Surviving The Beast World With My 'Sassy' System-Chapter 82: Blurred Memory

Sorana shrugged lightly.

"It might."

Her eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction.

"After all, creative directors can be replaced if the board believes someone else has... stronger connections."

Lavayla studied her carefully.

This was the same old game. Power plays, office politics, strategic intimidation. Before the transmigration, this environment had been her battlefield, and she had navigated it with calm precision.

But now, standing here again after everything she had experienced in the beast world, the tension felt strangely hollow.

Sorana continued speaking.

"I heard someone from the European branch has been gaining attention lately," she said lightly. "Apparently the board likes her vision."

Lavayla’s lips curved slightly.

"That’s good."

Sorana blinked.

"...Good?"

"Yes."

Lavayla leaned back in the chair.

"Competition improves creativity."

For a brief moment, Sorana seemed unsure how to respond. Then irritation returned to her expression.

"You really are arrogant," she muttered.

Lavayla did not answer.

Sorana watched her for another moment before pushing herself away from the table.

"Well, enjoy your tea."

She turned sharply and walked toward the door, her heels clicking loudly against the marble floor. The lounge door slid shut behind her.

Silence returned.

Lavayla exhaled slowly.

For several minutes, she remained seated, staring at the glass windows that overlooked the city. Cars moved along the streets far below while people walked along sidewalks, everything continuing with perfect normalcy.

And yet something felt wrong. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

Lavayla frowned slightly, her fingers tapping against the table.

Too perfect.

That was the problem.

This world felt exactly like her old life. Nothing was out of place. Nothing was missing.

Except...

She lifted her hand and stared at her palm.

There were no calluses, no faint scars from gathering herbs, and no lingering soreness from carrying water buckets. Her skin was soft and untouched.

But she remembered.

The cold mist in the air, the forest stretching endlessly around her, the warmth of the cave fire, and the small weight of Vai resting against her arm.

Lavayla leaned back and closed her eyes.

"System," she whispered quietly.

There was no response.

She tried again.

"Nessa."

Silence answered her. Only the faint hum of the building’s air conditioning filled the room.

Lavayla slowly opened her eyes.

The sunlight outside the window had shifted, casting longer shadows across the lounge floor.

If this truly was reality, then the forest had been a dream.

But if the forest had been real, then this place was the illusion.

Her gaze hardened slightly.

Lavayla stood, the chair sliding back with a soft scrape against the floor.

She walked toward the window and looked down at the city below. Thirty-two floors above the ground, traffic lights blinked in steady rhythm while crowds of people moved in every direction.

It was vivid. Detailed. Convincingly real.

And yet something inside her refused to accept it.

Lavayla placed her hand against the cool glass.

"Mirek," she murmured softly.

The name slipped from her lips before she could stop herself.

Then something shifted.

For the briefest moment, the reflection staring back at her was no longer dressed in a satin blouse.

It wore the same pajamas she had on the night she transmigrated, stained with mud and caught with stray fern leaves.

Lavayla’s eyes narrowed.

The reflection returned to normal instantly.

But she had seen it.

The illusion was beginning to crack.

Lavayla’s gaze lingered on the glass for only a second longer before she hurriedly turned around.

She moved back to the table, her earlier stillness replaced by urgency. The teacup sat untouched where she had left it, a thin curl of steam still rising as if time itself had been carefully maintained. She ignored it and reached for a blank sheet of paper instead.

Without hesitation, she began to write: illusion, mist, the guardian, the space.

Her pen slowed on the last word. For a brief moment, her thoughts scattered, as though something was trying to blur the edges of her memory again. Lavayla’s brows drew together as she forced herself to focus, digging through everything that had happened from the moment they encountered Shalika, recalling every word and every implication.

Then it surfaced.

Inheritance.

She wrote the final word with clarity before setting the pen down.

Her palm pressed against the table as she leaned forward slightly, her eyes fixed on the list in front of her. The scattered pieces that had once felt disjointed now aligned with unsettling accuracy.

This was not a random illusion. It was a test.

The realization settled into her mind with confidence. This was the trial Shalika had mentioned, the one the space would use to determine whether they were worthy to inherit it.

Lavayla let out a slow breath.

She should have realized it earlier.

The thought carried no frustration, only calm acknowledgment. The signs had been there from the beginning, yet she had never once connected them. It was not that she had overlooked them.

It was that she had not been allowed to see them.

Her fingers curled slightly against the table as her gaze darkened.

Her memory had been interfered with.

The knowledge of the test, of the inheritance, had been buried so deeply that it never once surfaced during her time in this world. Every thought she had formed and every conclusion she had drawn had been based on incomplete information.

It was as if the illusion had guided her into forgetting, ensuring that she would question reality without ever reaching the correct answer.

Until now.

Lavayla straightened slowly, her expression returning to its usual composure. Now that she understood what this illusion was, everything made sense.

And yet, nothing changed.

The room remained intact. The city beyond the window continued its steady rhythm. There was no distortion, no visible sign that the illusion had been weakened by her realization.

Lavayla’s eyes narrowed slightly as she murmured that understanding the nature of the illusion was not enough to break it.

Which meant the test required something more.

She fell silent, her thoughts moving quickly but methodically. If this was truly an inheritance trial, then it would not be solved by simple awareness. It was designed to evaluate something specific, something beyond logic.

Perhaps her choices, her attachments, or her ability to reject this world entirely.

Her gaze dropped briefly to the paper before she picked it up, folded it once, and slipped it into her pocket as if grounding herself with a tangible reminder of the truth.

She had expected that once she identified the illusion, the path forward would become clear.

But that assumption was wrong.

The test had only just begun.

The following days passed without any visible progress.

Lavayla did not stop testing.

She pushed her body harder each day, deliberately seeking exhaustion and even injury, searching for any sign that this world could not maintain its perfect consistency. She altered her routines, disrupted schedules, and forced herself into unfamiliar environments, watching closely for inconsistencies.

There were none.

Every result returned the same answer, flawless continuity.

It was as if the illusion had adapted, reinforcing itself after her realization and sealing every crack before it could widen.

Lavayla remained calm throughout, but tension began to build beneath the surface.

If logic could not break it, then she was approaching this from the wrong angle.

Meanwhile, within the company, everything continued as usual.

A week passed, then another, and soon the day of the board meeting arrived.