The Girl Wants to Be Murdered

Please note that this isn't a Quick Transmigration nor a World Hopping novel

Caution: If you're easily disturbed by taboo topics, twisted and sexual themes, and emotional despair, this novel might be a tough read. It dives deep into dark and unsettling territory, exploring a protagonist who finds twisted pleasure in causing emotional pain. (Suggested r*pe, ch*ld abuse, su**ide, self-h*arm, conf*nement, k*dnapping, induced m*rder, emotional manipulation, m*ndbreak, depression, mental breakdown, etc.)

This novel stands out from the typical guilt-obsession stories, where side characters constantly blame themselves, leading to repetitive chapters. In this story, the characters actually learn from their mistakes and flaws. The narrative carries a powerful message: even when a loved one dies, no matter how heart-wrenching it is, life must go on. Instead of dwelling endlessly on self-blame, the focus is on finding the strength to move forward, making this a more compelling and realistic portrayal of grief and growth.

Surprisingly, the novel is also deeply philosophical and thought-provoking. It delves into the fractured psyche of not just the protagonist but the side characters as well. This isn't a story that relies on cheap pity bait; instead, it offers a complex, well-crafted exploration of brokenness. It's masterfully done and leaves a lasting impact.

Summary of the story : Imagine a world where death becomes a game, and living hundreds or even thousands of lives isn't a burden of memory, but a twisted form of entertainment. In this novel, the protagonist's existence doesn't center on their countless lives but rather on what they've become, a being so disconnected from humanity that they find pleasure not in life but in the suffering that death brings to those who love them.

The protagonist no longer cares for the thrill of adventure or the discovery of new worlds. Life itself has become tiresome, a monotonous cycle where the only spark of excitement is found in orchestrating their own demise. But it's not the act of dying that matters; it's the despair, the utter hopelessness etched on the faces of those left behind that fuels their twisted pleasure. To them, life has lost its meaning, and death is the only way to feel anything.

Initially, the protagonist tries to live normally, forming bonds, creating memories, and becoming a beloved figure in each new world. But the darkness inside them craves more, something far beyond the ordinary joy of companionship. Their pleasure comes from making themselves irreplaceable to others, only to tear that sense of security apart in the most devastating way possible. It's a dance with death, where the music isn't the final breath but the broken sobs of those left behind, the shattered souls who cannot comprehend the loss of someone so dear to them.

This isn't just a tale of moral decay, it's a philosophical exploration of what happens when life loses all meaning and death becomes the only solace. The protagonist's actions aren't driven by malice but by a desperate need to feel something, anything, in a universe where everything has become dull. They don't kill others for fun; they kill themselves, over and over, feeding off the pain and suffering they cause.

In many ways, the story serves as a dark reflection of the human condition. What happens when we lose our moral compass, when life becomes so meaningless that we seek out destruction as the only form of release? The protagonist isn't just a villain; they're a victim of their own immortality, trapped in a cycle where the only escape is through the pain of others.

Their twisted pleasure in death forces the reader to confront uncomfortable questions about the nature of existence. Is there value in life when it can be endlessly repeated? What happens to our sense of morality when we've seen and done it all? Can we still consider ourselves human when we no longer empathize with others, when we take joy in their suffering?

The novel is both disturbing and thought-provoking, pushing the boundaries of what it means to live and die. It forces us to question our own values and the fragile line between sanity and madness. Through the protagonist's eyes, we see a world where the pursuit of pleasure becomes so warped that it destroys not only others but the self. And yet, despite the horror, there's an underlying tragedy in their actions, a longing for an end that will never come, a desire for rest that can never be fulfilled.

In the end, this novel isn't just about death and despair. It's about the fragility of the human psyche, the dangers of immortality, and the haunting consequences of a life devoid of meaning. The protagonist's journey is a reminder that without purpose, even the most precious things in life can be twisted into something dark and dangerous.

PS: It's been a while since I've felt such raw emotional despair. The concept behind this novel is brilliant, and while it doesn't quite hit masterpiece status, it's still a masterpiece in its own right, at least for me. I've been on a binge of happy slice-of-life stories lately, so maybe my review is a little colored by the thrill this one gave me. But fair warning: reading this will definitely leave you with some negative thoughts.

Butter Cat translated this very well, they even add TL notes for contexts. Thanks for all the hardwork.

I re-read it again after 9 months, and all I can say is—god dayum. The story is so d*mn impactful, it still gives me goosebumps. Truly ONE of the webnovels of all time. Absolute Cinema.

Afterthoughts (Chapter 88 : Hope)

[spoiler]

It's difficult to describe what I feel now that I've closed the final chapter of The Girl Wants to Be M*rdered. Perhaps it's something like standing alone on a quiet street after a long, stormy night, so many windows broken, so many things left unsaid, but the sky is finally starting to change colors. I don't feel joy. I don't feel sorrow. But there is something in me that feels alive, and that's not something every story can achieve.

Reading this novel was like staring into a cracked mirror for hours and watching your own reflection morph with each passing line, sometimes someone else's pain, sometimes your own. It doesn't offer the luxury of escapism or the comforting tropes of closure. It denies you catharsis in the traditional sense. But in doing so, it offers something far rarer in fiction: truth. A raw, fragmented, imperfect truth that mirrors life as it is, confusing, relentless, cyclical, and ultimately unknown.

The ending, if it can even be called that, defies every convention. There is no final act of justice. No romantic resolution. No triumphant healing. Instead, what we're left with is the uncertain continuation of Aris's curse, an eternal reincarnation, a loop with no known end. And yet, despite the weight of everything she has endured, despite the crushing reality that she may never know rest, Aris does not collapse into despair. She accepts it. Or rather, she chooses to go on. And in that quiet, almost reluctant choice… there is something unspeakably beautiful.

"Et hoc transibit." This too shall pass.

That phrase, etched in forgotten texts and whispered in the corners of ancient philosophy, feels at home in this novel. Because that's what this story whispers from beginning to end: that all things, joy, suffering, madness, love, loss, are transient. That life itself is both the question and the answer, and even if that answer is incomplete, it's still worth searching for. Aris doesn't find peace. She isn't redeemed in the traditional sense. But she finds the will to continue walking. And in a world as broken and relentless as hers, that may be the closest thing to hope we'll ever get.

I find myself thinking of the author's reflection, that it was irresponsible, that nothing was resolved. But I don't believe irresponsibility is the right word. Perhaps it is better to call it honesty. Most stories lie to us in their final pages. They promise us that closure is inevitable, that love will save, that all pain has a reason and an end. But life doesn't work like that. And this novel doesn't pretend otherwise.

It leaves wounds open. It refuses the final stitch.

It lets characters walk away still bleeding, but walking, nonetheless.

There is a Latin phrase, "Felix culpa"—the fortunate fall. The idea that through great error, great pain, something more meaningful may arise. And this story, I believe, is a meditation on that. On how even the most horrifying flaws and choices can lead to moments of insight and grace. Aris is not a hero, not a victim, not even truly a villain. She is a vessel of contradiction, capable of love and cruelty, of tenderness and destruction. And so are all the girls she touched: Sia, Elli, Remi, Anna. Each of them, in some way, stands for something lost, something reclaimed, something broken, something whole.

What makes the story philosophical isn't the quotes or the literary references, though the author clearly treasures old stories, forgotten truths, and classical absurdity. It's philosophical because it doesn't try to answer the question: What is the meaning of life? Instead, it asks: Can there still be meaning, even if none is ever found?

And it never gives a definitive response.

That, I think, is why this ending lingers so heavily in me. It dares to end without ending. It becomes a paradox, like Schrödinger's box, or the final line of a poem that leaves the last word unsaid. "Spes in caelo, dolor in terra." Hope in heaven, sorrow on earth. The two are not opposites. They coexist. The author understands this. Aris lives it.

There's something haunting in how the story chooses not to reassure the reader. There's no divine narrator pulling the strings. No moralistic voice correcting the characters. What they do, they do. What they lose, they lose. And yet, within this narrative cruelty, there is compassion. The kind of compassion that comes not from excusing pain, but from understanding it.

The author wrote that the girls, Aris and the four others, were all facets of themself. That this novel was born not of market trends or reader demand, but of personal necessity. And that truth radiates from every chapter. It's not always clean. It's not always coherent. But it's always sincere. Each breakdown, each silent moment, each chaotic choice feels like a diary entry written with blood instead of ink. And that's what makes it unforgettable.

I can only offer my deepest respect to the author, 여실정행, for sharing this. The balance between brutal narrative control and emotional surrender is so delicate, and it was achieved here with elegance. Perhaps not in the structural sense, but in the emotional core. And that, to me, matters more.

"Finis vitae sed non amoris." The end of life, but not of love.

Aris may die again. She may live again. The curse may go on for eternities. But the bonds she formed, the memories she left behind, the hearts she changed, they endure. And even if the novel doesn't show us what becomes of Sia, Elli, Remi, or Anna, we believe in their paths because we watched them crawl out of the dark. That's not resolution. It's faith.

And maybe faith is all we need to call something hopeful.

To anyone thinking of reading this novel, I'll say this: It is not for comfort. It is not for thrill. It is for confrontation. With your own fears, your own flaws, your own shadows. You may find yourself in Aris. You may be disturbed by her. You may pity her. You may hate her. But you will feel something. And in this world of dulled emotions and short attention spans, that is a rare and sacred thing.

So yes, this ending is "irresponsible," as the author wryly noted. But I believe it is only by refusing responsibility that the story finally becomes free. Free to breathe. Free to hurt. Free to hope.

And that, for me, is the most meaningful kind of ending there is.

Thank you, 여실정행.

For Aris.

For the girls.

For the mirror you held up to the world and yourself.

And for the silence you left behind when the story ended. The kind of silence that still echoes.

[/spoiler]

PS. I can't believe I spent atleast 4 hours writing this review, I should get a life.

Estoy llorando honestamente un mar de emociones al final el protagonista decide no morir como lo a hecho 700 veces ese complejo de sentimientos de inferioridad y que se sienta inutil siendo de ayuda me mato hay que valorar se y mantener esa vela encendida.

En el pasado entre el 2020 al 2022 y he incluso antes muchos conocidos murierón y incluso hoy en dia muren jovenes de 17 años yo tengo 22 y me deja con el coraźón en la mao esta novela llena de sentimientos pasaso futuro y lo que hubieramos hecho.

Alice muy buena Ellis igual Rumika y La reencarnada creo la que tuvo menos relevancia en la historia fue la Anna si merecia el odio pero a veces se nos olvida que todos cometemos errores y bueno por algo tan simple nos arrepentimos toda la vida espero este 2025 yo no tenga que arrepentirme de nada saludos a los autores.