How To Raise Your Regressor - Chapter 200

Chapter 200: Betrayal

I took a final look at my art piece and… yup, it looked magnificent.

It’s just a chef’s kiss.

The aroma is tantalizing as well, to the point that I have control myself from going ‘Fuck it’ and having it all for myself.

I’m a genius.

Honestly, if the ones I have prepared this for say shit like, ‘This is just disgusting!’, I’m going to be hurt.

And I will also banish them into the shadow realm.

Anyway, with this I have achieved everything I set out to do.

Let’s go back, wash up, drink a cup of coffee, lie in the bed and get depressed over the futility of life, then sleep and dream about killing myself.

…

Wow.

I activated the teleportation magic in my pendant.

The crystal on it glowed and the next moment, white light blinded my vision. A second later, that light faded away and I could see again.

I was back in my room, though I was slightly nauseous. I also seemed to be suffering from a headache.

I suppose the teleportation magic engraved into this pendant could use some improvement.

Mainly, I need to reduce the time required to teleport.

It took me a total of 2 seconds to get here, which, no matter how I see it, is just insultingly high. I would have spit in the face of the creator if anyone else had made it.

I mean, what’s the point of using teleportation if you can’t get to your destination fast enough to break the space-time continuum and tear the fabric of reality?

What I currently have is fucking useless.

It needs improvement.

Now then, while acting like an edgy teenager by keeping on the blood drenched shirt and muttering ‘Bathing in the blood of my enemies is what gets me to cum when I jerk off every night’ does sound amusing, I’m not in the mood to wank so let’s keep it for another day.

What should I do about this white shirt though?

It’s basically ruined by all the blood that stained it. Wearing outside will just get me arrested.

I have two options; either wash off the blood, or get a new shirt.

Hmmmmmmmmm.

Yup, getting a new one it is.

I’m truly sorry, white shirt, but this is the end of our friendship.

I’m truly regretful that I’m not strong enough to muster the will to actually go to the trouble of washing you, but, well, it is what it is.

Just know that you will always be remembered.

Amen.

“I didn’t want to admit this,” I couldn’t help but mutter with a sigh as I took off my shirt. “But somewhere in my heart, I knew our relationship wouldn’t last.”

The blood-stained white shirt was in my hands now.

It was probably just my imagination, but the combination of the creases and the stains made it look like the shirt was shedding tears of blood.

It was as if the shirt was cursing at me, crying over my betrayal and imploring me to tell it why I did this.

Was this all our friendship amounted to? Weren’t we supposed to be comrades that would stay by each other’s side no matter what happened?

What about all those things we went through? We faced adversaries together, we lived through happy moments together, we cried together.

Yet I am throwing it away, casting it aside like a used condom just because I didn’t want to wash it?

That was what the shirt seemed to be asking me.

And honestly speaking… the shirt was right.

After everything it went through for my sake, it did not deserve this end. What it deserved was to witness the glory at the end of our journey, right by my side.

So what if it’s a little tedious to wash off those bloodstains? It’s not something that requires me to bend reality to fix it, nor does it need the sacrifice of 42,069 fat virgins living in their mum’s basement.

It just needs me to be a little creative. Some meat tenderizer, or some toothpaste, or some vinegar, or maybe some other concoction that people of this world use to wash their clothes; that’s all I have to use.

That’s literally all.

I… just what was I about to do? Was I really about to throw away this shirt, no, my trusted companion, just because I was lazy?

Fuck.

When did I turn into this monster? Jesus fucking christ, I’m worse than Tristan.

Goddamnit.

*Knock* *Knock*

Can’t you see I am having a fucking moment here you stupid piece of shit!?

*Knock* *Knock*

Oh my fucking God.

“Come in,” I somehow managed to muster my remaining bit of energy and granted them permission.

Let’s see who this shitstain is.

The door opened and three people stepped in; Neia, Lecia and Azell.

Should have known it would be these idiots.

“…Why are you crying?” Neia asked the moment she looked at me.

“Because I’m a monster who does not deserve to live,” I wiped away my tears.

“You are damn right about that,” Lecia scoffed.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Fuck, to think that a day will come when I’ll agree with Lecia.

This truly is the worst day I’ve ever had.

I can’t live with this; I need to take myself to the backyard and put myself out of my misery.

“What did you do?” Azell asked, gently yet a bit carefully.

“Something you’ll never understand.”

I seriously doubt these primitive troglodytes could ever understand the depth of my bond with this white shirt and how loathsome my betrayal was.

“Maybe, but maybe I could. Why don’t you try-“

“Enough,” my voice came out a bit harsher than I expected. “What can I do for you?”

I gently put the shirt over my bed. After these fuckers leave, I’ll carefully wash it and return it to its former glory, so that we can continue our journey again.

“Is that… blood?” Lecia muttered out.

“It’s cranberry juice.”

Of course, even if I was saddened over what I had become, my IQ hadn’t degenerated to the point that I’d let Lecia get suspicious over my real involvement in today’s matter.

I might be a monster, but I’m not a fucking dumbass.

“Did you take a bath in cranberry juice or what?”

“Yupp. It’s really beneficial for your skin. Submerging your body in a tub full of cranberry juice will bring out its natural glow and slow down ageing.”

“What?” Lecia looked at me like I was a madman.

“Exactly. Any woman who loves someone and wants to capture their heart should definitely try it out. Wouldn’t hurt your chances, at the very least.”

“Oh…” She rubbed her chin as she, for a very brief moment, glanced at Azell.

Just how gullible is she?

“Don’t teach her weird things!” Neia exclaimed.

“Well, have you ever tried it?”

“Why would I ever do that?” Neia replied.

“Then have you conducted any research on it?”

“Again, why would I do that?” She rolled her eyes.

“Then what right do you have to renounce my claims?”

“…” Her eyes widened, as if she just had an ‘Eureka!’ moment.

Bet you never thought about that, Dragon-boi. Or gal, I guess.

Whatever.

“Now, what can I do for you?” I asked again.

Let’s chase these fuckers out and wallow in self-pity over my horrendous actions.

“Don’t you want to wash off that… cranberry juice before we start?” Azell asked.

“No, it needs to stay on my skin for some more time.”

“…” He stared at me and sighed. “As you wish. Neia and I are here to ask some questions. As for Lecia…”

“I’m here to give you a piece of my mind,” she smiled.

Ah, I can already see where she’s going with this.

“Let’s start with you, then,” I looked at Lecia.

“If you say so,” she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

When she opened them again, there was clear hostility, hate even, behind her glare.

“Samur, you are a fucking asshole.”

Yup, just as I expected.