Pleasant_Nightmare

[WSA Entry 2025]
I was betrayed in my first life.
A cripple, broken and discarded—
I died after catching the one I loved in bed with the only person I ever called a friend.
That was the start of real torment.
When I woke up, it was in another world.
A goddess stood before me.
She told me I could go back.
Back to my world.
Back to everything I lost.
All I had to do… was play my part.
The side character.
And I did.
I followed the script.
Played my role to perfection.
They hated me.
Mocked me.
Used me.
Again and again.
But I kept going. Because I believed her.
Because I wanted to go home.
Then one day, I found out.
The hard way.
It was all a lie.
There was no going back.
There never was.
She used me.
Again.
Just like everyone else.
Thrown away like trash once I outlived my usefulness.
That was the day something inside me snapped.
And so, I made a vow.
I would take everything from her.
I would enslave every single heroine she chose.
And I would kill the hero she placed all her hopes on.
If she wanted to protect this world…
Then I would burn it down.
But the more I tried, the more things started to change.
And then one day—
I found one of the heroines.
One of the hero's yanderes I had enslaved.
She stood there, trembling, a knife in her hand.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she whispered, eyes wild.
“I won’t let them have you. You belong to me.”

...What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening?!

Heroines, Villainesses, and the Hero’s Yandere Harem? I want them all!

Soft and weak, barely above a whisper.

And then slowly, I began to feel it again.

The thought slithered into my mind as light streamed through my blurred vision. I blinked rapidly.

"Ugh…" I groaned again, this time with more edge. My throat was dry, my body stiff.

A voice. Clear. Gentle. Too gentle.

I tried to tilt my head, to look in the direction the voice came from.

It feels just like Earth again—right after the accident. The paralysis. The hospital walls. The helplessness.

The way I had to rely on others just to exist.

I hate it. I hate having to depend on people. On their pity. On their fake sympathy. On their eyes that only saw a broken, useless body.

Obsession