George's words poured on, dense with logic and sowhat a little layered with pride.
"Step one: It harmonizes with your heartbeat, syncing to your core energy flow. Step two: It suppresses and dampens your bloodline's passive emissions. Step three: It folds the residual aura into the background, like a drop of ink disappearing into the ocean.
"And finally, step four: It plants a false resonance nearby—just faint enough to confuse hounds, scanners, and even spiritual sentries. To the world, you cease to exist, replaced by a harmless flicker sowhere else."
Vonjo's mouth twitched upward as he listened, a low murmur escaping as he compared it to his own thods.
"Hmm… better than my initial plan… I was going to shroud myself with devoured curse energy and keep moving between blind spots. Tedious. Vulnerable to certain clairvoyants. But this… this is passive. Seamless. It's…" He shook his head and exhaled, "…better."
The bullet comnts went wild, scrolling across his mind like an endless barrage:
NullTechFan: "HOLY—this guy just casually made a stealth artifact that can outplay the Sutterfouse detection network and he's giving it to an overpowered one???"
DoodBranch: "Bro, George's line might be diluted, but he's cracked at the invention ga!"
VonjoMain: "MC luck strikes again! Vonjo about to beco UNTOUCHABLE."
TechVsPower: "Compare this to Vonjo's plan: he wanted to just flex Endless Doom to hide. LMAO, gadget > muscle sotis."
HellRealmGar: "If Vonjo wears that, he could literally walk into the main house and moon them."
Vonjo finally asked the next obvious question, eyes flicking to the glowing sigil. "And this mark…? This symbol?"
George nodded. "It's a binding mark. It links to the user's bloodline and heartbeat. If the user dies, the headband will disintegrate. If the user strengthens their core, the headband strengthens with them. But its durability… depends entirely on the user. A weak man's headband is fragile. A strong man's… nearly eternal."
Vonjo grinned, his hand finally reaching to accept the gift. "I'll take it."
As George and Eugene climbed out of the van to stand on the curb, Vonjo slid the headband on, adjusting it carefully.
The mont the fabric touched his skin, he felt an uncanny ripple wash through his body. It was like his heartbeat had been swallowed by a calm void. His very existence… beca muted.
He blinked—and realized that to his inner senses, he wasn't there.
"Fascinating…" he muttered.
Then—
DING!
The familiar, tallic chi of his system rang in his mind.
A crisp chanical ssage scrolled across his vision:
[Warning: Host has temporarily severed proximity to the Main Character. Status as a dynamic side character is at risk.]
[If prolonged, "Multiverse Eyes" (Bullet Comnt Perception) will be disabled.]
Vonjo's stomach dropped. His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. Lose the bullet comnts?
Panic coiled in his chest.
The bullet comnts weren't just entertainnt—they were information. His lifeline to the story's pulse, the main character's progress, the system missions, and the delicious, addictive joy of showing off at the perfect mont.
Without them… he'd be blind.
The system wasn't done.
DING!
[New Condition: To maintain Multiverse Eyes at extended range, hosts must develop a unique hobby or characteristic that creates a lasting narrative tether to the Main Character or other key figures.]
[The more impressive, dramatic, or "badass" the trait that makes the host seed like the strongest, the further bullet comnt vision extends.]
[Failure to et this condition will result in narrative fade-out and role demotion.]
Vonjo's breath caught. A hobby? A trait? Sothing to stay in the narrative spotlight even from afar…?
He drumd his fingers on the steering wheel, brain spinning. What the hell counts as badass enough? Sword dancing on rooftops? Turning every kill into an art installation? Cooking hell-beast barbecue in the middle of a battle?
The system gave no further hints. The faint outline of George and Eugene retreating into the evening light filled his rearview mirror, their figures growing smaller with each step.
Vonjo felt a pit open in his chest. If he let them go without tethering himself… he'd be in the dark.
His eyes flicked between the system ssages and the silhouettes of the father and son, his mind racing with both excitent and panic as the van idled at the curb.
And for the first ti that day, Vonjo truly hesitated, feeling the weight of the story seed to have been changing around him.
Vonjo watched the retreating figures of George and Eugene for a long mont, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel, his mind spinning between the fading bullet comnts and the ominous system warning still lingering in his thoughts.
Then, almost on instinct, he rolled the window down and called out, his voice carrying over the quiet street.
"Hey! You two!"
Both George and Eugene paused mid-step.
They turned slowly, glancing at each other with a mix of confusion and caution before they began to walk back toward the van.
Their footsteps were hesitant, almost wary, like n returning to the den of a predator who hadn't quite decided whether to feed them or let them live.
When they reached earshot, George asked respectfully, "Yes, Sir Vonjo?"
Vonjo hesitated, eyes narrowing as he tried to fra his thoughts.
He needed sothing—anything—to tie him closer to the story, to keep the bullet comnts flowing.
A hobby, the system had said.
Sothing badass.
Sothing that would keep the narrative spotlight lingering on him, even when he was away from the protagonist.
Finally, he leaned his elbow out the window, looking uncharacteristically casual. "Do you know anything around here… sothing nearby… that could make a lot of money fast?"
George blinked. "Money, sir? Didn't you… uh… take all the money from your brother and his underlings?"
Vonjo felt a pang of guilt, which he masked poorly with a wry, almost sheepish expression. "Well… yeah. But you know… I need sothing to… kill ti."
George tilted his head, thinking. "Kill ti…?" Then his eyes lit with a spark of understanding—or so he thought. "Oh! You an… like gambling?"
The word hung in the air. Vonjo's shoulders slumped slightly, and he let out a small sigh of defeat. "…Yeah. Sothing like that. A hobby."
George nodded slowly, then leaned closer to explain in ticulous detail.
"Well, sir… there are a few dens nearby, though you have to be careful. First, there's the East Hollow Market—if you take the van two blocks north, turn left past the lantern alley with the cracked tiger sign, you'll find a narrow street that dips under an old aqueduct.
"Beneath that, there's a hidden entrance marked only by a flickering green lamp. That's the first gambling den. Mostly card gas and dice, low stakes. Then, if you head west, past the river docks, there's the Night Whale's Den. Higher stakes, rougher crowd.
"So of the players there are ex-Sorcerers who lost their fallen curse energy and are looking to win back their pride. And finally, if you want truly big money, there's a roving den that sets up in the abandoned subway tunnels beneath the southern district. They change location every week to avoid the city enforcers."
Vonjo listened, nodding occasionally, storing the details away.
The explanation went on and on, with George describing secret knocks, password phrases, and even how to avoid the drunken pickpockets lingering around the entrances.
Gambling, huh… Vonjo mused internally. Is that badass enough?
He leaned back in his seat, thinking hard. Well, gambling carries risk… maybe it shows fearlessness. The tension, the stakes, the thrill of betting everything on a single move… hmm… but is that really impressive?
He imagined himself sitting at a table surrounded by nervous sorcerers and criminals, flipping dice lazily as fortunes changed hands. Then he imagined the bullet comnts, thinking about his hobby. What would they think?
They'd probably look sothing like this:
HighRoller: "Vonjo gambling? Mid-tier entertainnt."
GlazerSupre: "Cool but not peak badass. He's just… chilling."
StoryWatcher: "No combat, no flex… kinda h."
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