Happy Evil Heartbreaker [Modern LitRPG]

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Chapter 134: Dionysius And Dematero

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Xanthia was utterly unaware that an unexpected windfall of "pain points" was just around the corner for her.

It seems that certain humanoid summon beasts truly are walking sources of misery—not only do they craft heart-wrenching works that plunge readers into despair, but they also seem to generate a wealth of sorrow in the real world.

Today, however, none of this could touch her. She was positively delighted, the happy points she’d accumulated easily two or three times her usual amount. The newly acquired skill of commanding tiny flying insects was especially amusing, providing her with a whole new range of tricks for pranking others.

Most importantly, she had finally broken through to Lv2 in figure skating, earning her the long-coveted trait, "Light as a Feather."

Perhaps it was her imagination, but she now felt her steps had become lighter, as if she were gliding on the very breeze itself.

Once she applied this trait to ice skating, her speed would increase dramatically, her movements more graceful and fluid than ever. She was already itching for the day when she could compete alongside professional skaters.

With the buffs Strong Body and Light as a Feather under her belt, she no longer had to worry about the growth of her strength and agility attributes. She’d even begun to allocate happy points to boost those fundamental stats.

Xanthia could only wish for more traits that would accelerate her basic attribute growth.

Upon returning home, she picked up her trusty nightmare phone—unlimited battery, never overheats or lags—and resumed playing, steadily accumulating more happy points. She once again savored the bliss of being an ordinary student on winter break.

 

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Dionysius, in high spirits, finally met up with his recently befriended confidant—Dematero, a man of talent whom he held in high regard.

The two gathered outside a seemingly unremarkable barbecue joint.

After exchanging pleasantries, Dionysius’s expression grew somewhat perplexed. "Dematero, I don’t believe I’ve ever mentioned my fondness for this particular barbecue spot, ‘First-Class Grill.’ How is it that, when you decided to treat me to dinner, you happened to choose this rather inconspicuous place?"

The shopfront of First-Class Grill was small and modest, the atmosphere unremarkable. But the owner was honest, preparing fresh beef, lamb, and pork skewers every day, marinated on the spot. None of those frozen, pre-packaged skewers found in delivery-based joints.

Hearing Dionysius’s remark, Dematero smiled mysteriously, half-joking, half-serious. "What if I told you it was your future self who told me? He even treated me to a few rounds of barbecue here. Would you believe it?"

In reality, they had conspired on more than a few occasions in this very spot. In the eyes of many, Dematero, a bestselling author, was no more than a “scholar” under Dionysius's banner, his so-called “tactician.”

Dionysius inwardly sighed at Dematero’s cryptic manner, but he refrained from outright dismissing it. Instead, he said cautiously, "Liking this barbecue spot isn’t exactly a state secret. The fact that you chose this place only proves you did your homework. I’m impressed."

Dematero didn’t mind Dionysius’s scepticism. He knew Dionysius was a man who paid close attention to detail, and he was just about to show him a bit more of his keen insight.

The owner of First-Class Grill recognized Dionysius, one of his most valued customers, and immediately led him to the best private room—complete with its own air conditioning. In fact, this room was always reserved for him.

Dionysius, born into a prestigious familia, was generous yet approachable, with a well-known love for fine food. One of his favorite sayings was, "Food and love are the only things not to be squandered."

Such a food-loving, undemanding, and generous customer was, of course, every restaurant owner’s dream.

What surprised Dionysius next was that Dematero ordered precisely the skewers he loved, including the perfect level of spice. Dematero even thoughtfully included fried tofu and chicken fillets, along with the right sauce.

“How on earth did you get such meticulous intel?” Dionysius asked, astonished.

Dematero maintained his enigmatic smile. “There was no intel. Just practice and familiarity, that’s all.”

He hadn’t even asked about Dionysius’s preferences yet had nailed them perfectly. That level of detail was astounding, and understandably, Dionysius was impressed.

Many of the girls clamoring to chase after Dionysius likely didn’t know him as well as Dematero did!

Even Xanthia, his sister and arguably the most important person in his life, wasn’t this attentive. She tended to be a bit more self-centred when it came to Dionysius. After all, he shared her surname, which meant he owed her, in her mind. She wanted to cash in on those coins and wasn’t shy about showing it.

It had taken Dionysius a great deal of patience and impeccable conduct to earn Xanthia’s trust. In fact, earlier today, he had passed her “test,” securing her trust further.

Dematero then called for a case of beer. He was intent on having a good, long chat with Dionysius.

Carrying the weight of his painful memories alone had been exhausting. He needed someone he could confide in.

If this were the plot of a rebirth novel, Dematero’s actions would be poison. How could he reveal his status as a "reborn" individual? That was supposed to be his trump card!

It was much like the strategy trope in time-travel novels—if you’re transported back in time, don’t just settle for being a mere tactician; go for the throne yourself. Otherwise, you lose control of your destiny, and if you choose the wrong individual to serve, your end will be tragic.

But Dematero was not a man of great ambition. He knew he wasn’t cut out for grand conquest. In fact, in his “past life,” the title of “tactician” had been entirely fabricated. His real talent? Writing books.

Amusingly, Dionysius’s rival, Susan La Papadopoulos, had been fooled by that fabricated title and even tried to poach him—unsuccessfully, of course.

Dematero was not the type to waver in his loyalty, and he had no desire to face Susan, whose appearance resembled Xanthia, though her aura was entirely different.

Xanthia radiated warmth and had an incredibly gentle temperament, while Susan was cold to the core, with a touch of madness. Dematero wisely chose to steer clear of women like her.

Moreover, Dionysius had done him a great favor.

His previous publisher had been a nightmare to work with—no freedom, constant pressure to be marketed as an idol author, and zero creative autonomy. It had been suffocating!

But after teaming up with Dionysius, Dematero poured his heart into his work, winning over Dionysius completely. From that point on, he was free to create as he pleased, unencumbered by finances and able to serve his readers a mix of emotional poison and bitter truths.

Dionysius had clearly helped him out of respect for Xanthia, becoming his benefactor.

Every time Dematero revisited those painful memories, he became more certain that Dionysius, who had treated him with such sincerity, was well worth pledging his loyalty to.

What a shame, though, that Dionysius had come so close to securing his place as heir, only to falter at the last step.

He had ambition, talent, and cunning—his only real flaw was the stigma of being an "illegitimate child." He showed restraint when dealing with the other members of the Papadopoulos familia, likely out of a sense of familial loyalty.

Dematero thought that even with his limited skills, he could still offer Dionysius some valuable advice based on his "future knowledge." At the very least, he needed to keep reminding Dionysius to watch out for Susan!

Dionysius’s reluctance to take decisive action against Susan, Dematero suspected, stemmed from her resemblance to someone dear to him.

Susan, as the daughter of a vassal, had some luck on her side, with no shortage of ability and cunning. If Dionysius’s dubious parentage was his Achilles’ heel, Susan’s gender and her non-Papadopoulos parentage were hers.

But unlike Xanthia, Susan was not one for camaraderie. She preferred to act alone, often taking reckless gambles. Her character was leagues apart from Xanthia’s, and even her beauty, though striking in the early days, would eventually pale compared to Xanthia’s radiance—a judgement Dematero made without bias.

Oh, why did Xanthia have to die young? If she were still alive, the dazzling eldest daughter of the Papadopoulos familia would surely have overshadowed Susan!

Dematero was the only one who had witnessed Xanthia’s full potential in her late years, and he could hardly wait to vent his frustrations.

...

With a flood of emotions rushing through him, Dematero swiftly opened the case of beer. With practiced ease, he gripped a bottle with his teeth and popped it open. After Xanthia's death in his previous life, he had frequently turned to alcohol to numb the pain. Whenever he found himself at a loss for words or stuck on a plot point, he'd drink to loosen his thoughts, hoping inspiration would strike.

He hadn’t always been this way. Smoking? Never. Drinking? Hardly. But as time went on, alcohol had become his solace, his constant companion. It dulled the sting of grief and the weight of failures he’d carried.

Hanging around Dionysius certainly didn’t hurt either. As someone connected to the upper echelons of society, Dionysius had access to the finest liquor, both domestic and international—high-end drinks, luxurious red wines, champagne, and whiskey. Dematero would never dream of spending his hard-earned royalties on such extravagances, but freeloading from a wealthy third-generation scion like Dionysius? Now that was a privilege he could get behind. His wine cellar alone was the stuff of envy.

That was one of the reasons Dematero had decided to “attach” himself to Dionysius early on. After all, sometimes being a reincarnator didn’t mean you could achieve world-shattering success. Especially not if, in the previous life, you’d been a loser to begin with. To suddenly rise above everyone after reincarnation? That was nothing short of a hidden protagonist's plot armor.

When Dematero had first awakened in this second life, he too had felt an inexplicable confidence, a surge of ambition. But as time passed, he came to understand his own limitations. And worse, the “butterfly effect” had only grown stronger. His dreams of making it big? At best, he might become a successful author ahead of schedule.

As they say, a scholar's worth is often useless in the grand scheme of things. Writing could lead to financial freedom, sure, but controlling power? Managing capital? Building connections? Those were beyond him. He couldn’t grasp it, and frankly, he didn’t care to.

Thus, the thought of latching onto someone like Dionysius became increasingly appealing. The more he entertained the idea, the more it made sense. Why stress when the mighty campus crush was there to bear the weight of the opulence?

After expertly opening his beer, Dematero dutifully poured a drink for Dionysius.

Dionysius accepted the drink with both hands, his demeanor as approachable as ever. Dematero appreciated this about him—the way Dionysius never let his prestigious background inflate his ego. He always treated people with respect, never looking down on anyone. Instead, he found and appreciated their strengths.

Unlike Susan, though capable and brilliant in her own right, she was cold and arrogant, seemingly uninterested in anyone or anything. No one, it seemed, could ever win her favor.

Soon after, plates of crispy fried tofu, chicken strips, and succulent skewers were served. The two men began to eat and chat, the atmosphere growing more congenial with every bite.

"Dematero, I heard that the novel you submitted has been published in that popular publishing site. To have a novel published at your age—you're hiding some serious talent, you know?" Dionysius complimented, taking a sip of his beer.

Once Dematero started drinking, it was hard for him to stop. The skewers made a perfect pairing as he knocked back drink after drink. His tolerance, however, was abysmal—he was the type who couldn’t hold his liquor but loved to drink all the same.

Sitting in the same room, with the same friend, in the same restaurant, Dematero felt a surreal sense of deja vu. Was this the present, or had he somehow drifted back to his previous life?

Hearing Dionysius's praise, Dematero grinned, letting a bit of youthful arrogance slip into his voice. "It's just one story in a magazine. Wait until I'm serialising The Gods—then I'll be the king of that publication! I was even thinking of killing off a super popular female character in the most brutal way. I wanted to have her… violated and murdered. But the editor actually showed up at my door, knife in hand, begging me to reconsider. So, I gave him a pass. Ha!"

Dionysius frowned slightly. For all Dematero's talent, his writing could be... extreme. Killing off a beloved character in such a grotesque manner? No wonder the editor had come to protest, knife in hand.

Wait a second. How did I let him distract me like that? I almost believed his reincarnation nonsense. This whole thing is absurd. I have to remain cautious, no matter how clever his storytelling is.

While Dematero drank and ate with reckless abandon, Dionysius remained cautious. He nibbled on skewers and treated the beer more like mouthwash than a beverage. His alcohol tolerance was excellent—he could drink beer like water—but he never allowed himself to indulge too much.

"Fine. I'll humor you and believe that you'll be a famous author one day. You've already shown your talent. But tell me about my future—what do you think it'll be like?" Dionysius asked, more out of curiosity than belief.

He didn’t fully trust Dematero, but since the young writer claimed to be a "reincarnator," why not let him spin his tales?

"Your future? Boundless, obviously. Why else would I befriend you so early? I'm a reincarnator, after all. I should be keeping my success a secret and making a fortune in silence. But in my past life, I was too obsessed with writing. Now, because I've made different choices, everything’s changed. The butterfly effect is too strong. Things don’t match my memories anymore…”

Dematero complained bitterly. He was lucky to have been reincarnated, sure, but his so-called "cheat ability" amounted to nothing more than the books he had written. At least he had honed his craft to a razor’s edge.

But when it came to predicting the future, the big events? He couldn't remember much. Not even the small details of life at school or in his class. No matter how hard he tried, he realized he was stuck playing the role of a "reincarnator plagiarist." Becoming a financial tycoon? A business mogul? That was just a pipe dream.

"That’s rather vague coming from you," Dionysius smiled, raising his glass to Dematero for a toast. "You’re a talented writer, after all. I suppose I’ll just have to take your fantastical stories as entertainment."

Dematero, already tipsy, clinked his glass enthusiastically and downed his drink in one go, his eyes growing red and his mood sinking further into melancholy. His dishevelled state only enhanced the "tormented artist" vibe he gave off, an odd sight for a high school boy.

The sight of Dematero like this tugged at Dionysius's mind, especially when the conversation turned to his soft spot—his sister, Xanthia. Dematero had struck a nerve earlier.

"I know you don't trust easily," Dematero muttered, his voice thick with alcohol. "In your heart, the only person you'll ever truly trust is your sister, Xanthia. You’ve always treated her like a little sister, haven't you?"

Dionysius’s expression darkened instantly. Whenever the subject of Xanthia came up, his mood shifted. His love and protectiveness for his sister surpassed anything else in his life.

"It seems you know quite a bit about me," Dionysius replied, his voice cold. "Tell me, then—what do you see in Xanthia's future?"

Dematero knew everything about her future. After her death, he had poured his soul into writing her biography—a book that marked the peak of his career as a writer. After that, everything he wrote was shallow, mere poison for profit.

"No rush," Dematero said, leaning back with a bitter smile. "We've got time tonight. I can tell you all about it. But before that, you seem to be in a good mood today. Did you spend the day with Xanthia? She has that effect on people, doesn’t she? Why don’t you tell me what you two were up to?"

Dionysius wasn’t in a hurry. He didn’t think Dematero could surprise him. So, with a relaxed smile, he began to share.

Dionysius even pulled out his phone, showing Dematero photos and videos of Xanthia. Most of them featured her gliding gracefully on the ice, capturing the elegance and determination she displayed while figure skating.

As he spoke about his time with his sister, Dionysius’s face softened, a genuine smile spreading across his features. Xanthia was his rock, his source of happy, the one who filled the void left by their negligent parents. She was everything to him.

He held nothing back in his sharing, except for one detail—the game of "truth or dare" they had played earlier. Still, he was open and candid, hoping that by doing so, he could encourage Dematero to reciprocate with honesty.

At the end of his retelling, Dionysius showed a photo of Xanthia with her sleeves rolled up, revealing bruised arms from her skating practice. He sighed, his voice filled with both pride and concern. “My sister... she's so stubborn. Once she sets her mind to something, she'll push herself to the brink to achieve it.”

Dematero stared at the photo, feeling a sharp pang in his heart. Unable to control himself, he slammed his fist on the table and exploded, “That’s why she dies in the future, Dionysius! Is this how you protect her?”

His outburst startled Dionysius, the raw emotion in Dematero’s voice hanging in the air. Dematero’s mind flashed back to another painful memory—Susan’s cold words after she had brought about Dionysius’s downfall:

"You think a bastard like you could ever lead the Papadopoulos familia? You couldn’t even protect Xanthia, you worthless fool!"