Chapter 9. Cultured Killer...

Third Person's POV...

Celeste was a hopeless romantic with a mind full of sweeping, poetic visions of love. She believed in true love, in destiny, and in the kind of romance where a glance could set the heart ablaze.

She was beautiful, too—a girl with vibrant auburn hair and eyes that sparkled like something out of a fairytale. The world around her seemed to have a slight glow, a warmth to it, and she walked as though stepping through a Jane Austen novel.

Then she met Rex, the guy who seemed to embody every prince she'd ever imagined. He was witty, charming, and handsome enough to turn heads.

They met in a bookstore—she was leafing through a romantic novel, and he'd sauntered over with a grin, asking if she was looking for a "mature" read. She blushed, thinking he was flirting.

They hit it off almost immediately. He invited her to a movie, charmed her with his ironic sense of humor, and even listened intently while she rambled about her favorite romance tropes. Celeste was convinced she'd found him—her Mr. Darcy, her Rochester, her once-in-a-lifetime love.

But as they grew closer, she noticed quirks that seemed off. Rex had...a fascination. It started small, with sly comments about "being cultured" and "refined tastes." Then he'd start dropping phrases like "the beauty of two-dimensional innocence." Celeste shrugged it off, thinking he was being cheeky. But soon, she noticed his phone's home screen—a girl with wide, glittering eyes and a school uniform skirt that was alarmingly short.

One day, he invited her over to his place. She was nervous, excited, already imagining what a "first night" in his apartment might bring. She expected to see shelves of classics or maybe some music posters.

Instead, she walked into a gallery of anime figurines and posters of girls with huge, unrealistic eyes, skirts barely hanging onto their hips, and poses that would make a contortionist blush.

There were Blu-rays with titles like Heavenly Battle Angels and My Girlfriend's a Vampire Maid. One shelf was lined with art books filled with meticulously detailed illustrations of—well, Celeste wasn't even sure what to call them.

"Oh, those?" Rex said when he caught her staring, an amused grin on his face. "That's my cultured collection."

He didn't seem embarrassed. In fact, he seemed downright proud.

"Cultured?" she repeated, her brain struggling to process.

"Yeah," he chuckled, flipping open one of the art books to reveal a particularly suggestive pose. "It's an art form. People just don't get it. Real girls don't have this…purity." He grinned at her, oblivious to her horrified expression.

Celeste's heart cracked. She thought she was someone special to him, but she was nothing more than "a 3D girl." Rex began explaining his philosophy in that insufferably smug tone—the "perfect" nature of 2D girls, their "ideal beauty," how real women had "too much baggage." He even suggested that 2D relationships were more "pure" because they weren't tainted by real-world complications.

"I mean, I'd date a 3D girl," he added casually, looking at her, "but you know…nothing compares to waifus."

The final blow came when she saw his phone buzzing with notifications from his friends—a group chat named "The Culture Club." There were endless memes, debates about "the waifu of the season," and a consensus that "3D girls" just didn't "get it." She tried to joke about it, hoping to bring him back down to reality, but Rex looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"It's okay," he said with that same smug grin. "You're cute and all, but it's not like you'll ever be as cultured as this." He pointed to a poster on his wall, featuring a wide-eyed anime girl with improbable curves and a suggestive expression.

Celeste was furious. She'd fallen for a guy who would rather live in a world of hand-drawn fantasies than give her—an actual person—a real chance.

He wasn't interested in love; he was interested in a fantasy of servile, wide-eyed, picture-perfect girls who would never argue, age, or have a thought of their own.

Heartbroken and humiliated, she spent days thinking about everything she'd dreamed of, the reality crashing down around her. It wasn't just Rex, either.

She began noticing it everywhere: forums, memes, guys who proudly referred to themselves as "men of culture." It was as if they'd created an entire movement around rejecting real women in favor of this manufactured ideal.

And that's when it happened—her heartbreak morphed into something darker. She started following the forums and reading their smug posts.

Men declaring that "waifus over laifus" was a philosophy, that "3D girls were a waste of effort," that any real woman who didn't "understand" was simply "jealous" or "inferior."

She even found a post from Rex, boasting about how he'd gotten a "3D" girl interested only to brush her off because, as he said, "she didn't pass the culture test."

That was the last straw.

Her first kill was surprisingly easy. She lured Rex to a secluded park, playing the part of a broken-hearted girl who wanted "one last chance." Rex came, of course—smug as ever, thinking he'd "won." As he droned on about how 2D was superior, about the purity of "ideal beauty," she felt a cold calm settle over her.

"Tell me more," she whispered, playing along as if his words enchanted her. Rex grinned, leaning in closer.

That's when she pulled out the knife, the cold steel glinting as she muttered, "Here's to all the 3D girls you thought weren't worth your time." One swift strike, and the Cultured Killer was born.

With Rex gone, she moved on to his friends. They weren't hard to find—each proudly sporting usernames that identified them as "men of culture," boasting about their 2D obsessions, and ridiculing anyone who'd suggest they look beyond their fantasies.

Celeste would join forums, casually probe to find out who was a "true man of culture," and then…schedule a meeting. She'd bat her lashes, feigning interest, and lure them into quiet corners.

Her second target was Martin, who'd posted online about how his "true love" was a girl named Sakura Eternal. He was thrilled when a real woman showed interest in his "sophisticated" tastes. Martin didn't even see the blade coming.

News of the Cultured Killer spread fast, her victims soon notorious in their online circles. "Did you hear?" they whispered in forums, "The Cultured Killer only targets true men of culture." They joked about it at first—posting memes and treating it as some kind of horror story. But as more members went silent, fear spread. Their group chats were filled with questions:

"Who's next?"

"Is this for real?"

Some tried to rationalize it. "She's probably just jealous of 2D," they said, mocking the idea of a "real woman" understanding the allure of waifus. Others argued that they should start carrying "anti-thot protection"—ridiculous as it sounded. Yet Celeste would read their posts with a dark smile, tracking each new target and luring them in with the promise of being a "real-life waifu" admirer.

The irony was delicious. Here were men, hiding behind screens, obsessed with fantasies, now haunted by a very real woman. Some started posting warnings to their communities, telling them to be cautious, to keep their "true selves" hidden in fear of attracting the Cultured Killer.

For Celeste, each new kill was a reminder of every dismissal, every moment spent watching Rex fawn over an illustration, every cruel, smug joke about how "3D girls couldn't measure up." She left a calling card with each victim—a simple note scrawled in crimson ink: "Here's to all the 'laifus' who weren't worth your time."

Over time, she began taking a twisted pride in her work. She was no longer the lovestruck girl who'd wasted her heart on men who'd rather idolize pixels.

She was Celeste, the Cultured Killer, a specter stalking the world they'd built for themselves, tearing down the smug confidence they wore like a shield.

And as long as there were men left who preferred their 2D fantasies over reality, she would continue her mission, the shadows her only ally, her knife a tool of retribution for every 3D girl left in the dust.