Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!

⟪◈STATUS WINDOW◈⟫

╔═══════════════════════════════╗

║ Name: [ Mia Lancaster ]

║ Rank: [ ★★ ]

║ Exp: [ 750 / 10,000 ]

║ Element: [ Restoration ]

║ Path: [ Healer ]

║ Combat Style: [ N/A ]

╚═══════════════════════════════╝

⟪◈ STATS ◈⟫

◆ Health → [ 2,000 / 2,000 ]

◆ Strength → [ 20 ]

◆ Stamina → [ 26 ]

◆ Speed → [ 30 ]

◆ Endurance → [ 33 ]

◆ Dexterity → [ 50 ]

◆ Luck → [ 90 ]

⟪◈ QUEST ◈⟫

✦ Name: ❮ Chance ❯

↳ Rank: [ ★★★★★★★★ ]

↳ Location: — Deathland

↳ Threat Level: — Extreme

↳ Objective: — Help your team defeat a Sand Globe.

↳ Reward: — Ability: Back to Life

↳ Failure: — N/A

While laughter and idle chatter bounced around the fire, Mia's eyes never left the glowing window before her.

The translucent script hovered cold and unfeeling, but to her, it was louder than every voice in camp combined. She glared at it with a ferocity that might have burned through the letters if it could.

'If I complete this quest… if I somehow manage it… then I can bring Arawn back.'

The thought alone should have filled her chest with warmth. It didn't. Instead, it felt like steel being driven into her ribs, it was a reminder of what was gone, and of the impossible carrot dangling in front of her.

The reward of the quest, the ability: [Back to Life]. A grotesque miracle. A law-breaking cheat. A power that spat in the face of death itself.

With it, she could call a soul back from death, drag them into flesh again, and undo the one thing no one else could ever undo.

And the most delicious part? She didn't even need the corpse. She just had to remember him, hold his face in her mind's eye and he would return. If she had the mana to pay the price, Arawn would breathe again.

'But right now… I'm weak. Pathetically, insultingly weak. My mana pool is a puddle. To even think about casting that ability, I'd need to climb to at least Rank: ★★★★★★. Until then, it's nothing more than a cruel dream.'

Her jaw tightened, teeth biting against the inside of her cheek. Frustration and determination burned together, the combination sour and intoxicating.

Increasing her rank at least on paper, this wasn't so impossible.

Because Mia wasn't just any healer—she was a healer with a system. One with the passive skill: [Equal Rights]. A ridiculous, broken blessing that tilted the system in her favor.

Where others scraped for crumbs of experience, she sat at the table with a full plate. As long as she was there, as long as she offered her hand in battle, she would receive equal experience.

The same reward as the one who struck the killing blow.

For a healer or any other person, that wasn't just rare. That was monstrous.

Which meant her problem wasn't gaining experience—it was integration. For [Equal Rights] to work, she had to be in the fight. She had to be involved.

That meant training. That meant standing beside them, not sulking in the shadows. That meant bridging the space between her and the rest.

Her gaze softened, then slid away from the glowing text. Slowly, carefully, she let her eyes drift toward the three girls sitting together—Celeste, Amelia, and Freya.

They were laughing about something meaningless, bickering like children, smiles slipping on and off their faces in easy rhythm. Their energy was warm, bright, almost comforting. It looked like something that should have been beautiful to watch. A scene anyone else might have envied.

But Mia didn't feel envy. She didn't feel warmth either.

All she felt was the weight of calculation pressing down on her heart.

'That group… I should join them first. It's the most efficient option.'

Fortunately for her, someone had already extended her a helping hand. It was Celeste and she had her own plans.

And Mia knew it.

She didn't understand what those plans were yet but she didn't need to. If their goals aligned, even partially, it was leverage. And Mia wasn't in a position to reject leverage.

If Celeste wanted something in exchange for dragging her closer to the group? Fine. Mia would give it. As long as the road led her closer to Arawn, she didn't care whose game she had to play.

"Ahm… Mia, how are you feeling these days?"

Verena's voice broke the air softly.

Mia turned her head slowly, her black eyes glimmering with a faint, unreadable light. The glow of the campfire reflected across her face.

She didn't hate Verena. Mia understood well enough that Verena had her own reasons for despising nobles. Perhaps she even had the right. But that didn't erase the sting, nor the fractures her actions had caused.

If Mia was being honest with herself, she was still unhappy with her. But in truth, she needed someone to vent her bitterness onto. A medium to pour her failings and her grief into, to give her pain shape.

At first, that medium had been Arawn. She blamed him, fought with him, resisted him—until he was gone. And now, with him gone, she had quickly latched onto a new outlet.

That outlet was Verena.

Her lips barely moved, her voice flat, devoid of pretense. "Decent, I suppose. I still get flashes… memories of him, of the time we spent. It hurts. It literally hurts to even breathe properly. But… I'm trying to overcome myself. To crawl out of this grief."

Verena's lips quivered, but then curved into something soft. She inched closer, her body leaning ever so slightly toward Mia.

"That's good… it's good you're trying," she whispered. "It makes me happy to hear that. To see that you're fighting through it. If you ever need help, if you want to share the weight, you can come to me. Always. I'll be here to listen. I'll always be here."

Mia tilted her head just a little, and a smile touched her lips. To anyone else, it would have looked warm, even loving. But her eyes betrayed her.

"Is that guilt speaking… or is that your true self?" Mia asked softly, but each word was a knife. "Don't lie to me, Verena. I can see it in your eyes. The guilt leaks out of you. You think it's hidden, but it isn't."

The bluntness landed like a slap. Verena froze for a beat, startled. Her mouth parted slightly, then closed. For a moment, her face twisted with discomfort… but then she exhaled, letting her shoulders sink.

"You got me," she admitted, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. "Maybe I'm just terrible at hiding what I feel. You're right, it's guilt. More guilt than anything else."

Her voice trembled, but she pressed on. "This whole week, watching you mourn him, watching how broken you've been… it's made me question everything. Every word I ever spat at him. Every insult. Every moment I stood against him."

She swallowed hard, her throat visibly tightening. "I used to mask it, convince myself he was just pretentious, arrogant. That he wanted to control you. That he was dangerous. That all his actions were poison to you. So I treated him like the enemy."

Her eyes shimmered, moisture forming against her will. "But now? Now I see it. He wasn't the enemy. He broke my wrist, he choked me, yes, but in his own twisted way, he was protecting you. He was shielding you. And I—"

Her voice cracked. "I was the one trying to drive a wedge between you. I was the one pushing you apart without even realizing it."

The words dragged themselves out of her.

Mia didn't flinch. Her expression didn't soften. Instead, she lifted a hand and slowly laid it against Verena's shoulder, fingers brushing her lightly, almost comfortingly.

"Don't worry," Mia murmured. "The fact that you can admit what you've done wrong… the fact that you're willing to face your mistakes… that's good enough."

Relief flickered across Verena's face. Her lips parted, ready to thank her, her eyes brightening with the fragile hope of reconciliation—

But Mia cut her down before the hope could take root.

"But I won't ever be able to forgive you."

The words dropped like lead. Verena's entire body stiffened. Her face went pale, her eyes widened as if she had been struck. She looked at Mia, unblinking, frozen.

Mia, on the other hand, didn't hesitate. Her voice was calm, almost clinical. "Not only did you antagonize my brother… you poisoned the bond we had. Every time you stood against him, you planted another knot, another fracture. Do you know what that gave me?"

She laughed bitterly, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Memories. Fights. Just fights. That's all my last days with him became, petty arguments, pointless struggles. My memories with my brother are nothing but cracks, and you carved most of them. Even if you begged forgiveness every day of your life, I wouldn't give it. Because forgiveness won't give me, him back."

Her voice rose, raw and trembling, the mask cracking just enough to show the pain seething underneath. "My brother is gone. Our dreams are gone. Do you even know what he wanted, Verena?"

Silence.

Verena's lips parted, but no sound came out.

"Of course you don't." Mia's voice was sharp, cutting. "All he ever wanted was to see me grow. To see me become strong. To be a great healer. Yes, he was overprotective. Yes, he smothered me. But it was because he believed in me. Because he wanted me to thrive."

Her fists clenched, trembling in her lap. "And now he's gone. His dreams are gone. And me? What's left for me now? Who am I supposed to live for? Who am I supposed to heal for?"

Her face crumpled, tears streaking down her cheeks in rivers. The raw plea in her expression struck Verena's heart like a hammer.

Verena's hands shook as she reached out. Slowly, hesitantly, she placed one trembling hand over Mia's. Her voice was hoarse, thick with regret.

"Then… let me help you achieve his dream," she whispered. "Not for him. Not even for you. But for me. As atonement. Even if you never forgive me, I'll carry that burden. I'll make his dream live through you."

Mia buried her face into her knees, her slender body curling into itself. From inside the cocoon of her arms and legs, her lips twitched, curling upward.

A smile formed.

A smile that wasn't sorrowful.

A smile that was sharp, calculated.

Cold.