All Chapters of LEVEL UP MY COLD CEO {MxM}: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Dream's POV The first thing I felt when I opened my eyes was weight. Heavy, suffocating weight pressing on my chest, like the air had forgotten how to move. My head pounded, my throat dry, and the sound of the heart monitor filled the silence. Gloss was awake. He lay propped against the pillows, pale but alive, his eyes trained on something in front of him, something invisible to anyone but us. The glow of the system reflected faintly in his pupils, flickering like static light. Then I saw it. A message notification, pulsing red. My heart tightened instantly. “Gloss,” I said, my voice rough, unsteady. He turned, and relief softened his expression for a heartbeat. “You’re awake.” “Barely,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “What’s going on?” He swallowed, looking back at the glitching interface. “The system’s acting weird. It says there’s a message... from him.” From him. That was all it took for the air in the room to shift. I sat up, ignoring the sharp pull in my chest. Th

Dream's POV The red glare from Gloss’s monitor filled the room like a wound. “Delete Host?” blinked over and over, each pulse tightening the air around us. I stood frozen, my pulse hammering so fast it hurt. I could feel the tremor in my hands, the static from the system prickling at the back of my neck. “Gloss,” I said, voice rough, “don’t touch that.” He didn’t look at me. His gaze was locked on the screen, pupils wide, sweat trailing down his temple. His fingers hovered over the interface, trembling like he already knew what he had to do. The system hummed louder, its tone distorted, splitting between lines of corrupted code. Text flashed and vanished too fast to read. The entire room seemed to pulse with it, walls, monitors, air, everything. Adrian’s voice still lingered somewhere deep in the static, a ghost in the machine. I stepped forward, grabbing Gloss’s wrist before he could press anything. “You’re not doing this.” He looked at me then, really looked, and I saw the ex

Dream's POV The days that followed blurred into one another, long stretches of silence, cold air, and the dull hum of machines that no longer meant anything. Hospitals had a way of erasing sound. The walls swallowed grief, the halls muffled it. Every echo felt too soft, too controlled, like sorrow was something sterile. They’d told me he was gone before I could even comprehend the words. The monitors had gone still, the room had gone quiet, and I’d screamed until my voice broke. They had to pull me away. I’d begged the system to reverse it, to fix it, to bring him back. But the system had gone silent too, nothing but a blank screen. Now, I stood in front of his grave, the world gray and too still around me. It was a simple stone. He would’ve hated anything elaborate. The engraving read only his name, the dates, and a small line I’d chosen myself. “He stayed until the end.” I hadn’t cried since that day. My tears had dried out somewhere between the hospital and the funeral. I’d

Dream's POV When you’ve seen someone die in your arms, watched the light fade from their eyes, and felt the cold settle into their skin, you don’t believe it when they come back. No matter how real it looks, your brain refuses to accept it. It tells you it’s a glitch, a dream, a cruel loop from a system that loves to play god. That’s where I am now, standing in my own living room, still holding Gloss, still feeling his heartbeat against my chest, and still not believing a damn second of it. He feels too warm, too alive. His pulse beats steady under my fingers, his breathing syncs with mine. I’ve spent days haunted by his absence, nights talking to shadows, imagining the echo of his voice in the silence. And now he’s here. Laughing. Smiling. His eyes, bright and familiar, look at me like I’m the only real thing in the room. It’s wrong. It’s beautiful. It’s impossible. I pull away slightly, just enough to look at him. He looks exactly the same, messy hair, faint scar on his jaw, t

Dream's POV The connection between us wasn’t something visible, but I could feel it like a thread tugging at the edge of my chest. It started subtle, a flutter, a buzz whenever Gloss smiled, but it grew heavier with each passing day, as if the air itself carried his emotions and pressed them against me. The system’s “soul link” had bound us together more tightly than I had expected, and I didn’t know whether to call it a miracle or a curse. Every time he laughed, warmth rippled through me. When he frowned, I felt a pull in my ribs, a sharp ache like guilt and confusion mixed. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but then it happened again, and again, until I couldn’t deny it anymore, his emotions were my emotions, and mine were his. We’d been trying to adjust, pretending it was fine, pretending it didn’t affect how we worked, how we looked at each other. But it did. It affected everything. It was during a quiet morning meeting that I first noticed how impossible it had become