Chapter 48: It Wasn’t a Dream (1)

Words : 1314 Updated : Sep 24th, 2025

Chapter 48 of "I Cultivated Too Long and Got Isekai'd Into a Game" starts the action: Chapter 48: It Wasn’t a Dream (1) "You scammer! You phony clown!" CRACK! Inside a certain mansion, a... Find out what happens!

Chapter 48: It Wasn’t a Dream (1) "You scammer! You phony clown!" CRACK! Inside a certain mansion, a young woman cried out in fury. The wine bottle she hurled to the floor shattered, its crimson contents spreading a fine red stain over the pure white carpet. That bottle had been a 160-year-old Rothsmeyer—something that, if given a price, should be as costly as a V8 Fenriri. But to the woman in the pale yellow, high-slit dress, such articles meant absolutely nothing. "How dare you deceive me with your pathetic, phony techniques?! You just wasted my precious time!" She growled at the old man currently sprawled across the marble floor, one cheek swollen red from the aftermath of her punch. Her fiery red hair, tied into a tight ponytail, bristled in anger as she clenched her jaw. She was fuming—literally. "W-Wait, young miss... P-Please, allow me to explain...!" the old man pleaded, struggling through the pain. "I... I truly can help you begin with Cultivation... But your meridians... They’re...!" "Enough, you quack!" the lady spat, her orange eyes blazing with rage. "Do you know how many times I’ve heard that exact line? Do you know how many I followed, hoping it would work? Dozens! All frauds!" She stomped forward, her anger crackling in the air. As soon as she reached an arm’s length, she grabbed the old man’s graying hair and yanked his head upward. "And... do you know what I did to phony ’Masters’ like you?" she asked, her voice as flat and cold as steel. "I made sure they’d never again get the chance to fool another soul. You get what I’m saying, right?" "...!" Despair washed over the old man’s face. He knew that this woman’s words weren’t empty threats. "Guards!" she barked. "Take this scammer away! Break his dominant arm and one leg. That’s what he gets for trying to deceive me, Henrietta, of the Campbell Family!" Almost as if waiting for her signal, dozens of large-built men surged into the room, grabbing the old man and dragging him away without an ounce of hesitation. Their faces were expressionless as they followed their master’s every command to the letter. "P-Please, young lady, I beg of you...! Have mercy...!" the old man cried, literally in tears. But Henrietta didn’t spare him a glance. Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked out of the hall, heading directly into the room next door. Mercy wasn’t something she extended to scammers. As soon as she closed the door, though, she bit her lip hard. "Fuck!" She slammed her fist into the wall, leaving behind a deep, jagged dent. All around her, the room’s walls were already covered in fist- and foot-shaped impressions—clearly used as outlets for rage over the past few years. But in truth, the oldest mark left there was barely twelve hours old. To clarify: the walls weren’t made of drywall. This was solid, high-grade concrete mix. The kind of material that would shatter a normal person’s hand if they tried to punch it with full strength. Henrietta kept pounding the walls. Each strike was powerful, violent, and precise—enough to make the entire room shudder, and leave a deep imprint where her fist landed. Yet the more she punched, the angrier she became. "Fuck, fuck, fuck...! UGH!" No longer able to restrain herself, she ruffled her own hair in frustration and growled lowly like a cornered beast. After a few rough breaths, trying in vain to steady her emotions, her eyes landed on a black card lying on her bed. A VVIP membership card from a particular luxury chain in the capital. "..." She hesitated for only a moment, then strode over, picked up the card, grabbed her purse, and kicked her door open with a bang. "I’m going to the usual place. Follow me if you want to die early." Words she was far too used to saying. Without another thought, she marched through the long hallway, her heels clicking with finality, and headed out toward the parking lot. The chauffeur standing by the entrance stiffened like a board the moment he saw her. "L-Lady Henrietta! Please have a safe trip!" With a deep bow, he extended his hand, offering several keys—all belonging to different branded sports cars parked in the lot across from them, nestled among hundreds of others. "...I don’t feel like using a Fenriri today. I’ll take the McGuren," she said with a sharp snap of her fingers. Just as she spoke, a shadowy figure materialized beside her, seemingly teleporting out of thin air, and handed her a sleek key with the McGuren logo. The chauffeur who had been ignored remained in his bowing pose, trembling like a newborn lamb, only relaxing once Henrietta had driven off. He let out a long, shaky sigh of relief. "I thought I was gonna die..." he muttered to the man standing nearby. "But the young lady’s even more pissed today. Did that old man..." "Yeah. Another con," the bulky man said with a nod, eyes still focused on the car. "She’s definitely feeling more cornered now. After all, that time is drawing near." "Ah..." The chauffeur ran a hand through his white-and-brown hair, his expression growing awkward. "Honestly, the young lady’s terrifying... but I do pity her fate." The two, seemingly close friends, both looked toward the direction the red car had vanished. "If only there were a real Kung Fu master who could teach her how to control that monstrous strength..." the chauffeur said with a sigh. "But let’s be real. She’s not going to find one. Not in a VR café, at least." "Don’t speak so definitively. Who knows what fate might throw her way?" the bulky man replied, gaze distant. "Still... we’re not the ones who get to decide things for her." "Right... We’re just workers, after all." They both shrugged at the same time and returned to their respective duties. The chauffeur remained at his station, while the other man vanished—his figure dissolving like a mirage in sunlight. Unbeknownst to anyone, their idle talk had just jinxed the young lady’s fate. ???????????? After a half-hour of high-speed driving, a blazing red sports car screeched to a halt in front of a rather inconspicuous location. "Holy shit—! Hey, look! Is that a McGuren?!" "Damn! First time seeing one up close! That beast costs more than my dad’s entire company!" "Forget the car—look at the driver! What a goddamn goddess! I’d sell my soul just to lick her armpits!" "Dude! Armpits? Go for the bellybutton at least!" "Hahaha! You degenerates who’s all talk! Just watch me—I’ll be the one to get her!" As the crowd whispered and buzzed like a swarm of excited flies, ogling both the rare car and its stunning driver, a self-proclaimed hero stepped forward. "Hey there, cutie~ Wanna grab some coffee with me? I promise it’ll be hot and sweet~" A cocky, good-looking man called out to her, oozing confidence. "..." But the woman kept walking, her heels clicking against the pavement, completely ignoring him. The man, clearly not used to rejection, scowled. "Hey, wait! Don’t be snobby like that, oka—" He reached out and grabbed her arm. A fatal mistake. A second later, he was lying face-down on the pavement, his face a smashed mess of blood and regret. It happened so fast that nobody saw what transpired. But nobody dared move or speak—not until the woman finished glaring down at him as if she were looking at garbage. Without a word, she turned and calmly walked into the building as if nothing had happened. The signage above the door was plain but polished, giving off a strange sense of refined comfort. Happy Lucky VR Cabin Café A place to access VR Pods. A place to play games. A place to release stress. And, for one angry young heiress... A place to meet with fate.

Chapter 48: It Wasn’t a Dream (1)

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