Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day

Chapter 400: Cosmic Injustice

After Michael passed out, I went back to pestering Juliana until she finally gave in and agreed to dance.

To gauge her sense of rhythm, I insisted she show me her moves first.

Honestly, I was kinda looking forward to it, waiting to be blown away by some hidden talent and expecting her to surprise me yet again by subverting my expectations like it was the norm for her.

...She didn’t.

She danced... and it was horrendous.

Actually, horrendous didn’t even come close. It was far, far worse.

I sincerely regret that my vocabulary isn’t expansive enough to accurately describe the atrocity that was on display that tragic night, mostly because even atrocity feels like a massive understatement.

Juliana wasn’t dancing. She was... well, I don’t even know what she was doing. She was moving with either mechanical stiffness or unnatural smoothness, nothing in between!

One second her body was jerking like she was having a seizure, and the next she was swaying her hips as if trying to hula loop.

Every motion was too precise and measured and completely wrong. It was like she was a robot following a set of instructions.

To give you the proper visuals: she once lifted her arm, paused, and rotated her wrist like she was calibrating a weapon. Then, she took a step forward that looked less like a dance move and more like she was testing the structural integrity of the dance floor.

I stared, utterly dumbfounded as she continued.

"...Juli, what are you even doing?" I finally had to ask, feeling genuinely disturbed. The nightmarish beasts in the Noctveil Wilds had put me through less psychological trauma than watching her right now.

She didn’t stop her weird, robotic routine.

If anything, she double down on the intensity by executing a sharp 45-degree pivot so crisp it looked like it belonged in a military parade and not in a VIP lounge.

"I am dancing," she stated like the answer was obvious and I was the dumb one for asking.

I grabbed my head in frustration. "No, you’re not."

She frowned, adjusting her posture mid-motion. "You told me to move freely."

"Yes, but— I... I didn’t mean it like that!"

"I am following the rhythm."

No, she wasn’t!

The girl had no rhythm whatsoever!

She was assaulting the very concept of rhythm instead!

I know I have a tendency to exaggerate some parts of the story for dramatic effect, but I swear on my life I am being totally transparent here.

That sight of her dancing was so unsettling that I’m pretty sure everyone on the dance floor started breaking out in a cold sweat. They were just as scared as me!

A guy next to us stopped mid-groove in horror, while another boy physically backed away to give her space.

Someone else dropped their drink, and I’m reasonably certain I saw one girl who had started whispering a prayer.

I dragged a hand down my face. "Okay, stop whatever you’re doing! Just stop and try to feel the music in your heart. Let your body move on its own! It’s not that hard, Juli! Just move!"

She slowed down just enough to squint at me. "That sounds dumb."

"Yeah, well, so is whatever this is!"

Her frown deepened, but she tried taking my advice by attempting to ’just move’ this time.

Believe it or not, it got worse.

Somehow, some-fucking-how, it actually got worse!

Now she looked like she had lost the instructions she was previously following and was improvising on the go.

At one point, she tried to spin. Or at least, I think that was the intention.

What actually happened was a slow swirl that ended with her stopping awkwardly and staring at her own legs like she was questioning their loyalty.

I was just as lost as she was now. "What?! Did you just recalibrate mid-dance?"

"No... I lost the beat," she admitted.

"YOU NEVER HAD THE BEAT!"

God!

I mean, really!

How could she be this bad?

I had seen her move with such incredible grace when wielding her swords. She always looked so achingly beautiful while practicing her katas.

She was someone who knew how to dance across a literal battlefield with the tantalizing elegance of a falling petal!

How could someone like that be so cluelessly defeated by a simple, four-on-the-floor bassline?

It was a cosmic injustice, really.

Watching her fight was like watching a masterpiece being painted on an invisible canvas in real-time, but watching her dance was like... like watching a blender try to eat a wrench.

She came to a stop and glared at me. "Okay then. You show me."

...Huh?

All of a sudden, the surrounding crowd that had gathered in a circle around us erupted in a wave of cheers and jeers.

–"Yeah, you show her, bro!"

–"Why do I feel like this is going to be an even bigger disaster?"

–"Someone call the fire brigade! Because I think this is going to be fire!"

I looked around with half a smile, blinked at her, and gave a quick shrug.

"Fine," I said, setting my glass down with a flourish that was probably wasted on this crowd.

Then I smoothly stepped into her personal space — which usually meant entering a kill-zone, but tonight simply meant entering a zone of extreme social awkwardness.

Slipping my hands into my pockets, I decided to take it slow by rocking my body from side to side and shifting my weight in time with the upbeat electronic music bashing loudly through the speakers.

As the beat picked up, I added a slight sway and a bounce to match the rhythm.

Slowly rolling my shoulders, I brought one hand out and snapped my fingers right in her face, catching the exact millisecond the bass kicked back in.

Juliana flinched in surprise like a cat. It was adorable.

I shifted gears then by starting into a low, sliding step that carried me around her, my feet barely seeming to touch the sticky club floor.

It was all in the hips and the shoulders, how fluidly you roll them into the gaps between the beats. After years of practice, I was pretty damn good at it.

I let my arms loose, mirroring the sharp synth lines with precise pops and locks, then quickly melted back into a smooth sway the moment the melody turned silkier.

I was using the same spatial awareness I used in my fights, only now I was using it for the sole objective of looking incredibly cool in front of a girl.

The circle of people around us started to tighten, the energy in the air shifting from second-hand embarrassment to genuine awe as they watched me perform.

I was enjoying my rightful place in the spotlight.

"See this?" I called out over the roar of the speakers, executing a quick, triple-step spin that landed me right back in front of her. "This is called not thinking!"

I reached out and caught her hand, spinning her into me before she could even process what just happened.

I heard her gasp, and for a second, she went stiff.

But I didn’t give her a chance to recover and caught her waist, ignoring the annoying flutter of my own heart.

Even though it happened so fast, I couldn’t help but notice how... delicate she felt against me. It was a stupid thought. Obviously.

I knew that. I knew Juliana Vox Blade was anything but delicate.

But when my hand slid down to her lower back and I pressed her tighter against me... tighter until her startled eyes were only inches away from mine and her heavy breaths were warm on my lips...

It felt right.

She felt right in my arms. To the point where I thought she should belong there.

Guiding her into a rhythmic side-step that actually matched the tempo, I didn’t give her (or myself) time to catch a breath.

I kept us moving, using my own momentum to force her into a flow, turning her previous robotic stiffness into a sort of avant-garde street elegance.

Then, the beat dropped hard.

The floor practically vibrated out from under us.

I let go of her hand in a swirl and launched into a blur of quick footwork — a series of sweeps and freezes that had me hovering inches off the ground one second and spinning on my heels the next.

At last, I capped it off with a smooth slide backward, ending with a relaxed, lopsided grin as I smoothed down my hair.

For a moment, the air was filled with the sort of stunned silence that usually precedes a riot or a standing ovation.

Then, just as expected, the riot came.

The crowd absolutely detonated.

Cheers ripped through the VIP lounge, louder than even the music itself. People were whistling, slamming their palms against the tables, and shouting things that were mostly unintelligible.

The guy who had dropped his drink earlier was now frantically clapping, and the girl who had begun praying looked like she’d found a new religion.

Juliana stood there, slightly out of breath, her snowy white hair a bit messy and a deep blush blooming on her face. She looked at me, then at the screaming crowd, then back at me.

"A-Acceptable, I suppose," she conceded, her little voice barely audible over the madness.

"Acceptable? Darling, I’m a god!" I laughed, throwing my arms out.

The dam broke. Inspired by the sudden surge of adrenaline, the surrounding circle collapsed as everyone flooded the center of the floor.

The fire started spreading fast. Strangers began dancing with each other, and the energy hit a fever pitch as the DJ, clearly sensing the vibe, put on an even heavier track.

Everything after that became a chaos of pulsing bass and sweaty bodies raving under the neon lights.