Chapter 97 The Solitary Living Plan 2: Snow Boots
One matter is temporarily resolved. You find a restaurant on the map that looks like it's newly opened, call it, and use your flower coins to buy some food to fill your stomach.
Lying fully clothed on the bed—you dare not fall into a peaceful sleep, so you remain on guard—when you close your eyes, your mind is still filled with the image of your roommate snoring away on the other side of your shabby bed, separated by a cheap curtain.
Finding a new place to live will take some time, and if you can confirm that you'll be safe once you kick out your roommate before then, you can skip this step.
However, you don't dare to directly use your own items to drive her away. Who knows if this place is also a safe room for her?
You turn around, staring at the dirty wall, silently planning your actions for the next day.
When you wake up early in the morning, you are lying on your back. When you open your eyes, you are facing a face that is drooping and the flesh is drooping as it lies on the curtain.
?
You were startled, your heart pounding.
"Did you sleep well?" The wrinkles on his face creased horizontally, revealing a smile.
He's my roommate.
You didn't say anything; your brain hadn't yet processed what she was doing—no, how long had she been staring at you like that?
Seeing that you didn't speak, she got off the stool, her expression returning to normal. Through the curtain, her shadow was faintly cast by the morning light: "Do you need anything? Chocolate? I can buy you some."
There was an undercurrent of ingratiation in his words.
"No need." You secretly touched your heart, stood up and sat up straight, realizing your roommate's hint, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, and you don't need to take it to heart."
"Oh, really?" my roommate said, drawing out the last word. "You absolutely mustn't tell on us, it'll be bad for all of us." Her hand hovered over the edge of the curtain, as if she wanted to pull it open but couldn't.
Looking at the outline of her hand, you felt nauseous and quickly replied with an "Mmm." Only then did she return to her bedside as if relieved.
You never intended to tell on them. Since you share a space, you and your roommate are practically a community, so you wouldn't want to cause trouble for yourself.
However, it sounds like she's really afraid of the dormitory supervisor.
You put on your down jacket, wrap your scarf tightly, and quietly go out.
The snow on the road had just been shoveled, but it was quickly covered again. Before it became too difficult to walk, you hurried to the bank to exchange some money, and then found a small gift shop.
Behind the counter sat a sleepy-eyed local man. Looking at his bushy eyebrows and wary gaze, you adopted the air of a "foolish but kind foreigner," a role you'd mastered. Based on your research, you bought some gifts that were, to put it mildly, "traditional and cheap" for the people of Los Angeles.
A jar of cranberry jam, a can of pickled fish, a bunch of red and gold dried flowers, and a piece of candied fruit bread that looks quite presentable.
The little green book says that in the Kingdom of Los, you should give "affordable but polite gifts". Gifts that are too expensive are not good, as they may be seen as showing off. Gifts that are too cheap and sloppy are also not good, as they may seem like you don't take others seriously.
You carefully packaged the jam neatly using shiny plastic wrap and even wrote a "thank you" in Rossi with a translator and stuck it on the jam lid.
Without wasting any time, you went back to your dorm, stood at the door of the dorm manager's office to compose yourself, and then put on your sweetest smile and knocked on the door.
"Good morning, Auntie, I brought you a little something." You said in broken but hard-working Rosen—you had been practicing this phrase in your head for over ten minutes—as you handed over the gift.
The same dorm supervisor who had reached out to you earlier is now calmly sitting by the electric heater, drinking tea, and doesn't even glance at you as you knock on the door.
It wasn't until I saw you hand me the item that I looked you up and down for a few seconds, frowning.
You were feeling apprehensive when she snorted and accepted the gifts.
"What's your name?" She didn't ask in Rose language, and although her tone wasn't friendly, she was clearly using the syllable "Ying" to be considerate of you.
This could be interesting.
You quickly state your name, and the auntie scoffs, telling you to stop talking nonsense.
You quickly added, "I didn't really understand the rules before, I'm so sorry to have troubled you."
Using a mix of babbling and some Rosean words you'd just learned that could tie your tongue in a knot, you tried to make yourself look very humble and cute, like a clumsy, silly child.
Perhaps it was because you looked so honest and simple that the auntie looked at you for a few seconds while holding the jam, and her eyes finally softened. She casually said, "Oh, among you kids from the Flower Country, you're the only one who's somewhat sensible."
You felt a chill run down your spine, and nodded with a smile: "You're being too harsh. I'm just trying to learn how to do things like the people of Los. Those of us who have left home to travel far away always have a lot to learn."
She nodded noncommittally: "This place... isn't really suitable for messing around."
A thought struck you, and you knew your chance had come. You immediately tried to get information out of her: "Auntie, I'm actually very afraid of making mistakes, especially in things like dormitory life... You see, I used to be quite naive and clumsy in my actions and words. Now I'm slowly realizing that I need to ask questions when I don't understand something."
Observing the dormitory supervisor's expression, you noticed that her usually raised eyebrows had relaxed considerably, and even the corners of her mouth had softened a bit. You continued, "You see, I don't know if there's anything I should be aware of when living here. I've been causing you a lot of trouble. Perhaps there's something I can do to help you?" Your eyes flickered.
The aunt picked up the dried flowers, smelled them, then lowered her head to drink her tea. After a while, she hummed, "It's really nothing. Just greet me nicely when you come back from your trip, and don't be too noisy."
"Ah, that's easy to do. The students aren't that noisy, as long as they don't always bring friends to the gatherings..."
"Bringing friends to the party?" The aunt's eyes lit up instantly, and her soft, chubby hands massaged your shoulders.
The keyword was triggered.
"Oh no, I was just using an example."
"Really?" The aunt smiled meaningfully, a gurgling sound coming from her throat. Her babbling was no longer in sentences, but rather a series of individual words. "What...you...saw...spending the night...?"
“Tell me…good boy…”
You watch helplessly as the old woman, who had been hunched over, suddenly rose up like a bear, casting you completely in her shadow. Her veined hand gripped you tightly, and she asked, word by word, "...are there any outsiders staying overnight?"
Should we run?
Where to run?
Every drop of blood roars and surges in your veins; it's a completely instinctive risk-avoidance reaction that you can only suppress.
With wide eyes and clenched teeth, she feigned innocence and ignorance: "I don't know, I've never seen it before, I was just asking casually."
Yes, we absolutely cannot tell anyone, and we cannot run away.
You sat calmly in her murky blue eyes, trembling involuntarily but unable to escape her control, simply persisting in your statement with composure.
The aunt loosened her grip a little, and she slowly reverted to being the dormitory supervisor who usually seemed to be in a bad mood, but would become obviously happy after giving her a favor.
"Keep your dorm room clean and tidy, focus on your studies, and nothing else matters to you," the aunt said, sitting back down and taking a sip of tea.
You nodded vigorously, thanked her repeatedly, then thought for a moment and turned to look at the kettle on the aunt's table.
In the short ten minutes or so that we were talking, she had to boil water every time she wanted to pour hot tea, and the hot water that came out each time was obviously not very hot.
Is it spoiled? Is that why I could only drink a little and burn a little?
Walk over, take the kettle down, and carefully examine it from top to bottom. Finally, you find a small, loose screw at the bottom.
You borrowed a pen from your aunt, wiggled the pen tip to fit it in, and then tightened the screw. Now, a kettle of hot water was successfully boiled.
"Then I'll be going now, goodbye Auntie." You exhaled and were about to leave when you heard the auntie who had been silently watching you do these things slowly say, "You young people who are just entering society should abide by the rules and seize what is yours. As for other things, don't always think about challenging them."
You were secretly delighted, but you didn't show it on your face. You scratched the back of your head, chuckled, waved to your aunt, and quickly darted out like a slippery fish.
You don't want to spend a long time with someone who might change again at any time, but your aunt is indeed a good aunt.
As you walked towards your room, you stopped speechlessly when you saw another pair of men's shoes at the door. You simply went back to the stairwell, sat down, and began to think.
You got a lot of information from your aunt.
As with almost every instance before, whistleblowing is never encouraged here. Getting the administrators involved is the fastest way, but you will also be subject to the corresponding punishment.
But what is Auntie implying by specifically emphasizing not to challenge the rules?
Not challenging... that's going to mean going along with it. If the dorm is equally safe for both you and your roommate, then let her make her own mistakes...
You open your phone, and Tamara only accepts your dating app request after a whole night. Scrolling up the chat history, you find the unexplained rule information she sent after the initial greeting.
In fact, according to general rules, as a roommate, you can easily lead your roommate to break the rules. For example, you could arrange for her to wear the wrong shoes.
You hesitated a bit.
You've encountered many humane locals in the dungeon. If it weren't for some inexplicable and ubiquitous rule separating them, they wouldn't have become monsters hunting you; they might even have helped you a lot.
Maybe it's because I'm too soft-hearted. This roommate is sloppy, annoying, and scary (who would be a nice person spying on someone from above first thing in the morning!), you can't share a dorm with her, but is guiding her to break the rules really the only way to solve the problem?
She's definitely going to die.
You were lost in thought and struggling with your decision when the door suddenly opened. It was the same person from yesterday. He met your gaze, chuckled, and swaggered downstairs.
Immediately afterwards, my roommate's face popped out.
She smiled and simply said, "You're back so early, but you didn't complain, did you?"
You absolutely mustn't tell on me.
She kept repeating these words, her grin growing longer and longer.
Staring intently at her, you gradually begin to understand what she means.
"You want me to report this, right?" you asked.
Your roommate ignores what you say and only looks pleadingly at you, begging you not to tell the dorm manager.
You understand.
That's true. If the instance assigns a local person to share a room with you, it can only mean that from the beginning, the intention was to have her eliminate you.
The locals in the copy, in the end, aren't human.
That's fine too. You frowned, feeling a slight relief from the burden in your heart.
Amidst her feigned friendliness and illogical ramblings, you lie down on your bed and start scrolling through your phone.
You typed your roommate's name into several of your favorite social media platforms.
Locals typically register their real names online, and based on location data and various information on their phones, big data will naturally recommend people with the same name that you might know.
It only took you three minutes to find her social media account.
Her profile picture is a selfie of her wearing a white wool coat in front of a fountain, and her bio contains three or four links to other social media platforms.
You browse through the content without changing your expression; it's all selfies, filters, fashion tags, and some seemingly sophisticated but actually overly contrived "life insights."
It's easy to see that she is a somewhat influential "internet darling" online: coquettish copywriting, affected emotions, and a deliberately created persona of "independent, self-reliant, and sophisticated rebellious Gen Z".
You chuckled.
Soon, her key weaknesses were revealed from her account style and the tone of her interactions in the comments section: vanity, obsession with her public image, and a strong desire to show off.
A complete plan gradually emerges in your mind—to make her willingly, even eagerly, wear those boots that "don't belong to her."
By simply using these traits, you can make her walk into the trap of the rules herself.
Turn off your phone, as if she's been watching you from behind a curtain. She immediately sits up and starts chatting with you about random, incoherent things.
As they chatted, she suddenly changed the subject: "You always go shopping when you go out, why did you come back empty-handed today?"
Just as you were wondering how to start a conversation, you casually chimed in: "Today I tried on a pair of limited-edition boots at the mall, but my credit card was already maxed out, so I didn't buy them. Then my friend saw I was unhappy and said she'd give me a different pair tomorrow... She snatched them from an overseas reseller, which really surprised me."
Before I could finish speaking, my roommate immediately pulled back the curtain: "Limited edition? Do you have a photo?"
You hesitantly pull out a photo album—these are genuine luxury collaboration boots that "you" bought for yourself. It seems "you" didn't like wearing them after buying them; they're still brand new, stored in their box under the bed. The white suede boots with red piping, however, perfectly match your roommate's aesthetic.
Sure enough, she stared at the photo for a long time, then clicked her tongue and said, "It's really beautiful. Your friend is quite willing to part with it." Her words were full of reluctance.
As you continued cleaning the room, you casually said, "We're roommates, so if you like it, you can wear it."
My roommate's eyes darted around a few times, looking quite suspicious.
"I only have one request: please respect my boundaries more in the future. Don't bring anyone else back, and don't lift the curtains casually. If you do, you can take any of my shoes or clothes that you like." You waved your hand impatiently.
You know she's already fallen for you. What you're waiting for is for her to confirm your intentions and take the initiative to speak after she's shown interest.
My roommate chewed his gum and remained silent for a few seconds before finally asking, "So, what time do those boots you mentioned arrive tomorrow?"
You lowered your eyelashes and smiled gently: "They said it would be delivered tomorrow afternoon. I'll remind you to try it later."
"Okay. You're very generous." My roommate was very satisfied with this outcome and didn't do anything strange all day.
You took advantage of this hard-won day of peace and quiet to search for information about your studies.
Even though it's obvious that your degree is just a flimsy one, you're still a little worried about the potential impact on you if you completely stop going to school.
The moment you open the campus app, you'll find—
There really are too many classes.
The timetable, labeled in Rosen and Yeo, is neatly arranged on the page, with only a few items highlighted in bold red.
As you translate, you frown. Courses like "Basic Tourism and Slang Conversation" are only available online, and even those have automatic attendance systems. Other courses, like "Business Etiquette" and "Tourism Culture," also only have an online assignment submission system.
Of course, "you" didn't do any of them, just left them there, and the submission time—ha, you know, it was right before you finished the instance.
Then, open the school's bulletin board and search for keywords such as "attendance rate," "check-in," and "teaching week." The results show that only two courses require mandatory in-person attendance; for other courses, as long as assignments are completed and occasional online discussions are participated in, a final grade can be obtained.
You lean back in your chair and begin to weigh your options.
Going to school now means entering a new environment, and you don't know Rose language at all. Won't that make things worse? Or should you finish your assignments first? After all, the final exams are after you leave, so even if you have attendance problems, you won't be punished.
Sigh, I'm torn.
Fortunately, everything else went smoothly.
On the third day after arriving in the Los Kingdom instance, you finally got a good night's sleep.
You're still dreaming. The sky outside the window is gray and white, and the heating in the dormitory is humming.
Suddenly, a piercing laugh shattered your dream, pulling you out of your half-awake state.
"Hahaha! We're here! Ahhh, oh my god, it's so beautiful!!!"
It was my roommate's voice.
You open your eyes, and the white ceiling above you is swaying slightly. A hand roughly pulls back a corner of the bed curtains, and your roommate's bright, triumphant face squeezes in.
"I opened the package! It's so stylish! I'm going to wear these new boots out right now!"
You didn't say anything, but just turned your head to look at the bedside.
The delivery box was empty, the wrapping paper torn to shreds. The "limited edition white boots" were on her feet—the frayed edges gleamed, the laces were brand new and shiny.
You gazed at her silently, without saying a word.
Your sleepiness has completely vanished, and you wait to see how she changes.
Will it go as you plan?
"ah?"
Before long, my roommate frowned.
She stood in front of the mirror, seemingly taking countless photos, when suddenly her body swayed.
"These boots are a bit heavy..." she muttered to herself.
She swayed a couple more steps, her brows furrowing even more deeply.
"Are these shoes ill-fitting? My toes feel a little numb... Ugh, luxury shoes are like torture devices. Wait, the shoelaces are digging so hard on the instep..."
Only then did she realize something was wrong. She squatted down to untie her shoelaces, but they seemed to be tangled around her feet, getting tighter and tighter with each pull. Her roommate pulled hard, knocking herself to the ground, but the boots didn't budge.
She finally turned to glare at you, her tone no longer playful but full of ferocity: "What did you do?"
You simply replied, "You opened the package yourself, you put it on your own feet, what can I do?"
The boots she's wearing aren't the ones you gave her.
This is a pair of identical fake boots that you contacted as a "personal shopper" and personally ordered and sent to your dorm room by a gray-market supplier. The original "you" in the story often did this: buying genuine products for yourself and then sending out the same fake ones.
The pair of boots you promised to give her, the ones that were nominally "her boots," weren't actually this pair. The real pair is lying quietly in the shadows under your bed right now.
"What do you mean??" my roommate asked sharply.
"Those aren't your boots."
In just a few words, my roommate's face turned from red to white.
My roommate collapsed to the ground with a thud, desperately trying to take off her boots. But just as Tamara explained, the boots clung tightly to her skin, and the brand-new leather began to wrinkle and quickly crack like old leather—but bright red blood seeped out from the gaps in the boot shaft.
"Aaaaaah—help me take it off! Quick! Save me—!"
Her screams echoed throughout the dormitory.
You instinctively grip the ghost bride's hair, but you know you're already inside the "safety line" allowed by the rules.
—Your roommate has broken the rules. Now, this dorm room is entirely your safe zone.
Your roommate crawls towards you, his fingernails scratching the floor with a sickening sound: "You did this on purpose! You damn thing! You knew this would happen, didn't you?!"
You didn't answer, you just turned your head away.
Your roommate has climbed to the edge of your bed, her face ashen, her eyes filled with venom: "You think you're safe? You think you can save yourself by pushing me out? I'll make you regret this! I'll make you—"
Before she could finish speaking, she suddenly arched her back and cried out in pain.
Her legs began to twitch violently, and her boots stretched upwards as if tentacles were growing out of them. The snow-white fur trim writhed like a snake's tongue, wrapping around her knees, thighs, waist, and abdomen in circles, as if swallowing her whole.
She propped herself up, screaming, "I won't lose to you... I won't leave—I won't leave!!!"
Her body began to deform violently, her spine arched backward, her skin became transparent and fragile, and her mouth opened to an inhuman angle, with her teeth shattering one by one and growing sharp bone fragments.
She was a monster to begin with.
But strangely, most of the "locals" you encounter who break the rules are simply swallowed up by the "rules" like puppets. It's the first time you've seen someone like her who fails yet refuses to give in.
She lunges at you, her movements frantic, her body half human and half a mutated lump of flesh from a boot.
Just as she was about to touch you, a transparent barrier protected you.
“I can win! I can win!” she shouted, her voice like the wind rustling through rags. “Hey, wouldn’t it be better if we lived together? I’m the same as you, I can be the same as you, yes, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I remember now—”
Before she could finish speaking, the last trace of human-like expression on her face vanished.
She was no different from those locals who were punished by the copycats.
Her feet started moving, and she walked out, one step at a time, the other uneven.
And you, still immersed in the amount of information from that scene.
It's always like this.
This is the third time you've encountered a situation where a monster, assimilated into a non-human form by a dungeon, seems to be able to compete with outsiders for a chance to regenerate.
You only feel a little sorry for her because your own life always takes precedence. But you're really curious: the Y-sister you encountered in the dungeon had a very human way of thinking, but this roommate, if she hadn't been lucid for a few seconds at the last moment, would have been almost indistinguishable from a local.
If she wins, can she really become an outsider again?
You shake your head, open your phone, and prepare to order takeout. After all, filling your stomach is more important.
Another day has passed, and the double room, now empty of people, feels especially desolate.
In the early hours of the morning, a heavy snowstorm raged outside.
You hear creaking sounds in your sleep, as if someone is walking back and forth.
You open your eyes—the bed is pitch black, but the footsteps are clear and cannot be ignored.
No, you're on the third floor, and that sound is clearly the sound of footsteps in the snow.
You were drenched in a cold sweat, but you could only pretend to be asleep and remain motionless.
The next second, you hear a woman's voice softly muttering:
"...Strange, why are these boots so tight...Who's stepping on my foot...Ouch...It hurts so much..."
You hear her moan softly, followed by a slight rattling of the windowpane, as if someone is shaking the window from the outside.
"Where is my home...? Strange... My boots are so tight..."
…
You just kept your eyes closed and listened to the clanging and constant murmurs all night long.
You have a feeling that something terrible is about to happen.
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