In my small and peaceful life, I always had a feeling that Fate held a personal grudge against me.
Not the casual kind—no, this was the kind that spans generations and ends in blood.
Even in my last life, it didn't just screw me over, it did it with pleasure.
And this life was no different.
If I ever met the bastard who writes Fate, I swear, I would take a rusty iron pole and shove it somewhere anatomically creative. Sideways.
Anyway, the point was:
I was pissed. At that shitty little Fate, for the situation it had put me under.
The Forgotten Trickster or whatever this maniac was… laughing its heart out while a very familiar figure glared at me like I had just exploded its friends and cursed out his whole generation.
Which, in my defense, I had done. Because the creature was none other than the alpha bear I had killed a few moments ago.
"Do you like your assistant?"
The Trickster's voice echoed through the space like a bad joke.
"No…"
