During those 11 delayed seconds, I kept praying inwardly. Save me. Didn't know to whom. God, system, someone in reality. Just end this pain.

Yet I kept the poisoned glass from Arielra. That was all. But the slate was dragging even that out.

I ground my teeth.

"Stop."

No response.

"Delete log."

No response.

"Admin privileges."

Of course not. I swallowed a short curse.

Have to stop it somehow.

The slate floated. Unstable form. If residual data, not full slate, maybe physical contact possible.

I stood. Shoulder screamed.

"Ugh."

Still walked. Stood before slate. Black surface reflected past me. Banquet floor, knee nearly buckling. Blood trickling from lips. Hands shaking. Arielra glaring angrily before me.

She didn't know. That I was desperately holding on to not fall.

I reached out.

"Please, just."

Fingertips touched the slate. Cold. Beyond cold—like touching dead night's surface. Sensation drained from fingertips.

"If it's my record, let me delete it."

"You really have a shitty personality."

I gritted teeth, pushed harder. Crack-like light on black surface.

Good. It's working. I gripped with all remaining strength.

Then black mana erupted from the slate.

"Kuh!"

Body flung back. Hit bedpost with injured shoulder first.

Bang. Vision flashed white.

"Ah……."

Voice wouldn't come properly. Collapsed to floor. Shoulder truly wrecked now. Pain far worse. Left arm barely movable. Cold sweat dripped from chin.

Done for. Can't hide this. Not just bug failure injury. Plus slate rebound impact.

I gritted teeth, tried to stand. Then—

Click.

Door opening. Froze. Light seeped from corridor. Slow footsteps. Tap, tap. Dress hem brushed carpet.

Arielra.

Why so soon?

I hurriedly adjusted posture. Act normal. Hide shoulder. Stay calm. Detached as possible.

But body wouldn't obey.

Arielra stopped at door. Blue eyes scanned room. Rumpled bed. Impact mark on wall. Dropped cloth on floor. And my left shoulder.

Her expression vanished. Completely.

I opened mouth.

It's nothing. Don't worry.

No, not now.

"Your surveillance is lax."

Mouth moved on its own. Blood ran cold.

"Can't even properly imprison one prisoner—your imperial barrier mages' reputations are wasted."

Arielra didn't reply. That was scarier. She approached slowly. Air in room grew heavier with each step.

Instinct screamed retreat. But shoulder pain locked my body.

Arielra stopped before me. Gaze fixed on shoulder.

"You're hurt."

Quiet voice. Too quiet—like a scream.

"It's nothing."

No distortion this time. Short, dry.

Her eye corner twitched faintly.

"Nothing, you say."

She echoed. "Always saying that."

I shut mouth. Screwed.

Arielra knelt before me. Princess on floor felt alien. She wasn't that person. Yet now, she knelt casually to check my injured shoulder.

Her hand approached. I flinched. She caught that tiny motion.

Blue eyes shook.

"Are you scared?"

She asked. I answered inwardly.

Yes. Really scared. Your eyes, this room, options vanishing—terrifying. What you'll think seeing my injury—terrifying.

But words out were different.

"If Your Highness expected fear from me, you'll be greatly disappointed."

Arielra didn't smile. Before, she'd rage. Now, she didn't believe me. Record slate showed too much.

Arielra reached slowly, gripped my collar near shoulder.

"Don't touch."

My voice cold. Her hand paused. Briefly. Very briefly.

"No."

She said. Pulled collar aside. Swollen shoulder exposed.

Arielra's breath stopped. Her fingertips trembled near shoulder. Couldn't even touch. Like fearing I'd shatter at her touch.

"Why."

She asked lowly. "Why do you end up like this when left alone?"

"……."

"Why do you always."

Her voice wet. "Get hurt where I can't see?"

Couldn't answer. Shouldn't. Any words would twist.

Arielra slowly raised head. No anger on face. Anger would be better. It was conviction. Horrific conviction.

Leave Leon alone, he gets hurt again. Alone, he escapes again. Alone, he sacrifices again. So can't leave alone.

That was her concluded face.

"Wasn't planning to tie you to the bed."

She said quietly. I held breath.

"Really."

She smiled at me. Beautiful. Horrific.

"But you proved it first."

Two imperial maids entered quietly from door. Silver trays in hands. Bandages, potion bottles on trays. And.

Silver restraints.

Arielra picked them up. Metal etched densely with imperial crests and sealing spells. Mana suppression. Escape prevention. Prisoner use.

Arielra whispered softly.

"That you'll get hurt again if left alone."

I stared at restraints in her hand. System window appeared.

I stared blankly. Protection. This damn system still knew how to joke.

Arielra stepped closer. Silver restraints hummed lowly.

Click. Not even locked yet, but I already heard it.

"Don't run, Leon."

Arielra's eyes held me. "Everything that hurts you."

Arielra whispered softly. Cold silver restraints wrapped my uninjured right wrist.

Click.

"Won't cross this threshold anymore."