Chapter 595: The Protagonist Who Was Replaced (part two)

Years later, long after he was exiled, long after his name was smeared and dragged through the mud, long after crimes he didn’t commit were pinned onto him like rusted nails, long after the Ramsy family had erased him from their memory…

He met Clyde again.

Not at a grand banquet filled with crystal lights and polite smiles. Not in a dramatic confrontation soaked in anger and regret. Not under the spotlight of fate and destiny.

Just in a quiet, small bar tucked into a narrow street, where the lights were dim and the music hummed low enough that people could hear their own thoughts if they wanted to.

Micah was working. He wore a simple black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric lightly worn from too many washes. His brown hair was tied back loosely, a few strands falling near his eyes as he balanced a tray of drinks in one hand. The bar wasn’t fancy, but it attracted its fair share of spoiled second-generation brats who liked to slum it for fun.

Micah had learned to keep his head down. He was moving carefully between tables when a leg suddenly stretched out from one of the booths. It was such a deliberate move. The foot hooked right in the path of his step.

Micah’s heart dropped. He tightened his grip on the tray instinctively, already bracing himself for the familiar humiliation. The crash of glass, the cold splash of alcohol smoking his clothes, and the laughter that would follow.

Here it comes, he thought tiredly. Fuck, the bill for these few drinks would get this week’s pay deducted for sure. There goes my dinner! Again!

Micah wanted to cry but had no tears.

It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened. These people loved seeing him fall, loved proving they still had power over someone who had lost everything. There was a time when these people flocked around him, trying to curry favour. But now, they enjoyed tormenting him more.

Micah shut his eyes tightly, waiting for his face to hit the ground, but before his balance could tip forward, a hand caught his waist, the other the tray.

The touch was warm, steady and firm without being rough. Micah stumbled only slightly before the pressure straightened him back upright. The tray wobbled, glass clinking together, but nothing spilled.

“Hey, careful with that,” a calm voice said beside him. There was not a hint of mocking, or amusement. Just a tiny bit of concern hid in the undertone.

Micah turned around and froze. His breath stopped for a second. The man standing next to him was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a formal dark suit that looked far too expensive for this place. His blond hair was neatly combed, his face sharp and familiar in a way that made Micah’s chest tighten painfully. Eyes apathetic, expression composed.

“Clyde…?” The name slipped out before Micah could stop it.

The man blinked. Then his brows knit together slightly, confusion flickering across his face. He studied Micah openly, eyes lingering a second too long, as if searching for something he couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry,” Clyde said after a pause, a faint suspicion creeping into his face, “Have we met?”

The question poured icy cold water over Micah, letting him know the reality again.

Micah’s fingers tightened around the tray. He shook his head quickly. “No. Sorry. Mistake.”

His voice sounded steadier than he felt.

Clyde hesitated, clearly unconvinced. His gaze lingered, brows still furrowed, but Micah had already turned away after delivering the drinks. He stepped behind the counter, pretending to focus on wiping a glass, beating himself for slipping the name instead of thanking the man for helping him.

He peeked sideways, Clyde hadn’t moved, expression thoughtful.

Micah tore his gaze away and kept his head down. His shoulders hunched slightly, movements practised and quiet, desperately trying to seem invisible. He poured drinks, wiped the counter, and handed orders out to customers without looking up.

Minutes passed. Finally, when he dared to glance sideways again, he spotted Clyde.

He was sitting at the bar. On a stool directly across from him, another bartender was serving him a drink.

One arm rested on the counter, fingers tapping idly. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze wasn’t. He was watching Micah with that same faint frown, as if a puzzle piece refused to fit.

Micah looked away immediately. Don’t look. What if he recognises you?

Truthfully, Micah hadn’t thought much about Clyde’s absence until now.

With everything that happened, from betrayal, exile, survival, and scraping his way through each day, the matter had simply slipped out of his mind. That alone should have proven how insignificant Clyde was in his eyes.

And standing here now, aware of Clyde’s presence, Micah realised something important. Clyde had completely severed his role from the plot until now. Yeah, Micah feared the man and all, being dangerous, obsessive and unpredictable, but Clyde had a huge impact overall in the plot. In his previous life, the amount of time Micah had exchanged words with Clyde was less than a handful, hence his lack of understanding of the man. But Clyde’s role was significant. He was the one who had a face-off against Darcy and those four men, constantly being a thorn in their side.

And now? He just appeared here. Did he come with an ulterior motive? But Micah could see clearly that he had not recognised him.

Feeling conflicted, Micah was torn between being happy seeing Clyde here and disappointed. If the man had really come after him, wanting to use him against those four men, Micah thought the blow would be too critical. He couldn’t stand it. But even though it was the truth, a tiny bit of joy crept into his heart, realising Clyde had come back into his life again.

After one drink, Clyde stood up, shaking him awake from his stupor.

He placed a bill on the counter, fingers lingering a moment as if he wanted to say something but didn’t. “Thanks,” he said simply.

Micah nodded without looking up.

And then Clyde left.

The bar noise rushed back into Micah’s ears, laughter and clinking glasses filling the space Clyde had occupied.

Micah stood there, glass in his hand, staring at nothing. A scoff escaped his lips. Ha!

So even Clyde, the crazy man who was obsessed with him in his last life found him unattractive in this world too.

A hollow feeling spread through his chest.

A few days passed. Micah told himself he wouldn’t think about it. Then, one evening, the door opened again. The same tall figure stepped inside. Micah recognised him instantly. Clyde took the same seat at the bar.

This time when Micah approached, Clyde spoke first. “Busy night?” He asked casually.

Micah paused, then nodded. “Friday night.”

The conversion stalled. Micah smiled faintly. The man was as taciturn as always. Maybe even awkward?

Micah poured a drink and set it on the counter. “On the house.”

Clyde raised an eyebrow, staring at him.

“It’s a thank you for the last time,” Micah mumbled as he looked away. Even if there was a lingering fear from his last life, Clyde had still helped him twice.

Clyde didn’t comment on it. He slowly grabbed the drink and took a sip, showing his acceptance.

From then on, Clyde came back. Not every night, not predictably. Sometimes he sat quietly, sometimes he asked about the bar, the weather, the drink. Mundane things. Meaningless things.

Micah found himself responding. Laughing occasionally. Relaxing. The man genuinely had no idea who Micah was.

The fear from his last time faded slowly, replaced by something softer. Normality.

He was indebted to the man. Micah had caused him to die in his last life. So he never asked for help, never talked about the Ramsy family.

But there was something comforting in knowing that this version of Clyde had not fallen for Darcy like those four.

At least someone had remained unchanged….

Micah didn’t know then that this fragile peace was already borrowed time.

The end, however, was still brutal. The Ramsy empire fell again, swallowed by the Lobarts.

Micah died.

And as his consciousness faded, he realised too late, the system was there again. The transmigrator too.

Another failure.

Another reset.

The next life was no different. Micah tried to be smarter. He trained. Learned to shoot. To drive. To fight. Martial arts, acting, deception, anything that might help him resist the system’s control. But with every lifetime, his memories grew thinner. Disoriented.

He forgot why this curse existed. He forgot who started it. He lost the real reason for this misfortune. He could never talk about the system to others. It was like a secret no one could know about.

Eventually, Micah became the villain. A real one. Not a shred of his past memories remained.

Until the will of the world showed him the book.

Not the correct version…but enough. Enough to remember. Enough to understand.

What never changed was Clyde.

Clyde never loved anyone else.

Only Micah.

After Micah’s death, Clyde would lose his mind. He took revenge on those four men. Destroyed them. That was only now that Micah realised how much Clyde had suffered.

Just like Darcy had done in another life when he learned the truth.

Darcy had always been innocent. It was the system. The transmigrators. They failed again and again, leaving only destruction in their wake.

Micah swore he would get his revenge on the system and its host. He had long lost his love for those four scumbags. Even though he knew they were under the influence of the story, thinking it was their fate to love Darcy… the things they had done to Darcy and him made his love turn to hatred. He loathed them. But still, he could not eliminate them. What if their resentment and karma ruined his world again? Best to heal them somewhat and let them out of his sight. He had realised none of them had an easy life before they had fallen in love with him in the book. Micah believed he had repaid them this way, helping them to face their demons.

Yes. Micah believed this was mercy. And this time…

He would end the system.

For good.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep