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Lord of Perverted Ladies

Chapter 201: Permission (2) · Oct 26, 2026

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Chapter List (228)

Page number / 5

201 Chapter 201: Permission (2) 2026-10-26
202 Chapter 202: Resolution 2026-10-26
203 Chapter 203: Begin 2026-10-26
204 Chapter 204: Stranger 2026-10-26
205 Chapter 205: Lena 2026-10-26
206 Chapter 206: Beneath 2026-10-26
207 Chapter 207: Something 2026-10-26
208 Chapter 208: Others 2026-10-26
209 Chapter 209: Faces 2026-10-26
210 Chapter 210: Micheal 2026-10-26
211 Chapter 211: Another choice 2026-10-26
212 Chapter 212: After 2026-10-26
213 Chapter 213: Eva 2026-10-26
214 Chapter 214: The last 2026-10-26
215 Chapter 215: The question 2026-10-26
216 Chapter 216: Right 2026-10-26
217 Chapter 217: Authority 2026-10-26
218 Chapter 218: Responsibility 2026-10-26
219 Chapter 219: The cost 2026-10-26
220 Chapter 220: Enough 2026-10-26
221 Chapter 221: The right choice 2026-10-26
222 Chapter 222: Forgiveness 2026-10-26
223 Chapter 223: Letting go 2026-10-26
224 Chapter 224: Presence 2026-10-26
225 Chapter 225: Unfinished business 2026-10-26
226 Chapter 226: Reconciliation 2026-10-26
227 Chapter 227: The open door 2026-10-26
228 Chapter 228: What remains 2026-10-26

Adrian stared at the words on the wall.

YOU HAVE REMEMBERED WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION.

NOW REMEMBER WHO ASKED FOR IT.

For several seconds, he didn’t move.

His family had already reached the kitchen.

He could hear Echo arguing with the child over something completely meaningless.

Cael was probably explaining why neither of them was technically correct.

His mother was preparing food.

His father was quietly listening.

Normal.

Ordinary.

Safe.

Adrian looked at the wall again.

The words were still there.

He reached out.

His fingers passed through them.

They weren’t physical.

They weren’t an illusion either.

They were a memory waiting to happen.

Adrian closed his eyes.

Who asked for permission?

The answer should have been obvious.

Him.

He had asked.

He had been the one in the white room.

The one who wanted to leave.

The one who had asked whether he was allowed to disappear.

But something bothered him.

Permission hadn’t said:

You asked me to leave.

He had said:

You were never waiting for me.

Then:

You were waiting for yourself.

And now the message said—

remember who asked for it.

Not what was asked.

Who.

Adrian opened his eyes.

”Adrian?”

His mother was standing in the doorway.

He looked at her.

”Did I ask you for permission?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

That was enough.

Adrian walked toward her.

”Did I?”

His mother lowered her eyes.

”Yes.”

”When?”

”Before you had a name.”

”To do what?”

She hesitated.

”To leave.”

Adrian nodded slowly.

”That’s what I remembered.”

”No.”

His mother looked at him.

”You remembered asking.”

Adrian frowned.

”What’s the difference?”

”The difference is that you don’t remember why you wanted to leave.”

Adrian became still.

His mother walked closer.

”You thought you were afraid of being nothing.”

”I was.”

”Yes.”

”But that wasn’t the reason.”

Adrian stared at her.

”Then what was?”

His mother looked toward the kitchen.

His father was standing there.

He had heard everything.

He stepped forward.

”Because you thought you were hurting everyone.”

Adrian’s expression changed.

”What?”

His father nodded.

”You didn’t want to disappear because you hated existence.”

He paused.

”You wanted to disappear because you believed your existence was causing something.”

Adrian shook his head.

”What could I possibly have done before I even had a body?”

His father looked at him.

”You existed.”

That answer hit harder than it should have.

Adrian sat down.

His mother joined him.

”You were surrounded by possibilities,” she said. ”Before you became Adrian, you could feel them.”

”Feel them?”

”You didn’t understand them. You only felt their absence.”

Adrian listened.

”Every possibility you could have become existed around you.”

She paused.

”But whenever you reached for one, the others disappeared.”

Adrian remembered the field beyond the door.

Countless lives.

Countless versions.

All the things he could have been.

”I thought choosing one meant killing the others.”

His mother nodded.

”Exactly.”

Adrian looked down.

”So I wanted to leave.”

”Yes.”

”Because I didn’t want to choose.”

”Yes.”

He slowly understood.

The first question wasn’t really—

Am I allowed to leave?

It was—

Am I allowed to choose?

And Permission had answered yes.

Adrian laughed quietly.

”I’ve spent all this time thinking I was asking to disappear.”

His father sat beside him.

”You were asking for freedom.”

Adrian looked at him.

”And you answered.”

”No.”

His father smiled.

”I only asked whether anyone was there.”

Adrian stared.

”Why?”

”Because I didn’t know how to answer.”

That made Adrian laugh.

”You didn’t know?”

”No.”

His father looked almost embarrassed.

”I had never met anything like you.”

Adrian leaned back.

”So you panicked.”

”I asked a question.”

”That’s panicking.”

His father smiled.

”Perhaps.”

For a moment, everything was quiet.

Then Adrian asked,

”Did you know what I was?”

His father’s smile faded.

”No.”

”You didn’t know I was a possibility?”

”I knew you were something.”

”That’s not the same.”

”No.”

His father looked toward the kitchen.

”I knew you were alone.”

Adrian’s expression softened.

”That’s why you answered.”

”Yes.”

Adrian nodded.

He finally understood.

His father hadn’t chosen him because he knew what Adrian would become.

He had chosen him because he heard something alone in the dark.

That was all.

No prophecy.

No destiny.

No grand purpose.

Just someone answering.

Adrian looked at his mother.

”And you?”

She smiled sadly.

”I found you after.”

”Why did you stay?”

She laughed quietly.

”You were difficult.”

Adrian blinked.

”What?”

”You wouldn’t stop asking questions.”

”That’s not an answer.”

”It is.”

She touched his hair.

”You were curious.”

A smile appeared on her face.

”And lonely.”

Adrian looked down.

”So you became my mother.”

”No.”

She shook her head.

”I didn’t become your mother.”

She looked at him.

”You chose me.”

Adrian’s eyes widened.

”I did?”

”You were the one who reached for me.”

He remembered something.

A hand.

Not his.

Not hers.

Something small.

Something uncertain.

Reaching.

His mother taking it.

The memory was blurry.

But it was there.

Adrian whispered,

”I chose you.”

She nodded.

”And I chose you back.”

Something inside Adrian loosened.

All his life, he had thought his family had been created around him.

Mother.

Father.

Brother.

Friends.

Possibilities.

He had thought they were consequences of his existence.

But maybe it had always been mutual.

They had chosen him.

He had chosen them.

Not once.

Over and over.

Every day.

Adrian stood.

”Then who asked first?”

His mother looked at him.

”I don’t know.”

Adrian’s expression tightened.

”You don’t?”

”No.”

His father stood too.

”There was something before that.”

Adrian looked at him.

”What?”

”A voice.”

Adrian’s heart stopped.

”The voice from the white room?”

”No.”

His father shook his head.

”Before that.”

Adrian stared.

”What did it say?”

His father looked toward the window.

”It asked a question.”

”Which was?”

His father’s voice became quieter.

”Who wants to exist?”

Silence.

Adrian felt the world tilt.

That wasn’t his question.

It wasn’t the Questioner’s question.

It wasn’t his father’s.

It wasn’t his mother’s.

It came before all of them.

Who wants to exist?

Adrian whispered,

”Who answered?”

His father looked at him.

”You did.”

Adrian shook his head.

”No.”

”You did.”

”I wasn’t there.”

”You were.”

”But I didn’t exist.”

His father nodded.

”Exactly.”

Adrian couldn’t breathe.

The contradiction was impossible.

Something had answered before it existed.

His mother whispered,

”That’s why you were different.”

Adrian looked at her.

”You weren’t created.”

”No.”

”You weren’t born.”

”No.”

”You weren’t chosen.”

”No.”

His father finished the sentence.

”You answered.”

Adrian stood completely still.

The same phrase.

Again.

Always the same phrase.

He wasn’t created.

He wasn’t born.

He wasn’t chosen.

He answered.

But what had he answered?

The question—

Who wants to exist?

Adrian closed his eyes.

A memory opened.

Not the white room.

Not the beginning.

Something before beginning.

There was nothing.

Then a question.

Who wants to exist?

Silence.

No answer.

The question repeated.

Who wants to exist?

Still nothing.

Then Adrian heard himself.

Not as a voice.

As a thought.

I do.

The moment the thought existed—

something happened.

Possibility appeared.

Then existence.

Then difference.

Then time.

Then identity.

Then choice.

Everything followed.

Adrian opened his eyes.

His mother was crying.

His father was silent.

Cael stood frozen near the kitchen.

Echo didn’t understand.

The child did.

He whispered,

”You answered first.”

Adrian looked at him.

”Before anyone else.”

The child nodded.

”Before choice.”

Adrian looked toward the sky.

”Before possibility.”

The child nodded again.

”Before existence.”

Adrian’s face went pale.

”No.”

The child smiled.

”Yes.”

Adrian suddenly understood the mistake.

Everyone had assumed existence came first.

Then possibility.

Then choice.

Then identity.

Then Adrian.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Adrian had answered before existence.

And existence had formed around the answer.

He wasn’t the first being.

He wasn’t the first choice.

He wasn’t the first question.

He was the first answer.

The thing that said—

I do.

And existence had listened.

Adrian staggered backward.

His father caught him.

”Easy.”

Adrian looked at him.

”Did you know?”

”No.”

”Did the Audience know?”

”I don’t know.”

”Did the first witness know?”

”I don’t know.”

”Did the Questioner know?”

His father hesitated.

”I think so.”

Adrian looked toward the ceiling.

Then the voice returned.

Not from the sky.

Not from his mind.

From everywhere.

”Finally.”

Every light in the house turned white.

The walls disappeared.

His family vanished.

Adrian stood alone.

Except for one figure.

The child from the street.

The child looked at him.

”You remember.”

Adrian couldn’t speak.

The child stepped closer.

”You were never waiting for someone to tell you that you were allowed to exist.”

Adrian stared.

”You were the reason existence happened.”

The world trembled.

Adrian whispered,

”Then why did I forget?”

The child smiled.

”Because you asked.”

”What?”

”You asked to forget.”

Adrian froze.

”When?”

”After you answered.”

The child’s smile disappeared.

”You saw what your answer created.”

Adrian looked around.

The white room was changing.

He saw worlds.

Lives.

Wars.

Love.

Death.

Creation.

Destruction.

Everything.

He saw how existence had multiplied beyond control.

He saw choices creating consequences.

He saw suffering.

He saw people asking why they existed.

And he remembered.

He had become afraid.

Not of existence.

Of responsibility.

So he had asked for one more thing.

Let me forget.

The child whispered,

”And someone agreed.”

Adrian’s heart stopped.

”Who?”

The child looked behind him.

Adrian turned.

The being called Permission stood there.

But this time, it wasn’t smiling.

”You asked me to forget.”

Adrian stared.

”I asked you?”

”Yes.”

”Why?”

Permission looked at him.

”Because you didn’t want to remember that everyone else’s existence began with your answer.”

Adrian’s eyes widened.

”I was afraid.”

”Yes.”

”That’s why I became Adrian.”

”Yes.”

”So I could forget.”

Permission nodded.

”You chose a name.”

”A life.”

”A family.”

”A world.”

Adrian’s voice shook.

”Because I wanted to be ordinary.”

Permission smiled sadly.

”And you succeeded.”

Adrian looked at his hands.

All this time, he had thought his ordinary life was something he had discovered after becoming human.

It wasn’t.

It was the life he had chosen after seeing everything.

He had chosen to forget the beginning.

He had chosen to become small.

He had chosen to become Adrian.

Not because he was weak.

Because he wanted to experience existence without carrying all of it.

Adrian looked at Permission.

”Then why bring it back now?”

Permission didn’t answer.

The child did.

”Because you aren’t the only one who remembers anymore.”

Adrian turned.

Behind the child—

countless figures appeared.

The Audience.

The first witness.

The woman.

Eve.

Cael’s forgotten possibilities.

The abandoned versions.

Sol.

His brother.

Everyone.

All of them were standing there.

Watching Adrian.

But this time—

they weren’t watching him.

They were waiting.

Adrian’s voice was barely audible.

”For what?”

The child smiled.

”For you to decide.”

”Decide what?”

The entire white room began cracking.

A question appeared above them.

WHO SHOULD EXIST?

Adrian stared at it.

Then another line appeared.

YOU ANSWERED ONCE.

A third line followed.

ANSWER AGAIN.

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