They Hated Me in My First Life, But Now I Have the Love System

Chapter 309: They Aren’t Normal People Alright?!

And like the others, the people who saw did not snitch.

Not one word.

Target by target, one by one... they all escaped.

The guards who had proudly surrounded the area minutes ago now stood awkwardly in the fading evening light,

eyes down, uniforms dusty, hearts pounding, not from the chase, but from what they had to do next.

Report.

One of them reluctantly pressed the comm button. “Sir... please skip to—uh—I mean, the target escaped.”

There was silence. Then another voice chimed in.

“Sir... he escaped too.”

“Sir, she escaped—"

“Sir, the Baron also escaped—"

Each voice cwith more dread, more guilt, more unwillingness, like messengers delivering doom scrolls to a

very angry god.

Inside the sleek black car parked by the roadside, Assistant Michael sat completely still, his jaw tight, eyes fixed

on the dashboard like it had personally offended him. He felt like Job in the Bible, bad news crashing in one after

the other, no tto breathe.

Another buzz. “Sir... she escaped.”

Frustrated Assistant Michael “...”

His eyebrow twitched.

“Sir, he escaped.”

Frustrated Assistant Michael “...”

His hands clenched.

Sir

“I swear,” Assistant Michael growled lowly, gripping the armrest like it might jump out the window, “if one more

person says he escaped or she escaped, | will develop a personal allergy to the words ‘he’ and ‘escaped.'”

The comms were dead silent.

The last subordinate, not wanting to be the final nail, hesitated for too long.

“SIR!”

“Yes?!”

“...They escaped.”

Frustrated Assistant Michael “...”

Michael's eye twitched violently.

He shot up from his seat, grabbed the phone, and hurled it across the road. It shattered against a low stone wall

in tic fashion.

The guards watched from a distance, pretending to check their boots or the clouds.

“Don’t you guys have ANY other words in your vocabulary?!” he shouted. “Is ‘they escaped’ the only thing you

know how to say? Can't you be a little more creative? Say something like—'they performed a miracle, sir!’ Or

‘they vanished in a puff of smoke!” Givesomething | can spin when | go report this to the interim King!”

The surbodinates “..?"

They exchanged glances.

“That... wasn’t the point though, was it?” one of them mumbled under his breath.

Too bad for Assistant Michael, a broken phone was not a good excuse for delivering failure.

He groaned and rubbed his face, muttering under his breath, “I should've called in sick today.”

As if reading Assistant Michael's mind, one of his subordinates calmly walked over to the shattered phone,

picked it up like it was a sacred relic, popped out the SIM card, and slotted it into a brand new device he had

tucked away in his bag.

Efficient. No extra movements. No tic sighs. Just the kind of silent loyalty that screamed: “I'm used to

cleaning up after your mess. I'll probably do it again.”

He handed the new phone to Assistant Michael with a slight bow, saying nothing. Assistant Michael accepted it

without a word either, staring at the screen for a moment like it held all his regrets.

He sighed and dialed Interim King Obinna’s number. His thumb hovered over the call button for a second too

long, as if praying it would not connect.

It did.

“Tellyou have them with you,” cObinna’s voice, sharp and direct.

There was a pause. Assistant Michael's mouth opened, but no words came. He looked at the guards around him,

the sones who had annoyed him moments ago with their “he escaped, she escaped” report.

Now look at him.

“...Sir,” he began, the words bitter on his tongue, “they escaped.”

The surbodinates “..."

Silence. Not from the king, from his own men.

All the subordinates stared at him. “You too?” their eyes said. After all that yelling?

Even Assistant Michael felt it. The secondhand embarrassment. The full circle irony. The deep, spiritual cringe.

He had just said the sthree words that had nearly made him rupture a blood vessel five minutes ago.

But he had no choice. What else could he say? They performed synchronized evasive maneuvers like ninjas?

They broke the sound barrier in different directions?

There were no fancy ways to dress it up. The truth was, they escaped.

He cleared his throat and straightened up, masking the sting of his own humiliation with forced composure.

“We're organizing new search units now,” he added quickly, trying to sound like he had a grip on the situation.

On the other end, Obinna was silent. The kind of silence that made Michael want to hang up and disappear into

the wind.

“It seems like it's tfor you to start looking for new employment,” Obinna’s voice cthrough sharp as

glass. “You knew exactly where they were... yet you still lost them? What's the point of having you and all those

guards? Are you just for decoration now?”

Michael said nothing, his lips pressed in a thin line. His hand gripped the phone tighter.

“You can’t even catch five people in one city?” Obinna continued, his voice rising. “Five! Not a battalion, not a

rebellion, five civilians!”

Michael flinched slightly at the word civilians. They were not exactly normal civilians alright?!

“So here’s what you're going to do now,” Obinna growled. “Get to the borders. Use the stationed men at every

airport, waterway, and train station. | don’t care how, just find them. Bring my siblings back. Do you

understand?”

Michael took a breath and forced his voice to stay level, despite the sweat forming at his temple. “Yes, sir. |

understand.”

The call cut without another word.

He stood still for a moment, letting the silence settle over him like a heavy cloak. Then he slowly turned to face

the returning subordinates, faces weary and frustrated, clothes slightly rumpled, egos completely bruised.

They braced for the storm.

But to their surprise, Michael did not explode. Instead, he looked at them the way a defeated chess player might

regard a clever opponent: tired, irritated, but slightly humbled.

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