What Are The Fan Reactions To The I Want To Eat Your Pancreas Ending?

"Ahhh!" A wild moan slipped from my lips as Alpha Ace rubbed himself between my thighs. His military uniform only added to his charm. "Baby, you're my wife. Please step away from him," my loser alpha pleaded from behind the locked fence. "Your wife?" Alpha Rome asked with a smirk as he approached. Stopping beside me, he slid a hand beneath my shirt and gently cupped my breast. My breath caught in my throat. "You threw her away for her sister and left her to face a zombie alone. You have no right to question her loyalty," Rome snarled, pinching my nipple. "Baby, please. Give me one more chance. I was wrong to leave you behind." My ex-husband sounded pathetic as he begged. Before I could answer, two more Alphas arrived, desires burning in their eyes. "There is no going back to a loser like you. The Moon Goddess gifted me four Alpha mates in uniform," I replied with a smirk. Then I did what I had started my journey for. "I, Luna Fallon, accept your rejection."

I died the day my husband forced the doctors to take our baby from my womb. I thought I’d never love again after losing my ex-boyfriend to a heart attack. But fate gave me a second chance. I married the man I adored, a billionaire named Maxwell. Just when I was about to share the joyful news of my pregnancy, I caught him getting cozy with my best friend, Morgana. Worse, he believed her lies: I was a drug addict. The truth? I was battling a severe mental illness triggered by my ex’s death. I needed medication to cope, but Maxwell never cared to understand. He refused to believe a word I said. They locked me away in a private rehab clinic. But that place wasn’t for healing, it was a trap. Morgana used it to cut me off from Maxwell and torment me without consequence. And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse… Maxwell signed off on a surgery to take my baby. I lay on that cold operating table, tears streaming down my face, and died in the fire that followed—broken, betrayed, and alone. But I never expected to wake up again. This time, I have a new life. A new family. And even one of my children survived. Maxwell, Morgana—this time, I’m coming back. And you’re both going to pay.

I had seven days left to live. My father was the God of War. My mother was the Goddess of the Harvest. I was born with divine power running through my veins, and like all gods, I should have lived forever. But I'd been poisoned by Godsbane, a plant so deadly that even the Healer had no cure. I forced myself back to the temple through the pain, one step at a time. That was when my husband Caelum, the King of the Gods, came home. His expression was grave. "Lyra," he said, "your sister Selene has collapsed. Her divine blood is completely spent. The Healer says she won't survive the month. The only way to save her is for someone who shares her bloodline to give her half their divine blood." "You're twins. Your blood is perfectly matched." He paused. "Would you reconsider donating half of yours?" "I know it's a lot to ask." He hesitated, then reached into his robe and placed a divine decree on the table before me. It called for the revocation of my title as Queen. "But if you won't save Selene, I'll have to honor her last wish. She says she wants to marry me before she dies." I looked at the decree for a long moment. "Don't worry," he said, his voice softening as he took my hand. "Once this is over, I'll burn it myself and marry you again as my Queen. Lyra, you know you're the only one for me." I looked at him trying so carefully not to push too hard, and something hollow settled in my chest. He wasn't the only one. Even my parents, when I'd refused before, had turned cold and driven me from our home: "If you'd rather watch your sister die than help her, then get out. Don't ever come back." If that was what they all wanted, fine. I had seven days left anyway. "All right," I said. "I'll give her the blood." My father and mother were pleased. They said I'd finally come to my senses. I finally became the Queen they'd always wanted me to be. A good daughter. But when I died, why did they all cry?

At his Alpha succession ceremony, Damien seated his childhood sweetheart in the Luna's chair, then dropped a mate bond severance agreement in front of me. “Once the bond's dissolved, I'll give you money. Enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life. One condition: stay away from Serena.” I signed without hesitation but I didn't take a cent. “Don't worry. I'll disappear from your lives for good.” That night I went home, took out the silver knife I'd already prepared, and dragged it across my wrist. Twenty-five years ago I'd crossed into this world of werewolves. For twenty-five years I'd worked to win over three protagonists, and every last attempt had failed. The Moon Goddess had told me: once this body died, I could go home, back to my parents. I lay on the cold floor and waited for the end. As my mind went hazy, I felt no fear, only a strange, giddy relief. And right as I was slipping away, I thought I heard someone screaming my name.

After being reincarnated as the villain in a story where everyone doted on the heroine, the system appeared. It told me that if I could win over any one of the male leads, I would regain a healthy body and return to my original world. But I failed to win over any of them. There was my adoptive brother, the fake heir, who grew up with me. My rebellious high school deskmate, the real heir, who became a boxer. And my childhood sweetheart, the genius surgeon. Even my own son, whom I carried for ten months. Without exception, they all fell in love with that cold, stubborn damsel while growing to deeply despise me. The system sighed and told me that if I could die at the hands of any one of the male leads, I would be able to see my parents in the original world. In the end, I used every method possible and was finally killed by them, with their own hands. But why did they all go mad afterward?

When my wife, Cynthia Larson, dies of bone cancer, I am in Penwood on a honeymoon with my "first love". After this is exposed, I—a well-known philanthropist—am subjected to the internet's rage for an entire month. Beyond threats and harassment messages, even my food deliveries are poisoned. As public outrage intensifies, the companies under my name are on the verge of bankruptcy. In overwhelming grief, I start a livestream. Tens of thousands of viewers flood in, demanding that I apologize to my deceased wife. They want to see me suffer as I chase after lost love when it is too late. Unexpectedly, I stand in front of Cynthia's grave holding a shovel. "She is already dead. Shouldn't her kidney be donated to Irene?"