Chapter 63: The Truth

“…A studio?”

Lin Yu stood frozen.
The place before him was a spacious art studio, bathed in the soft scent of turpentine and acrylic paint.

But his vision—it was strange.
Everything looked like it was filtered through frosted glass, the colors muted, the world covered in a thin layer of grain.
Like a faded film reel from decades ago, quietly looping.

He forced his eyes to adjust and began to take in his surroundings.

One wall was entirely made of glass—
a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Shin-Kai University’s serene nightscape.
No monsters. No warped walls.
Just peaceful city lights glimmering like pearls scattered on black velvet.
The distant library—famous landmark of the campus—shone brightly, quiet and beautiful.

The other three walls were filled with paintings.
Easels. Frames.
Every canvas displayed a different style, but each radiated extraordinary skill.

(What the hell… This is way too weird.)
(Wasn’t I just home? Fighting that damned ghost—no, that thing that possessed Luo Shaotian? How the hell did I end up here?!)

His hand instinctively went to his waist—
Empty.

The psionic handgun Manager Qian had just issued him was gone.

He looked around, tense.
Only one door.
The studio’s exit.

Moving quietly, he crept closer, pressed an ear to the wooden surface, and listened.
Nothing.
No breathing. No sound. Just silence.

(Luo Shaotian… where is he? Is he outside?)

The thought made his chest tighten.

Slowly, Lin Yu turned the knob and cracked the door open.

Beyond it stretched a long corridor, dimly lit by flickering old wall lamps that barely held back the dark.
Both walls were lined with paintings—
hundreds of them.

He had no choice but to move forward.

Step by step, his shoes echoed softly against the wooden floor.

(Just get through this place. Find Luo. Get out.)

But curiosity—damned, insatiable curiosity—pulled his gaze to the nearest painting.

No. 1 — “Sunflowers and the Girl.”

A black-haired girl in a white dress sat in a golden sea of sunflowers.
Her eyes sparkled with pure, untainted hope.
The brushwork burst with Van Gogh-like vitality.

(…Beautiful.)

Lin Yu admired it silently and kept walking.

No. 2 — “Afternoon in the Studio.”

Warm light poured through the window, wrapping the girl’s hair in gold.
On the table before her: a peeled apple, a steaming cup of tea.
She smiled shyly toward the unseen “viewer.”

(Who’s she smiling at? A lover? A boyfriend? …Her teacher?)

He didn’t know why, but the painting felt personal—
like peeking through a window into a story long gone.

No. 3 — “Hands.”

Only two pairs of hands.
A man’s hands gently guiding the girl’s, helping her draw a delicate line across the canvas.
No faces, yet the air pulsed with the tenderness of lovers.

No. 4 — “Night Rain.”

The tone shifted.
The same studio.
But outside the window—
endless rain.

Drops struck the glass, breaking the nightscape into fractured reflections.
The girl sat alone before a blank canvas, unmoving.
Her eyes, once bright as stars, were now lost and hollow.

No. 5 — “Rejection.”

Conflict. Emotion.
The girl sat again in the studio, head bowed, gripping her skirt tight.
Before her stood a tall man, his back turned, gesturing furiously.

A crumpled paper lay discarded on the floor.
Through its wrinkles, Lin Yu could faintly make out the words:
“Shinhai City Art Exhibition.”

No. 6 — “Bound.”

The colors darkened to choking blues.
Torn sketches scattered across the floor like broken butterfly wings.
The girl curled up in a corner, hugging her knees, face buried.
The painting screamed with self-loathing and despair.

No. 7 — “Mirror.”

Unease bled into the brushstrokes.
The girl stood before an ornate dressing mirror—
but instead of looking at herself, she gazed at her reflection.

The reflection smiled—
confident, seductive, alive.
It reached toward her, pressing its palm against the glass, as if inviting her in.

Colors warped.
The canvas seemed poisoned.

No. 8 — “The Pact.”

Surrealism swallowed realism.
The girl’s hand pierced the mirror’s surface, gripping the reflection’s.
And the reflection—now grinning wide—
dragged her into the twisted, chaotic mirror-world.

Her face contorted in terror and defiance,
reaching out, as though begging for someone to save her.

Lin Yu’s chest tightened as he walked.
Each painting was a story fragment, each one darker than the last.

And then—
he reached the corridor’s end.

No. 9 — “The Perfect Masterpiece.”

The girl hung from the ceiling by a coarse rope.
Her white dress swayed gently in the air.
Her face—no pain, no fear.
Only peace. A smile of blissful release.

Technically flawless.
Composition, light, emotion—all too perfect.
So perfect it felt mad.

The beauty itself was horrifying.

The Final Canvas — Untitled.

It wasn’t framed.
Just nailed crudely to the wall.

The background—
splashes of dried black blood.

And in the center—
something that wasn’t human.

An entity of countless eyes and mouths,
runes that twisted and flickered,
colors that refused to stay still.
It had no shape, yet it smiled.

That smile—
dozens of mouths grinning soundlessly, laughing in voiceless hysteria—
seeped through the painting,
straight into Lin Yu’s mind.

His breath hitched.
A phrase surfaced in his head—unbidden, automatic, as if remembered from a field manual:

Codename: The Curious One.
Entity Type — Conceptual Parasite.
Embodiment of deceit, distortion, and obsession with truth.
Feeds on human curiosity and negative emotion.
Cannot be physically destroyed. To purge, truth must be uncovered.

(Oh no. No no no—It’s this thing?!)

His heartbeat stuttered.
The air in the studio grew heavier—
the faint sweetness of turpentine warped into something rotting.

And then—

The painting titled “The Perfect Masterpiece” began to melt.

The girl’s painted body rippled like hot wax, colors twisting and dripping down the canvas.
Her smile distorted, her skin bloated, purpling like something long drowned.

The serene expression turned into a scream.

“Save… me!!!”

The words appeared on the melting paint, written in bright, blood-red strokes.

(She—she’s asking for help?!)

Lin Yu’s mind went blank.

(So she wasn’t attacking us before… She just wanted to die. To be freed from the pain.)

The realization hit—
and at that very moment—

“KRRRKKKkkk…”

A sharp, sickening creak echoed behind him.

He turned—

—and saw the ghost.

Not rising from the wall this time—
but crawling down from the ceiling like a spider.

Her limbs bent the wrong way, joints cracking like breaking wood.
Her blackened tongue lolled out from her torn mouth, dragging across the floor.
Each movement came with a chorus of bone pops and wet scrapes.

And hanging from her—
was Luo Shaotian’s body.
Limp. Almost lifeless.

She dropped from the ceiling with a heavy THUD, scattering dust.

Then she stood.
Her bulging, corpse-blue face turned toward Lin Yu.

In her poisonous, clouded eyes—
a flicker of humanity.

She opened her mouth—
and the voice that came was broken, distorted, layered—
part ghost, part girl.

“…Kill… me…”

Her body twitched violently, leaking violet energy, warping her form further.

“…Or else…”

She raised a trembling hand, pointing down the corridor—
toward the final, grinning painting.

“…It will… come…”

The words scraped out like razors.

Lin Yu’s stomach dropped.
He looked from Luo’s half-dead body to the ghostly girl.
The purple aura spread faster, swallowing her shape inch by inch.

(There’s no time!)

The girl’s plea echoed again—

“Kill me…”

Lin Yu clenched his fists.
He understood now.

That eerie smile in “The Perfect Masterpiece”—
it wasn’t joy.
It was relief.

(She didn’t want revenge. She wanted release.)

His weapon was gone.
And even if it were here, he knew—
the standard-issue psionic gun couldn’t destroy this kind of conceptual corruption.

To purify her,
he’d have to erase the pain itself—
and the parasite feeding on it.

The purple flames began to envelop her completely.
She screamed—half human, half monster.

(It’s now or never!)

Lin Yu dropped to one knee beside Luo’s body.
He pressed a trembling hand against the girl’s fading forehead.

Her eyelids fluttered, twisted by agony.

“…Please,” he whispered, voice trembling but gentle.
“Rest.”

He smiled weakly—bitter, resigned.

“Let me handle the rest.”

Then, louder—

“——Gray Crystal, ACTIVATE!”

Darkness consumed everything.

In that void, Luo Shaotian’s mind drifted like debris in deep water.

He was dreaming.
He saw her again—
the girl in the white dress, crying, whispering the same words again and again.

“Kill me… kill me…”

Then—

Light.

A blinding silver radiance exploded through the void.
A voice followed—
clear, bright, almost musical.

“Gray Crystal, activate!”

“Take this—! JUSTICE’S——”

“☆LOVELY HEART BLAST!!! Chu~❤”

When Luo Shaotian opened his eyes again,
the world was washed in dazzling light.

He coughed, forcing himself upright.

And what he saw—

made him forget how to breathe.

In the soft glow of the collapsing studio,
stood a figure half-kneeling before him—

A young woman in a blue sailor uniform, silver hair glowing like moonlight, eyes bright as stars.
Warm light haloed her like an angel’s aura.
Every line, every curve of her form—
a living masterpiece.

Luo’s lips trembled.

“…You…”

Before he could finish—

A teasing, lazy voice drifted from behind him.

“Heeey, little brother~”

It was playful, catlike, dripping with mischief.

“You look exhausted… why don’t you—sleep a bit first~❤”

A sharp sting hit the back of his neck—

—and everything went black again.