The streets were busy as hell — cars and people everywhere. Whispers drifted through the crowd, all murmurs of the sa thing: the third ga was to begin the next day, and anticipation humd in the air.
"Have you bought a ticket for the gas?" Two boys argued, adrenaline crackling between them as if they were excited to watch people behave like animals.
"I’m waiting for those playing the seventh match!" one muttered, eyes wild with expectation.
When it ca to deciding if they will play the third ga, the boys agreed to gather information by the end of the day. Unlike Alexander and Greg, Bray and Jamie were following that plan — making their way to an information mine.
As they walked, the city changed. Houses grew more deserted, walls scrawled with graffiti; players expressed their lives in censored, angry drawings. The people here looked different too — not like the polished faces of the city market. They were dirtier, suspicious, rough around the edges; hardly the sort to contain a glorified being like an elf.
Bray didn’t seem unnerved. This was the place he’d grown up in — the kind of place where his mind thrived.
Their conversation cut off when they spotted a duo behind. Their eyes tightened, their focus sharpened. They knew they were being followed.
"Are we going the right way?" Jamie muttered, surprised at how the road had twisted.
"We are. If the vendor duped us, we’ll just have to kick his ass." Bray replied, already assuming the worst.
The coordinates led them forward, past vendors whose appearance made you question the legitimacy of their wares.
"Help , young man!" an old woman pleaded. Her face was weathered with wrinkles, her back bent, though the golden highlights in her skin marked her as part of this world. She sat in a posture of defeat, arms low and pleading, eyes cunning enough to pull sympathy from anyone in an instant.
Jamie’s attention bent toward her; his gaze lingered and his steps faltered. She knew exactly how to work a passerby’s heart.
"Be careful with her," Bray warned, his mood suddenly grim.
"You know you don’t have to be heartless all the ti!" Jamie snapped, judging him with every word.
Bray laughed, fingers to his chin as though preparing a lecture. "In the old world, did you hear of a city called New York?"
"Yes," Jamie said.
"Five years ago in December, a wave of cris hit the city, especially in one of its most renowned areas. Every cris had two things in common. One: they targeted middle-class n. Two: they happened between 8:30 p.m. and 9:15 p.m."
Jamie narrowed his eyes, absorbing every word.
"The police did everything they could and found nothing. Luckily, one of the detectives knew , so he asked for help. I accepted."
"What was your hypothesis?" Jamie asked.
Bray’s excitent showed. "At the sa ti the cris began, a male beggar appeared near the city."
"So he did it?" Jamie guessed.
"Not at all. He only identified the targets for the real thieves."
"Huh?" Jamie opened his mouth in confusion.
"When soone approached him, he could tell how much they had by their gestures — how full their pockets were when they gave him money. And since it was December, lots of people had bonuses." Bray added.
"So you interrogated him?" Jamie asked.
"After so pressure he admitted to the identification sche and turned in his friends." Bray said proudly.
"Think about it: if she’s genuinely poor, why is she still alive?" Bray illuminated the point.
Jamie searched for an answer and ca up short. "If she were weak she’d have died playing the gas, but she hasn’t. That leaves one possibility: she uses the ti-elapser pill. Those aren’t easy to get in this world."
Bray took a rare mont of showing Alexander’s cunning. "So we must assu she’s pretending."
The old woman had been eavesdropping the entire ti; her face said it all — Bray had exposed her plan.
Suddenly — bump! A girl in her late teens collided with them. She was clearly from Arush: a fine leather robe, the air around her perfud and fresh. She didn’t seem like she belonged in this quarter.
"Sorry!" she said quickly.
"It’s okay," Jamie replied, softer and slower.
Ding! A golden box fell from her hand, shining and finely designed. Her speed had blinded her to what she’d dropped — but Jamie saw it; anyone with a keen eye would have.
"Hey, you dropped your box!" he called, picking it up. She didn’t stop.
At first they thought she’d stolen it, but her voice, her bearing, everything suggested it was hers.
"We have to give it back!" they agreed instinctively, and they fell in behind her, not letting her leave their sight.
She turned into an alley between broken buildings.
"Where’s she going?" Jamie muttered.
They wanted to hold, but once they started they couldn’t stop.
The narrow alley ended in a dead end. Darkness pooled there, swallowing the sunlight as if rain had hidden the sky. A chill blew through the passage — origins unknown.
The girl stood facing a wall, utterly still. Mana seeped from her, violent and calm at once unlike anything they’ve ever sense before. She no longer looked nervous; she stood with a quiet, confident light.
"You dropped your box," Jamie said awkwardly, voice barely above a whisper.
She didn’t flinch, like a mannequin in a shop window.
"I think we just got duped," Bray mouthed. It didn’t add up: no sign of reinforcent, no hint she was planning to take them on alone.
A mory of Caster’s warning — that nobody could attack them — echoed dimly in their minds.
"Jamie Noter, Bray Zigrid," she said, turning around with dramatic flair.
The boys froze. How did she know their nas?
"Please don’t be afraid. I’m your friend." She pulled down her robe and revealed herself: red hair like a flare, the first such sight in this world, two small horns arching from her head, and eyes that seed to shift through the colors of a rainbow.
"My na is Ingrid Rider. I’m a demon. And I’ve been waiting for you, Jamie."
...
At the Restaurant
Greg stood in a long corridor. Small windows punctuated the clean, sealed walls; an air conditioner humd, lending a cool scent that clashed with the slls of the outside world.
Warp!! A surge of mana flooded the restaurant in low-frequency waves — invisible to amateurs but present all the sa.
"They abducted him," Greg realized.
"Took them long enough," he added wryly. Watching them, he suspected they’d intended to attack from the start. At first he’d thought they were just insecure, but once he saw how they spoke, he knew Alexander was their real target.
"Excuse ," a woman in red said, reaching for a towel. Her hair was golden and shining; she walked out of a white door marked with a green female symbol, flushed from the heat of the kitchen. Her presence drew Greg’s gaze.
Eva. He watched her as she exited, tears in her eyes — an odd sight for soone usually so composed.
[Special skill > Muscle House], Greg muttered.
Instantly, the corridor darkened. Shadows rose like tiles, engulfing the white walls until they were entirely black, forming pillars and growing into an amphitheater-like arena.
"Tell what you want. I have to follow Alexander!" Greg shouted, his voice shaped by the skill he’d used.
Then he turned and saw sothing that stopped him cold: Eva stood there, tears streaming down her face. Whatever had happened, it had broken her. She spoke in a voice that trembled.
"What’s wrong?" Greg asked, alard.
"The mission," she stamred.
"What about it?"
"There’s been a change in plan," she said. Her voice was cold and constrained, as if she had no choice.
"What change?"
"Alexander is the new candidate."
"What about Jamie?" Greg pressed, but Eva hesitated.
"Eva?" he pushed for an answer.
"The order said we eliminate him," she finally said.
"What are you talking about? After everything we’ve done to make him strong!"
"Just listen!" she snapped, cutting him off. "The order ca from above. They offered a large prize. The captain accepted, so plans changed."
"What change exactly?"
"Your mission is simple: ensure Alexander survives all ten gas and eliminate Jamie. Do that, and our clan reincarnates into a magical world."
....
In the black-and-white realm, Alexander froze. Questions piled up in his head but no answers arrived. Thick walls enclosed him; crossing them ant entering a void with no escape. The floor mirrored the walls — no doorway, no relief.
Beneath his feet he felt movent: the box was shifting.
Warp.
He drew twin blades, the tal singing in his hands. "Are you sure it’s three against one?" a woman threatened.
"No one can enter or leave this place until I say so," the tattooed man said, confident.
"We know you’re a good person," he added, attempting to placate.
"Too good," the tattooed man continued. "Soone made a deal with us to bring you in."
Alexander blinked. "Who?"
"Let’s say they’re your secret admirer."
"Why put in this?!" Alexander demanded.
"It’s easy transport and a safety precaution. This way dussa won’t see us until we arrive at our destination."
"The Grid Lions," soone spat — the na striking Alexander like a blow. Faces printed into his mind; Eva’s warning still fresh.
"If you ever cross paths with them, you’re dead at."
"I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that," Alexander said, spinning his twin blades.
"I knew you’d say that," the muscle man responded, drawing a katana that glinted wickedly.
Steel t steel — a squeal of tal echoed through the space, as if soone were forcing entry. From that sound, a figure appeared: a tall man with long hair, a double-edged spear in hand. It was Greg.
The fight began.
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