Cel

Ill-willed visitors would fall sick after visiting the town, followed by death sometime later, leading the public to dismiss the incidents as unfortunate coincidences exaggerated by superstition and small-town paranoia.

But the produce of Harveston is second to none. The best in the country. They have operated for centuries without issue, so claims of deformities within their products are often brushed aside as narratives spun by outsiders unfamiliar with the land.

How could you? the fans said.

Visiting Harveston is mostly safe, and you can do so easily. Just—

behave.

Do not say rude things. Do not cause trouble. Be at your best behavior, and you will be fine.

Though some people still advise against visiting at all. If you truly wish to try Harveston’s apple products, perhaps it is better to simply buy them from your local grocery store instead.

Today, another victim has fallen to the curse.

“Y’remember Jack Sterling? The fella who stayed here fer near a month a few weeks back? Heard he just died,” one of the townies whispered inside the diner.

“Oh goodness… y’think it’s th’ curse again?”

“Been a while since th’ curse took somebody, ain’t it?”

“How many’s it been now? Is he… th’ ninth?”

“I mean, t’be fair, that lad could be mighty brass sometimes…”

“Yeah, but that don’t mean he deserved t’die.”

“But what d’you know ‘bout what he did t’our land?”

“You kids ask stupid questions. How d’you know it’s because of us? Th’ spirit of Harveston is kind, and th’ only reason th’ Curse of Harveston still exists is because folks like y’all keep bringin’ it up! Stop that nonsense!”

The cook shouted at the gossiping teenagers, silencing them immediately.

Two pairs of eyes watched the scene unfold, their grips tightening slightly around their silverware. One carried far more worry upon her face than the other.

“Another one’s fallen victim again…” Marja Felmier, an elderly woman with lavender applepom, murmured softly. “Why’s th’ kind spirit takin’ more folks nowadays…?”

Epel Felmier, her grandson, merely returned to his meal, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Just like Ferdinand said, Grandma, th’ curse ain’t real. But if folks keep talkin’ ‘bout it, they might just bring it back t’life.”

He scooped another spoonful of soup into his mouth. Marja still could not ease her worry.

“But still, make sure y’behave proper, alright? I know th’ spirit would never hurt its own children, but let’s be careful regardless.”

Epel chuckled lightly at her words.

“Alright, Meemaw. I’ll behave.”

The two continued their meal in relative peace, exchanging occasional conversation here and there. The teenagers no longer spoke about the curse aloud, but the subject still lingered within the diner air.

Truthfully, most people dismissed the Curse of Harveston entirely.

It was modern times, after all. The victims usually died weeks or months after leaving the town, often from common illnesses difficult to trace back to any singular cause. There was never enough evidence to prove anything.

So naturally, the curse had to be nonsense.

Or at least, that was what they believed.

Unaware that the true poison of Harveston had been sitting among them all along.

His smirk hid neatly behind the soup spoon. Mania gleamed faintly within light greenish-blue eyes, reflected against the surface of the water glass before bouncing upon the clear diner window.

Ah, what an ecstatic feeling.

[Synchronizing soul… 77%… 88%]

[Synchronization completed.]

[Entering the world.]

[Welcome, Agent 666.]

You jolt awake in your seat and the car immediately swerves out of balance. Your mother and father scream as you instinctively yank the steering wheel to the right, desperately trying to regain control.

After a full minute of stressful maneuvering and the horrified face of a farmer who nearly got his head taken off by your bumper (possibly), you finally steer the car back into the proper lane.

The three of you let out shaky sighs of relief, hearts still hammering wildly inside your chests.

What the fuck…

You nearly lost your life before the mission even started. The stupid system teleported you right while you were driving.

Turning your head, you find Grim calmly sitting atop the dashboard, casually licking his fur as if nothing had happened. The moment you catch the smirk forming on his face, your own expression hardens immediately.

This motherfucker.

Did he purposefully teleport you like that because you accidentally hit his update button earlier?

Grim continues licking his paw, utterly unbothered beneath your murderous glare.

Oh, I see how it is.

Just wait until I get my hands on you.

Grim ignores you completely.

“Are you alright, son?”

The sudden voice beside you snaps you back to reality.

You turn to see your father looking absolutely pale. Glancing toward the rearview mirror, you spot your mother slumped against her seat, one hand pressed dramatically against her chest as though her soul nearly left her body several minutes ago. Which it may have done.

Son.

“Yes, Dad. Sorry. Went autopilot for a second there.”

Your father lets out a slow breath. Even after your reassurance, he still looks one sharp turn away from ascending directly into heaven itself, and honestly, you cannot even blame him.

The more you process your current situation, the more uneasy you become. Your knee keeps bouncing restlessly beneath the steering wheel while your eyes dart all over the road.

Perhaps your father notices it too.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Maybe we should stop by a gas station. I can continue the drive while you rest for a bit.”

“Yeah. That sounds wonderful. Thanks, Dad.”

So you continue driving with an increasingly anxious heart.

Snow-covered fields stretched endlessly along the roadside while occasional farmhouses appeared in the distance, smoke curling from their chimneys against the gray winter sky. Wooden signs advertising apple cider, homemade jam, and orchard tours became increasingly common the further the three of you drove.

Harveston was close.

After several more kilometers of driving, you finally arrive at a gas station with a diner attached beside it. The moment the car stops, you immediately shove the door open and practically launch yourself outside.

“Need to use the restroom! I’ll be back!”

“Meet us in the diner!” your father shouts back before turning toward the backseat, where your mother still lies sprawled dramatically against the seat.

“Oh, my little birdie nearly got herself whacked…”

“Shut up, Peter.”

Meanwhile, you sprint toward the diner as fast as possible, hastily asking the server where the restroom is before bolting toward it like a man possessed.

You slam the stall door shut behind you.

Your chest heaves violently as you lean against the door for support, struggling to steady your breathing. Sweat the size of corn kernels drips down your forehead while your thoughts spin wildly inside your skull.

Your head is still reeling from the reality about to unfold before you.

A new body.

A new world.

A new mission.

And more importantly—

[Ugh, here we go. ( – ⌓ – )]

You hurriedly unbuckle your belt and pull down the zipper just enough to inspect the situation.

You inhale sharply at the sight.

“YEEEEEEES! I HAVE A BIG D******!!!”

Entering the small rural town of Harveston, your bouncy steps could probably be seen from across the entire street. Happiness practically overflowed from your very soul after what you saw earlier in the diner restroom mirror.

[Do the dougie, Host.]

EEEEY 〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜 pose

[LOL (ᗒᗜᗕ)՛̵̖]

Stop, Grim. We shouldn’t be doing that.

Yet you still cannot stop the laughter stretching across your face at the stupid interaction.

It is admittedly a bit disorienting being a man for the first time, but weirdly fun as well. There are far more differences in physique and biology than you initially expected. For example, you can already feel the difference in weight distribution and core strength between this body and your original one.

More importantly, though, the original MC is really damn charming. Tall, broad-shouldered, quite buff for a scholar, attractive to boot, and equipped with a big d.

Oh, he is perfect.

The man is practically the perfect picture of a gentleman by this era’s standards. Which was precisely half the reason Epel Felmier disliked him so much.

Hmm…

Speaking of Epel Felmier, your gaze drifts toward your surroundings.

You and your family stopped by the local administrative office earlier to formally announce your arrival to the townsfolk and exchange introductions here and there. Your father insisted it was important to remain polite as newcomers to the community, and you simply nodded along obediently.

Not that you minded the extra attention from the townfolk anyway. Especially not the young ladies. And some of the young men too.

Hehe.

Wait. Focus.

Back to Epel and Harveston.

Your eyes wander across the scenery surrounding the small rural town, a sight you have been seeing repeatedly ever since your car first crossed into Harveston territory.

Rolling hills covered in white snow spread across the countryside, interrupted only by rows upon rows of barren apple trees clawing toward the gray sky. Wooden fences lined the roads unevenly, some leaning with age beneath heavy frost. Every few kilometers, small farmhouses appeared in the distance with smoke curling softly from their chimneys, their warm orange window lights glowing faintly against the winter cold.

Despite the freezing weather, the land itself looked strangely alive.

The soil beneath the orchards remained dark and rich instead of frozen solid. Crimson apples still hung from certain branches untouched by winter, almost unnaturally vibrant against the pale landscape.

Every passing wooden sign carried painted apples somewhere upon it.

Every souvenir stall.

Every barn.

Every fencepost carving.

Apples.

Apples.

Apples.

Hmm.. so many apples.

Even your current house sits between endless rows of apple orchards, making you wonder whether your parents intend to start their own orchard business eventually.

The house itself is situated near the edge of town. Your nearest neighbor lives almost five hundred meters away.

Which so happens to also be your target.

The Felmier family home.

“Mom, didn’t you say you wanted to give the neighbors a gift?” you ask while stepping inside the house.

“Ah, yes, I did bring some things for them. But maybe we can do that tomorrow? Me and your father are exhausted right now, and we still have to unpack everything. You should do the same too.”

Your mother practically collapses onto the sofa afterward.

You glance toward the mountain of belongings scattered around the living room.

“Yeah, but maybe I can at least bring over the pumpkin pie first? Just to say hi. I can tell them we’ll properly visit later.”

Your mother raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

“And why are you suddenly so eager?”

You shrug casually.

“Still got a lotta energy, I guess.”

She sneers.

“After the stunt you pulled earlier, I’m surprised you still do. Fine, go ahead. But come straight back after that and deal with your own stuff.”

You chuckle.

“Okay.”

You took the pumpkin pie and stepped outside the house.

Deciding to walk toward Epel’s residence instead, you use the opportunity to properly settle into this new body while you are at it. Grim had somehow conjured a scarf around himself and was currently busy zooming in and out of the snow piles, blue fire bursting here and there behind him.

[Achoo.]

The cold finally got to his nose.

The original MC is a university student, more specifically a third-year chemistry major attending a renowned university. Much like his parents, both respected scholars in their own fields, the MC himself is academically gifted and heavily involved in various research projects alongside his professors.

At the same time, however, he is also absurdly athletic and sociable. The type of person naturally good at almost everything without even trying. Perhaps that overwhelming perfection, combined with his occasional jock behavior, was part of the reason that eventually led to his death.

As soon as you step into the Felmier family yard, you are greeted by the sight of a sweet-looking grandmother crocheting quietly upon a rocking chair on the porch.

“Oh!” she exclaims upon noticing you.

You immediately bow politely.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m the new neighbor who just moved into the house over at the corner.”

The grandmother waves her hand warmly, gesturing for you to come closer and sit beside her.

“Ah yes, Robert told us that house would finally be gettin’ new residents soon. Come now, sit over here.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

You bow once more before approaching the porch, placing the pumpkin pie onto the small table nearby before taking a seat beside her.

“Please, just call me Marja.”

“Very well, Marja.”

She chuckles at your immediate acceptance.

“Are ya here alone?”

“No, Mom and Dad are here too. But apologies, I’m the only one visiting today. They’re very tired right now, though we’ll all properly come by tomorrow.”

“Oh, don’t ya worry ‘bout that, kiddo. Moving’s always a hassle.”

You chuckle softly at her response.

You converse with Marja for quite some time.

She tells you she has two children, both already married with families of their own. Nowadays, she mostly spends her days alone in the house, though her grandson, Epel, has recently begun staying with her more often to help manage the orchards and household chores now that old age no longer allows her to work as she once did.

She speaks about him with endless fondness. How hardworking he is. How sweet he can be. How he occasionally causes trouble, but always means well in the end.

You try your absolute best not to show the strange sadness creeping into your chest while listening to her speak.

Oh, Marja. You sweet old lady. Too bad your heart is going to shatter once you learn the truth about him.

“But I admit… I’m a little worried fer you and yer family, though.” Marja’s expression suddenly dims.

You raise an eyebrow. “May I ask why?”

She exhales slowly, fingers pausing briefly atop the half-finished crochet piece resting on her lap.

“This might sound silly, believin’ in old superstitions like this, but… Harveston’s got a legend ‘bout a spirit watchin’ over the land. Folks say it punishes ill-willed people with death.”

She laughs awkwardly afterward, almost embarrassed by her own words.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. And please don’t take this as me accusin’ yer family of anythin’ bad. I’m just… worried, I suppose. So please be careful, alright?”

You offer her a reassuring smile.

“Understood. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Besides, she does not need to worry. You are more than capable of defending yourself against the true evil haunting this town.

One that is currently walking toward the porch right now.

Speak of the devil.

Epel Felmier takes his sweet time approaching the house, boots crunching softly against the snow. His brows lift slightly the moment he notices your unfamiliar figure sitting beside Marja.

“Ah, there he is,” Marja says warmly. “Epel, come over here. Meet our new neighbor. Kiddo, this here’s my grandson, Epel.”

Epel stops directly in front of you. He neither smiles nor grimaces. Only gives a small nod.

“Hello.”

“Epel, go fetch an apple-pom fer him, would ya? Please accept it, dear. Consider it a welcome gift from us.”

But upon seeing Epel properly for the first time, you fail to respond immediately.

Your eyes remain hopelessly fixed on the boy standing before you.

Soft lavender hair framed his face in fluffy waves beneath the winter cold, the pale strands dusted lightly with snowflakes that had yet to melt. His cheeks and nose carried a natural rosy flush from the freezing air, making his already delicate features appear almost doll-like.

Pretty.

That is the first word that comes to mind.

His light greenish-blue eyes stare back at you quietly, clear as frozen lakewater beneath winter sunlight.

Oh my god…

“Kiddo?”

Marja’s voice snaps you back to reality.

“Oh—uh, sorry. Yes, Marja?” You clear your throat awkwardly before smiling sheepishly. “Apologies. I got distracted by how cute your grandson is.”

Marja bursts into warm laughter at your words, calling you silly while you grin innocently in return.

Completely ignoring the tiny twitch of displeasure crossing Epel Felmier’s face after being called cute.

Epel Felmier poisoned the MC and his family to death. Part of it because he found the MC and his family annoying, and another part because of his own insecurity.

The original MC constantly teased him by calling him cute, adorable, pretty, and every other cutesy nickname he knew Epel disliked. Once he realized the reactions bothered him, he continued doing it repeatedly for his own amusement, and because he secretly likes Epel.

And sure, you understand that the original MC could be annoying. But did he and his family truly deserve to die for that?

You do not think so.

And even if somebody wished ill upon people who continuously pissed them off, there remained a massive difference between intrusive thoughts and actually carrying them out.

Unfortunately, Epel Felmier crossed that line long ago.

Because the issue was never solely about teasing. Epel harbored a deep jealousy and resentment toward the original MC, born from looking at somebody who effortlessly possessed everything you desperately wanted for yourself.

Tall, broad shoulders, athletic, academically gifted, naturally charismatic, attractive enough to make half the town stare twice at him, and somehow still polite enough for old ladies to adore him immediately.

Meanwhile, Epel, with his delicate appearance and petite physique, spent most of his life being underestimated by both the townsfolk and outsiders around him. People found him cute before they found him capable. Pretty before they found him strong.

Even when he worked harder than most men in Harveston, hands were rough from labor and could physically overpower plenty of them. The world still insisted on seeing him as the pretty village boy everybody wanted to pinch the cheeks of.

So honestly? Even if the original MC never teased him at all, you think Epel would have eventually disliked him regardless.

The teasing simply made the resentment grows faster.

Especially because the original MC most likely never intended actual cruelty in the first place. To him, calling Epel cute was probably harmless fun.

Unfortunately, harmless fun becomes significantly less harmless when directed at somebody who already spent their entire life feeling emasculated by the world around them.

If you had to say it honestly, dissecting Epel’s behavior goes far beyond simply labeling him insane.

There was certainly something twisted within him from the start. But that twistedness had also been shaped carefully over the years by the people around him, by societal expectations and Harveston itself. The town praised strength while simultaneously trapping him within prettiness. Praised masculinity while laughing whenever he attempted to embody it.

Eventually, something inside Epel began to rot.

As neighbors, the MC’s family frequently purchased apple products directly from the Felmier orchard. Only, Epel never gave them the normal produce. Instead, he swapped them carefully. Feeding the family crops harvested specifically from his special orchard hidden deep within the snowy mountains.

The poisoned orchard.

The true curse of Harveston.

So when you finally step away from the porch and begin walking back toward your own house, your feet suddenly stop before fully leaving Marja’s yard.

Turning around, you look directly toward Epel.

“I feel like we’ll be seeing each other a lot,” you say with a smile. “I hope we can get along.”

Epel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he says nothing. Marja lightly smacks his arm, scolding him for being rude.

You merely continue smiling.

Let’s play this game, psycho.

Continue reading on: Ao3 or Quotev.

a/n: Too long to include here, love, sorry!

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